Chapter Text
Try as Izuku might, he couldn’t get the words out. Another day, he told himself, and spent the rest of his friendship with Katsuki like that.
There were words between them that couldn’t be said. Wounds that were too raw to touch. Hearts too afraid to address everything unsaid. Izuku feared one day this would be the end of them. It would be too easy for everything to fall down like dominoes. One wrong word said, one wrong gesture, and it would be the end of everything he’d come to know about the boy named Bakugou Katsuki. He’d be left with his heart plunged straight into the unmerciful pit of heartbreak. What would be left of him, then?
He could tell himself all the lies he wanted, but the inevitable truth was that he’s falling, fast. It’s a free-fall of the most reckless kind. The only consolation he had was that Katsuki was falling just as fast. What careless boys, they were.
It’s the smallest things that get to Izuku, that turned him into a disgusting glob of goo. He didn’t know who in this relationship was more whipped, him or Kacchan. Katsuki could flash him one of his smiles, and--that’s it for Izuku. He would do anything for that smile. It’s so surreal to see it, a precious remnant of their more innocent days. Izuku more or less fried his brain the first time Katsuki smiled at him after their first pseudo-date.
(Perhaps Izuku had been too vague, or forward, that the implication went right over Katsuki’s head. Whatever. It was cute. And he got what he wanted.)
No good things were meant to last. It was a small relief he didn’t have to wait for Katsuki to break his heart. He’s going to do that all on his own now.
“I’ll go with you,” Izuku said through the lump in his throat and tried not to curl into himself at the relief in his parents’ eyes.
Later, he would be gripped with crushing disappointment as Katsuki left him by the gate. He thought he was ready--he wasn’t. He would never be. He’d just fallen into the trap of his own making. What foolish heart would readily went after the thing that would destroy it? Izuku’s, as it seemed.
When Katsuki finally texted, Izuku let himself hope.
Izuku supposed he should tell Katsuki about his lungs condition, if only to elevate the storm hanging above Katsuki’s shoulders every time they edged on the subject of Izuku’s broken childhood dream. But telling Katsuki about that would bring about a conversation about the worst of his post-incident condition. Besides, Katsuki would have to accept at one point or another that Izuku was more or less content with how things were right now. He had faith in Katsuki that he would figure out one day that not all heroes wear costumes. Some wear uniforms.
“Izuku.”
It was a sunny day out. Summer was on full blast and Izuku’s wearing his thinnest t-shirt. Katsuki’s ahead of him, scowling but patiently waiting for him to catch up. The sunlight caught his hair in an attractive way. If it weren’t for the sweat, Izuku might have appreciated the view more, but he’s currently dying.
“I hate the sun,” he said once he reached Katsuki’s side.
“I took a day off from school on a weekday for this. Don’t make me blast this watermelon at your head.”
Izuku’s heart fluttered pleasantly at the reminder. Katsuki reasoned that weekends were horrible if they wanted a peaceful beach day. After minimal whining, Izuku agreed to this mad plan hatched out last night when they were both deep into their conversation at three in the morning.
The beach was actually deserted, which was a rare sight. A few years back, after all the junks were mysteriously cleaned up (because nobody actually owned up, imagine that, Izuku had said, side-eying Mirio and his dad) the local committee took the steps to make it passable as a recreation spot. Nowadays, it’s actually weird to see it devoid of people.
“Put on some fucking sunscreen,” Katsuki screeched at him, throwing a tube of it at him. Izuku fumbled under Katsuki’s unimpressed gaze to catch it. Sometimes, Izuku thought Katsuki did things like these to see him flail, for once. It’s irritating.
Izuku stared at the tube for a second, before gesturing at Katsuki to come closer. “Put it on me,” he requested, shamelessly, holding the tube out to his friend.
As expected, the blond turned red.
After minimal blasting, Izuku laid down, content, as Katsuki furiously got to work.
“Kacchan, do you think I would look good in an officer’s uniform?”
The hands on his back stuttered. “I guess so,” Katsuki replied. Unsure. Small.
“I thought so,” Izuku said, smiling.
Izuku didn’t need a powerful quirk to prove that he’s a hero. Heroes come in different forms. He just had to make his own mold. Izuku Midoriya would not play by the world’s rule, not when he had All Might by his side.