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After the war ends, Izuku leaves the hero course at UA.
Even though he can still feel the faint remnants of One For All’s embers, Izuku decides that it's better this way. He’s quirkless again, after all. It doesn’t matter how long the embers take to burn out, the truth will still be a bitter pill to swallow. He can’t be too sad, though.
He got to live out his dream of being a hero, even if it was just for a little while.
It's okay, though. Besides, all his friends still stop by to visit him!
Whenever Kaminari, Jirou, and Yao-Momo come to visit, they tell him all about their training, rebuilding efforts, and how Aizawa-sensei is still strict as ever with homework deadlines. Jirou even showed him the prosthetic Earphone Jack that the support course built for her, bringing along a notebook filled with notes and tests as she gets used to it.
“I have you to thank for giving me note-taking tips,” she’d remarked softly. “I would’ve been a disaster otherwise.”
“Of course!” Izuku replied, giving a small smile. “I’m glad I was able to help.”
On the other hand, whenever Todoroki and Kirishima stop by, they tend to just give Izuku silent company. They think they’re subtle with the way their fingers lace between one another’s, but Izuku noticed the second time they visited together. Neither Todoroki nor Kirishima has said anything about it, so Izuku hasn’t brought it up, either. He’s happy for them. He can tell that they’re good for each other.
Whenever Uraraka and Tsuyu visit him, they tend to be a mix of silence and talking about what's been happening lately.
“I've been feeling a lot of guilt about Himiko-chan,” Uraraka mentioned once. “And grief.”
“It wasn't your fault, Uraraka-san,” Izuku had retorted. “You did what you could.”
Before she could reply, her eyes welled with tears, and a sob ripped itself out of her open mouth. Tsuyu was quick to pull her into a hug, rubbing circles into her back.
“I hope you find a way to move forward with your grief, Uraraka-san.”
A pained expression filled Iida’s face at that, hand twitching slightly at his sides, but he remained silent, staring down at the ground with a bitter sort of helplessness. Izuku hopes that he doesn’t keep all his emotions bottled up like that for too long—it kills him to see his friends be so upset.
It isn’t just his classmates, either—All Might, Aizawa-sensei, and even Yamada-sensei come by sometimes. They always tell Izuku what a great hero he is, and how proud of him they are. Aizawa-sensei in particular always reminds him that he’ll always have a place in Class 1A.
“You did good, little listener,” Yamada-sensei said, giving a quiet smile. “Keep your head held high, okay? You have a lot to be proud about.”
Izuku tried his best to hide the tears that welled up in his eyes at that. If his senseis didn’t notice, or simply chose not to say anything, Izuku was incredibly grateful either way.
Mom also visits him a lot, now that he's not as busy with the hero course. She usually brings photo albums and random drawings he made as a kid, talking about the memory behind one with a wistful voice. Sometimes she drops by alone, and other times, someone is with her—Aizawa-sensei and All Might; Mitsuki and Masaru; even some of his classmates! Most often than not, though, if Mom stops by to visit with someone, that someone is Kacchan.
He’s been visiting every single day, after all.
Izuku’s grown up with Kacchan, so he knows that he isn’t usually a talker. When he talks, he’s always short, curt, and blunt to a point that borders on being vulgar. Whenever he comes over to visit, though, Kacchan almost always does most of the talking. Izuku’s come to love hearing Kacchan ramble on about anything and everything and nothing at all.
Sometimes, Kacchan will even bring over some food for Izuku, and they have an impromptu picnic. Today, Kacchan brought over some freshly made katsudon—the smell of it reminds Izuku more and more of Mom's katsudon.
After greeting Izuku, Kacchan starts talking about training, like he usually does.
“My PT still hasn't cleared me for going back to full training, but I've been allowed to start light workouts, so hey. Better than fuckin nothing, I guess,” he remarks, taking a bite from his plate. “The shit that really pisses me off is math class, though. We fought in a goddamn war, and I know damn well I wasn't using the power of fucking calculus to win it.”
Izuku lets out a laugh, a smile making its way to his face. “Thank you for the food, Kacchan. It looks delicious, like always.”
Kacchan becomes quiet at that, staring down at his bowl of katsudon with a strange sort of expression on his face.
“I've never told this to anyone,” he starts, his voice quiet and slow. “I don't think I've ever said it out loud. But during the war…”
Izuku takes in a sharp breath, the smile on his face falling as he sits straighter. “I'm listening, Kacchan,” he whispers, fighting back the temptation to reach for Kacchan's hand.
“When I was dying, the last thing I thought of was you.”
A gasp rips itself out of Izuku’s throat, squeezing his eyes shut at the sudden rush of burning heat in the back of his eyes.
“Everything’s fuzzy as shit now, but…” Kacchan’s mouth hangs open, no sound coming out before he lets out a loud sigh, placing his plate down by Izuku’s. “I could almost swear that you were standing right there. You were smiling, and you turned to look at me, and you put your hand out for me to hold.”
Kacchan holds his hand out in the space between them, staring his palm down with a bitter sort of regret. He opens his mouth, then closes it, shoulders ever so slightly trembling as he takes in a long, shaky breath.
“The weirdest part about it all is that when I woke up again, it was like I never died.” Kacchan’s eyes flick up, and Izuku could almost swear that he’s looking straight into his bare, exposed soul. “My—my thoughts, they picked up right where they left off, just…filled with you.”
The searing hurt in the back of Izuku’s eyes becomes too much, and he can’t hold it in anymore. Fat, salty tears bubble up and seep out, falling down Izuku’s cheeks.
“Oh, Kacchan—”
“I’d do it again, y’know,” Kacchan interrupts. “In less than a fuckin’ heartbeat.”
“Kacchan, no—” Izuku cries, choking on his sobs. “Don’t say that, Kacchan, pl—please, I don’t know what I’d do if I—if I’d lost you—”
“I’d do anything if it meant you’d come back, Izuku.”
Izuku chokes on another sob, breath hitching in his throat. The world becomes silent and still, like a frozen movie tape.
Izuku’s untouched plate of now-cold katsudon sits in front of him. The chopsticks stick upright out of the rice. Izuku brings his hand up to move the chopsticks and—
“I’m sorry, Kacchan.”
They phase right through his half-translucent hands. Izuku doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it—being unable to feel a thing.
He can almost pretend to feel the curves and dips of his name carved into the tombstone pressed against his back.
He could almost pretend to feel it.
Almost, almost, almost, almost—
Despite the way his tears cloud his vision, Izuku’s chest aches at the fuzzy sight of Kacchan crying all the same.
“Why did you leave me behind, Izuku?” Kacchan croaks out, his voice cracking as he furiously wipes at his face. “I died, and I came back. I came back for you. Because of you. But you died, and now you’re not here. You left me here, all alone. It’s not fucking fair.”
“I never wanted to leave you, Kacchan,” Izuku sobs, his soul twisting in his chest. “I’m so sorry—”
“It’s not fair,” Kacchan says, voice wet and wobbling. “You said you’d make up for missing my birthday. You said that we’d be together and smiling again when this was all over. You said you’d come back!”
“I tried to, I swear.” Izuku lets out a loud hiccup, and suddenly he’s five again, his heart threatening to strangle him alive with emotions too big for his tiny body. “I wanted to come back so bad, I still wanted to tell you that—”
“I fucking love you, Izuku, why didn’t you come back to me?!” Kacchan screams, explosions popping out of his palms as he slams his fist into the tombstone, passing straight through Izuku’s chest.
Izuku can’t stop crying, even with his eyes squeezed shut. He doesn’t think he could stop himself, even if he wanted to. It’s strange, though. Even though Kacchan’s fist was filled with grieving, unfiltered rage, Izuku would’ve done anything to be able to feel it, just a little bit.
To feel the warmth before the blinding heat; to feel the sting of every little spark; to feel Kacchan’s hand against his chest—
Warm.
Hot.
Burning.
Eyes snapping open, Izuku looks down at his half-translucent chest and gasps. A bright, red-tinted light glows brighter and brighter, and for the first time in months, Izuku can feel—the stinging of Kacchan’s sparks; the chill of the windy breeze, colorful leaves swaying about; a familiar, sinking sensation.
“Kacchan—”
It’s almost like…like its tugging, at Izuku’s soul, trying to pull him down—
Izuku’s eyes widen, the realization swelling in his glowing red chest.
He can feel them. He can feel his bones.
They’re stirring.
—
— —
I love you the way an abandoned house
might love a person who stumbled across it.
With sheer desperation and a pinch of hope.
— —
—
Katsuki yanks his hand back, a choked sob-gasp ripping itself out of his throat at the numbingly cold sensation that wrapped around it. He stares down at his hand, blinking rapidly as he tries to process why the sensation of frost melting off his fingers feels so prominent.
He takes a deep breath, shaking his hand as he slowly brings his other up to wipe at the tears still clinging to his lashes.
Dammit. Just when he thinks he's starting to adjust and cope, he's sobbing his fucking heart out to Izuku's grave all over again.
Sniffling, Katsuki lets out a wordless sound, then nods at the tombstone. The nauseating sensation that fills his stomach at the sight of it has yet to leave him.
“I'll see you tomorrow, Izuku,” he mumbles out, slowly packing away his unfinished bowl of katsudon. He leaves Izuku's bowl, the chopsticks scattered on the ground next to it. He knows that you normally should only leave a bowl of plain rice once, but fuck that.
Katsuki's never been one for tradition, anyways.
He stands up, tugging up his food basket with him as he turns and–
Thump.
Katsuki pauses, breath hitched in his throat as he carefully listens. The wind softly presses phantom kisses against his forehead, playing gently with his hair.
The world is still and silent.
Probably just hearin’ things, Katsuki muses, starting to walk off again and–
Thud.
Well, shit. He definitely didn't imagine that.
Katsuki places the basket down on the ground, titling his ears in an attempt to make out where the sound is coming from.
Thump. Thud.
His heart jumps, his pulse racing as he takes a slow step forward.
Thud. Thud.
Katsuki's doctor is probably gonna scold the hell out of him for the sudden spike, but he doesn't fucking care, he can't bring himself to care—
The sound is coming from below him.
Katsuki's knees fill with a sharp, panging sting as he practically collapses on the ground, pressing his ear to the patch of grass just in front of Izuku's grave.
Thud, thud, thud, THUD—
Katsuki jumps at the sensation of the ground moving, eyes widened, refusing to look away for even a second.
The smell of ozone fills the air.
—
— —
My pulse ebbs with yours. Death
frees us from the torment of parting. I
cannot part with you. I am you.
— —
—