Work Text:
He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed when Izuku walks into the room. The warm light of the lamp illuminates the sweat sheening on Katsuki’s back. His unruly hair is glowing. With his head tilted downwards, Izuku can’t make out the silhouetted expression on his face.
Izuku wonders if Kacchan is still drunk.
He can still feel the heat simmering on his own skin, and although his head feels too heavy for his shoulders – the furniture’s no longer blurry, and he’s not swaying with each step. The buzz of the alcohol is slipping away, and in its wake, it leaves vignettes of the night’s events. It was reckless to drink tonight – he has to be up early tomorrow.
Izuku wonders if Kacchan regrets it.
He lingers at the door for a moment, taking in the oddity of a quiet and still Katsuki. He’s mellowed since his high school days, but being less of an asshole doesn’t mean he lost his fire.
“Are you gonna keep standing there and stare at me forever?”
Izuku’s shakes out of his trance and meets blood-red eyes. Katsuki’s voice is husky, but his words come out soft. Izuku feels his cheeks flush and fights the urge to fidget with the hem of his t-shirt. Katsuki’s lips tilt up into a light smirk, he always finds some amusement in making Izuku shy.
“I…I was just wondering if you wanted tea.” He manages to ask, trying to ignore how the light reflects against the wetness of Katsuki’s lips. God. He’s acting like a middle schooler on Valentine’s Day. He walks forward and hovers awkwardly next to Katsuki, unsure whether it’d be too intimate to sit next to him.
“Before that, can I borrow a shirt or something? I’m fucking freezing.”
“Yeah, of course!” Izuku mentally face-palms. I can’t believe I didn’t even realise…that he needed a shirt. Damn his postcoital brain. He rummages through a drawer, digging through layers of shirts and button-downs. Kacchan used to be a lot taller than him, but Izuku had shot up during his second-year and ended up a couple centimetres taller than the other man. (Katsuki remained in denial of this fact until graduation, when he finally put the remains of his inferiority complex to rest.) Izuku pulls out an old All Might t-shirt and immediately shoves it back into the drawer. He doesn’t want to think about that right now.
Izuku’s lost some muscle mass since losing One-For-All. In the initial months after the final embers dissipated, a cold bitterness enveloped his body. There was no point in keeping up his strict training regiment, so he spent days huddled in his apartment, relying on takeout and scrolling through old hero forums. He quietly grieved his quirk like a mother in mourning, ignoring the media, and rapid onslaughts of texts.
Izuku’s eyes sweep over familiar orange accents. He chuckles as he pulls out a worn black shirt. “Are you fine with hero merch?” He asks.
“I’m fucking cold – I’m fine with anything.” Izuku can practically hear Kacchan rolling his eyes and bites back a laugh. He tosses the shirt to Katsuki who mumbles a “thanks,” and watches as his eyes narrow and he holds the design up against the light.
“They don’t even sell this collection anymore, how the hell did you get your hands on one of these? Wasn’t it a limited release or something?” Some of the lettering has faded and the material feels cottony under Katsuki’s fingers, like it’s been run through the washing machine too many times.
“Of course I own your first merch release, Kacchan! I was really proud, you know?” Izuku protests, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. Is it weird to collect your friends’ merchandise…? He’s still a bit of an otaku after all. Katsuki doesn’t respond and pulls on the shirt – it’s a little baggy on him. He’s always been muscular, but Izuku knows the intentional effort he puts in to maintain his lean figure.
“I can’t bulk up like all you strength-types!” He barked at Kirishima one afternoon in the change rooms. “How the fuck am I supposed to be aerodynamic and maintain my speed if I’m dragged down by all that extra mass?” Kirishima laughed, pulling on his blazer. Izuku remembers thinking that Kacchan’s waist looked very huggable.
“You got barley tea?”
“H-huh?”
Katsuki huffs, rising from the edge of the bed. “You asked if I wanted tea.”
“Oh yeah. I think I have some from last time you were here…can tea expire?”
Katsuki pushes past Izuku, stretching his arms up over his head. “Yeah, but it’s only been a couple months. God–my muscles ache.” He grumbles as the pair head down the small hallway leading to the main room. Izuku’s apartment is quaint, but it’s enough. The lights are only switched on in the kitchen, swallowing the rest of the room in darkness.
“Sorry, Kacchan! I didn’t mean to be so…rough.”
“Shut up.”
Izuku laughs weakly and grabs the box of tea bags from the top cupboard. He takes his kettle and pops in a tea bag, before filling it with water. Back then, in the dorms, it wouldn’t be unusual to see Shoto brewing his classmates’ tea with a flaming hand. Now, Izuku has an electric kettle. The memory makes his heart clench but he waves the feeling away. It’s been years since
graduation – why should he be sentimental now?
Katsuki is leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him with a hard, unwavering gaze. Izuku feels a little bit like a scientific specimen, or maybe a difficult maths problem. Kacchan is wearing an unreadable expression. It’s a closed off look, a staggering switch from earlier.
“They’ll probably be suspicious.” Katsuki says, arms crossed over his chest.
“Who?”
“The rest of the…class. Our friends.”
“I don’t think anybody noticed us leaving, most of them were really drunk anyways.”
Katsuki hums in response and moves his gaze into the inky darkness. Under the stark overhead lighting, Izuku can see red and purplish marks blooming along the side of Katsuki’s neck. He blushes furiously. Oh my god. He did that. Are they gonna talk about this, or is this one of those things that Kacchan ignores and never mentions again?
The kettle beeps and Izuku takes out two mugs, he makes sure to grab the large ceramic one with flowers painted on the handle. Kacchan always grumbles about Izuku’s mugs being too small.
“Are you still drunk?” Izuku asks while pouring the tea, the steam rises and billows onto his face. Katsuki is still looking away, glassy eyes fixated on some faraway thought.
“Mm, a little. Practically sober now though. You kinda fucked the alcohol out of me.” The tone is so neutral and deadpan that it takes Izuku a moment to compute the words.
He splutters, mug wobbling in his hand and an incomprehensible noise stutters out of his mouth. Geez. What a way to be…direct about it.
“Uhhh..” Izuku manages to croak. Katsuki is still looking away, unfazed. He’s too quiet. Discomfort crawls up Izuku’s spine. The silence is thick and the atmosphere is akin to the times he had waited outside of Aizawa’s office, bracing himself for a stern scolding. It’s the type of anticipation that leaves your muscles tingling from hypervigilance, and your stomach somersaulting.
“I…do you regret it? I know that it’s kinda messed up cause we were both drunk –we can…we can just forget about it if you want. A one night stand, or something. Wait, can you even consent if you’re drunk? God. Kacchan, you didn’t feel pressured to do anything, right? Or did I accidentally hurt you or…” He’s fidgeting now, twisting his fingers like he did as a child.
“Shut up for a second. No. I didn’t feel pressured, so stop overthinking.”
“But, you–” Izuku thinks of Katsuki hunched over in his dimly lit bedroom. He looked…sad.
“I can’t tell if this is what you want.” He says it like a plea. Goddammit Kacchan, just tell me what’s going on in your head.
Izuku is not a coward. He grew out of that after fighting a war. He can recall every broken limb and concussion, or the sensation of his arms being torn off, or the sound of his body being thrown into concrete. In some sick way, he misses the feeling of being powerful and sometimes, if he focuses really hard, he can still imagine green lightning streaking over his skin.
Izuku is not a coward but he feels powerless next to Kacchan. That confusing bastard who has been awfully distant recently, but tonight, incredibly close. He doesn’t blame Kacchan for the lack of recent contact, it’s been like that with most of his former classmates. He understands. They’re sidekicking, and climbing national charts, and establishing agencies, and creating new policies, and making the world a better place. He’s happy for them, and follows each new development surging with pride, flicking through news articles and social media updates.
It took nearly half a year of postponed plans and mismatched schedules for Class A to finally reunite. Under the warm lights of the izakaya and slotted between Shoto and Iida, Izuku chugged beer and tried to absorb the heroic energy infusing the room. He was still part of it. If he clinged onto their orbits, he could still be part of it.
“You’re nearly done with your course right, Deku-kun?” Ochako grinned, her cheeks flushed pinker than usual. Izuku laughed sheepishly, “actually, I graduated two months ago. I’m starting at Yuuei tomorrow.” Ochako’s eyes widened and she clapped her hands over her mouth in a cartoonish fashion. “Shit! I’m so sorry, I forgot! I should’ve brought a congratulatory gift, or…or flowers or anything!” Izuku shook his head frantically and reassured her as she drunkenly blubbered apologies. “It’s fine! You’ve been busy, I didn’t tell many people about it anyways.” Ochako smiled up at him, eyes a little watery.
He’s tugged out of the memory.
“What about you, is this what you want?” Katsuki counters, turning around to face Izuku. He’s oddly calm. He’s frustratingly calm. It’s a crude contrast from an hour ago, when his eyes had been teary, and his arms were wrapped around Izuku’s neck, and his lips warm–
Kacchan arrived late.He’d been working overtime a lot more frequently. Kirishima slapped him on the back as he settled down next to him, flanked by Kaminari who was complaining about some blind date gone wrong. When their eyes met, Izuku gave him a wave and smiled wide, drunk off a couple pints. He’s always been a lightweight. Katsuki greeted him with a brisk nod before gulping down his glass of shochu. Although they were seated on opposite sides of the table, Kacchan’s presence was inescapable. Izuku felt himself unconsciously looking towards the other end, as the conversations around him morphed into background noise. Kacchan was slurring his words, his mannerisms lazy from the alcohol. He caught Izuku staring, and smirked knowingly.
“I don’t regret it.” Izuku finally says. They stay silent for a while longer. Behind Katsuki, he can see Musutafu’s skyline glittering on the horizon. Katsuki makes a noncommittal sound and seats himself on a counter stool.
“Is that really okay?” Katsuki asks bluntly, breaking the stalemate. “I don’t know if…this…this is allowed.” He says the last words with a weak laugh on his breath and runs a hand through his hair. Mouth pinched into a tight grimace, he looks down at his half empty mug.
“What do you mean by allowed? Is this a work thing? Did your mom say something again–”
“No. Ugh. It’s, it’s just…” His words trail off and Katsuki’s hands tighten into fists. He looks up at the ceiling, biting the inside of his cheek.
“Isn’t it unfair?”
Izuku furrows his brows, both hands wrapped around his mug. “Kacchan, you’re confusing me.”
“I know, I know. It’s hard to explain…” Katsuki’s voice swells with a dash of his usual anger. He shakes out his hands and grits his teeth. Izuku looks at him with kind eyes. Katsuki’s skin prickles. He used to bristle at that expression, it used to scream pity and scrutiny. But now those eyes just feel ridiculously self-sacrificial. Katsuki hates it.
“You want to teach?” He asks aggressively.
“What?”
“Teaching, being a teacher, is that what you want to do?”
A lump forms in Izuku’s throat. He blanks for a moment.
“...Yes?”
Katsuki drains the rest of his tea like it’s liquor and loudly sets his mug on the countertop. Izuku winces, he hopes it hasn’t cracked. “Bullshit.” Katsuki hisses.
“What?” Izuku responds plainly.
“You’re a hero. You’re meant to be a hero.”
Where is Kacchan going with this? He’s changing the topic however he wants. Izuku draws in a long breath. The confusion is warping into frustration but he tries to level his voice as he speaks.
“Kacchan, you know that’s not possible anymore.” Izuku says. It’s almost hysterical that they’re having this conversation and Izuku wants to move on but Katsuki scoffs.
And then the anger bubbles, and maybe it’s because he’s tired and Kacchan’s acting strange, and maybe it’s because he’s suddenly asking about his career after they’ve just slept together, or maybe it’s because he met his friends for the first time in half a year and he has never felt so alienated amongst the people who know him best, or maybe it’s because Kacchan just scoffed at him–
He grits his teeth. Izuku might have saved Japan at sixteen, but he’s still human. He lets the anger swell. He’ll let himself fan the flames tonight.
“What gives you the right to tell me who I’m meant to be?” Izuku starts, voice injected with vitriol.
Katsuki stares at him like he’s just said something incredibly stupid, then barks out a laugh. “I don’t know Izuku, maybe it’s because I’m the only person who has spent eighteen years listening to you ramble endlessly about this fucking dream.” He slides off the stool and balls his fists. He looks at Izuku with his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed, mouth pulled in a taut line. This is a very familiar Kacchan. Izuku can work with this.
He gestures dramatically, “oh really? Thank you for reminding me, but Kacchan– you don’t speak for me. Maybe you’ve forgotten, with your busy schedule and all, but I don’t have a quirk anymore! Don’t tell me that doesn’t change anything.”
Katsuki rakes his fingers through his hair. “God. Izuku, when did you get so– so– insecure?”
“Insecure? Oh are we talking about insecurity now? That’s a lot coming from you.”
“Fuck. This isn’t about me, you moron. This is about you! This is about you throwing everything away after one setback.”
God. Kacchan is still a bit of a dick, isn’t he? Katsuki steps forward arrogantly, breaching Izuku’s personal space. There is thunder roaring in Izuku’s ears.
“It’s over. I got a taste of it, and I’m grateful but–”
“But what? Maybe it wasn’t meant to be? Are you gonna shove that shitty excuse in my face?”
“Excuse?! I’m trying to be honest here! Do you think I accepted this job because I was bored? Do you think I spent two years studying my ass off for fun?”
“I think you accepted the job because you’re giving up.”
Izuku lets out a harsh breath and stabs a finger at Katsuki’s chest. “Giving up? You think this is giving up?” He lets out a bitter laugh. He knows he’s being irrational, and Izuku loves Katsuki, but he’s also the only person who can draw out this side of him.
“Why do you feel so entitled to my decisions? You haven’t been around! We’ve barely spoken since I left the agency! Don’t tell me that I’m giving up, because I’m just accepting the truth for what it is. I did what I could, and it was the best decision I’ve ever fucking made. What do you want me to do? Do you want me to apologise for killing Shigaraki? Do you want me to get on my knees and rewind time? Do you want me to resurrect my quirk so I can fuck around playing hero? I’m sorry that you miss the thrill of having a rival, Kacchan.” His mouth keeps moving, why does it keep moving?
“Maybe it’s time we revert to our roots, yeah? Poor, quirkless Deku and the prodigal Bakugou Katsuki! Isn’t this what you wanted? Aren’t you happy cause there’s one less hero to compete with? There’s a part of you that is relieved, right?” Izuku combs a hand through his hair and tugs at his shirt collar.
Katsuki deflates. His scowl straightens into a passive mask and the crease between his eyebrows soften. He uncrosses his arms and lets them hang at his side.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Izuku.”
Katsuki looks at the ground and his voice grows hoarse. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He repeats, fainter the second time. Suddenly, Izuku feels heavy with guilt, and he doesn’t know what to say. The brimming frustration has nowhere to go. Fuck.
“I just want you to be happy.” Katsuki grits out.
“I want you to be happy. Are you happy, Izuku?”
His words crack at the edges, and his breath hitches. Head still bowed, he wipes at his face with the back of his wrists, face obscured by his blonde hair. Oh. The anger evaporates. Izuku feels cold. Katsuki’s shoulders shake and he curls in on himself a little bit. Like he’s trying to hide.
“Fuck Kacchan. No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say those things, I’m just frustrated. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know– I know you don’t think like that, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you.” Izuku closes the distance and wraps his arms around Katsuki’s trembling shoulders.
Kacchan cries silently. It’s jarring and rare, and it wrenches at Izuku’s insides until he feels his own eyes dampen. “Let me take it back.” He murmurs, with Katsuki’s face buried in his shoulder, and begins to stroke his hair carefully. He smells sweet, like always.
“I am happy, Kacchan. Of course I feel sad sometimes. Of course I miss One-For-All and working as a hero with everyone…but then I remember that losing that power is why I’m here with you right now. How can I be unhappy when I know that you’re alive?” Katsuki’s breathing begins to even out, but he stays silent.
“I’ve told you before but One-For-All was never really mine anyways. It existed for a purpose, and it belonged to that purpose. I really am grateful that I got to be a part of that experience.”
Katsuki looks up, and gently pulls himself away but doesn’t meet Izuku’s eyes. He’s embarrassed, in the way that he always is when he lets his armour crack. The skin around his eyes are a little blotchy, and his eyes are red-rimmed. He chews at his lower lip.
“I chose to become a teacher because it’s the closest option…to the real thing. I loved heroes before Yuuei and I still l want to be part of that world. I’m excited to support future heroes. I want to do good and I’m not giving up, I’m just helping in the way I can.”
Katsuki exhales. “Yeah. Okay. I get it. That’s okay.” He says, voice slightly wavering. Then after a while, he murmurs, “I’m sorry.” He looks up at Izuku’s face and the ragged scar drawn down his right cheek.
“Sometimes I feel guilty about living this life.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking off to the side.
“We started together, and I know I was an asshole for a long fucking time, but I feel like I’ve left you behind. I got to go pro even though you’ve always been the good one.” Katsuki laughs weakly. “When you left the agency I felt like something had been ripped from me. It fucking sucked and I had no idea how I was supposed to manage shit on my own. But I stayed away ‘cause some part of me thinks I deserve the discomfort.”
Izuku frowns and opens his mouth to speak but Katsuki interrupts him before he can say anything. “Let me finish. Let me explain.”
“I don’t think it’s fair if I get what I want. I don’t think I should be allowed to have you.”
“You’re making me sound like a saint, Kacchan.” His words are quiet. Izuku reaches out and gently takes Katsuki’s right hand, brushing his rough fingers over the calluses on his palms. “Did you forget that you spent years rehabilitating this arm?” Katsuki huffs, exasperated.
“Remember how frustrated you were when you had to learn how to do everything with your left hand? God, your handwriting was illegible for a while.”
Izuku imagines the large scar bursting across Katsuki’s chest– the way the skin is serrated and rough to touch. “You died at seventeen, then got back up and fucked up the craziest villain in modern history. You…you’re amazing, Kacchan. You deserve good things.”
Katsuki traces his eyes over the scars weaved around Izuku’s hands and arms.
He clears his throat and speaks clearly. “There’s always a spot at the agency for you.” Katsuki thinks for a moment. “You do whatever makes you happy but I’m not gonna give up. People still need you, so don’t try to stop me...nerd.”
“Well." Izuku clicks his tongue. "Kacchan’s always been stubborn.” Then he chuckles and Katsuki smiles, and it’s like he’s been offered an olive branch. The tension in the air settles.
Back at Yuuei, most of their arguments were settled in the sparring room, where they compromised with bleeding knuckles and bruised ribs. Kacchan would create explosions out of his emotions, letting them fester until his palms sparked like firecrackers. For Izuku, sparring Katsuki was cathartic. It was loose and unrestrained, with lips curved into manic smiles, and fists clenched tightly. Once it was over, it didn’t really matter who won – they’d both end up panting, chests heaving and covered in scrapes. Then they’d laugh a little and wait until the cortisol faded. One of them would stand up and offer a hand then they’d walk back to the dorms.
Izuku thinks that if he tried to spar Kacchan now, he would probably die. From now on, worlds are really all they have.
He re-heats his tea. Honestly, Izuku isn’t really fond of the stuff, but Kacchan likes it, so he always keeps a box in the cupboard. The conversation uncoils slowly as if there’s suddenly a wall of formality between them. But when Izuku asks Katsuki to recount his recent cases; he finds himself too enthralled to be awkward.
As they talk, Izuku realises that he misses seeing Katsuki in his hero uniform.
“You should come by after work, I haven’t seen it in ages!” Izuku says. They’ve migrated to the couch and Katsuki is lying on his back, with his head resting on a pillow, whilst Izuku is perched on the arm of the couch.
“Don’t you see me on the news or something? I swear that these fucking reporters are stalking me, they’re always shoving those cameras in my face.”
“It’s not the same! I used to see it every day in person. It was cool! I’ve always loved the grenadier designs, but looking at them now, they’re kinda terrifying. Anyways, honestly, you should talk to Hatsume about fixing the recoil buffer cause I noticed in that recent fight with the shark-guy you were rolling your shoulders a lot towards the end, and that cannot be good for your long term performance. Also I know that the weather’s getting colder so you’re gonna add your winter additions to your costume, and you know how last year you changed your glove design? I think that you could–”
Katsuki shoves his hand over Izuku’s mouth. “Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” He growls, but the words are doused with so much affection it’s barely believable.
“Come visit the agency.”
“Kacchan, it’s on the other side of the city.”
“You can drive, or take the metro.”
“You can drive too!”
“Eh. Explosions are cooler.”
Izuku huffs out an exasperated sigh. Katsuki half shrugs. “I guess you’ll only see Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight through the silver screen for the rest of your lif-”
“Okay, okay, you prick. I’ll see if it works with my schedule.” Izuku is stroking Kacchan’s hair, running his fingers through the spikes. He hums in thought. He hasn’t visited the agency in a year now. He wonders how the new wave of interns are doing and smiles thinking about high schoolers bearing the brunt of Kacchan’s wrath.
Katsuki sits up and rolls his neck. Maybe lying down in that position for an hour wasn’t ideal. His shoulders ache a bit now, along with everything else. “I can’t believe I got hammered, fucked, and cried all in one night. This might be a new low.” Izuku laughs.
“On the topic of uniforms, can you uhm…you’re staying the night, right?” Izuku asks.
“Yeah. If you let me.”
“Okay cool. I need you to help me do my tie tomorrow.”
Katsuki straightens rapidly and turns to Izuku with wide eyes, his mouth open in horror (or is it pity?) “You’re a whole ass grown man, and you still can’t do your own tie?” Izuku’s cheeks flush pink.
“Well, when you say it like that…!”
Katsuki shakes his head in disbelief. “Yeah, I’ll help you, but only cause it’ll bring me so much secondhand embarrassment if you turn up to Yuuei with a fuckass tie. I’ll actually fucking drop dead on the spot. Aizawa will drop dead. All Might will drop dead. The entire faculty will drop dead.” Izuku sputters, he forgets how theatrical Katsuki can be. He doesn’t mention the hypocrisy though, considering Kacchan didn’t wear a tie once during their high school career.
They talk about unserious things for a while. “We need to balance it out.” Izuku explains, pausing their debate on the superiority of different dog breeds. (Izuku advocates for the collie, rambling on about facts and evidence for ten minutes. Katsuki pulls up a photo of a Samoyed and says it looks cute.)
They go to bed soon after. Izuku grabs a spare toothbrush for Katsuki and they brush their teeth standing next to each other and fight for the basin because they’re mature like that. They crawl into the same bed and neither questions it because it doesn’t make sense for Katsuki to sleep on the couch. Izuku wraps his arms around Katsuki’s waist and Katsuki doesn’t pull away. He justifies it because he’s too damn cold and Izuku’s sleeps like a furnace.
“Soooo, Kacchan–why haven’t you been answering my calls?” Katsuki lifts his arms, trying not to spill his fucking drink as Izuku leans against him. “Oi! Get the fuck off me, ‘zuku. I’ll pour this fuckin’ sake on you.” Todoroki snickers from across the table. “That’s a waste of sake.” The bastard says. Everyone’s plastered. Stupid, emotional twenty-two year olds! Izuku looks tired. He looks thinner. Has he been eating enough? “Hey. Izuku. Izuku.” All he can see is green hair resting on his shoulder. Fucking hell. “Izuku. Deku. Deku. Hey.” Izuku looks up, “huh?” Katsuki drains the glass. “Have you been–been eatin’ well? Enough?” Yep. He’s definitely drunk now, everything is moving at a slower frame rate. “Yeahhh? I think so. Why? Is Kacchan worried about me?” Somebody laughs at that. Or just laughs in general. Katsuki can’t tell anymore, there are way too many people around. “Yes.” His mouth responds on its own. When Izuku laughs, his breath is hot on Katsuki’s neck. It makes his heart lurch. “I think I should go…get some air.” Katsuki says and slams his hands on the table to steady himself before standing up. The room spins a little. “You’re comin’ with me.” He pulls Izuku up by his arm and drags him out of the izakaya, onto the sidewalk. Fucking hell, it was stuffy in there. Then Izuku is clasping his hand and leading him to the side of the building, away from the glow of the streetlamps and signs. He pushes Katsuki against the wall and woah, his hands are warm. Eyes half-lidded, he draws himself closer, “I’ve missed you Kacchan.”
***
“I kinda like the scars.” Izuku says, stabbing at his eggs. They’re sitting at the kitchen counter again, Izuku doesn’t even know why he owns a dining table. The sun is filtering through the windows, and it beams strips of light onto the wooden flooring.
“It feels like…evidence? Evidence that we fought, and that I was strong.”
Katsuki frowns. “You are strong. What the fuck.”
Izuku rolls his eyes, “not the point I’m trying to make.” Katsuki bites his toast with a loud crunch, then he chews with his eyebrows furrowed in thought.
“I don’t mind this scar.” Katsuki says pointing to his right cheek, where a jagged cut is slashed across his skin. Then he points his finger to his chest. “I hate this one though. It’s kinda gross. It’s all spiderweb-y and the skin there is fucked forever.”
“It’s not gross, Kacchan! I…last night…you know! I think all of Kacchan is pretty.” Izuku says firmly, and Kacchan grins like it’s a challenge. “Okay then, I guess my scar’s not gross, and you’re still strong.” Izuku doesn’t try to hide his smile. It’s charming when Katsuki acts soft like this.
“Uhm…does it still hurt? The scar?”
“Sometimes.” Katsuki responds. He takes another bite and finds himself suddenly transfixed with his glass of water. “I worry that my heart will just… stop one day. That I’m living on borrowed time.” He laughs, but it’s barren.
Izuku jabs his fork in Katsuki’s direction accusingly. “Shut up. Don’t spoil my breakfast with that bullshit.” He says firmly. Then he leans forward and presses a hand to Katsuki’s chest, holding it against the pulse of his heart. He anticipates every beat. It’s working perfectly fine.
“You are so dramatic.” Kacchan mumbles.
Katsuki has finished drying the dishes when Izuku walks out of his room, holding two ends of his tie which is already wrapped around the back of his collar. He’s wearing a suit. He looks good. Really good. He swallows. Then Katsuki thinks about how there is no other teacher at Yuuei who wears a suit and a cold feeling washes over him. Izuku looks at him expectantly with his round, green eyes. God, he needs to get a hold of himself. He’s happy for Izuku.
“It’s not that I don’t know how to tie it, it just looks really bad when I do.” Izuku complains, and Kacchan dries his hands on a tea towel.
“Yeah, yeah, just get over here.”
He ties the damn tie. Katsuki makes sure that each loop, and length is perfectly proportionate and honestly, he’s much more careful than he usually is. He straightens the tie when he’s done, steps back to review his handiwork, then fixes Izuku’s collar. Very professional. He looks great. He’s gonna be such a good fucking teacher, he’s gonna talk the students’ ears off with his quirk analysis, he’s gonna–
Why is Izuku laughing?
“Oi. Why are you laughing at me?” Katsuki snaps.
“Because I just remembered how much I love you.” Izuku beams and Katsuki hasn’t seen that smile in so long he wonders if it’d be fucking creepy to photograph it and keep it in his pocket. He flushes red. Izuku’s shameless with his emotions, that sappy bastard.
“I can’t believe you forgot.” He shoots back jokingly, because Katsuki is mature like that. He borrows a cap from Izuku and shoves it onto his messy hair, angling the brim downwards. Seriously, fuck those reporters.
He’s changed out of the Dynamight tee into his clothes from last night still, which smells faintly of alcohol and his burnt-caramel sweat. To be frank, it feels a little disgusting but he’ll take another shower when he gets home.
“Grab your stuff, you’re gonna be late, nerd.”
Izuku checks the time on his phone and shouts an eloquent, “oh shit!”
“What about you? Don’t you have patrols?” Izuku asks from his room. Katsuki leans against the wall next to the genkan, twirling his car keys around his finger.
“Nah. The sidekicks are handling the morning runs today. I’ll drive you to Yuuei – don’t want you getting into a car accident on your first day.”
Izuku emerges from the bedroom with a black backpack slung around one shoulder. Katsuki notices a small keychain hanging from one of the zippers, it looks like a grenade. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t you go home, or get ready for the afternoon patrol? What if something happens and they need you back? I mean it’d be a long drive for you…” Katsuki sparks a palm, silencing him.
“Shut up. This is a one-time offer.” They both know that isn’t true but Izuku jokingly bows in thanks.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Izuku pauses at the door. Hand gripping the strap of his backpack. “Do I look…okay?” He blurts out. Katsuki finishes pulling on his sneakers. He stands up and scans Izuku up-and-down. He takes in his mess of green curls, his freckles and scars, and his new suit. He notices that Izuku’s dress shoes have been freshly polished. Katsuki shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket so he doesn’t do something reckless like kiss the guy.
“Eh…like a five out of ten?” He drawls.
“Kacchannn!”
Katsuki pushes the door open and turns back to look at Izuku. He smiles warmly, his red eyes fiercely bright, and holds out his hand.
“I’m kidding. You look like a hero.”