Chapter Text
Izuku made it exactly three weeks before he broke and begged his mother to help him figure out what the list of requirements were for him to return to Japan and naturalize as a citizen there. It turned out, being a world class athlete with a Japanese birth certificate made the process a lot easier.
Nonetheless, it was still over a year until Izuku found himself on a plane halfway around the world, visiting his boyfriend. They had seen each other a number of times over the months – Worlds, when Kacchan had visited the States (not for the first time, though he claimed it was like the first time all over again with the nerd’s enthusiasm). But this would be when Izuku started filing paperwork with the Japanese government and – more importantly – met the Bakugous in person for the first time.
To say he was nervous would have been a gross understatement of the situation.
His heart skipped a beat, despite his nervousness, when he saw the familiar blond hair and grumpy scowl waiting for him just outside of Japan’s customs line at Tokyo International. He almost mowed over a little girl and her family in his haste to get to his boyfriend and only after about fifty apologies and hasty bows did he extricate himself in time to throw himself into the other man’s arms.
It was good to be in Japan.
Kacchan was laughing at him, of course, but Izuku could care less with his nose buried in the man’s comfortable neck.
“So, how’s it feel to nearly become a child killer two seconds after stepping off the plane,” he chortled, his shoulders shaking as Izuku clung to them.
He smacked the other man in the back – lightly, not even close to being anything near painful, but still. “It was an accident,” he mumbled against Katsuki’s warm, suntanned skin. “I was just so excited to see you. It’s been forever.”
Kacchan’s arms had already come around him, trapping him in warmth and love, but they tightened then and the blond sighed, voice softening as he pressed a kiss against Izuku’s ear. “I’ve missed you too, shitty nerd.”
“Must you call me that still,” Izuku snorted, pulling back so he could look the man in the eyes properly, noting the humor glinting in his scarlet glow.
Slowly beginning to unwind the two of them so they can make their way to the baggage claim, Katsuki shrugged. “Well, if the shoe fits –“ he drawled, his voice trailing off into a laugh as Izuku used his half-free hand to clumsily smack his chest.
“I wonder if there’s a flight back to the States –“
“If there is, you ain’t getting on it.”
“Mean, Kacchan!”
Yes, it was good to be in Japan – but even better to be with his love.
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It had been almost a decade since Izuku’s last visit to Japan, Katsuki knew this and yet still shook his head at the childlike wonder on his boyfriend’s face as they rode the train from Tokyo International into the city, to where they would catch a connecting train back to his parents’ home in Musutafu. Izuku had muttered something about his mother growing up near there as well months earlier, and they’d speculated for about five minutes about the chances before moving on to more relevant topics. Still, the blond was excited to show him around – more excited than he’d thought he would be.
As a member of Team Japan, Katsuki liked to think he had a healthy sense of love for his home and country, the kind of national pride that could only come from representing the place on a global stage. Still, he’d never wanted to become a tour guide for an American boyfriend prior (despite never having had one before), and it was almost stupid how excited the thought made him feel now.
No, he decided, it was stupid – and he wouldn’t be telling Pinky or Shitty Hair about it. Not even if they threatened his baby photos again. His mother would get to that and show the nerd before they could, anyway, so their threat was meaningless.
“Are we stopping at your place before we head to your parents’?” Izuku asked around a yawn. Katsuki knew he’d been tasked with keeping the nerd awake long enough to stave off as much jetlag as possible, but it was difficult when the man looked so cute nodding off in his seat, head resting against his shoulder.
Snorting softly, he shook his head. “Nah, Ma wants to meet you ‘as soon as possible’,” he replied, holding his free hand up to create quotation parks with his first two fingers. The other was occupied holding the nerd’s, scarred and calloused fingers intertwined, exactly where they were meant to be. “I told her to give us a day but,” he sighed. “You’ll see when we get there.”
Izuku did see – quickly – because Katsuki had hardly opened the door before Mitsuki was barreling out of it, slapping him upside the back of the head for taking too long and then grabbing the other man in a tight hug.
“Well, it’s about damn time we met the only man who can keep up with the brat!” she crowed, before yelling over her shoulder for her husband.
Izuku looked nothing short of starstruck, and Katsuki snorted as his quieter, more subdued, but nonetheless enthusiastic father approached, offering a hand for the American to shake.
“Didn’t want you scaring him off before I had a chance to convince him to move in with me,” he barked in response to his mother, who let go of Izuku in order to squabble with her child. He didn’t miss his father ushering Izuku into their home in the background, soft smiles shared as their other halves had it out in the front garden.
Still – Katsuki couldn’t imagine a better introduction.
Even thirty minutes later, when they’re still squabbling – this time over the spice level of the curry his mother made in preparation – Izuku looks like he’s never been happier, eyes wide and shiny despite the travel exhaustion lingering behind them. It’s a few hours before Katsuki is able to drag his mother off his boyfriend with promises they’ll return in the morning.
Izuku is asleep within minutes as soon as the cab they’re taking to Katsuki’s apartment drives away, bags stowed carefully in the back, head resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder.
It is, Katsuki thinks, exactly where he is meant to be.
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The next morning dawns and with it, Izuku found himself awake two hours prior, shifting restlessly and then scolding himself, huddled beneath the warmth of the shared futon. Katsuki had grumbled a few times in his seat about antsy, shitty nerds before rolling over and falling back asleep. And Izuku had spent his time awake contemplating the reality of the last forty-eight hours. He’d boarded a plane to Japan, then another, then the final connection, before arriving in Tokyo, nearly maiming a child, finding the love of his life, meeting said love’s parents, and then – at least – finding himself in the place he might one day call home.
He must have been half (or more) asleep when they’d arrived the evening before, because he has no memory of the entryway or any other part of the apartment, aside from Kacchan’s bedroom which is tidy and organized – not unlike the man himself, though gymnastics memorabilia and pictures linger in the corners, as if afraid to collect dust or take up too much space.
Izuku thinks he’d very much like to clutter the place up with his own trophies and memories.
The kitchen, he realized a few minutes after extricating himself from the futon and taking care of his morning ablutions in the bathroom, was as intricately organized as what he imagined a military base would be. Everything had its place – to the point he was almost afraid to touch it – but not so afraid that Kacchan didn’t find him ten minutes later, nursing a mug of coffee at the island that peeked into the space from the living area.
“If you fucked up my machine –“ Kacchan threatened, coming over to wrap his arm around Izuku’s waist and press a kiss to the side of his head.
The other man giggled, resting against the blond’s chest, soaking up the lingering warmth as he shook his head. “Left it exactly as I found it. Better than, even.”
“Good. I’d hate to have to kill you and get my Ma to help me hide the body.”
“She’d turn you in. She loves me now.”
“The fuck!”
They both knew it was true, but the playful squabble that followed was filled with love and laughter alike.
One cup of coffee and many kisses later, the two of them were on their way back to Kacchan’s childhood home – this time by foot. It wasn’t that Izuku didn’t remember meeting Bakugou Mitsuki and Masaru, that meeting would forever be ingrained in the back of his mind, but the second hello and how are you and good morning was almost more impactful than the first because he’d had a full night’s sleep to re-humanize him for it.
If it wasn’t obvious before who Kacchan takes after, another five minutes in Mitsuki’s presence solidifies it. Loud and blonde and so, so loving in all her bravado and faux anger and sharp smiles. He adores her, not as much as Kacchan, but in a close second spot – somewhere near his love for his mother, though that is tempered in its own way given their history. Masaru is more like him, he realizes, and later, he’ll tease his boyfriend about the similarities – dating your father, huh? Sure, you don’t want to call me Daddy? He’ll laugh and Kacchan will splutter, and everything will continue to feel so perfectly right it hurts.
It's hard, when everything is so lovely, to remember that this trip has an expiration date, and months before anything with the government progresses, and he’s so, so impatient that the only way he can manage the frustration is to throw himself into every moment he can.
And then, two weeks later, he’s saying goodbye again – hopefully, for the last time.
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Katsuki would like to have a word – or a few – with the Japanese government. Unfortunately, they’re dodging his calls.
“Fucking bastards,” he muttered under his breath, slouching in his seat across from Shitty Hair at the local Izakaya they frequent only when the dumbass begs him to go and grab a beer after practice. Aizawa had them running drills for over an hour, so the blond is beat in more than one way.
Shitty Hair sips his beer before setting it back on the table, a sympathetic expression on his face. It’s later than their usual post-practice hangouts, but something tells Katsuki he’s not getting out there without a conversation he (probably) doesn’t want to have. “So, no luck yet on getting an answer about Midobro’s visa to come and stay?”
The angry clench of his fist around his own beer is the only answer Katsuki is willing to give. “S’fuckin’ unfair,” he grumbled before bringing the lip of the bottle to his mouth and sipping slowly. “And they’ve got shitty rules about him visiting before the process is complete because he might ‘sneak in and stay illegally’,” he continued, snorting and rolling his eyes though Shitty Hair looks unimpressed.
“Isn’t that exactly what you’d convince him to do?”
Katsuki splutters. “Well! If they would just let him in legally, I wouldn’t have to go around the law, now, would I?” he barked. Really, it wasn’t his fault at all if the government wanted to shove their heads up their asses and not reunite him with his boyfriend-soon-to-be-fiancé-if-he-had-his-way.
Shitty Hair sighed, shaking his stupid, shitty hair and head as he chuckled to himself. Katsuki didn’t particularly find anything about what he’d said funny – but later, when he’d repeated the story to Pinky, she burst into laughter as well!
He was so misunderstood – and truly, absolutely beaten down by what Dunce Face liked to call, quote, “the man”.
God, he was surrounded by idiots.
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Seven months. Seven months since he’d seen Kacchan, and the only reason they’d be on the same soil for the week was because Worlds was being held in the UK that year – still, Izuku wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Chako was sitting beside him as they staked out the arrivals gate at Heathrow, practically bouncing in her seat from excitement.
“Did I tell you that Mina and I have been skyping weekly?”
“Only a few times.” It had been exactly twelve, Izuku counted, but he wasn’t about to tell his best friend that. She’d found another best friend, one who shared a similar passion, and could be equally a competitive, exciting rival as well. So long as they didn’t fall in love and abandon their respective boyfriends, he supposed it would be alright.
Even if they did, who was he to stand in the way of true, queer love?
Her squeal was his first hint that Team Japan had found their way to the exit and coming through, but the world faded around him as his eyes locked onto his boyfriend’s. Skyping, Face Timing, texting, none of it was a good enough substitute to seeing the other man in person and there was a moment between sitting and finding himself locked in Kacchan’s arms again where Izuku was almost positive he blacked out. For the best, really, and at least this time there had been no families or little girls to run over.
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Katsuki had gone through and discarded a hundred proposal plans before he’d settled on one that was the winner. Ironically, it also involved the dependent variable of him showing up to Worlds and winning, but he felt that detail was relatively inconsequential. He’d won at the Olympics, of course he would win at Worlds.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who one asked), Izuku beat him to it.
So, while Katsuki was not wearing the gold around his neck when he knelt down on one knee, someone was, and that someone said yes, teary-eyed and blotchy-cheeked, while the United States National Anthem played in the background.
And while he would swear up, down, left, and right that he’d planned to propose with or without the shitty Japanese government’s support, he was kinda hoping that it would help expediate the process that had been moving at snail’s pace. Maybe next time they were on the national stage, regardless of which of them won, it would be Japan’s anthem that played in the background.
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Exactly two years after beginning the naturalization process, a relatively short amount of time, all things considered, (still two years until the Los Angeles Olympics, even!) Izuku received the confirmation and congratulations of his now Japanese citizenship in the form of a simple letter to his mother’s home address in the States. It was accompanied by an email, which eerily arrived only a day later (perhaps they had some kind of alert for mail reception). Izuku didn’t care either way.
He'd woken Kacchan up in the middle of the night to sob on the phone. He was coming home.
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They were married six months later, in a small garden near Katsuki’s family home in Musutafu. Their teams were present, along with their families, and a small number of guests their mothers had strong-armed them into inviting (realizing along the way that only did they have friends in common, but they had known each other, once upon a time, decades prior, before Katsuki and Izuku had even been a blink of a thought).
Round Cheeks and Pinky had both cried into their respective boyfriends’ lapels, Dunce Face had held hands with Eye Bags, and even Icy-Hot had showed up on Sero’s arm (Katsuki had refused to invite him on principle, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed – or approved of –the invitation Izuku had slipped into the mail). Aizawa and Yagi had survived sitting next to each other for the duration of the ceremony.
And Izuku? Well, Katsuki was pleased to say that the nerd’s eyes had rarely left his (and vice versa), the watery smile exchanged for an even brighter one once they were pronounced husband and husband, hands clasped, and a kiss exchanged before the most important people in their lives.
Maybe it was more than Katsuki deserved, not yet even twenty-four, but he couldn’t imagine spending even another second of life without the man by his side. And now, he didn’t have to.
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A year and a half later, Team Japan debuted its line-up of gymnastic superstars on its Men’s Team – this time, Bakugou K. and Bakugou I. taking center stage and sweeping the competition – together.
And if they lived happily ever after (despite arguing about how socks were best folded and whether or not soaking dishes was truly necessary if no crumbs remained), well, that was their business and no one else’s, wasn’t it?
The End (Really, This Time)