Archive of Our Own ^beta

“What are you thinking about?”

Deku’s voice is quiet- powder-puff gentle in the night air; the remaining flush of post-coital exertion tinting his cheeks pretty and pink in the yellow lamplight.

And Katsuki, still shaking- still coming down himself- answers him honestly; turning towards him with soft, sappy eyes and a lopsided smile as he shrugs and answers:

“Right now-? Nothing. ”

And it's the truth. Honestly. 

There’s literally not a single thought in his head right now- nothing but the high of orgasm; nothing but the mindless bliss that comes from being intimate with the love of his life.

In fact, after the session they’d just had, it’s a wonder that he has the brain power to speak, let alone think at all.

But Deku, still apparently possessing some working brain cells, must find the answer lacking- must not be satisfied by the mental handicaps of post-nut brain fog- because he frowns at him, his nose wrinkling- expression sour.

“Oh, come on.” He presses sulkily, rolling onto his side and leaning onto a hand. “That’s no fun.”

And sensing that he’s not going to drop it without a satisfactory answer, Katsuki sighs, clicks his teeth, and says:

“Tch. Fine.  You , then.”

And Deku- that little shit- actually groans at him.

“That’s  worse! ” He retorts, doing a piss poor job at biting back a smile, eyes narrowing at him in a playful expression of mischief. “You know that's worse, right?”

He frowns at him, flat- sour- and quickly losing patience with this whole conversation, Katsuki sighs again, loud and long; trying to drum up enough brainpower to scrounge for an answer that will please him- digging into the wet lump of flesh he calls his head for some sort of weapon to use- a response to give- 

-And smiling up at the ceiling, he suddenly finds it.

“Fine, nerd, you wanna know what I’m thinking about?” He asks, looking at him slyly from the corner of his eye. “I’m thinking about next month.”

Deku blinks, obviously not prepared for this answer.

“Next month?” He asks, bewildered.

And dopey as he looks, the expression of confusion is also sort of cute; the kind of adorable that makes him want to reach out and just bite those freckled cheeks-

-But, against all odds, he somehow manages to fight the urge; restraining himself to a soft, affectionate:

“Yeah.” He breathes. “Next month.”

A beat of quiet- of consideration- a moment ticking by in thick, taut silence before Deku tilts his head, furrows his brows, and asks:

“Why-?”

He snorts softly, rolling onto his side until they’re facing each other, their noses almost touching.

“-Because that’s when we get our time off together.” He answers, reaching out to tuck an errant, emerald lock behind his ear. 

“We’ve been planning it for almost a year and what I’m thinking about is all the things we can do; all the things we’ve been putting off- all those places you’ve been telling me you want to visit.”

Deku gapes at him for a moment- clearly unprepared for this line of thinking; blinking at him with those giant, starry eyes for a breath- two-

-Before absolutely melting.

“Kacchan.”  He sighs breathlessly, captivation as thick and sticky as honey in the single, hushed word-

-And watching in real time as Izuku Midoriya coils around his little finger, Katsuki smiles, all triumph and success, before scooting himself closer and scooping him into his arms.

“I’m thinking about how good it’ll be to sleep in together-,” He continues, tucking Deku’s head under his chin, “-How nice it’ll be to wake up when we want to; to not have to get up to our alarms or a pager.”

“Mm.”  Deku agrees, wrapping his arms around Katsuki’s waist; his cheek pressing to his chest.

Katsuki cracks an eye.

“I’m thinking about making you breakfast.”

Deku goes stiff in his arms for a beat- a breath- before jerking his head upward; his eyes wild and bright with excitement.

“-Waffles?” He asks.

“Mhm.” Katsuki nods, one hand brushing affectionately through the emerald thicket of hair.

Deku’s mouth bobs open and closed in surprise.

“Big, ridiculous waffles with butter and syrup-??”  He squeaks, almost like he can’t believe his luck.

“Oh, yeah.” Katsuki smirks, teeth gleaming in the dark. “-And whipped cream.” 

Deku shivers.

“You spoil me, Kacchan.” He offers weakly.

And yeah, that’s true- undeniably true- but he’s not done- not yet.

High on the casual intimacy and the way that Deku’s heart is thundering against his own, he brings his face close, nuzzling against Deku’s temple; pressing his lips there and trailing slow, hot kisses down and down- pressing one to his cheekbone- his jaw- 

-until his mouth is brushing the shell of his ear.

He lets his voice drop low.

“-And more than anything?” He asks, not bothering to temper the heat in his tone. “-I’m thinking about that villa that you rented for us by the ocean. The one I’m not supposed to know about.”

It sits in the air.

It sinks into their skin.

And just as quickly as it had all begun, the soft, romantic moment between them bursts like a popped bubble as Deku jerks his head up suddenly- big eyes wide with betrayal.

“Kacchan!” He whines loudly. “That was supposed to be a surprise!”

Katsuki looks at him fondly, watching with growing amusement as Deku wrinkles his nose and puffs out his cheeks; clearly ready to give him a piece of his mind for spoiling what he’s sure was an incredibly intricate plan-

-And feeling just a little bad, he reaches out and pulls him close before he can; squishing his face into the base of his neck- ignoring his squeaks of protest and his wriggling limbs- his hands petting soothingly through his curls.

“Oh, don’t you worry- I was plenty surprised.” He explains warmly, holding him fast even as he huffs into his sternum.

His mouth tilts.

His tone goes sly.

“So surprised, in fact, that I immediately got online and did some shopping.”

Deku immediately stops his half-hearted resistance; two emerald eyes peeking up from behind the curtain of his bangs, wide and sharp with curiosity.

“Shopping?” He asks breathlessly.

Katsuki flashes him a Cheshire smirk, his entire face curling with amusement.

Got him.

“Mhm.”  He hums softly, pushing the hair from his face with gentle fingertips.

Deku searches his face, his soft lower lip pouting out petulantly- eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“For-?”  He asks warily.

Katsuki shrugs.

“-The trip, of course.” He answers nonchalantly. “Just a few things.”

He begins to count on his fingers. 

“Clothes for the water, new sandals, scuba gear-”

Deku jolts like he’d been struck by lightning; his arms pushing him up tall until they’re nose to nose.

“-Scuba-?!”  He asks hoarsely, eyes glittering.

Katsuki nods, smiling beatifically.

Deku gasps like he’s dying, his hands flying up to his mouth before reaching back down to grab Katsuki around the jaw.

“No! Kacchan, no- !” He exclaims, his mouth breaking into a wide, wide smile. “I-! I’ve always wanted to-”

Katsuki chuckles softly.

“-I know.  You gotta get certified first, so I booked us a few classes.” He explains. “And once we’re ready, I got us a full-day excursion out on the ocean.”

Deku’s eyes are like stars- his entire face lit up with the sort of wild, uninhibited joy that takes his breath away; the sort of love that liquefies his insides and batters his heart.

But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because suddenly, there’s 180 pounds of nerd flying at him; his muscular, scarred arms wrapping tight around his neck- his sweet face pressing kisses everywhere he can reach between soft gasps of:

“Oh, thank you!! Thank you, Kacchan, thank you- thank you!”

And pride or not- mushy or not- this is the sort of reaction he’d been hoping for, and so, still jelly-legged from sex and soaring on cloud nine, Katsuki just lays back and lets him; soaking up every kiss and whisper of gratitude like a dragon hoarding gems.

And once the climax of emotion has ebbed and Deku has finally settled down against his chest, he speaks again.

“I got a few other things, too.” He murmurs, peeking down.

His tone is rich- warm- a tease and a promise all at once-

-And immediately feeling the simmering intent behind it, Deku, smart as he is, stiffens in his arms, his fingers tightening ever-so-slightly around his biceps.

“...Like what?”  He asks cautiously, a hint of nervous excitement peppering the edges.

Katsuki grins. Heated. Devilish.

“...Toys.”  He answers plainly.

The silence is deafening.

The tiny squeeze around his arms turns into a hard grip.

He can almost feel the tremor that runs through Deku’s body; can almost taste the sudden tension that tightens the air, thicker and thicker until finally, it snaps.

“...Toys? ” Deku asks breathlessly, wide-eyed and hoarse. “What kind of toys?”

His mouth pools- skin sizzling with the thrill of the kill-

-And almost giddy with anticipation, Katsuki leans his head down, lips brushing suggestively against his boyfriend’s ear.

“The kind you erase from your browsing history after you’ve bought them.” He whispers. “The kind that come in discreet packaging.”

He lets his teeth scrape temptingly over Deku’s earlobe.

“...The kind that make your boyfriend come so hard he can’t see straight.”

Deku shivers.

An intense, helpless, full-body shiver. From the tips of his toes to the ends of his curls.

And then, a sound; soft and thin and aching.

Swallowing hard, he tilts his gaze upward, those green, green eyes already swimming with desire and cloudy with renewed lust.

“Kacchan.”  He whispers weakly, drawing that perfect lower lip between his teeth-

-And though he’s undeniably the one in control, his thighs clench; his entire body prickling with the sudden need.

He’d like to follow that road- would honestly love to plaster him back into the sheets and fuck him screaming and raw, he doesn’t.

No, he just releases a soft, calming breath and leans close, taking that soft, beautiful face into his palms- his voice a mere whisper between them.

“You’re the Symbol of Hope, baby. The Pride of Japan. You belong to the people- to society.”

Deku stares at him, his brows drawing up tall, mouth screwing into a pout- one that he knows well; one that hails an oncoming rebuttal-

-And squashing it down before it can even begin, he crinkles his eyes and adds:

“-and that’s fine.” He assures warmly. “It’s your dream; what you signed up for- what we sweat and bled for.”

Deku makes another face at him, clearly ready to argue-

-But once again, he doesn’t allow it. 

No, he just squeezes him tight, watching with soft eyes as his pretty, freckled cheeks squish under his hands; not bothering to iron the sweltering heat out of his tone as he draws him close, lets his eyes go half-lidded, and whispers:

“But for those two weeks, I get you all to myself. You belong to me.”

Deku goes limp, staring at him with giant, saucer eyes, his voice gone scratchy as he tilts his head and rapturously whispers:

“Kacchan.”

And god, it’s music; the single word encapsulating everything he feels- everything he wants-

-And suddenly feeling so much, he holds him close; his voice dropping to a murmur. 

“The world takes so much from us, Deku.” He croons, his hands dragging over the beautiful map of scars that litter his body. “The least I can do is give the world back to you.”

He means it to be doting and caring- honestly means it to be sweet- but suddenly, there’s a tiny sound squeaking from Deku’s mouth; a sound that a lifetime of loving him has taught him precludes tears.

And sure enough, when he pokes his head up again, Deku’s eyes are wet; his voice watery and thin as he shakes his head.

“Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.” He insists.

His hands wander downward; the craggy skin of his palms touching deliberately and meaningfully over the scarred-over middle of his chest; the mottled skin that he’d earned fighting for him so many years ago.

He grips him tight, holding him like he’s afraid to let go; looking up at him and whispering:

“You’ve already given me everything.”

It’s a kick in the gut- beautiful and painful all at once- and suddenly so full of love that he could burst, Katsuki whips out his hands and pulls him in until their lips brush- until he isn’t sure where Deku’s body ends and his body starts; everything blurring and shifting until they almost feel fused.

He pulls away slightly. Cracks his eyes.

“And I’ll do it again.”  He smirks goadingly against his lips. “I'd choose you every time.”

He kisses him gently.

“In every universe, I'd choose you.”

Deku’s eyes well with tears; a wobbly smile curling his pretty lips-

-And not giving him even a second to launch into one of his watery, little rambles, Katsuki holds him close and beats him to the punch.

“I love you.” He whispers, looking at him through lidded eyes. 

His hands stroke over his cheeks; a thumb brushing away a building tear before it can crest and fall.

“I love you, Deku- my Izuku…”

It comes out breathless.

“ ...my baby.”

It’s absolutely deliberate- Deku’s favorite thing to be called bar none; the pet name that usually launches them into a flurry of kisses and hugs and second (or third) rounds of fucking-

-But this time, it doesn’t happen.

No, this time, Deku actually draws away from him, his hands covering his face as if he’s actually ashamed of his tears; as if he has something to be fearful of.

Katsuki sits up, instantly pulled out of that soft, intimate space.

“Shit.” He hisses through his teeth, looking him over. “ Shit, Deku, what- what did I-?”

But Deku doesn’t answer.

No, he just begins to cry; sniffling and shaking. 

It makes his entire body hurt.

He’s up and on his knees in half a breath.

“Baby.”  He breathes, drawing closer. “Baby, talk to me. Did I say something wrong? Are you upset?”

His stomach drops with sudden anxiety.

“Fuck, baby, did I hurt you somehow?”

It’s the worst possible thing- almost unthinkable- but just when he feels like the anticipation may actually kill him, Deku takes pity and finally answers him. 

“No- no- it’s just- you can’t- you- you-” Deku stammers, shaking his head.

And then, as if he’s gathering up his strength, he peeks through his hands.

“You have to stop this, Kacchan.” He insists weakly, voice cracking.

Katsuki relaxes incrementally; relief hitting his veins like a drug.

He knows what this is. This has happened before. 

Sometimes, Deku just gets a little overwhelmed; sometimes, he just needs a breather- a few moments to calm himself.

It’s the after-effect of years’- worth of being bullied and being called worthless, and though he knows his part in it- will never, ever forgive himself for his part in it- it also comforts him, because he knows exactly what to do.

He scoots close, one of his hands reaching forward and peeling a single, scarred hand away from Deku’s blotchy face.

“What, spoiling you-?” He asks, flashing him a dry, boyish smile; a brow cocking sardonically as he tries to pull out a laugh. “Or do you mean loving you? Because I’m not-”

“-No.”  Deku interrupts, much sharper than normal, his head shaking mournfully. “Not spoiling me. Not-”

A weak inhale.

"-Not loving me.”

It’s a whisper, hollow and tired- almost like he’s exhausted-

-And every warning bell in Kasuki’s head suddenly rings at once; a five-alarm wail that something is very, very wrong. 

Because this has suddenly changed into something new; has left the realm of the familiar and veered off into uncharted territory.

Something prickles in the back of his head: an unignorable itch- something deep and instinctual- something warning him to use caution. 

So he changes tack, a hand reaching- gentle and supportive.

“Deku-” He tries again-

-Only, for Deku to yank himself away with a hiss.

“-You have to stop this, Kacchan.” He repeats, wiping his face with the back of a hand, his voice taking on an edge of ferocity- of desperation- that curls his guts; that almost makes his hair stand on end.

He knows he’s being foolish- god, it’s just Deku- 

-And yet, he actually recoils from him, then; something about the combination of tone and tears sending ice prickling through his veins, because this isn’t normal. This isn’t right.

This is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

And suddenly feeling a pit of dread growing in his stomach, he looks up and forces himself to ask it.

“...Stop what?”

The room goes silent- they both take a breath- and finally, Deku peeks up at him properly, one trembling hand reaching up to curl lovingly around his cheek.

He makes a soft, tortured sound, his eyes swimming in pity.

“...Dreaming of me.”  He whispers.

The floor bottoms out.

His heart skips a beat.

His stomach does a single, sickening flop.

And in the way that animals seem to just know when a storm is coming, every instinct in his body begins to silently scream.

He searches Deku’s face with wide eyes.

“...What-?”  He gasps, barely daring to ask.

But Deku doesn’t take it back- doesn’t back down- doesn’t laugh it off as a bad joke.

No, he just looks at him with a somber sort of affection; the pads of his scarred fingers dragging over the skin at his throat as he clenches his jaw and says the most horrible thing he can.

“I’m not here, Kacchan.” He whispers.

It hits like a blow.

His stomach, already sick with dread, drops down to the ground; a weight, dense and heavy as iron, settling low in his guts and chilling him from the inside out.

He jerks himself out of that gentle grip; staring at him in horror.

He doesn’t mean that. 

He can’t mean that.

This has to be a joke- a mistake- something.

He is here- he’s right here- close enough to touch.

And so he does touch, reaching down and taking Deku’s hands into his-

-Only to find, upon a single brush of skin, that they’re frigid; cold as ice between his palms.

His guts curl.

His chest squeezes tight.

The hair on the back of his neck raises like an animal being backed into a corner.

Because it’s familiar.

But why -??

Why is it familiar?

Why does he feel like he’s been here before?

His features twist, half angry- half terrified; his voice scratchy and uncertain as he looks at him and asks:

“Deku, what are you-?”

Deku doesn’t let him finish.

“-I’m not here, Kacchan.” He repeats, emotion warbling his words- a fresh wave of tears beginning to build and swell in the corners of his eyes.

He’d already said it, but this time, it hits harder- touching something inside him- digging into his head- poking at his nervous system.

Again, it feels familiar in a way- like he’d heard it before; a twisted, unholy bout of Deja vu-

-And as he watches a tear swell and crest and cut down his lover’s ashen skin, something clicks.

Suddenly, Katsuki’s heart, already pulled taut, quietly snaps in two; the shards of it digging into his chest until he feels like he can barely breathe. 

Because that’s when realizes it: that he has been here before- that he knows exactly what’s coming.

And suddenly so afraid that he can barely breathe, he drops his hands, his throat tightening to the point of pain as he shakes his head and begs:

“Stop.”  He croaks. “Don’t, baby, don’t. ”

But Deku doesn’t stop.

No, he only looks upward with a sad, wistful expression of heartbreak; gazing up into Katsuki's face- his features crumpling  with emotion.

“I’m not here.” He cries, those beautiful, horrible tears suddenly breaking; running in rivulets down his face and dripping off his chin- his adorable, freckled cheeks blanching white-

-And immediately sick to his stomach and unable to stand it for even a moment longer, Katsuki’s hands flash out, grabbing him around his shoulders and hauling him bodily into his arms, trying to shake some sense back into him.

“Stop-!” He rasps. “Stop it-!”

But Deku doesn’t stop.

No, he just stares up at him blankly like he isn’t hearing- like he can’t hear; the color steadily draining from his face- his perfect, curly head shaking slowly- his limbs going limp in his hold.

His voice begins to slur; slowing down and dropping off like a music box plodding over its final notes- like a carousel breaking down.

“Kacchan.”  He breathes, raising his eyes and fixing him with a look of gut-turning despair. “I’m not-”

He can’t hear it.

“-No-!!”  Katsuki bellows, pulling him in until his curls are tucked below his chin. 

He closes his eyes, holding his baby as tight as he can, begging any god that will listen to make it stop- to fix this- anything- please–!

“No- no- no-!!”  He screams.

He opens his eyes.

The room is gone- the bed is gone- their home is gone; the warmth and light of the world around them sucked away- cruelly shifted into a scene from the past that he’d sooner die than relive; a horrible landscape of black and grey and white.

It’s raining- pouring; the air around them so cold that his teeth rattle- that his bones ache.

Izuku is still in his arms, firm and heavy and real, but one glance shows that he’s grey, too; the frigid rain that hails down making everything look pallid and washed out.

That is, except for the red: the red staining his uniform- his hands- his face; Deku’s blood spattered on the ground around them like a macabre piece of modern art; the vermillion slowly seeping down the fabric of his uniform and bleeding into the puddles of icy rain like watercolors.

Red. So much red.

It’s splashed across his chest.

It’s on his hands.

It’s on his face.

And feeling it rapidly cooling against his skin, Katsuki can do nothing but look- can do nothing but gaze down in horror at the body laying heavily in his arms; its limbs twisted- back broken- 

-And still.

So  still.

He knows what awaits him- knows what he’ll see- but against all logic, he looks down, anyway- only to find Deku staring up at him, blank and unmoving.

And for a moment, he can do nothing but gape at him, motionless and numb; taking in the beautiful, pallid face in his arms- staring into the eyes that captured his heart.

He knows that in life, Deku’s eyes were green, but now, staring unblinkingly- lifelessly up at the rain-grey sky, they are black.

Because here, they’re black- always black- forever black.

Because Deku is dead. 

Deku’s been dead.

The night in the bedroom never happened. They never got their time together- never made love- never kissed.

He never got to tell him how he felt- not once- not until that day in the rain.

Not until it was already too late.

And here he is again, holding him in his arms with nothing to be done. 

Too late.

Always too late.

He begins to shake from the depths of his very soul.

“Deku.” He whispers, craggy and lost, already knowing in his heart that he won’t answer. “Deku, no-”

He reaches down, stroking his perfect face; bloody gloves smearing red over his pale cheeks, unconsciously covering the freckles that he’d longed to touch- to kiss.

His stomach roils.

“Baby.”  He chokes pathetically, hands trembling. “Baby, no, you- you can’t- you can’t-!”  

The words croak out of his mouth as he begins to futilely shake him; the building tears in his eyes mercifully blurring the sight of his lifeless face. 

“Deku.” He calls, voice cracking. “Deku- !”

He shakes and shakes- shouts his name- but, as always, his body stays still; his eyes, once so curious and brilliant and bright, now shrouded- black as night as his head rolls back and forth lifelessly- as his limbs bob to and fro.

He tries and he tries; shakes him- begs him- but Deku doesn’t stir. 

His heart doesn’t beat.

His eyes stare blankly into the sky.

His blood creeps outward across the ground.

And as his body goes cold in his arms, just as it has countless times before, something inside Katsuki’s head noiselessly shatters.

His world crumbles around him, restraint thrown forcibly to the back of his mind- his arms suddenly shaking Deku so hard that his dark, rain-soaked curls begin to bounce and drip, the water mixing nauseatingly with the blood that just keeps coming.

“Izuku-!” He cries, loud- hysterical. “Izuku-! ”

He’s gone- he knows he’s gone- and yet, Katsuki can’t stop himself; can’t hold back the things he feels- the feelings that he’d never had the courage to confess.

So he does the only thing he can.

He bends his head low until his lips skim his pearly skin-

-And then he’s kissing him- kissing him the way he'd always longed to; squeezing him as if the strength of his arms could somehow fix what had been broken- as if his words alone could somehow revive him.

“Don't go. Don't go.” He whispers, letting his tears fall- watching in horror as they drip onto his pale, freckled cheeks, cutting trails through the patches of blood. "Come back to me, baby. Come back."

But, as always, Deku doesn't answer, only staring up at him with those horrible, sightless eyes- 

-and with every part of him breaking into pieces, he holds him close, closes his eyes, and finally says it: the thing he should've said a thousand times- the thing that had sat dormant in his heart for the majority of his life.

It comes out of him like a flood- like vomit; tearing him up on the inside as it rips out into the rain.

“I love you." He sobs pitifully, pressing their foreheads together. "I’ve always loved you. Since the day we met.” 

He pulls back, stroking over his white skin- his freckles- those perfect lips.

“I’ll never stop." He vows. "Never. I’ll love you till the day I die.”

He kisses him. Sobs. Screams into the sky. Whispers his love again and again until his voice is too broken to speak- until his eyes are sore from tears.

And then, just when he feels like he’ll go insane- when he feels like the world itself will split at the seams and disappear into space, he hears it.

He knows the sound well; imagines it in times of silence- hears it in his darkest nightmares- wakes up screaming at the memory of it.

It’s footsteps. 

Loud and heavy like thunder.

Even through the drumming rain, he can hear them; the footfalls behind him pattering through puddles of water and blood. 

It’s the steps of the people that he hates most in this world; the steps of the people that he knows are going to take Deku away. 

And as always, that’s what comes next.

They’re going to take him.

He’s never going to hold him again- never going to hear him- touch him- see him- 

-And overcome with fear, his heart crumbling into dust, he clutches Deku into his chest and kisses him once more, trying to savor each second- holding him as tightly as he can- squeezing until his muscles scream; hoping- praying that somehow, this time will be different- that somehow, they’ll have more time- that this time, he can finally say his goodbyes.

But no.

As always, he doesn’t get the chance- never gets the chance.

The bodies are closing in around him- his vision begins to darken- 

-And suddenly, to his horror, he can feel Deku’s dead weight suddenly going light.

His heart thunders.

His blood roars.

And just as he’s done every time before, he snatches him back as hard as he can, pressing him protectively against his body, digging with his fingernails until flesh gives beneath them; opening his mouth and bellowing into the void.

“You can’t take him-!”  He screams, tasting blood in his mouth.  “You can’t take him!”

But they don’t listen- nobody listens- and suddenly, Deku’s body is being lifted from his arms.

He makes a horrible, snarling sound- primal and wild- crying so hard that he can barely see, but even reliving the worst moment of his life, there’s one thing he always sees; something he’ll never forget.

White gloves cover the hands that take Deku away.

White gloves that slowly turn red.

White gloves that belong to Iida.

Because it was Iida who took Deku from him; Iida who snatched him out of his arms before he could say goodbye- Iida that ruined his final farewell- Iida that he’d never spoken to again- not once.

And watching that bastard take his Deku away, he pulls; pulls with all his strength- pulls until his arms feel like they’re breaking- like his muscles are tearing.

But as always, it’s never enough, and suddenly, Deku is gone- just gone; his limbs hanging dead in the air as Iida carries him away.

He thrashes, but it does no good.

He reaches, but his arms aren’t long enough.

He screams, but his voice is swallowed into the air.

He tries to get to his feet- he has to get to his feet- he has to say goodbye- he never got to say goodbye-

-When suddenly, there’s an arm around his chest, holding him back- an arm as strong as steel and hard as rock; a long, black sleeve covering the forearm- the unmistakable sound of soul-wrenching tears ringing in his ears as someone pulls him back.

He knows the arm. 

He knows the voice.

Eijirou. 

He sucks in a breath.

“Ei-”  He manages to wheeze, scrambling against him- almost clawing at his body. “Ei, let me go- let me go-!”

He rips at his friend’s arm like an animal, watching in horror as Iida walks away- as his Deku’s body gets smaller and smaller.

“No, Ei, please- please-!! ” He begs pitifully.

But Ei doesn’t let go.

No, he turns himself unbreakable; his body fortifying in its need to shackle him down and hold him back.

“I’m sorry.” Ei sobs in his ear, his spiky head resting against the back of his hair, his falling tears wetting the nape of his neck- his voice raw and broken as he rasps:

“I’m sorry, buddy- I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I’m sorry-”

He knows he is. 

He apologized a thousand times after it had happened; had broken down, kneeled at his feet, and begged his forgiveness; forgiveness he readily gave.

But it doesn’t help here. It doesn’t help now.

Because, for the hundredth time, he has to watch, chained like a criminal, as they take his Deku away; has to watch the love of his life go stiff and cold- draped like a broken doll in someone else’s arms.

And there’s nothing he can do.

It’s too late to save him, too late to say goodbye, too late to confess his love.

Too late.

Too late.

Too late.

Tears fill his eyes.

Blood fills his mouth.

He feels like his soul is cracking down the middle- like his heart is dying-

-And forever manacled in this moment in time, he fights against Ei’s hold; thrashing against his sharp limbs until his skin is sliced open- until his body breaks- until his mind snaps- until there’s nothing left to do but throw back his head and scream:

“No- no- no- NO- !”

“Katsuki-!”  A voice calls. “Katsuki, wake up-!”

Something cold touches him; something so cold that it shocks him awake with a sharp gasp; his entire body wrenching upright and immediately poised for a fight.

His skin is drenched with sweat, his chest heaving, hands already sparking, limbs trembling, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s not too late! He has to find him! 

Nearly on fire with sudden desperation, he tries to look around, his head whipping back and forth as he tries to get his bearings.

His eyes search for a flash of green- for peachy skin and freckles and curls- but he can’t see- it’s too dark-!

His stomach drops into an icy pit.

Find him! He has to find him!

“Deku- Deku-!”  He shouts, scrambling to his knees, peering in the darkness, his hands pawing blindly.

Two hands are suddenly wrapping around his face; one hot, one cold.

“Katsuki-!!”  A low voice calls.

It’s frazzled- frightened enough that for a moment, he goes still.

He knows that voice; knows the hands.

That’s not Deku.

That’s-

“-Sho?”  He asks, blinking, still trying to adjust to the low light-

-And when he finally does, he finds two mismatched eyes staring back at him with concern; sympathetic and kind and soft-

-And like a candle snuffing out, some of the fear eases; the whirling nausea abating.

Because Shouto is there.

His limbs fall loose. He sinks into his hold.

“Sho.” He breathes.

And then, unconsciously, his eyes go blurry- filling with tears as he croaks: 

“Sho. ”

It barely has a moment to warble out of him, and suddenly, he’s surrounded; his body encompassed by two large, muscular arms- his head tucked tightly under Shouto’s chin- a warm, warm hand taking him by the nape of his neck and sliding into his scalp.

“Shh.”  Shouto hushes him gently, pressing kisses to the top of his head. “It’s okay, Katsuki. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re at home. You’re okay.”

He closes his eyes and sags into Shouto’s embrace.

Yes- that’s good- god, it’s good- almost heaven to feel a bit of comfort after what he’d been through-

-When suddenly, the words register; the meaning striking him right in the chest.

…Wait, home??

Then where-!?!

It’s almost painful, but he abruptly yanks himself out of Shouto’s arms, pulling away as hard as he can; shooting him a single, split-second look of panic before turning away and asking:

“-Where is he?!”  He gasps, looking around wildly, searching in the dark. “Sho, where is he-? ? Where’s…?”

He looks over at him again, hoping- praying for some kind of clue or hint-

-Only to find Shouto staring at him in white-faced horror.

His jaw clenches.

“Katsuki.”  He begins softly.

And looking up at him and seeing the way his face twists, something clicks- something in him stirs; some part of his brain just  knowing  what he’s going to say- 

-and not accepting it, he rips himself away from Shouto’s outstretched arms, his eyes darting left and right.

“No, where is he, Sho-?? ” He growls, not bothering to temper the desperation out of it. “He was here- he was-”

He reaches out, his hands blindly flurrying across the bed as if searching for a trace of his warmth- his scent- anything- anything .

But his hands find nothing; nothing but rapidly-cooling cotton sheets.

Swallowing down fear, he looks up into Shouto’s ashen face.

“He was here.” He insists firmly.

Shouto doesn’t respond, only looking at him for a moment before drawing forward hesitantly, his hands slowly molding themselves around Katsuki’s cheeks; something pained and devastated twisting his handsome face.

“You were dreaming.” He states, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “It was a dream.”

Katsuki goes cold all over.

Bile shoots up his throat.

“No.”  He breathes.

Shouto grimaces, his voice cracking.

“Izuku’s gone, Katsuki.’

He gapes at him.

It’s not true.

It can’t be true.

He was just here!

Suddenly sick to his stomach, he draws away from Shouto’s careful hands, his head shaking, eyes staring blankly down at the bed.

“No- no.” He insists, hating the weakness in his voice- the way his eyes blur.

Shouto’s voice is calm and cool.

“Yes, love.”  He whispers.

He says it so softly- so gently- with such compassion- and suddenly, there’s vomit in the back of his mouth; acid and hot and sour. 

He swallows it down, fighting the sting in his eyes.

“No, but it- it was so real. ” He croaks hoarsely, looking around helplessly.

He can still remember it- can still feel it: the warm light- the soft sheets- the heat of his skin- the smell of his curls.

He looks up, the two colors of Shouto’s hair blurring together through his swimming vision.

“It was so fuckin’ real, Sho.”  He insists, fighting emotion.

Shouto’s jaw tightens; his eyes misting over.

“Katsuki.”  He whispers mournfully.

And it’s seeing it- Shouto’s tears- the pity and sorrow on his beautiful face- that finally breaks him.

He pulls away again, his limbs getting tangled in the bedclothes as he struggles to his feet; the wood floor almost accusingly cold beneath his toes as he looks around; looks for something to anchor himself to, all while hissing:

“No, it was real this time!” He maintains, searching high and low for some sort of clue- something he can use to vindicate himself. 

“I swear it!” He calls over his shoulder, searching- searching.

There has to be something. There has to be!

“Katsuki.” Shouto calls- clearly trying to get his attention.

But no, he can’t hear it- can’t accept it. Can’t. Can’t-!

He whirls over his shoulder, eyes stinging, mouth pooling, heart breaking.

“No, I could hear him-!” He shouts. “Fuck, Sho, I could feel him-!” 

He looks down at his hands, abruptly remembering the phantom sensation of that peachy skin; the craggy palms- the soft fingertips- the nails and the scars-

-And he sees it.

He’s shaking.

He pinches his eyes closed, too wound up to stop now, and yet, too afraid to look, because even as hard as he tries to hold on, it fades more with every second; the memory slipping through his fingers like dry sand.

He brings his eyes up, looking into Shouto’s face.

“I could feel it.” He insists, dragging his fingertips across his palm, trying to recreate the sensation. “I could feel his hand- his hair- his-”

He trails off, remembering the warmth of his lips- the heaven of his kiss.

His eyes flood.

His voice breaks.

“-his-”  He whispers, throat closing tight.

Shouto’s voice cuts through the air.

“Katsuki.”  He calls.

He doesn’t want to look- can’t bear to look. 

But even so, Shouto’s voice is a siren’s song; a call he can never refuse-

- And though it tears at his guts and rips at the pitiful, remaining shreds of his heart, he looks.

Pity swims in Shouto’s eyes; the sort of soft, loving compassion that he’s done nothing to earn- that he doesn’t deserve-

- And it’s then, looking into Shouto’s beautiful face, that the last bits of sleep leave him- that the final dregs of the memory slip away; the ghosting recollection of Deku’s voice and touch and kiss fading away into the back of his mind like tendrils of smoke blowing away in the wind.

He blinks.

He takes a breath.

And then, they’re gone- he’s gone- his beloved Deku slipping back into his subconscious like a cruel joke- the beautiful, manufactured memory of them paling and then disappearing completely; nothing more than a figment of a starved imagination-

-And for what feels like the hundredth time, Katsuki is forced, against his will, to let go.

His tears crest and fall down his cheeks.

His heart splinters and cracks.

His soul wails with the loss; mourning the life that'll never be.

And heartbroken and cold and left without anything else to do, he tilts his face towards the sky and whispers it.

“Fuck.”

And then, anger. Rage.

A blast of impotent fury so hot and so sharp that it tears his throat and blinds his sight.

“Fuck-!! ” He screams, body doubling over; feet backing away until his back hits the brick wall behind him.

It’s cold and unyielding- as harsh as the unavoidable reality hitting him- and knowing that there’s no point in fighting against the things that cannot change, he lets his body go limp, the anger guttering out as he slides down the wall to the floor, wincing in pain as the uneven stone tears at his bare back.

“Fuck.”  He sobs, collapsing onto the ground, burying his face into his hands, letting his tears slip through the gaps in his fingers. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

He can feel himself stumbling back into it- into that never-ending vortex of despair that he knows so well; the dark, dark place that he’d spent years trying to claw his way out of-

-When suddenly, the bedclothes shift, the floorboards creak, and there are arms around him once more; a hand in his hair- the hum of a low, comforting voice in his ear.

Because, as always, Shouto is there: there to hold him and soothe him and protect him- caging him in the warmth of his body- wrapping himself around him like a shield and pulling him into his lap as if he could fix it all with just the strength of his limbs.

He’s a grown man- a top hero- the kind that strikes fear into the hearts of villains- and yet, he lets it happen- lets his body be moved; lets Shouto pull him into his arms and rock him like a child.

And held close like this, Katsuki has to fight against the urge to weep; to forgo his strength and just break down into those hot and cold hands and sob-

-But he can’t. Tears will do him no good. Tears won’t change the past.

Suddenly full of shame, he wipes roughly at his eyes with the backs of his hands, his breath shuddering as he lets his head go limp against Shouto’s jaw.

“I’m sorry, Sho.” He whispers regretfully. “I’m so fucking-”

But Shouto won’t hear it.

No, he just squeezes tighter, holding him gently as if he’s something beautiful and rare and not the pathetic piece of shit that he is. 

“-Ssh.”  Shouto hushes him, stroking a hand over his damp cheek. “It’s alright.”

Katsuki swallows, choking over the lump in his throat.

Alright?

How can it possibly be alright?

He opens his mouth to ask it-

-Only to find himself answering his own question before he can.

Shouto doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean- never speaks needlessly- never.

If he says it’s alright, then it’s alright.

And yet, cracked open as he is, he finds himself asking a question before his pride can crawl out and stop him.

“Are you mad?” He asks quietly.

Shouto tenses around him.

“Mad?”  He asks, clearly unprepared for it.

And god, he can’t take it- can’t stand not knowing- so he rubs a hand over his face and says:

“Fuck, Sho, aren’t you angry ?”

Shouto makes a soft, wounded sound, trailing warm fingers through blonde hair.

“Why would I be angry?” He asks genuinely- almost like he’s hurt at the very thought-

-And even though he knows that he has no real right to be, Katsuki suddenly boils inside; fury hissing out of him like steam as he whips his head up to Shouto’s face.

“I was dreaming of another man-!” He exclaims, his voice cracking.

He hates himself for it- wants to punish himself for it- wants Shouto to be angry at him. 

He would deserve it- would deserve Shouto’s disdain; would deserve it a hundred times over.

But to his utter dismay and secret relief, Shouto is not angry.

No, he just looks…sad; gazing down at Katsuki’s face with a soft, melancholy expression.

“You were dreaming of Izuku.” He corrects tenderly, far too understanding- far too kind. 

And then, with a deep sigh:

“I can hardly fault you for it.”

Katsuki goes still in his arms.

As much as he wanted to be punished, he can admit that there’s merit to it- more than he wants there to be.

After all, Deku was his best friend. 

He loved him.

And Shouto knows this. It was one of the first conditions of their relationship.

But even so, it sends an icy chill through his limbs- a twist through his guts- because Shouto shouldn’t have to be okay with this. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right.

Still stinging with guilt, he leans his forehead down until it touches Shouto’s jaw, closing his eyes and whispering:

“This is so fucked up.”

Shouto makes a soft sound. His arms clutch tighter.

“-Yeah.”  He agrees, resting his head against Katsuki’s.

Katsuki’s mouth twists; his teeth bared in self-disgust.

“...You should hate me.” He hisses.

Shouto’s hand weaves into his hair.

“I can’t.” He responds simply.

Katsuki’s stomach turns.

“You should leave me.” 

Shouto bends down, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

“I won’t.”

And it’s that; Shouto’s beautiful, gentle nature- his unending, undeserved forgiveness- that breaks what little’s left of him; a jut of bile shooting up into his throat as he turns his head up and cries:

“Sho-”

“-We’ve done this before, Katsuki. Many times.” Shouto interrupts, not letting him punish himself. His hand curls around Katsuki’s cheek; his eyes warm and soothing and soft. 

“And we’re still here. I’m still here.”

Katsuki’s throat tightens with emotion; new tears threatening to prick into the corners of his eyes. He shakes his head, trying to squash them down as he says:

“I know. I know, but-”

Shouto’s hand suddenly grips, holding his face steady, before physically turning his jaw until their eyes meet.

“-But-?”  He asks, brows pitched high.

And held there in twin seas of grey and blue, he finds that he can’t brush it off- can’t diminish it- can’t hold it back.

Because Shouto sees him. Shouto knows him. Shouto will sniff out the truth no matter how desperately he tries to hide it.

So he doesn’t hide it- doesn’t hide anything.

He lets the tears build- lets his chest swell with emotion- lets his mouth finally say the clandestine thoughts he’d always held inside.

“-But how long-?” He wheezes pitifully. “How long-!? ”

“It’s been ten years, Sho. Ten fucking years.” 

“How long am I supposed to do this?” He asks, clutching into him. “How many times will I have to wake up screaming?” 

He doesn’t want to- doesn’t mean to- but his voice breaks; shameful tears cresting and dripping down his cheeks.

“When is it going to be enough?! ” He shouts. “When is it going to end-?!?”

He buries his face in his hands, torn between wanting to scream and wanting to sob; a thread from breaking entirely-

-When suddenly, hands are touching him, warm and cold around his cheeks- his face being physically turned upward-

-And when he opens his eyes again, Shouto is looking down at him with a tender expression that threatens to shatter him all over again; a look that breaks him down at a molecular level- that makes him feel utterly lost and completely loved all at once.

“That’s the hardest part about grief, Katsuki.” He whispers, his voice soothing and soft. “It doesn’t. It doesn’t end.”

The corners of his mouth tilt into a weak, sympathetic smile, his thumbs brushing his tears away; stroking slow, smooth circles on the high points of his cheekbones.

“It only fades.” He breathes sagely. “Like a wound turning into a scar. The skin pulls together, the bleeding stops, and then it fades, bit by bit, until the pain is just a dull ache in the back of your head.” 

His eyes crinkle fondly; misty and loving.

“And sometimes, you might even think it’s gone-,” He whispers, “-that you’re finally free- that everything will finally be normal again- when suddenly, it returns like a stab. And then, you just have to wait for it to fade again.”

A weak, wet laugh. 

“Trust me, love. I know.” He assures, clutching him close. “Some scars never completely heal.”

And despite himself- despite everything- Katsuki finds himself laughing, too- anemic and self-deprecating and raw; Shouto’s gentle words like a balm on his bruised soul.

“But in the meantime-,” Shouto continues, meeting his eyes. “I’m here; here to hold you up- here to share that grief with you- to take care of you until the day that it finally doesn’t hurt quite so much.”

He leans down, pressing a tender kiss between his eyebrows.

“I’m here. ” He repeats.

Katsuki’s heart is suddenly a stone in the vast chasm of his chest; a weight that sinks lower and lower until his entire body feels weighed down.

Nauseous with it, he stares at Shouto with wide eyes and shallow breaths and takes him in: rakes his gaze over his gorgeous face- his lovely eyes- his soft mouth- his gentle expression-

-And he suddenly feels like the biggest piece of shit that’s ever lived.

How could he be so selfish?

How could he think of anyone else- how could  anything  in the world be more important than him- his lover; his strong, beautiful, perfect Shouto-?

How could anyone turn his head?

How could a ghost consume him so?

God, he’s garbage- trash- the lowest of the low for letting himself think such things- feel such things-

-And suddenly determined to show him how much he means- how grateful he is- how much he unequivocally loves him- he launches himself into him, squeezing him around the waist- burying his face into the column of his throat; fighting tooth and nail against another wave of pitiful tears as he nestles close and croaks:

“I don’t deserve you.” 

Shouto goes stiff in his hold.

“Katsuki.”  He whispers, placating and far too kind-

“-No. ” Katsuki interrupts, not letting him speak. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”

A moment passes, silent and thick, before Shouto softens again; his arms winding tight and pulling close- his mouth peppering rapturous, adoring kisses in his hair- his head- his eyebrows as he whispers:

“Don’t be silly, Katsuki.”

It’s more than he deserves- far, far more- and determined to let him know it, Katsuki pulls away from his lips, looking up at him with a sharp look and drawn brows, stating:

“You’re too good for me.”

Shouto’s entire face goes gooey then; the love shining like gems in his eyes as he smiles knowingly and responds with:

“That’s what Ochako says.” He hums, a touch of mischief concealed within it.

And despite the pain- the years’ worth of repressed feelings and broken hearts- he finds himself smiling back at him, because, god, he loves that, too; loves the fact that someone so beautiful and strong and kind is also secretly kind of a pain in his ass; sarcastic and snide when he chooses to be.

Because Shouto is never afraid to put him in his place- never afraid of a challenge; is his equal in almost every way.

And paying honor to it, he meets his eye and matches his tone; nuzzling into the sharp line of his jaw and snitting:

“Heh.  That’s what Ei says, too.”

Shouto blows an amused breath through his nose, his mouth twisting into one of those rare, secretive smiles-

-And suddenly so taken with him that he can’t stand it, Katsuki reaches up, taking that beautiful face in his hands, gripping around his jaw, and forcing him to look straight into his eyes.

“I love you, Sho.”

It’s a statement- presented as irrefutable fact- and though they both undoubtedly know it, it’s not something they often say- not aloud.

Pink flushes into Shouto’s pale cheeks.

“Katsuki.”  He whispers breathlessly.

“I love you.” He doubles down, fingers clutching. “I don’t say it enough- don’t show it enough. But I do.” 

He swallows hard, fighting against the itch of vulnerability as he looks into those two-toned eyes and whispers something new.

“You’re my everything.”  He confesses. “My all. And I love you.”

For a moment, Shouto blinks at him- moisture pooling into the corners of his eyes- 

-and like the melting of spring ice, his handsome features shift from stunned surprise to pure rapture.

His hands flash out, pulling him close.

“I love you, too.”  He returns, tilting his jaw upward; one of his hands holding Katsuki at the nape and pulling him into a gentle, chaste kiss. 

“More than words.” He whispers against his mouth. “More than the world.”

It’s too much. It’s too fucking much.

Katsuki chokes back a sob.

Shouto kisses him quiet.

And slowly, but surely, the room comes back into focus; the dark retreating to the outskirts- the stabbing pain receding to ambient soreness in the corners of his heart-

-Because here, in Shouto’s arms, he is safe. Warm. Loved.

The world makes sense here. Everything is right here.

But it can’t last forever. As with all things, it must eventually end.

Shouto leans down to his ear, his lips ghosting against the shell.

“Now, let's try to get back to sleep.” He urges. “We have patrol in the morning.”

Katsuki frowns.

He doesn’t want to- would give almost anything to remain here in this moment- but even through the fog of peace, he knows that Shouto is right. People are relying on him.

So, forcing himself to fight against the childish whims of his heart, he uncurls himself, rising on unsteady, shaking legs and slowly making his way back to bed.

Shouto follows behind him, a tall, two-toned shadow: one of his large hands ghosting over his back as if ready to catch him at any moment-

-And soothed by the promise of protection and suddenly feeling tired enough to collapse, he approaches the side of the bed, letting his body fall into it with a thwump; ignoring the soft chuckle from Shouto’s mouth as he wriggles into the sheets.

He settles- stretches- gets himself comfortable.

It only takes a moment- a rustle of cotton- and suddenly Shouto is beside him- behind him- spooning him tenderly; his long arms wrapping tight around his torso as if he could somehow tie them together- bind them permanently.

It’s the perfect position. He feels warm- safe- like nothing in the world could harm him.

And it should soothe him right to sleep. It should.

And yet, it doesn’t.

Because, lying there in the dark, curled into his arms, Katsuki’s overactive brain suddenly has a new thought- a question; one that, to his shame, he’d never asked before.

Part of him wonders whether it would be wiser to keep it to himself, especially after the draining events of the last half hour. 

But a much larger, much louder part tells him to speak his mind.

And as ever, that part wins.

“Sho?” He asks quietly.

Shouto leans close, nuzzling into the space behind his ear.

“Mm?”  He purrs, sleepy and soft.

“...Do you miss him?”

Shouto goes still; a soft breath rattling out of his parted lips.

There’s an audible swallow behind him.

And then, when he least expects it, Shouto answers him.

“...Every day.”  He murmurs quietly.

It’s a perfectly normal answer- absolutely reasonable- and yet, something prickles in his gut; an unnamed instinct prompting him onward despite the clear and present danger- 

-and before he can convince himself not to, he’s asking another question.

“Do you ever dream of him? Of Deku-?”

Again, Shouto goes stiff- horribly still; almost like prey that’s been cornered- like a rat in a trap.

He doesn’t respond- doesn’t speak- doesn’t do anything. He might even have stopped breathing.

And Katsuki, left to fend for himself in this silent purgatory, feels his guts twist- his blood race; something like panic fluttering up his spine, building and building until it becomes too heavy- until adrenaline forces him to move.

He turns over his shoulder roughly until he’s facing him, reaching for Shouto’s hands- searching for Shouto’s eyes- trying, even in the darkness, to read his lover’s face.

“Sho?”  He asks, anxiety clutching it tight.

There’s a soft sound. A gulp.

And then, Shouto is looking at him- his eyes visibly damp even in the low light; that beautiful mouth wobbling as he takes his hands and answers him.

“...Yes.” He croaks. “I dream of him.”

He pinches his eyes closed and sucks in a shuddering breath.

“I think I dream of Izuku every night. ” He whispers.

Everything pauses.

The world halts.

And Katsuki, frozen stiff, is forced to contend with an answer he wasn’t prepared for.

He hears it. Digests it. 

And for the first time, he thinks about it.

Really thinks about it.

It makes sense.

After all, Deku had been Shouto’s first real friend; the first person to pull him out of the dark- to stand by his side- to give him hope. 

Deku had helped him realize that his quirk was his alone- that he was not shaped by his trauma- that there was good in the world to fight for.

Deku had taken an angry, broken boy and given him something to fight for; a purpose- a future.

Their relationship had started out so rocky, but in the short time they’d had together, they’d grown so close- had become the best of friends; soft and intimate with one another in a way that Katsuki had never been- could never be. 

He vaguely remembers, with a twist of envy, the number of times they’d fallen asleep together on the sofa in the common room, curled together and snuggled up under blankets; how lovely it was- how jealous he’d been-

-But it wasn’t to last.

No, those soft, precious moments were simply that- moments in time- flickers of light- because the days that followed were blurry- bleak- black- 

-and the next memory he has of Shouto is the sight of him falling to his knees in front of Deku’s grave. 

It’s an image he’ll never forget; a moment that he knows will be permanently scarred into his head for the rest of his life.

The heartbreaking, screaming wail that had come out of his mouth. 

The tears that had flowed and frozen onto his cheeks. 

The fire that scorched the earth around the beautiful, white stone.

The fact that it had taken Ei, Hanta, and Hitoshi all working in tandem to calm him; to finally drag him away as he’d clung to the ground and sobbed like his heart would break.

And shitty as it is, it wasn’t until that moment- that precise second- that Katsuki realized that there was someone who was hurting as much as him.

He’d been lost in his own grief since the moment he’d been forced to let go; stuck in his head- a mere ghost- a shade of his former self-

-And yet, something in that wail brought him back to life. Something in that scream of heartbreak had spoken to him in a language he understood- had broken through the cracks- had, in its own, horrible way, let him know that he wasn’t alone.

And suddenly, there was Deku in his head, a phantom touch holding him at the back of his neck, his soft, gentle voice pleading him to reach out his hand for Shouto the way he’d reached out for him so many years ago.

‘Help him, Kacchan.’  He’d whispered.

His body had moved on its own.

With tears building in his eyes, he’d set Auntie’s hand into his mom’s and ran to Shouto’s side; pushing aside the people around him, dropping to his knees, and pulling him in tight; surrendering all his barriers and his ego and his stupid, stupid walls and letting Shouto fling his arms around his neck and sob into his shirt.

He hadn’t known it then, but that embrace was a new beginning- the first day of them; the day that Katsuki had offered his hand- the day he pulled Shouto out of the darkness and gave him something to hold onto.

Things shifted.

Katsuki stopped saying that they weren’t friends.

And within a few weeks, they began to get closer; taking meals together- watching movies together- sleeping in each other’s beds when the nightmares got too bad- even occasionally beating the shit out of each other in a twisted bid at trying to assuage the grief.

It didn’t cure anything, of course, but knowing that there was someone who felt the same? Knowing that, at the very least, there was one person who understood?

It helped in a way. 

And more than that, Deku would’ve wanted it; would’ve been happy to see his two closest friends taking care of each other.

It happened so fast, but before long, they were nearly inseparable; one always following the other- glued to each others’ sides; their once-acid words going soft- their hard touches going gentle- the growing tension between them winching tighter and tighter by the day-

-And only a few months later, on the night before graduation, drunk on cheap vodka and hidden away on the roof, they’d finally kissed. 

It was beautiful. 

It was horrible.

Lips and tongues and raw, unfiltered sound; the heat of their passion so clearly undercut with shared pain; their clinging hands almost begging the other to stay- almost praying for someone that wouldn’t disappear.

That had been their first night as a couple; the first night where he’d looked into Shouto’s hazy, beautiful eyes and thought that maybe he could heal; that maybe, just maybe, he could possibly open his heart to someone else.

And he did.

He did open his heart. Wide.

But no matter how hard he tried- how deeply he loved- the pain inside him never really got better.

He found comfort in Shouto; friendship and companionship and genuine connection- all the things he’d hoped for- longed for-

-And yet, he never healed.

Not completely. Not fully.

No matter what they did or said or experienced together, it was still there- always hovering in the back of his head when they kissed- when he held Shouto in his arms: a horrible, itching feeling of guilt like he was somehow betraying Deku’s memory. 

But even so, he forced himself to push through- to swallow it down- to focus himself on what’s important- on Shouto.

And for some time, it worked.

But of course, with enough pressure, anything can break.

And it broke the first time they’d fucked. 

He’d wanted so desperately to be present that night- to show Shouto with his body how much he loved him, and yet, despite all efforts, the guilt was still there, screaming at him in the back of his head- 

-and coward that he is, he hadn’t stopped.

 He should’ve stopped- he should’ve held off until his head was on straight- but he didn’t.

No, he’d soldiered on- pathetically hiding his face in Shouto’s neck to not have to look at him; closing his eyes and burying himself in animal pleasure in an attempt to forget.

Because he couldn’t look- not when he knew what he’d see. 

Because if he looked, then he’d have to acknowledge that the beautiful, two-toned eyes staring up at him weren’t green- that the limbs holding him were far too long- that the voice moaning beneath him was miles too deep.

No, he couldn’t look, because if he looked, then he would have to confront the very real fact that it would never be Deku below him; that Deku would never be his first- that they’d never get to have this- share this- be this.

And he’d hated himself for it; hated himself for thinking of Deku during what should have been a beautiful, intimate moment- hated that anything in the world could sway him away from Shouto.

Because he loves Shouto- loves him more than he ever thought he could-

-And yet, he’d still hidden his face; had bitten his lips shut in a pitiful attempt to not shout Deku’s name into the air at the apex of pleasure.

Even now, he feels sick just thinking about it.

It had been one of his deepest regrets; a moment of shame that still haunts him to this day.

His eyes open in the dark.

But.

But now that he thinks of it- now that he is actually sitting with the memory- he suddenly remembers something that his own self-hatred had suppressed from his mind; something that his guilt hadn’t let him acknowledge.

That night that he’d buried his face and bitten his lips, Shouto- his beautiful, brilliant, beloved Shouto…had done the same.

He hadn’t called his name, hadn’t looked into his eyes; hadn’t even kissed him.

No, he just gripped him tight in his hands and sank down beside him, making soft noises of pleasure before coming between them with a weak, breathless sound that could’ve almost been a sob; a noise that Katsuki, lost in his head and crying out in his own mixture of catharsis and pleasure and bone-deep pain, hadn’t put much thought to.

But now, he’s thinking.

Things between them got better, of course. Time has a way of doing that.

That voice in the back of his head had grown quieter after that; the shrill screams of ‘traitor!’ getting softer and softer with every passing year.

And he and Shouto had only gotten stronger, too; had only loved each other more fiercely with each new day.

There’s trust in every kiss now; hard-won joy in every touch.

They look at each other now; gaze deeply into each other’s eyes when making love. 

No pretending. No dissociating. No pain.

But still, every once in a while, when Shouto takes him from behind- when they aren’t looking at each other- he will sometimes close his eyes and wish; spread his legs and imagine that soft, tenor voice in his ear- the rough, scarred hands on his body.

And he would feel guilty for it- would loathe himself for it-

-that is, if Shouto didn’t do the exact same thing.

He hadn’t noticed it at first- or perhaps, he hadn’t let himself notice- but sometimes, when he has him face-down, Shouto will muffle himself on purpose; pressing his mouth into the pillows so his words can’t be heard as he comes. 

Sometimes, when he’s on top, Shouto’s eyes will go distant like he’s somewhere else- like he’s searching for something that isn’t there-

-for someone who isn’t there.

And of course, he noticed. How could he not notice, when he’d shamefully done it himself?

It was a paradox between them; a feeling they obviously shared- a mutual emotion- the root of why they’d gotten together in the first place-

-And yet, it was strangely taboo; a thing that always hovered in the air between them, clearly seen but never to be addressed- a Pandora’s box that neither of them had ever been brave enough to open.

But now, with the memory of Deku’s kiss still warm on his lips and Shouto’s arms pressed around him, he can’t help but wonder if this is it; if this is the moment that he finally breaches the no man’s land between them and asks Shouto the question he’d always been too afraid to ask.

He should ask. He knows it. After all this time, it would be a disservice not to.

But at the same time, he’s afraid. 

Afraid of what he might learn. Afraid of what it might change. Afraid that the truth will rip them apart just as much as their silence had pulled them together.

Because, as much as he cares about Shouto- adores Shouto- loves Shouto- he knows deep in his heart that it wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

He knows it. They both know it.

He wasn’t supposed to do this with Shouto. He was supposed to do this with-

-with-

He glances up at Shouto’s face, pale in the dark, and replays his words in his head.

Shouto misses Deku every day.

He dreams of him every night.

Just like him.

His mouth is trembling. 

His hands are cold.

He already knows what it means.

And yet, he has to ask it; has to hear it out loud. He must.

And it’s then, after nearly ten years together and almost four years of marriage, that Katsuki skirts his toes into that dangerous space; the tips of his fingers finally pawing at the ribbon that holds the lid on the untouchable box.

“Sho.” He calls softly, his stomach already tying itself into knots.

He swallows hard, trying to gather the strength to ask the question he’d never been brave enough to ask.

But then, he’s asking it; the words spilling out into the night air.

“Did you love him?”

Everything pulls tight- a string set to snap- the very air going tense in his lungs-

-And suddenly, Shouto is scrambling away; his face ashen- his tone thin.

“Katsuki.”  He gasps, horrified, eyes going wide.

But he’s not going to back down- not now- not when he’s so close to finally knowing the truth.

His hands fly out like whips, fastening around his forearms, not letting him get away.

“Don’t run.” He begs, fingers dragging over skin until his hands are squeezing around his wrists. “Please.  Please don’t run from me. ”

He prepares himself for Shouto to pull out of his touch- to make some sort of excuse and bail- 

-but to his relief, Shouto does as he’s bid; relaxing into his hold.

He tries to make his voice soft.

“I know what I’m asking.” He assures, stroking with his thumbs. “And I need you to know that whatever you tell me…it’s okay. I mean it.”  

He says it boldly- firmly- but despite the confidence of his words, anxiety simmers within him. 

He gnaws on the inside of his cheek. Fidgets. And then:

“I- I just- I have to know, baby.” He whispers. “I have to know.”

He looks up at him, only to find Shouto staring at him in utter horror; crystals of ice forming on his neck- his arms- his hands. 

It only takes a glance to see it.

He’s terrified.

But even so, he can’t back down. Not now.

And so, he swallows. Looks his husband in the eye. Prays.

“...Did you love him?”  He asks again.

Shouto freezes. Metaphorically. Literally.

His pulse begins to race under Katsuki’s grip.

His hands tremble.

And even shrouded in the dark, Katsuki can see it: is forced to watch in real time as tears build, glimmer, and then silently spill down Shouto’s cheeks.

Shouto clenches his jaw. Makes a tiny, broken sound.

And then, he answers him.

“-Yes.”  He gasps, the single word ringing, painful and cathartic, through the air. 

“Yes, I-” 

He draws in a wet, shuddering breath. 

“-I loved him.”

Everything goes quiet.

Everything goes still.

And then, Shouto slumps forward and makes a horrible sound; a keen that seems to rip from the depths of his soul- a cry befitting of a broken heart.

“I loved him so much. ”

“I still- still…love him.” He manages between deep, wracking sobs. “I don’t think I ever…stopped. I don’t think I ever…will. ”

It’s equal parts gorgeous and devastating- a disastrous blow to his heart-

-And now, with the floodgates finally blown open, Katsuki can do nothing but watch as his husband breaks before his very eyes; drawing backward like a wounded animal- burying his face into his hands- his broad, beautiful shoulders shaking with every gut-wrenching sob.

It’s awful- so beautiful and so sad that he can’t help the tears that prick into his own eyes; can’t help the horrible feeling of guilt that curls through him like poison.

Shouto loved Deku. Loves him.

And for ten years, he’d held it inside.

All this time, Katsuki thought that no one could understand, and there was Shouto; Shouto who had quietly been suffering just as much as him; plagued just as hard- broken just as deep.

His heart breaks for him. His soul wails for him.

And it isn’t enough; doesn’t even come close to making up for all the things he’d never said- the things he’d never done- the gaps he’d never be able to fill-

-But he tries, anyway; reaching out and pulling Shouto into his arms the way Shouto had always done for him; caging him in and squeezing him tight.

Softness doesn’t come easy to him. It never has.

But in this moment, he tries; bowing his head and hushing Shouto’s cries- kissing away his fallen tears- stroking through his silky hair as gently as he can manage.

And Shouto, overwhelmed with emotion, goes limp beneath this tender, novel touch; looking up at his husband with wide, wet eyes.

“Katsuki.”  He breathes. “Katsuki, I-”

He doesn’t let him finish.

No, he bends down and captures his mouth; kissing away his fear before pulling away and whispering:

“-It’s okay, baby.”

Shouto gapes up at him, not understanding.

“But-”

“...Ssh.”  Katsuki croons, rocking him back and forth. “It’s okay.”

Shouto clings to him.

“It’s okay.”

Shouto’s eyes spill.

“It’s okay.”

Shouto buries his face into Katsuki’s bare chest and  sobs.

It’s heartbreaking. And horrible. And yet, after everything, it’s also sort of…freeing. Because, after all this time, they’re finally on the same page.

It took ten years of silence and unspoken feelings, but in the end, this is where they’ve landed: still broken- still bruised- but together.

Not alone.

It’s twisted, he knows, but it’s actually a comforting thought to know that he isn’t the only one still mourning- isn’t the only one haunted- 

-Isn’t the only one forever chasing a ghost.

So, trying his best to adjust to the new world laid before him, Katsuki clutches his husband tight; petting into his hair and whispering his love into his ears.

And for once, Shouto lets down his guard and allows it; his long limbs pooling like unwoven thread into the safety of his arms.

They cry. They kiss. They hold each other into the late hours of the night.

And then, when there are no more tears left inside them, they peel each other out of their clothes and make love slowly- gently; staring into each other’s eyes and whispering each other’s names as they fall and crash.

And once they finally finish, the sun slowly peeking above the horizon, Katsuki lays his head on his husband’s chest and listens to the strong, steady beat of his heart; one hand reaching out to touch the cool ring on his fourth finger to make sure it’s still there.

Because that’s what’s really important.

Even if neither of them were each other’s first choice.