Work Text:
the hypocrisy of being human;
the constant tug between solitude and company;
the desire to love so desperately
and simultaneously be detached from it all,
of wanting everything…
and wanting nothing
- unknown
♥️💔♥️
Nearly three months.
Nearly three fucking months and Katsuki had managed to hold it down during work—despite how quickly his symptoms were escelating—despite managing to fit more than six months of damage into mere weeks —despite, despite, despite .
Well, until then.
Nearly three months until then, until it was crawling up his esophagus and into his throat, forcing its way out and up— up, up, up —sweat beading across his forehead and dripping down the nape of his neck despite the winter temperatures. The idea of getting sick in the middle of the street ( and while in uniform) made embarrassment prick at his skin, white-hot and blistering; he moved toward the nearest public bathroom with as much composure as he could manage, thankful the streets were nearly barren.
His steps echoed as he rushed to the nearest stall and threw himself to his knees in front of the toilet, the echo of the door barely cutting through the ringing in his ears as he began to retch and choke. He squeezed his eyes shut, tearing his gloves off and tossing them onto the floor as he braced himself with a hand against the nearby wall. His gauntlets rattled against it, the wall cool against his bare skin. Grounding. He tried to relax, targeting each muscle with deliberate focus.
He coughed and hacked until there was a slight plop, water splashing the rim of the bowl as the yellow carnation fell from his mouth. Katsuki opened his eyes and blinked down at the offending bud, half-formed and partially flowered, its stem torn and bloodied. Tears pooled along his lower lash-line and he blinked against the burn, hurriedly flushing. Katsuki tried to steady his breathing, lungs aching and rattling with each desperate inhale. He shifted, moving so that his shoulder was pressed against the nearby wall and he was no longer half-slumped over the toilet. He eyed the offending porcelain as if it had personally insulted him, disgust and embarrassment settling between each rib.
“How long have you had it?”
Katsuki jolted at the voice, tension flooding his form and drawing him upright as if he were strung from the ceiling. He ignored the tremble of his hand as he reached forward and flushed the toilet a second time, eager to destroy any remaining evidence. Yellow petals swirled down and into the piping; it gurgled loudly.
Of course fucking Icy-Hot would feel compelled to check on him—he could have sworn he locked the damn door.
He hadn’t even heard him come in, senses dulled by the pain radiating from his core.
“Felt fine this morning,” he grunted. His throat ached around the words, raw and tender, and he shoved himself roughly from the floor and to his feet. The room swayed dangerously underneath him, vertigo eager to twist his vision. “Fucking take-out.” The lie was implied—food poisoning—and he turned toward Shouto to shove past him and out of the bathroom. But his body betrayed him, swaying slightly back, and Shouto’s hands were steadying him before he could shove him off.
Katsuki growled and forced himself to straighten, fixing the damned Half'n'Half bastard with his best glare.
His hands lingered and Katsuki could feel the sweat dripping down his back and pooling along his spine.
Shouto’s proximity carved into the sudden emptiness between his ribs, guilt eager to settle.
“How long have you had it?” Shouto repeated. One of his hands dropped away. The other shifted, skipping up his arm and disappearing only to settle against his forehead a moment later, fingers cooled by his quirk. Katsuki jerked back, refusing to lean into his touch despite how it seemed to sooth something in his gut.
“The fuck?” Katsuki barked. His voice echoed through the bathroom and his temples throbbed under its volume.
Shouto’s touch persisted and Katsuki stepped back and toward the wall to escape it. Fucking Icy-Hot was probably getting that mothering shit from Deku.
“Hanahaki,” Shouto answered flatly, expressionless save for the slight crease between his eyebrows. His hand fell to his side.
Panic shot through Katsuki at breakneck speed and his gaze instinctively darted toward the door. There was the mad impulse to shoot off an explosion right at Icy-Hot’s pretty face and make a run for it.
Instead Katsuki’s fingers curled toward his palms to form half-fists, gloves still abandoned on the floor by the toilet.
He couldn’t make a scene.
He wouldn’t.
“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” he bit out, red eyes settling on mismatched. Shouto simply blinked and stared, expression unmoving. Unreadable. And somehow challenging, as if daring him to lie a third time. Katsuki set his jaw and resolutely met his gaze. He refused to look away. He refused to back down—despite the hummingbird heart in his ears and the way his vision blurred at its edges with every hammered beat.
Shouto blinked again before relenting, finally— finally —looking away, turning away, moving silently to his left to move around Katsuki, bend down and grab his gloves. He straightened to turn and wordlessly offered them to Katsuki, expression still unreadable.
Katsuki’s eyes narrowed fractionally but he jerked a hand up to grab his gloves before Shouto did something childish like yank them out of reach.
(He wouldn’t, of course—Katsuki was the childish one. The angry one. The one who struggled with impulse control and bit and gnashed at anyone nearby.
Still, some stayed.
Like Shouto.)
Shouto released them without issue and Katsuki hurried to pull them over his hands again, busying himself with the task as the other moved away and toward the sink. He heard a familiar whir and then Shouto was in front of him again, hand outstretched and offering a carefully folded paper towel.
Katsuki looked to it and then to Icy-Hot, his brow furrowed.
Shouto cast a deliberate glance to the paper towel and then to Katsuki’s forehead.
He seemed to know better than to comment out loud at least.
Katsuki grabbed the paper towel with a scowl and wiped at the sweat beading across his skin. He shoved past Shouto and toward the door, shoulder-checking him out of the way, and tossed the wad into the trash on the way out. He didn’t believe Shouto was dropping this. He didn’t, but they had a damn patrol to finish and he could at least trust the walking Candy Cane to keep his commentary to himself until it was over.
Out of everyone Katsuki could have been paired with Shouto was the most level-headed regarding professional decorum and could at least be trusted to maintain the status quo.
Small blessings, he supposed.
The tension stretched between them as they continued their patrol; Shouto abruptly stopped in front of a nearby fitness center, rummaging in his costume for a moment before pushing a coin into the vending machine near its alley. Katsuki continued walking, eyes flitting over surrounding streets. He glanced back as several quick steps resounded behind him, Shouto slowing to move in step with him again and wordlessly extending his hand to offer him a cool water bottle.
Katsuki accepted it with a grunt of acknowledgement and averted his eyes, otherwise refusing to acknowledge the thoughtful gesture. He was thankful to rid himself of the acidic but ashy taste of blood and ragweed, the water soothing his raw throat.
Katsuki wordlessly dropped the empty bottle into the recycling bin a few streets over, and they continued their patrol, unbothered save for a small time thug trying to case a joint. The local police had been looking for him over the weekend and he was almost too easy to apprehend.
Their patrol came to its close soon after and the pair started back toward the agency.
Both men remained quiet.
The silence wasn’t unusual, per se; Shouto was one of Katsuki’s favorites to patrol with, honestly, because of their normal quiet. Katsuki never felt pressured to make small talk with the dual-haired man and what conversations they did have never felt forced or weighted. The silence didn’t feel forced, either—save for today and for obvious reasons.
Katsuki lost himself in thought as they neared the agency, trying to devise the best escape plan before Shouto could corner him at the agency.
He didn’t know if the Half'n'Half bastard would or not but he didn’t want to take any chances. Making himself scarce seemed the best choice.
He was instantly on guard when Shouto broke protocol, unzipping his uniform to withdraw his personal cell. He watched in his peripheral as Shouto silenced his communication device with the opposing hand before unlocking his phone and scrolling through something. Shouto tapped the screen again and held it to the ear sans-communication device a moment later.
He could hear the other line ringing and he wondered if Shouto had turned the volume up on purpose. His hearing aid wasn’t that sensitive.
“‘Lo? What’s wrong?”
A familiar baritone filled the line (recognizable even from there) and Katsuki’s stomach simultaneously dropped and reached up to punch him somewhere in his lungs. His chest hurt and he quickened his pace. Shouto easily kept pace, matching each step with long legs, and Katsuki wasn’t dumb enough to run or try taking off. The other man would follow him anyway and pedestrians tended to pay attention when two Pro Heroes took off too quickly. It made them nervous.
“Hi—nothing is wrong,” he reassured, easily slipping into conversation with his partner.
There was something tight in Katsuki’s throat again, a familiar burn, and he cleared his throat against it, keeping his eyes resolutely ahead.
“Yes—I’m fine. We’re both fine,” Shouto continued to reassure. Katsuki could feel his gaze on his side profile and pointedly ignored it, knowing they were no more than three streets away from their building. Thank fuck.
Izuku said something on the other end and Shouto replies with a hum of acknowledgment. “We’re headed back now; I'll be a few minutes late.” Katsuki’s throat burned with anxiety, ugly anticipation settling in his stomach. “Yes,” then, agreeing with something else said, “that sounds perfect. I'll see you soon.”
♥️💔♥️
Katsuki hurried to the locker room to grab his belongings. He decided he would break his own protocol and change out of his uniform when he reached his apartment. He usually chose to shower and change at the agency, eager to wash away the grime of the day and become less recognizable—being stopped two dozen times for various autographs or pictures after an eight hour patrol was a pain in his goddamn ass, but fuck if he was going to give Shouto a chance to corner him.
The receptionist had stopped the other man on their way through the lobby and Katsuki intended to take full advantage of the distraction.
He tried to clear the encroaching bud from his throat—he could feel it crawling up his esophagus—as he haphazardly shoved his belongings into his duffle bag. But the exertion of each movement made his vision waver and throat tickle; the flowers were sprouting more quickly than they ever had, and the realization was a stone dropping into the pits of his stomach. Nausea lapped at his ribs.
He coughed into his hand, unsurprised to find a partially curled yellow petal, thin and pointed. Another carnation.
He folded his fingers around it and let his palm heat, sparks turning it to ash.
Katsuki brushed the ash away and hurried to zip up his duffel bag and sling it over his shoulder. He turned to leave—just as the door opened. Shouto moved so that the door could close behind him.
Fuck.
He set his jaw, teeth clenched, and stared at the dual haired man as if he could get him to leave by will alone.
Shouto stared back.
A muscle along Katsuki’s jaw twitched and his hands turned to fists at his sides.
“Move, Icy-Hot.”
Shouto tilted his head slightly to the side, blinking, and without preamble asked, “Why haven’t you told him?”
Katsuki could feel the roots shifting in his chest.
“Dunno who—or what—you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” he grunted. He stepped forward and went to go around Shouto, but the other man shifted so that he was in-sync with the movement, blocking his path. His lips turned into a sneer and he stopped, glaring. “ Move . I ain’t askin’ nicely again.”
“Izuku,” Shouto countered, both eyebrows slightly raised.
Katsuki pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and tried to swallow against the impending blossom. It burned but he managed well enough, nostrils flaring as he blew out a hard, steadying breath.
He gritted his teeth and said, “Told you—dunno what you’re—” but the stem was pushing itself further up, the flower blocking his airway. He tried swallowing again but it didn’t work. The carnation continued to sprout, fast-growing and painful, and his body tried ejecting it from its system; he coughed, raising his hand with a grunt. The duffel bag slid from his shoulder and to the floor.
His vision blurred as he continued to hack, his shoulders shaking under the weight of it. He averted his eyes, disgust and anger crawling along his spine as he fought to remain straight and standing. His shoulders curled toward his chin despite his best attempts to remain unmoved and Katsuki forced himself to focus on each muscle, to breathe through it as the carnation pulled itself from his lungs and fell into a smoking palm.
He blinked the tears from his eyes and crushed it in his palm before letting his skin heat and spark again. Pointedly avoiding Shouto’s judgmental gaze, Katsuki turned toward the sinks lining the wall to his left and walked over to wash his hands. He watched as the water rinsed the ash from his hands, drawing it down and into the drain in gray swirls. He kept his eyes—and mind—on the task at hand, back ram-rod straight, body tense.
He rolled his tongue against the inside of his teeth.
He was so fucking weak and now Shouto knew and what the fuck was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do ?
Katsuki’s eyes burned and he blinked against it.
He was stronger than that. He had already decided to live with the poison in his lungs—nothing was going to change that, not even this. Not even Shouto and so he forced himself to turn the faucet off and breathe. But no, Shouto knew now and he could tell Izuku—he could ruin everything —it would all change —them, this , and fuck, fuck, fuck!
Katsuki drew in a slow, steadying breath, and gripped the edge of the sink with both hands until his knuckles were white and he could find his voice.
“You can’t—don’t tell him.”
It was supposed to be a demand. A threat, even. But there was an undercurrent of pleading to his voice that even Katsuki was aware of. His eyes flicked up to the mirror; Shouto’s eyes met his.
Shouto held his gaze for a long moment, simply staring.
He blinked, his expression annoyingly impassive.
“Izuku deserves to know you’re dying.”
Something squeezed in his stomach and his hackles raised.
“I’m not dying.”
“Are you intending to have the surgery, then?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
Katsuki shoved off from the sink and turned around to face him, panic wrestling with anger and anxiety.
“ No!”
The self-sacrificial idiot would probably try making himself love him just to save him. And if not, well… his feelings weren’t returned. They couldn’t be. He saw how Shouto and Izuku looked at each other. He didn’t want Izuku to feel obligated to end things with Shouto due to some twisted sense of loyalty or concern. And he certainly didn’t want his friendship with Izuku to become awkward or strained—or worse: end.
No, he would take whatever Izuku would give him— could give him—because having Izuku in his life, disease and all, was better than the emptiness his absence would carve into his chest.
“Then you’re dying,” Shouto said flatly, like the fact that it was the obvious conclusion made it okay to discuss as casually as approaching rain. He tilted his head slightly, surveying Katsuki. “You should tell him. You underestimate his feelings for you.”
It was said so matter of factly that for a brief, maddening moment, Katsuki’s anxiety fell away to make room for confusion.
What?
“...you’re dating,” Katsuki deadpanned.
The corner of Shouto’s mouth twitched.
“Yes.”
“What, you don’t love him?” he grunted, something sick settling in his stomach. He could taste its acid in his mouth, crawling up the back of his tongue.
“Of course I do,” Shouto reassured. There was something almost soft in the way he was looking at him at that moment. Something knowing—and fuck if Icy-Hot wasn’t observant in his own quiet, unnerving way.
“Then what,” Katsuki swallowed, “you don’t think he loves you?”
Shouto scoffed.
“I am very aware of his feelings for me.”
Then— what?
The confusion must have shown on his face despite himself.
“You’re underestimating him again,” Shouto said quietly. “We love each other very much. It has taken time for me to understand that love isn’t so simple. Metaphors are often lost on me. However, Izuku has shown me that the heart is bigger than its physical form. It holds more than anticipated.”
He held Katsuki’s gaze as if to challenge him to argue otherwise. But there was something else there, too, something indecipherable that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and drew a shiver down each vertebrae. Katsuki swallowed, pointedly ignoring the sudden flutter in his stomach; paper-thin wings tickled his lungs and he could feel his face heating under the intensity of the look. Still, he held Shouto’s gaze with his own.
The corner of Shouto’s mouth twitched and there was a moment in which the man looked strangely satisfied with something—but the moment quickly passed and his expression shifted into its usual impassive mask.
“Regardless,” Shouto said quietly—solemnly, “I won’t betray your trust.”
Katsuki made a face, his nose wrinkling, and finally broke eye-contact, his gaze settling on the nearby locker.
He wanted to argue.
He wasn’t trusting Icy-Hot with anything.
It’s not like he sought him out to confide in him or confess or some shit. The whole situation was fucked: he was in love with his best friend and was fairly certain he was falling for his partner, too—anything he said would likely incriminate him further.
(It had always been a running joke that Katsuki didn’t know how to handle love, and here he was proving it, his body literally failing him because of it.
Because there was too much of it to contain—he was filled to the brim with it, loved so much that it had nowhere else to go.)
“But I stand by what I said,” Shouto added. “You should stop underestimating Izuku and be honest about your feelings.”
The air was tense between them and Katsuki could sense that there was more Shouto wanted to say. The dual-haired man kept whatever it was to himself, however, and instead shifted to the right and out of the doorway.
Katsuki grunted in acknowledgement and wordlessly stepped forward to grab his bag; he drew it over his shoulder and hurried from the agency.
♥️💔♥️
There were a few dumbasses that tried approaching Katsuki on his way home, but most were discouraged by a hard glare and a flash of his teeth in his trademark sneer. Those that weren’t were told to fuck off, and Katsuki ignored the nagging thought he’d likely be pulled into another meeting by his PR team. He paid them well for a reason; their wages were well above market-rate, competitive and yeah, okay, maybe hard-earned.
The lack of interruptions, however, meant it was easy for Katsuki to lose himself in his thoughts.
Shouto confused the fuck out of him, honestly, and he could feel familiar heat coursing through his veins. In the past, Katsuki had always turned that heat into fuel for his anger. Being angry was safe —predictable. He knew how to be angry.
But he was trying to do better. Be better.
Fuck.
He thought he was done with this shit: this confusing back and forth.
He had had Hanahaki for months, and when it first developed, he had tried to tear it from its roots by pushing Izuku away. He had tried to force distance between them but that had only served to worry Izuku and make him strangely clingy. So when that didn’t work, Katsuki fell back on old habits. He tried to belittle and demean him. But the words clattered, clumsy, against his teeth; they fell from his mouth jolted and stuttering. His insults sounded wrong, half-assed, and the few that managed to form a proper edge were quickly broken by Izuku’s sharp, steady response. The nerd had managed to grow a backbone since childhood; he refused to let Katsuki talk to him like that and insisted he tell him whatever was really upsetting him—which he obviously couldn’t do—leaving Katsuki to feel broken and pathetic.
So he had decided to just grin and bear it. To suffer in silence.
Because Izuku deserved the best and although he’d never admit it outloud, Katsuki could acknowledge that in some cases, he wasn’t it.
Even silent, the admission was a heavy blow to his ego, but he figured it was well deserved. U.A. had humbled him in a way that was very much needed—those experiences, paired with therapy and time, made him realize the severity of what he had put Izuku through when they were kids. Yeah, Izuku had somehow managed to forgive him and they were friends now—but Katsuki had yet to forgive himself and probably never would.
He had been a selfish little shit and was actively trying to be better.
Besides—Shouto and Izuku? They made sense. They had both been through an assload of shit growing up. Shouto because of Endeavor and all of his bullshit. And Izuku—primarily—because of him. Society played a part, of course. Quirkless discrimination was very much alive and well, but Katsuki had taken it upon himself to spearhead the campaign against Izuku himself.
And yeah, okay, maybe trauma-bonding wasn’t the best foundation for a relationship, but there was more to it than that. They complimented each other. Both were brave and good. Genuinely good. They cared about others without second thought. They were both smart and thirsted for knowledge—no matter its form—and pushed each other to be the best versions of themselves.
Shouto’s confidence balanced Izuku’s insecurity.
Izuku’s compassion and kindness balanced Shouto’s blunt honesty.
The two seemed genuinely happy with each other; Katsuki saw how the nerd lit up with him. How the tension drained from his shoulders. How his smiles became more relaxed—his laughter softer, eyes shining with adoration. And he saw how attentive Shouto was. How he leaned into Izuku’s warmth. How he smiled more—looked lighter, happier —how he looked at Izuku as if he hung the moon.
So why— why was Shouto encouraging Katsuki to tell Izuku about the disease? About how he felt?
What good would come of that?
♥️💔♥️
Shouto was blessedly quiet over the course of the next week. There was no more mention of Hanahaki—he didn’t attempt to persuade Katsuki again—and Izuku never reached out, meaning the Half’n’Half bastard kept his promise and kept his damn mouth shut.
There were three more incidents in which Katsuki became sick during their patrol, and he remained quiet about those too.
Katsuki would find him waiting outside of whatever restroom he bolted to with a bottle of water and a breath mint, but they were always offered wordlessly and without any obvious judgment.
It wasn’t until the following Friday that Katsuki came to the realization that Shouto had lulled him into a false sense of security.
Because there was a knock on his door and, lo and behold, it was Izuku.
Well, Izuku and Shouto, but the tickle in Katsuki’s throat made it obvious where his focus was. Thank fuck he had managed to prune the damn garden in his chest less than an hour ago.
(And by prune, he meant forcibly expel the contents of the overgrown nursery into his toilet.)
“Hi Kacchan!” Izuku chirped.
Katsuki hurried to mask his discomfort.
“Deku—Icy-hot.”
He greeted both with a slight nod of his head.
Izuku’s expression quickly fell.
“You forgot, didn’t you?”
Katsuki quickly trudged through his memories for what Izuku was referring to. He stole a glance at Shouto but the Half-n-Half bastard didn’t so much as blink.
“It’s okay,” Izuku hurried to add, shrugging. But the way he was looking at Katsuki—he knew it wasn’t. “Just… movie night? It was… your turn—your turn to host.”
“Oh—yeah… right.”
Fuck. Their schedules only synced up like this—where none of them were on shift or on call—once every few months. The last movie night was around the time Katsuki’s hanahaki flare-ups became a daily occurrence.
“I m-mean we can always… re-reschedule or whatever,” Izuku stuttered, shrugging. Katsuki could tell he was trying to look more casual about it than he felt.
Despite the way he could feel the roots in his chest shifting, growing, Katsuki didn’t want Izuku to leave. Izuku already looked like someone kicked a damn puppy in front of him and dammit, he didn’t want to disappoint him or hurt his stupid feelings. Not again. Besides—he already made his choice. He was going to have to live with it, and he couldn’t avoid Izuku completely. They ran in too close of circles and he had already tried that method; the little shit was stubborn.
“No—ah, it’s fine… just—c’mon in,” he grunted, stepping back and to the side to open the door further.
Izuku hesitated, eyes darting across Katsuki’s features, obviously trying to read him.
“Are you certain you’re well enough?” Shouto asked, choosing then of all fucking times to open his damn mouth.
Katsuki’s gaze slid from Izuku to Shouto and he fixed the dual-haired man with a glare. Maybe it was meant to be an out, but Katsuki knew giving into it would be anything but; Izuku was too much like his Okaasan. He’d leave only to return with an armory of cold medicine, broth, electrolyte drinks, and a print out of possible ailments. Then the worry-wart would refuse to leave, insistent upon playing nurse until he gave him a clean bill of health.
“You were sick?” Izuku asked before Katsuki could answer. His worry was obvious in his voice and Katsuki sucked his tongue against his teeth, glaring at Shouto for another moment before switching his gaze back to Izuku. His expression softened and he shrugged.
“Food poisoning from that joint near Morioki. M’feeling fine, so…” he gestured to his apartment with a jerk of his head, jaw set, “get your asses in here.”
Izuku lingered in the threshold for a moment longer, surveying Katsuki quietly; Katsuki raised both eyebrows and gave him a pointed look, a take a fucking picture, nerd, and then Izuku’s lips were curling into a smile and he finally moved inside.
Shouto followed, smiling politely.
Katsuki sort of despised his polite smile. It was too stiff. Looked wrong on his face.
His genuine smile—well, that was a different story. Its brightness almost rivaled Izuku’s. Almost.
He shut the door behind them as they toed their shoes off in the genkan and moved further inside, toward his living room and flat-screen TV. Katsuki tried to quietly clear his throat, vocal chords already sensitive and raw; Shouto gave him a knowing look and after glancing to make sure Izuku’s back was turned, Katsuki gave him the middle finger. Shouto’s lips twitched against a smile and God damn his treacherous heart for fluttering at the sight.
Izuku turned just as Katsuki lowered his hand. Nearly catching him, Izuku gave him a funny look before glancing at his kitchen and back at him.
“Maybe we can… order in? I mean, we kinda… surprised you.” Katsuki wanted to object (had he been that obvious?) but Izuku’s eyes snapped to him before he could, and the smile that played at his lips made Katsuki’s lungs seize with the sudden flourish of life. “Just—maybe not at that joint on Morioki. ” He was quoting him— teasing him—but his eyes were warm, almost… affectionate… and Katsuki barely managed to nod an affirmative before having to turn around and cough discreetly into his hand.
“Yeah,” he managed to grunt over his shoulder, moving away and into the kitchen. “Go ahead and—” he swallowed another cough and it burned, “get set up. Gonna… get somethin’ t’drink.”
Izuku was watching his retreating back. He knew he was. He could feel his gaze like a drove of beetles, a physical, weighted thing that skittered across his back and made his skin tense and tingle, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge.
“Are we watching the last Sharknado?” he heard Shouto ask, and there was a surge of gratitude at the question, warm and unexpected. It made the tickle in his throat worse—the ache in his chest more intense.
He bypassed the kitchen and went to his bedroom first, locking himself in the en-suite to cough up a few loose petals under the whir of the fan.
This entire situation was absurd.
Abso-fucking-lutely absurd.
He was in love with Izuku—who was in love with Shouto—who was also in love with Izuku, and yet knew how Katsuki felt and seemed… fine with it? Not just fine. He was actively keeping Katsuki’s secret. Helping in his own weird, endearing way. Add to that his growing crush on Shouto and, well—it was a clusterfuck, honestly, and sometimes Katsuki felt like he was breaking under the insanity of it all.
But he couldn’t break, not then, not when the two assholes were sitting in his living room. He knew that if he took too long Izuku would come looking for him.
So instead of dwelling further on how much of a dumbass he was and losing himself in that undercurrent of self-hatred, Katsuki gargled some mouth rinse to rid himself of the sharp, bitter taste of ragweed and bile, and splashed some water on his face to try grounding himself. He could do this. He wanted to do this. He wanted to enjoy the time he had with Izuku because despite how he had dismissed Shouto’s concerns, he knew there were only two ways this ended: surgery, or death.
A mean voice whispered a third in the back of his mind but Katsuki knew better than to listen.
After patting his face dry, Katsuki returned to the kitchen and grabbed three drinks. A bottle of water for himself, the sparkling water Half’n’Half favored, and a strawberry soda for Izuku. He didn’t understand how Izuku managed to swallow that sugary shit, but he kept his fridge stocked with it anyway. He entered the living room to find the pair sitting on his couch, Shouto’s arm draped casually over Izuku’s shoulders, fingers trailing along the curve of a clothed shoulder.
He stopped mid-step, heart launching itself into his throat, and a muscle along his jaw twitched as he grit his teeth against another cough.
Fuck.
This was going to be harder than he thought.
As if sensing his dilemma, Shouto glanced over his shoulder and caught him hesitating just out of Izuku’s line of sight. The other man gave him an appraising look, eyebrows slightly raised, and Katsuki could feel his face flushing under the scrutiny. His lips twisted into a scowl and he moved forward, thrusting the bottle of water at Shouto with more vigor than necessary.
Shouto looked to be suppressing a smile and took the drink with a slight incline of his head. He shifted, casually sliding his arm from Izuku’s shoulders to twist the cap from his water as Katsuki passed Izuku the soda with a grunt. The other man looked up from his phone and gave him a bright smile that did little to soothe the ache radiating through his chest with each breath despite its warmth.
“Thanks, Kacchan!”
Another grunt of acknowledgement as Katsuki hesitated again as he realized the only available seat was next to Izuku.
Why the fuck hadn’t he bought some damn chairs yet? Maybe a kotatsu?
He knew why, of course; he was rarely home and when he was, he made it a point to sparingly have company.
He considered sitting on the floor but his tatami mats were still in storage and he suspected it would draw more attention to him, not less, making things stilted and weird. So instead Katsuki carefully sat beside Izuku, tucking himself against the end of the couch and putting as much distance between their bodies as he could. Even with the few dozen centimeters between them, Katsuki could feel Izuku’s body heat as if it were a brand against his side.
The TV was on their usual streaming service and already on the title screen for the Last Sharknado.
“Shouto and I went ahead and ordered food… I ordered you the mapo tofu!” Izuku said.
Katsuki’s mouth twitched against a smile.
“Let me guess, you got the katsudon?” he teased, looking at Izuku with a raised eyebrow. His eyes flickered to Shouto. “And zaru soba?”
Izuku grinned as he swallowed a sip of his soda, chuckling.
“Yeah, I guess we’re all kind of predictable, huh?”
“Speak for yourself, nerd,” Katsuki countered, smirking at him.
Before Izuku could retort, Shouto spoke, shifting away from his partner to angle his body toward the both of them, eyes on his cell phone screen.
“It looks like their delivery service is experiencing issues and they’re only fulfilling pick-up orders.” Heterochromatic eyes flicked up to red, and Katsuki narrowed his eyes. Shouto averted his gaze and looked to Izuku instead.
“Oh—well, we could always order pizza or something instead?” Izuku suggested. There was an inflection of disappointment to the suggestion—damn nerd and his katsudon.
“I can go get it,” Shouto offered without preamble, already moving to his feet.
A stone dropped into Katsuki’s stomach and he could feel the acid splash and sizzle; his lungs burned. Already his throat was constricting, another bud scraping against the cartilage along his ribs and sternum.
He cleared his throat.
“We can all go,” Katsuki rasped.
“No—I insist. ”
His eyes were fixed resolutely on his and Katsuki suspected he was lying. There wasn’t anything wrong with their damn delivery service. Shouto was trying to give Katsuki an opening, a chance to speak to Izuku alone, and motherfucking shit. Goddamn bastard. They both knew Katsuki couldn’t call him out or press the issue without raising questions. He gave Shouto a withering look, fixing him with his best glare; Shouto’s lips pressed against a smile and he leaned down to give Izuku a quick kiss before the green-haired man could look to see what was so amusing.
Katsuki quickly averted his eyes. His chest felt tight, each breath weighted, and he tried grounding himself with a sip of his water.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Shouto promised as he straightened, moving around the couch and toward the genkan again.
Katsuki’s heart was loud in his ears, its beat a fast quiver, but he could do nothing but nod and try not to glare further at Shouto’s retreating figure.
Izuku turned, angling his body toward him, his knee nearly knocking against Katsuki’s as he tucked a leg underneath himself. Katsuki tried to ignore the scratch of growing leaves. He heard his front door open and close, signaling Shouto’s departure.
There was a strangely tense moment in which he and Izuku simply stared at each other, neither speaking; Izuku had a strange, almost hesitant look on his face. He rolled his lips together and Katsuki tried not to stare at his mouth, instead focusing on his hands in his peripheral vision. The nerd was wringing his fingers together and Katsuki tried deciphering the look—but then it was fading and Izuku was giving him his usual soft, friendly smile. His hands stilled.
“How’re your folks?”
“Fine,” he replied. His voice was rough—tight—and he played it off with a shrug of his shoulders. “Been busy with their latest show.” Each word made the muscles of his esophagus tighten and spasm. He knew he wouldn’t be able to talk much without hacking, and so he was quick to turn the question around on him. “How’s Auntie?”
“Oh!” That single syllable makes him sound surprised that Katsuki asked. “She’s—she’s doing well! She’s actually… well, funny story really—” Katsuki could feel some of the tension draining from his shoulders as Izuku launched into a story that really wasn’t that funny at all. But he listened anyway, nodding along and occasionally repeating what Izuku said to show that he was listening. Even with keeping his replies short and concise, however, Katsuki had to frequently sip his water to stifle the oncoming cough.
Talking about his mother turned into talking about his work and sharing some of the office drama his sidekicks always seemed involved in.
But eventually, Izuku’s ramblings slowed. Shifted.
“I… I hate to say it,” he said slowly, his mouth screwing up to one side. His eyes flicked from Katsuki to the dimmed TV and back. “But I’m kind of glad Shouto had to go get our food.”
Katsuki swallowed thickly, searching Izuku’s face.
“Trouble in paradise?” Katsuki grunted, mouth twitching into a faint smirk in an attempt to hide his curiosity and make it more teasing.
Izuku shook his head and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling against his cheeks.
“No—just…” his smile softened, “it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Warmth rushed through Katsuki with the way Izuku was looking at him, affectionate and fond. Tender. “Since it’s been… just us?”
The meaning was clear.
I missed you.
Katsuki’s expression softened and he nodded once, heart squeezing painfully in his chest.
“Yeah. Guess it has.”
Izuku’s smile remained but softened further; he searched his eyes for a moment before his gaze flickered down and refocused on Katsuki’s mouth.
The look was fucking fertilizer ; it burned, sprouted vines and crawled up his throat.
Katsuki had to turn away almost instantly, coughing violently in his hand.
“Kachaan! Ah—are you—you okay?” Izuku stuttered, shifting closer.
He waved the nerd off and managed to grunt out fine before guzzling some of his water. He pointedly avoided Izuku’s gaze and whatever tension stretched between them soon snapped in on itself as Izuku shoved himself to his feet and muttered something about needing the bathroom. Katsuki managed to stifle the worst of his cough and practically jumped to his feet to hurry to his balcony.
He shut the door as quietly as he could behind himself and began coughing again as soon as he neared the railing. He closed his eyes and fought against the tremors of nausea that accompanied it, shoulders shaking as he went through familiar steps. Pushing his shoulders down and trying to relax his throat. Tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth as he waited for it to pass.
But it didn’t.
The coughing strengthened into a hack and soon his mouth was filled with the familiar taste of ragweed and bile as a pink camellia fell from his mouth and into his hand. It was wet and wilting, its petals darker along their edges, and Katsuki was quick to explode it with a carefully controlled spark. He brushed the ash from his hands and to the balcony as he tried to breathe through the aftershocks of nausea racking his body.
He could feel the perspiration cooling against his forehead, beads of sweat trapped along his hairline and dampening his spikes. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—and severely regretting not bringing his water with him—Katsuki moved further onto the balcony, nearing its railing. He leaned forward, forearms resting against the curved surface, hands dangling over the edge, and pressed his forehead against cold metal.
He drew in deep, steadying breaths through nose. Blew them out through clenched teeth.
The sound of the balcony doors opening drew Katsuki upright. His hands gripped the railing as he turned, looking over his shoulder to see a worried looking Izuku lingering in the threshold of his apartment. His eyes shined—caught the lights of the cityscape before them—and Katsuki quickly turned around to stare out at the city itself.
“Kacchan?”
He could hear the door shut.
“You… okay?”
It was asked quietly. Hesitantly.
Katsuki drew in another steadying breath and nodded, clearing his throat.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Just… needed some fresh air.”
“Oh.”
He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and grit his teeth as Izuku closed the distance between them and walked further onto the balcony. He stopped just behind him and Katsuki tightened his fingers around the railing, knuckles nearly white.
“I’ve… always admired the view here,” Izuku admitted quietly. Katsuki could hear the shift of his body and imagined the nerd rubbing his hand over his opposing forearm awkwardly. “The skyscrapers.” Katsuki hummed to show he was listening but did not turn around. “Both of our leases’ are almost up. We were thinking of seeing if there were any vacancies nearby.”
We were thinking.
We.
We were thinking.
The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning; Izuku and Shouto—they were moving in together.
It made sense. The two had been dating for nearly two years—officially for almost one. They were the power couple. They were it —the relationship everyone wanted—dreamed of—worried they’d never have. They were endgame and Katsuki could feel his gaze becoming unfocused, lungs filling. Aching. He closed his eyes and cleared his throat.
“The—the Caspar—they had a sign up,” he offered. The words felt like lead tangled in thorns. They hurt.
“Thanks, Kacchan!” He could hear Izuku’s smile. Picture it in his head. A muscle along his jaw twitched and Katsuki tried focusing on his breathing. He opened his eyes and blinked against the burn. “I’ll have to check it out tomorrow before my shift… then we’d be neighbors again!”
Izuku sounded so happy about it, like Katsuki was as much a part of his life as Shouto was, and the idea rubbed like sandpaper against each nerve-ending; he sucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and wondered if he still had any of the sake Shitty Hair had gifted him for his birthday.
He really needed a fucking drink.
Katsuki pushed himself off of the railing and turned, moving to head inside—only to run directly into Izuku.
Fucking nerd was closer than he had thought. Izuku instinctively reached out to steady him with a squeak, his hand a brand against Katsuki’s bare arm. He imagined his fingerprints burning themselves into his skin—a delirious thought followed by a tell-tale tickle. Katsuki inhaled sharply and took a quick step back, jerking away from Izuku’s touch.
“Sorry, Kacchan!”
Katsuki could feel a paper-thin petal stuck in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow against it—to choke it back down—but his throat constricted and seized until his lungs tightened and his shoulders shook with their strain. He couldn’t meet Izuku’s eyes as the other man shifted closer again, worry etched across his features.
“K-Kacchan?”
Katsuki pressed his lips together into a scowl, gaze flicking back to the doors behind Izuku—could he make it to the bathroom?
The answer was no. His lungs seized and Katsuki was forced to give into instinct; he leaned forward and coughed violently, the sound wet and strangled, until he could properly spit the offending petal out. The petal was slick with spit and blood, its edge pointed but curled. Remnants of the earlier flower. He scowled and glared down at it as he drew in a sharp, stuttering gasp for air and straightened; he was acutely aware of Izuku’s breath shaking along his.
“Hanahaki.” It was almost a whimper. Katsuki moved forward to crush the petal under his foot, barely resisting the urge to explode the balcony below instead. “How—how far along?”
A muscle along his jaw twitched. His throat burned, sandpaper raw, and felt knotted at its center. He turned, fingers curling into fists. He resolutely avoided meeting Izuku’s gaze and stared back out at the city instead. He could feel the panic blossoming in his chest, clawing at his throat. He didn’t—he couldn’t have this conversation with Izuku.
He couldn’t, despite how Icy-Hot’s words rattled around in his skull.
But it was too late. There was no escaping; Izuku was staring at him, wide-eyed and vibrating with concern. Fear, maybe, too.
Katsuki thought about rushing forward, jumping over the railing and from the balcony. He imagined the heat of his explosions propelling him through the air, away from tear-streaked cheeks and curious eyes. Away from his life—his problems—his love.
(Izuku would chase him, though.
Easily.
Quickly.
Might even catch him, too.)
“Nearly…” he cleared his throat, chin lifting slightly, “nearly fully formed.”
He could hear Izuku swallow down a choked noise and Katsuki tried focusing on the steam rolling from a nearby building, watching as silver wisps curled into the darkening sky.
“Who?”
The tension along his shoulders felt nearly unbearable, the panic interwoven there.
“Don’t matter,” Katsuki said shortly.
He could picture the slow descent of tears down freckled cheeks. How they glistened with the nearby light.
“Yes it does!” It was nearly a shout. “It’s—it’s you! Your life, Kacchan!”
Katsuki sucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and shook his head. He could feel the sweat pooling in the center of his fists, lining the well of either palm.
“Don’t,” he grunted. He considered letting off a few explosions in warning. It must have been written on his face because Izuku shifted but remained quiet; Katsuki could see him move closer in his peripheral, body mirroring his, turned toward the city. He could feel the warmth radiating from his arm—could see the tremble of his shoulders with each breath.
Izuku had learned how to read Katsuki through the years. Had learned how to interpret the tilt of his brow or the slump of his shoulders. Worse yet? Izuku had learned how to respond. He had learned how to draw Katsuki from his black moods with his favorite curry—how to ease the tension of his shoulders by wordlessly playing their favorite All Might film during their time at U.A. He had learned when to talk, when to poke and prod and question.
He had learned silence, too, and Katsuki had never hated it more than in that moment.
(Who was he kidding? He couldn’t hate anything about Izuku. That’s why he was in this mess to begin with.)
He stared resolutely ahead as Izuku shifted his weight from heel to toe and toe to heal. Back and forth, back and forth. A nervous gesture Katsuki hated to find endearing.
Sometimes it felt like he held too much hate. And, somehow, not enough.
“I can’t… I can’t lose you again, Kacchan.”
It was a breath of a confession, said so quietly that it was nearly lost under the buzz of traffic below.
Katsuki clicked his tongue.
“Tch. Can’t save everybody, nerd.”
He could feel Izuku’s eyes on him and his stomach twisted. How often had he done everything he could to have those eyes on him? To have Izuku look at him—only him?
Now that Katsuki was pinned under his gaze he was desperate to escape.
Irony, or some shit.
“You’re not everybody,” Izuku objected quietly.
Katsuki blinked against the faint burn in his eyes. He could feel the roots shifting in his lungs. The thin, needle-sharp pain that permeated each breath. Izuku’s arm almost brushed against his and Katsuki gave a hum of acknowledgement. There was a hiss of a breath, stuttering and long, an inhale brought through his teeth. Katsuki’s stomach twisted violently with the sound, easily recognizing its intent: Izuku was stealing himself away. He was going to push. A sharp exhale through flared nostrils and, practically on cue, “You should tell them. Who-ever it is—I doubt… I doubt it’s unrequited—who wouldn’t love Kacchan?”
You crawled along the back of his throat and grappled with his tongue.
He swallowed it.
“I said don’t, Deku.” He tried to let his desperation sour and edge his voice. Turn it angry. Instead it sounded almost mournful. He hated it.
“Tell me why, at least,” Izuku challenged after another beat of silence. “Why won’t you tell them?”
Katsuki wanted to scream.
He wanted to yell and spit and rage and demand that Izuku just fucking listen. Drop it.
He could feel the scream in his throat. A physical, weighted thing. Twisted and slick, like another vine crawling up his esophagus and choking him, coated in his own blood. Giving into that impulse, however, would only make Izuku’s curiosity burn brighter. Worse yet, it could reveal his hand—reveal that it was Izuku.
( Always Izuku.)
So Katsuki stuffed it down. He folded it up and shoved it through the bottom of his lungs and into his stomach.
He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.
“They’re… they’re in a relationship.” His gaze dropped down to the crushed petal at his feet. “And they’re happy. Like— really happy. And they deserve it. To be happy like that.” The they deserve better than me was left unsaid, hanging heavy in the air. He pressed his lips into a thin line, swallowing down more words. I’ve been selfish for too long. They —you— make me want to be better.
“But Kacchan is the best, ” Izuku said stubbornly and without missing a beat. He shifted, leaning forward to try catching Katsuki’s gaze. “And… I don’t think you get to decide that for them. If they’re happy, I mean. If that’s… if that’s what they want or d-deserve.” Katsuki tilted his face up toward the night sky as the moon peeked through the clouds. He could hear Izuku’s anguish in his voice. His confusion. Concern. Fear. All of it. The air around them practically vibrated with it and Izuku hurried to continue before Katsuki interrupted. “You… you need to let them decide that. If they’re that important to you—” he paused, drawing in another sharp, hiss of a breath, “I bet… I bet you’re just as important to them.”
“Yeah, well, s’not your choice either,” he said flatly.
It didn’t matter that it technically was Izuku’s choice. Should be his choice, rather. It didn’t matter because Shouto made him happy.
Shouto loved Izuku too. Had said so himself.
And even if he hadn’t—Katsuki knew. He knew because he recognized the look he gave him—like he was his world, shrunk down and cradled oh-so-carefully in his hands. Katsuki worried that if given the chance to hold him like that he would break Izuku all over again. He’d known his hands were made for destruction since his quirk first manifested.
Izuku shifted and took a half-step in front of him, pressing his hip against the railing, his body turning toward Katsuki’s. He was careful not to step on the flower petal. Katsuki scowled up at the sky, just as careful to avoid his gaze.
“I’ll tell everyone,” Izuku tried. “All of our friends. Un-until—”
“ Stop, ” Katsuki barked. He finally brought his eyes down and to Izuku’s face, heart seizing and twisting in his chest, beating against his sternum, begging to be let out. “Stop Deku.”
Izuku shook his head. His eyes were filled with unshed tears and his bottom lip wobbled pathetically.
“No. Not unless—not unless you tell them. Give who-ever it is a chance.” A pause and he could practically hear the nerd’s gears turning. “Is it Kirishima?”
“ Fuck no,” he scoffed. Katsuki forced himself to look away. Move away. To step back and away from Izuku instead of collecting him in his arms (or shoving him from the balcony himself—the desire to do both at war inside of him).
Izuku moved with him.
“Is it Kaminari?” Katsuki gave him a sour look. “Mina?”
He knew what he was doing. Process of elimination—listing their friends that were in a relationship until he struck a nerve. He swallowed down the retort of like I’d be dying for any of those damn extras. Let it fester. Turn into acid in his lungs.
Maybe it could be a weed repellant.
“We’re not having this conversation, shitty Deku.”
He turned to leave, pointedly ignoring the soft, almost begrudging question that followed.
“Shouto?”
Closer—he was getting closer, closer, closer. His stomach twisted and flipped and he could feel the approaching coughing fit, petals unfurling between his ribs. He held his breath against it and reached for the handle; Black Whip shot from behind him, smokey tendrils jetting out to slam against the balcony door and keep it closed—the quirk caged him in, trapped him with Izuku, and his lungs seized. His hands sparked, anger taking root.
“Fucking stop, Iz—”
Izuku.
There was a reason he avoided saying his name.
It caught in his throat, sprouting almost instantaneously, and he choked. He covered his mouth with his hand and tried to breathe through his nose. Tried to force it back down. Again. But it was too late— too late —and the flower blossomed further, curling up and out, bursting from his body and suffocating him along its way. Katsuki squeezed his eyes shut as he began coughing and retching, shoulders curving forward. His legs felt weak and there was the touch of Black Whip against his person, carefully steadying him before being replaced by two strong, scarred arms.
He tried to shove Izuku off. Opened his eyes to glare at him, a blur of lightly tanned skin and green hair. Everything burned and it took every bit of his strength to remain standing; Izuku tightened his hold on him, taking the weight of his body with his own so easily it was insulting.
Katsuki dropped into a crouch and Izuku moved with him, hands firm against his shoulders.
He coughed and retched until there was a blur of yellow and green and red—a daffodil, maybe?—the taste of acid and poucholi lingering in the back of his mouth. He continued coughing as another flower forced its way up and out. His eyes watered and burned as the stem forced itself up his throat first, thorns catching on raw tissue. The light pouring from the balcony door flickered, vision darkening, black at its edges.
He continued to cough and retch and was this it? Was this how he was going to die? Where he was going to die? On some shitty balcony—with the love of his life clutching him tightly to his chest as he wheezed and choked?
There was a sharp, discordant ringing in his ears. Still he could hear Izuku’s voice, warm and comforting.
“That’s it, Kacchan—stop fighting it. Just let it out—I’ve got you—”
Katsuki finally managed to pass the second flower, its stem broken and bent, petals a bloody red.
It was a rose. A red rose, its bud half-spread—Katsuki practically deflated against Izuku, unable to hold himself upright any longer, and Izuku shifted to compensate for his full weight. He tightened his hold around him, his face tucked close to his. He could feel Izuku’s breath against his bare neck, hard and stuttering.
Izuku was crying.
So was Katsuki (although he would never admit it).
He tried to rub the tears from his eyes with a scowl but his arms were weighted and buzzing. Sluggish. Izuku pulled him closer still.
Izuku’s face turned toward his own, breathing loud in his ear.
“It’s me, isn’t it?”
Katsuki didn’t reply.
He couldn’t anyway, throat too raw, and what was there to say?
Izuku shifted against him again, moving to stand and draw Katsuki to his feet.
“Let’s get you inside,” Izuku murmured. He kept Katsuki’s body close to his, Black Whip curling around them to open the balcony door. Katsuki managed to shift enough to throw an arm around Izuku’s shoulders; Izuku responded by wrapping an arm around his waist and tucking his body close to his.
Shame and guilt were quick to fill his chest cavity, eager to fill the sudden (temporary) space.
He blinked as they moved into his apartment and toward his bedroom.
He felt like he was floating. Not quite there. No longer anchored to his body. Free-falling into his own despair.
Izuku brought him to his bed and helped him lay down (collapse, more like). His lungs ached, ribs creaking with each breath as he stared up at the ceiling and Izuku puttered around. He could hear him, practically picture his movements by sound alone: Izuku moving into the en-suite. Cupboards opening. Water running. Returning footsteps and a jumpstart of other senses, of the light shifting as a body half-curled over his own. The touch of a warm cloth against his skin.
He was helping Katsuki clean his face, quietly attending to him; he tossed the cloth into the nearby hamper and insisted Katsuki try sitting up. Izuku pushed a cap of mouth rinse toward him, followed by a glass of water.
Katsuki did as prompted and after, Izuku returned the items to his en-suite.
The tether to his body was shortening, bringing him back into himself, and he could do nothing but wait. Wait for Izuku to demand answers. To leave. He was going to leave. He had to—he had to.
Instead, Izuku returned and sat beside him on the edge of his bed. They stared ahead, shoulder to shoulder. He wanted to lean away. Move away. But he couldn’t. He felt suddenly anchored, rooted to the spot, empty and echoing. He glanced down at his hands, fingers splayed flat and trembling against either thigh.
They curled into fists.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Izuku asked finally, turning to look at him.
Katsuki didn’t want to answer.
He didn’t.
But he knew he had to.
“Al-already told you,” he grunted. Cleared his throat. Relished in the burn. He deserved it. “You’re… happy. You and Icy-Hot.” He was relieved when Izuku remained quiet. Let him continue. The words fell on their own then—it was like the floodgates were open and Katsuki was powerless to close them. “You… deserve that, ‘Zuku. You deserve fucking everything. ”
Izuku moved away from him and this was it. This was when Izuku left—but no, no, he was shifting, dropping to the floor in front of him instead. Crouching in front of Katsuki and trying to force him to look at him.
“What if you’re part of that? My everything?”
Katsuki pressed his lips together. He was so fucking tired.
He grit his teeth, shaking his head, and stared somewhere over Izuku’s shoulder.
“Don’t,” he said simply. He didn’t want this—he didn’t want Izuku to try sugarcoating this. Making it better. This was exactly what he was fucking afraid of. Izuku trying to put him first, despite—
His thoughts were abruptly silenced when Izuku’s hands covered his own. His gaze instinctively dropped to the point of contact; Izuku’s hands were smaller than his own, but soft and warm. So warm. His thumb traced over the curve of Katsuki’s, touch gentle. Exploring. He struggled to breathe.
“I love you. I’m in love with you, Kacchan.”
Katsuki’s eyes snapped to Izuku’s of their own volition.
Izuku’s eyes were watery, filled to the brim with unshed tears, but his lips were twisted into a smile. He—he didn’t, he… he couldn’t.
Katsuki shook his head.
“Stop,” he rasped, sucking his tongue to the back of his teeth. “You and Icy-Hot—”
“I love him too,” Izuku interrupted. His smile softened and Katsuki searched his face as his hands squeezed his own. “Love isn’t…” he hesitated, gaze flickering away from Katsuki’s and refocusing mid-air as if he could pluck the words from around him. His eyes met Katsuki’s again. “It’s more complex than what we’re taught; it’s multi-faceted. I can be in love with him… and still be in love with you, too.” Katsuki shook his head again. Izuku couldn’t—he had to be lying. Trying to convince himself that this was something it wasn’t. Trying to save him. Izuku pressed on before Katsuki could interrupt. “You don’t get to decide this, Kacchan. It’s not your choice to make—who I love. And I’m sorry that—that I didn’t say anything sooner. I thought—I was afraid—” he stopped, a hand reaching up to cup the side of his face. His thumb brushed over Katsuki’s cheek, just under his eye, and the look he was giving him made his lungs twist and seize. Like he was someone important. Precious. It was difficult not to lean into the warmth of his palm, to keep his wits about him and remember this couldn’t be real. “I was afraid. Doesn’t make it less true, though.” Another watery smile. “I love you, Kacchan.”
Katsuki searched his face, disbelief a snake biting at his ribs, a steady wriggle in his chest.
You underestimate his feelings for you rattled along the back of his mind.
He swallowed thickly. Izuku’s eyes were a deep, glinting emerald, and fuck it would be easy—so easy—to believe him, to buy into what he was saying. He wanted so desperately for it to be true but it wasn’t, it couldn’t be—
Izuku dropped to his knees and pushed himself up so that he was closer to Katsuki, body pressed between his legs.
His heart promptly dropped into his stomach and then bounced back up to catch in his throat.
“I-Iz… Izuku,” he managed, bracing himself for the oncoming cough. But it didn’t come. It didn’t come and its absence was startling, weaving confusion between each rib. Izuku simply looked at him, patient as ever, his hand sliding from the side of his face and down to the curve of his neck. His thumb brushed across the jut of Katsuki’s adam’s apple as he swallowed. Hesitantly, Katsuki tested it again: “Izuku.”
Izuku’s lips quirked up at their corners, chin wobbling, and Katsuki almost sobbed in relief.
“Izuku.” He breathed it out then, savoring each unbroken syllable, and Izuku’s smile widened, eyes shining with understanding. “Fuck. Fuck.”
Izuku’s responding chuckle was soft. Breathless. His smile widened—brightened—and he licked his lips.
“Told you.” The words were a tease between them as Izuku’s smile softened again. “I love you, Kacchan.”
He meant it. He really fucking meant it and fuck. Fuck. Why was he always so powerless when it came to this man?
Katsuki nodded, his own expression softening in return, red eyes fixed on green.
“I… I love you.”
Nearly as soon as the words fell from his mouth, Izuku was shifting, tilting his weight forward into his knees and launching himself at Katsuki to press their lips together. Katsuki instinctively closed his eyes and leaned in, tilting his face to better fit his mouth against his. Izuku’s hand slid around to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against his hairline; his other hand squeezed Katsuki’s fingers until Katsuki flipped his palm over and let their fingers tangle together. Katsuki’s other hand found the curve of Izuku’s ribcage.
His lips stirred against his and Katsuki mouthed at Izuku’s top lip, slowly deepening the kiss. There was the brush of Izuku’s tongue against the seam of his mouth, but the kiss remained relatively chaste—sweet and exploring— fucking everything.
Izuku shifted further when the kiss ended, leaning further in to tuck his face against Katsuki’s neck.
Katsuki wound his arms around the other man, pulling him close, and kept his eyes closed as he nosed along wild curls. He breathed him in, heart loud in his ears, only vaguely aware of the smile touching his lips.
He couldn’t not smile.
Izuku loved him.
He loved him and fuck —he loved him! Izuku loved him and he loved Izuku. He wanted to shout it from the fucking rooftops. Blast it over the skyline of the city and shit —it still didn’t feel real. His arms tightened around Izuku’s form and he pressed a soft kiss to his hair. He could feel Izuku’s smile against his skin; he melted against him, sinking further into his arms.
There was a knock against the opened bedroom door and Katsuki’s eyes snapped open, reality spearing himself through the chest like Zeus’ lightning.
His eyes caught on Shouto and he instantly moved to draw away, panic and anxiety fueling the movement. But Izuku made a noise of protest and refused to let go of him, instead pressing himself closer and shit .
“Am I interrupting?” Shouto asked, hovering in the doorway. Katsuki expected Izuku to jerk back then at the sound of his voice. Pull away—maybe beg for forgiveness—but he didn’t. Instead he pressed a kiss to the curve of Katsuki’s neck and the touch of his lips against his skin made his face heat, a shiver skipping down each vertebrae.
“No,” Izuku breathed. He cleared his throat and repeated, louder, “No.”
He still didn’t let go and Katsuki couldn’t make his mouth work to form an apology. His arms settled loosely around Izuku, uncertain of where else to lay.
Shouto’s expression was annoyingly unreadable. He made a noise in the back of his throat and pushed further into the room.
“You talked, then?”
Izuku gave a watery laugh.
“Yeah,” he answered. Finally his hold on Katsuki loosened and he shifted, moving to look at his partner. “We kissed, too. I hope you don’t mind.”
Katsuki felt like he was in another dimension.
Shouto shook his head.
“I knew you would.”
There’s that laugh again, Izuku’s voice choked with happy tears.
“Do you want me to leave the two of you alone?” Shouto asked. His voice was still casual, almost flat. Body language still opened and relaxed. Katsuki stared at him, certain his disbelief had etched itself permanently into his features without permission. He couldn’t help it.
How was he okay with this?
Fuck—what if Katsuki had died earlier? Or maybe just passed out? Yeah—and this was all a dream. A really weird, really good dream.
Izuku shook his head.
“No—I think… I think we all need to talk.” Izuku’s eyes finally returned to Katsuki and he drew himself closer again. Katsuki blinked owlishly, brow furrowed. “Shouto already knew,” Izuku explained. “We’ve talked about my feelings for you before. I was—I was already given the greenlight to pursue you, if I wanted…” he looked almost sheepish. “I’m sorry. I should have told you before—before I kissed you.”
Katsuki could do little more than stare at Izuku. He thought back to his most recent interactions with Shouto. The way the other man had looked at him in that bathroom—the way he had helped him, much like Izuku had done tonight. Offered him water and fucking breath mints, quietly attending to him—making it more bearable, as if willing to hold the burden himself. Going on about metaphors and the size of the human heart and you should stop underestimating Izuku and be honest about your feelings. His gaze finally flicked away and to Shouto.
“You’re… okay with this?” he asked, disbelief resounding through his voice.
Shouto nodded.
“I have… similar desires, actually.” Katsuki stared harder. “To kiss you, I mean,” Shouto clarified.
What?
Okay—nope, scratch that. This was—this wasn’t real. He was either dead or dreaming or—or hallucinating. Maybe someone hit him with their fucked up quirk?
It was Izuku that spoke next. There was an undercurrent of amusement to his tone.
“That’s what we need to talk about.” Katsuki managed to bring his gaze down and to the nerd tucked against his side. “We’d… we’d like to date you. Both of us.”
The words hung in the air for several long moments as Katsuki searched Izuku’s face, silently waiting for the gotcha! —for the other shoe to drop. But it didn’t and his gaze darted between the two men, finally settling on Shouto as the dual-haired man tilted his head inquiringly.
“If you’re uninterested in me, however, that is perfectly fine. I want Izuku to be happy.”
His casual tone was honestly making Katsuki’s fucking head spin.
“We’d need ground rules, of course,” Izuku started, drawing his attention back to him. “Clear boundaries. Shouto and I have already talked about what we’re comfortable with… which is pretty much everything,” he admitted with a shrug and a small, watery smile. “So long as I still make time for him—and vice versa—” Katsuki’s eyes darted to the dual-haired man again, who was giving Izuku a painfully affectionate look as he talked, “then we’re pretty much fine. I mean, I know things will pop up… it’ll be important to communicate with each other along the way; miscommunication and jealousy are two of the leading reasons for polyamorous couples to struggle—”
“Polyamorous?” Katsuki echoed, grappling with the word as he processed what Izuku was saying.
“Mmhm. Couples that are involved in the practice of engaging in multiple romantic—and typically sexual—” Katsuki didn’t miss the brush of color along Izuku’s cheeks, “relationships with the consent of all people involved.”
Katsuki cocked an eyebrow and smirked.
“That the dictionary definition, nerd?”
Izuku laughed.
“Maybe,” he admitted, shifting to rub at the back of his neck.
Katsuki snickered and looked between the two of his friends again. He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together into a thin line before blowing out a sharp breath and asking, “You’re both serious about this?”
He looked at Izuku first.
“Yeah,” Izuku answered, face set in that goddamned determined expression of his.
Katsuki’s lips twitched and he looked at Shouto, who gave him what he assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile. Sometimes it was difficult to tell with him—like the act of smiling was still so unfamiliar—so new —that his face was uncertain of what to do with itself.
Still he said, “Yes.”
Katsuki looked between them again. There was more to it, of course. Like the nerd said. They’d have to talk. Establish ground rules or whatever—make sure they were all on the same page. But Izuku loved him and Shouto; Katsuki loved Izuku and liked Shouto—a lot—and Shouto loved Izuku as well and apparently liked Katsuki too?
Okay—so it was definitely still a clusterfuck and still felt too good to be true—but… but he wanted to try.
Fuck, he wanted to try.
Swallowing hard, Katsuki nodded.
“Okay—then…” he licked his lips, searching Shouto’s and Izuku’s face respectively. “Then let’s do it.”
Izuku practically launched himself at Katsuki again, nearly knocking him back and onto the bed. His laugh was bright and contagious, drawing the ball of sunshine from the depths of Katsuki’s stomach and shoving it roughly into his ribs. Katsuki’s arms tightened around the nerd and he let himself smile as Izuku tucked his face against his neck again, his face wet with tears. Happy tears, at least. His shoulders trembled and Katsuki shook his head as he stared at the mess of curls near his face, expression fond. His gaze flicked up and to Shouto, who had since neared the pair, and his smile widened despite himself.
He shifted, reaching out and offering him his hand.
Shouto smiled at the gesture and it was one of his good smiles—one of the ones that rivaled Izuku’s in its brilliance, its happiness —and reached out to take Katsuki’s hand with his own, his fingers cool against Katsuki’s.
Grin shifting into a smirk, Katsuki gave Shouto’s hand a deliberate, sharp tug, drawing the other man closer and almost tumbling onto them. There was a noise of surprise but Shouto quickly regained his footing; he moved accordingly, leaning over the two of them by putting one knee on the edge of the bed beside Katsuki’s leg and wrapping his arms around the both of them. Shouto’s chin hooked over Izuku’s opposing shoulder and Katsuki wound his arm around Shouto’s waist, drawing both Izuku and Shouto closer yet.
Izuku made a soft, contented sort of noise, and yeah —Katsuki really wanted to try.
Clusterfuck and all.