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LET’S ADMIT, WITHOUT APOLOGY, WHAT WE DO TO EACH OTHER.—RICHARD SIKEN
In his recent dreams, Katsuki is falling. That is to say, he lets himself fall. The trick, Katsuki knows, is to lean into the falling. Let gravity think it’s sunk its teeth into you and that you are crashing straight toward the unforgiving earth.
For a moment—and just for one moment, because that’s all Katsuki Bakugou ever allows—he gives into the fear. The fear makes him sweat, and the sweat makes Katsuki grin like he has just been named king of the skies.
When he’s awake, the falling only lasts for a heartbeat. His breath doesn’t even have time to catch before Katsuki is airborne, a shock from his palms propelling him to the clouds.
In his recent dreams, the falling is endless and that heartbeat-moment stretches on and on and on. It doesn’t feel like much at all. In fact, it’s almost peaceful.
Then Katsuki turns his head and sees a flash of green. His ears catch a “Ka—! ” on the wind and his heart stutters. Then Katsuki bolts awake, hands so damp that he has enough ammo to beat Half-and-Half Bastard in a rematch.
Last time Katsuki punched a hole in the wall, Aizawa made him patch up the hole personally and placed him on cleaning duty. Since then, Katsuki has adapted. He’s matured, so instead, he pounds his fists relentlessly against a pillow until it’s completely lost its shape. He isn’t going to fall back asleep anyways, because this dream is now a recurring phenomenon, apparently. Katsuki leans his back against the wall and glares up at the ceiling to think, not minding when his head thunks against the drywall.
He’s not an idiot. He knows exactly what triggered a whole fucking week of dreams (he won’t give the universe the satisfaction of calling them nightmares).
The summer has been hot as all hell, and requesting special permission to train at the pool has become something of a class tradition. While the others fooled around and wasted their summer, Katsuki alternated between dipping in the water and jumping out, testing the limits of his explosions each time. He wanted to see how well he could acclimate to his environment, pulling together what little sweat he had and training his body to adapt.
He expected Izuku to stay focused that day, same as Katsuki, but he made the mistake of looking away for one second. Busy gritting his teeth and forcing his palms to erupt, Katsuki didn't see Ochako pulling Izuku onto the diving board.
Kazuki wouldn’t have noticed, or even cared, if Ochako hadn’t shouted, “Show us your best swan dive off the board, Deku!”
Even now, he remembers a cold sweat breaking out in a thin layer over his body. He remembers his muscles locking up before tremors reverberated from his head to his fingertips. Katsuki didn’t look up. With thunder in his chest and lightning in his veins, Katsuki waited until he heard Izuku splash into the water before returning to his exercises.
In the distance, Ochako had cheered. Eijiro called next on the diving board. Mina whined that she was about to call next and Tenya insisted on a sign-up sheet.
Katsuki whipped his head around to yell something about zipping it and letting the real heroes-to-be get work done. Then he saw a flash of green eyes crinkled at the corners with laughter, cheeks kissed by the sun and painted with a smattering of freckles. Any venom on his tongue dissolved, so Katsuki had frowned and turned away yet again.
He’s not an idiot. He knows why the memory clings to him, quiet during the day and unbearably loud at night when Katsuki’s defenses are down. Just because Katsuki knows why his sleep is going to shit doesn’t mean he has to do something about it. It doesn’t mean he’s ready to look into endless green and unearth what doesn’t need to be revived.
He and Izuku are past all that, aren’t they? He’s told Izuku already, in actual words, that Katsuki respects him. That Deku no longer means deku; it hasn’t for a long time.
It doesn’t sink in until that afternoon during lunch. Katsuki is halfway through his meal when Izuku shoves a bag of candy under his nose. “The fuck you interrupting my meal for, Deku?” Katsuki snaps.
As usual, Izuku is unaffected by any bite in Katsuki’s words. “I saw these in the vending machine and remembered they were our favorite! We used to share them, remember? You made me eat the green ones, even though I hated them because they matched my hair and eyes, and you thought it was funny so…” Izuku trails off with a self-conscious laugh. “I thought you’d like them!”
When Izuku realizes Katsuki is staring at him blankly without a word, he blinks. “Kacchan?”
Ka—!
Falling, a burst of panic, green eyes blown wide open with the kind of fear he recognizes, knows all too well—
Katsuki interrupts his own train of thought by snatching the bag from Izuku’s hand. “Why do you even remember all that, nerd,” he grumbles. Still, he opens the bag and tosses a piece into his mouth. He remembers, too, but he won’t tell Izuku that. He doesn’t have to, because the kid is grinning ear-to-ear.
With a knowing sigh, Katsuki fishes out an orange piece (he knows Izuku always liked those best). “Here, you can go back to your loser table now.”
Izuku holds out an open palm and Katsuki lets go, eyes flickering toward him in time to watch Izuku pop candy into his mouth. “Thanks, Kacchan! See you in class.” Izuku looks over his shoulder back at him as he jogs away.
Just like when we were kids, Katsuki thinks—and then he thinks, and then he knows.
“Keep your filthy fucking hands away from my shit!” Katsuki shouts when Denki tries to steal candy for himself.
“Bro!” Eijiro makes a face that looks too much like his ‘Aizawa is losing it for real this time’ face. “It’s just candy! Sharing snacks between true friends is the manliest thing you can do.”
“Ah, it's nothing,” Denki reaches over and grabs a piece of meat from Eijiro’s plate instead. “Bakugou’s default setting is pissed off.”
The thing is, Katsuki isn’t pissed. Not when they’re in class and Eijiro looks at him with concern because Katsuki hasn’t said a word since lunch. Not when Hanta steals the bag of candy when he thinks Katsuki’s not looking and shares it with Kyoka. Not even when Izuku begins muttering behind him about the complexities of insurance companies working with federal governments to cover hero and villain damages.
Okay, well maybe he gets a little pissed at that last bit, but Katsuki is so lost in thought that he doesn’t even turn around and tell Izuku to shut the hell up.
It persists throughout the day, lingering in the back of his head no matter what Katsuki does to dispel it. He can’t fall asleep that night either, which would probably be a waste of time anyway since that dream is going to grab him by the neck the moment he closes his eyes.
Which is how Katsuki finds himself at one in the morning, pounding on Izuku’s door until he hears Izuku’s soft whine.
“Kacchan?” Izuku rubs his eyes and when his fist pulls away, Katsuki feels like he’s been punched in the gut again.
Green eyes blown wide open —
“Deku.” He pushes past Izuku and begins to pace around the small space, cramped with so much All Might merchandise that Katsuki feels like he’s four years old visiting the Midoriya house all over again and that is not helping.
Izuku sounds more lucid this time when he gently calls his name. “Kacchan, what are you doing here? Not that you can’t be here, we’re friends now, but you’ve never been here this late at night, I’m not even sure if you’re ever awake this time of night—”
“Deku, for once in your life, shut the fuck up,” Katsuki snarls.
That’s not fair. He knows it’s not fair, and Izuku knows it’s not fair, but he’s too kind to say it in words even though his eyes say it for him anyways.
Green eyes —
“I was wrong.” Katsuki stops pacing, crosses his arm and stands facing Izuku. Eyes burn red into green. Damp hands shake from sleep deprivation and anticipation.
"Wrong?” Izuku reaches out for Katsuki but there must be a look in his eyes that tells Izuku he shouldn’t. A scarred hand falls limp in the air. “Kacchan, what are you trying to tell me?”
“Don’t you know? Come on, Deku, how do you not know?” Katsuki’s hands are balled into fists from the effort of holding them back. Punches and blows are a guaranteed win for Katsuki; words are Izuku’s domain and he hates this disadvantage, but it’s the only way he can think of to stop the damn dreams.
The trick is to lean into the falling. Let yourself crash toward the unforgiving earth and give into the fear, the adrenaline. Pray that you'll be saved, even when your explosions can’t help you and you can't control the force of gravity.
“I don’t know, Kacchan. I promise you, I don’t.”
“Stop fucking lying to me, Deku. There’s no way in hell that you’re not waiting for the day you get to throw this back in my face. I was wrong and you were right and you’re the better hero, congratu-fu—”
Katsuki is cut off when Izuku grabs his shoulders. Izuku takes his silence as encouragement and pulls Katsuki in, arms encircling him like he's trying to hold him together. They’re the same height now, cheeks pressing into each other. When Katsuki feels hot tears press into his skin, he wonders who exactly is crying. Fucking embarrassing, he thinks even as he gives in. He’s the one trying to make amends, and Izuku is the one comforting him.
“I don’t know what brought this on,” Izuku says, “but not everything is a competition, Kacchan. You're my friend first. We're friends.”
“Stop it, you shitty…” Katsuki pushes him away and ignores the hurt that flashes in Izuku’s eyes, that deep green which haunts him and won’t let him rest, all because —
“Don’t ever take a swan dive again.” His voice is gravelly and thick, harsh as Katsuki phrases his request like a demand. “Not off a diving board, not off a cliff, not off a damn building.”
Understanding dawns in Izuku’s eyes. “I won’t, Kacchan.”
“I was wrong.” Katsuki struggles to say the words. His tongue is thick and unwilling, more stubborn than he is. I get it, he tries to say through gaze alone, I can respect you now but that doesn’t erase the past. “And if you ever fucking… if I ever—”
“I understand, Kacchan.” Izuku smiles and wipes at his eyes. He’s always been good at that; acknowledging his emotions and drawing attention to them like a beacon. Meanwhile, Katsuki can’t bring himself to admit he’s the one who cried first. He lets the tears dry stiff on his cheeks, ignoring them until the bitter end. “I understand your feelings. I didn’t always, but I do now, and that’s enough.”
“Good,” Katsuki forces out gruffly. “Alright, I’m going the fuck to bed then.”
Izuku laughs and stretches, a yawn spilling out of him. “Okay. Good night, Kacchan. Sweet dreams. Next time you want to talk, let’s wait until morning, okay?”
“Don’t go bossin’ me around,” Katsuki grumbles, “I’ll talk to you when I want to talk to you.”
“Promise?” Izuku smiles sleepily as he closes the door.
That night, Katsuki dreams of falling and being caught, again and again and again.
BUT I WANT TO TELL YOU EVERYTHING, I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME FOR IT, AND I WANT YOU TO FORGIVE ME AFTER I SAY EVERYTHING YOU ASKED ME NOT TO SAY.—JAMES ALLEN HALL
The rumors start when Katsuki announces his hero name. The entire class shouts and hollers and laughs, making Katsuki's ears burn furiously and Izuku's cheeks glow pink. Katsuki wishes there was a way to permanently erase from his brain the way Momo smiled knowingly and said, “It was simply a matter of time.”
Only Izuku understands, but that’s because Izuku always understands. Katsuki chooses Kacchan because Kacchan is the hero he wants to be. When his stupid friends’ teasing gets on his last nerve and his temper is stretched taut and thin, Katsuki reminds himself of Izuku’s fathomless faith in him. That vast, unwavering belief in Katsuki’s potential.
Usually, it’s not enough and Katsuki ends up challenging all his friends to a fight anyways—but he still reminds himself of it, because it never fails to fill him with hope. Katsuki needs that more often than he admits. The day is long, the media cycle is vicious and the moments of refuge are far and few between.
Especially for Katsuki, who would rather be hated for who he is than beloved for what he is not. The League of Villains aren’t the only ones who misunderstood Katsuki’s acid tongue and iron will. As a pro hero, Katsuki is bound to public perception wherever he goes, and public perception is not kind. He’s not even close to the number one hero spot (yet), but he hasn’t shaken the number one “hero who acts like a villain” spot since his second year of going pro.
“Kacchan, did you mean to leave so many civilians in the burning building?” a reporter asks, shoving a mic and a camera into his face.
“What?” Katsuki spits, eliciting a wince from the reporter. “What kind of question is that? You call yourself a journalist, you ugly old—”
Right on cue, Izuku steps in to offset Katsuki’s temper with a casual confidence that took months of media training at U.A. to perfect. “Hi! Actually, it may have been hard to see, but as the hero with the most air mobility here, Kacchan prioritized his rescue efforts on those with severe injuries!”
The reporter nods and motions for the camera to pivot toward pro hero Deku. In the corner of the shot, Katsuki glares at the reporter and visibly twitches with the temptation to knock the mic out of their hands.
“Every civilian today is safe because Kacchan evacuated those who needed immediate assistance. Some of them were even trapped, but Katsuki got them out before the fire got out of control! He put his faith in his fellow heroes to rescue the remaining civilians.” Izuku swings an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders, forcing the camera to include both heroes in the frame. Beside Izuku, Katsuki grimaces. “To tell you the truth, we owe the success of this mission to Kacchan!”
“Incredible! What a difference one hero’s perspective makes,” the reporter gushes to Izuku— not Katsuki, which is fine by him. “We’re coming to you live from Kamino, where pro hero Kacchan was once held hostage by the infamous League of Villains as a student and returned today to lead a rescue mission…”
In the end, Izuku has to drag Katsuki from a hefty fine of assault and destruction of property. A few hours later, when they’ve shared plenty of sake shots at their favorite ramen spot, Katsuki feels settled enough to vent. “Fucking ridiculous. I bust my ass to save literally a hundred random extras and they think I’m going to let a single person die? Who the hell does that?”
“Not Kacchan!” Izuku exclaims, pounding a fist on the table and blushing when his bowl nearly topples over. “Oops.”
“Fucking nerd,” Katsuki snorts, “Get ahold of yourself before you get us kicked out.”
“They wouldn’t! The owner wants me to go on a date with her daughter, and she wouldn’t ruin her chances over a broken plate or two.”
Katsuki stares wide-eyed and slack-jawed at Izuku, wondering when he became so… “Manipulative,” Katsuki accuses aloud.
“No, no!” Izuku is a blurry mess of shaking green curls and waving hands. “I told her I’m too busy to date but she’s so insistent, and this is our favorite spot so it’s not like I’m going to stop coming. But since I keep coming, she thinks I’m secretly interested and she really thinks we’ll get along, so...”
“Chyeah, right. Should have told her you’re a pushover who would sacrifice their best friend to spare some old lady’s feelings."
“Kacchan, you were trying to participate in the sports festival after breaking both your arms. I wasn’t trying to spare Recovery Girl’s feelings, I was trying to help you. If I hadn’t stepped in, she wouldn’t have even used her quirk!”
“Were you trying to help me when you bench pressed me after I took those sleeping pills? And had Round Face record it and send it to the entire class?”
He’s rewarded with a laugh that’s all Izuku, like light spilling through the window on a quiet day or that first glimpse of a risen sun. Izuku’s whole body starts to shake, causing the bowls to start trembling again. When Katsuki scrambles to catch a few before they tip over with a panicked, "Oi!", Izuku loses it.
Katsuki leans back, crosses his arms and tries not to smile while keeping an eye on the plates. When Izuku has gathered himself (save for a few breathless giggles), they’re both grinning like they’re four years old again.
Then comes the question Katsuki’s been waiting for. He knows Izuku, and he knows when those green eyes soften, a question Katsuki doesn’t want to answer is not far behind. “How come you don’t show everyone else this side of you? You could have corrected the reporter yourself, you always know exactly what you’re doing. Why not just try, Kacchan?”
“Why should I care if they can't keep up?” Katsuki counters. “The people in that building know what I did, and they’re the ones who matter. Why should I care about a dumbass reporter who thinks a scandal is more interesting than the truth?”
“I guess you have a point. I just…”
“Just what?” Katsuki snaps, not in the mood to wait for Izuku to spit out what’s on his mind.
The sincerity in Izuku’s eyes makes Katsuki’s chest cave in, just a little. “I just wish people knew the Kacchan I know.”
A scoff is all Katsuki can offer Izuku in reply. No one knows Katsuki the way Izuku does. Isn’t that the point? They’ve known each other their entire lives. From beginning to end, it’s been Deku and Kacchan. They’re inevitable; they’re interwoven. They’ve never been able to run away from each other, even when they wanted to. Now that they’ve found a rhythm with one another, it’s…
Katsuki swallows as he studies the fondness in Izuku’s eyes, the one he’s not used to even after all these years.
“Come on, Deku.” He rises to his feet. “Let’s go tell the owner about the time you tricked your best friend into going to the school dance and see if she still likes you then.”
“Kacchan, stop! I apologized for that already, and—hey, we still have to pay!”
After that, Katsuki avoids Izuku for a bit. It should be harder than it is, but it’s almost effortless. The two work for separate agencies and live on opposite sides of the city. Really, it should be a lot harder than it is for how often they talk to one another.
It's one more reason for Katsuki to put some distance between them. Obviously, they’ve been making excuses to be around each other this whole time. They’re best friends and rivals and somehow more than all of those things combined, and they shouldn’t be this attached.
Just friends don’t text each other after every mission with an update. Just friends don’t keep memories of a shared childhood in a locked box under their bed. Just friends don’t miss each other after three days of quiet or dread a future in which they aren't each other's emergency contact.
Eijiro is his best friend. Eijiro and Katsuki hang out when they can, which is sometimes once a week and sometimes once a month. There are no weekly movie nights or favorite ramen spots or a sudden longing to run his fingers through curls. Eijiro knows something is off, but backs away when Katsuki says he doesn’t want to talk about it.
Besides, Katsuki doesn’t need Eijiro to tell him what he already knows. He wants more than friendship with Izuku, who is Katsuki’s past and present and his dreams for the future. And if it was anyone but Izuku, Katsuki would chase after this feeling. He would tear open the sky and rearrange the very stars. The fates would be his to control and he would demand the universe give him his heart’s desire, freckles and all.
But it is Izuku, and Izuku will always leave Katsuki behind. Not because he doesn’t love Katsuki (because Katsuki knows, down to his very bones, that Izuku longs for him the same way he longs for Izuku), but because Izuku would rather break his bones than save himself.
I’m not like that, Katsuki thinks as he goes to bed alone and reaches for the empty space beside him, I can’t let myself down the same way, I can’t want what I know will destroy me in the end.
The next morning, Katsuki wakes up to no less than fifteen missed calls and at least three times that many texts. He calls Eijiro first, and before Eijiro finishes explaining, Katsuki is running out the door in sweatpants, no shirt and house slippers.
Terror has a way of removing vocabularies. Shrieks and screams and the same stammered “please,” again and again. Katsuki always laughed at those parts during horror movies. He didn’t understand, then, what that kind of terror does to you. It devours all reason and all logic, every brain cell you have left except for the ones that just want to see green eyes stare into yours with more love than you know how to accept.
All Katsuki can say by Izuku’s bedside, over and over again, is, “I should have been there. I should have been there. I should have been there.”
In his hand, Izuku’s palms are cold. For the hundredth time, Katsuki wonders if that means he’s gone. For the hundred and first time, Katsuki places his free palm over Izuku’s chest. For the hundred and first time, Katsuki hangs his head and exhales a sigh of relief.
“Ka… Kacchan?”
Ka—!
Slowly, Katsuki lifts his gaze. Red locks onto green, and this time, they don’t let go. They don’t falter or turn away. He’s too relieved to cry, too thankful to speak, too in love to care about the nurse entering the room and speaking to them both.
Katsuki squeezes Izuku’s hand so hard that it should hurt. For how wounded he is, Izuku should flinch, but like he does all things, Izuku bears it. Izuku even smiles, which makes Katsuki feel brave and vulnerable and full of that damn hope again.
“I should have been there,” Katsuki says again, but this time, it’s a promise.
And Izuku— bless his Izuku, who knows Katsuki more than any soul that has lived or ever will live, who has survived despite Katsuki's worst and flourished alongside Katsuki's best—understands. “Next time,” he whispers, chapped lips curving slowly, “you will be.”
ANGRY, AND HALF IN LOVE WITH YOU, AND TREMENDOUSLY SORRY, I TURNED AWAY.—F. SCOTT FITZGERALD
“Bakugou, man, you have to calm down. They won’t let you see him when you’re like this.”
Too late, Eijiro realizes his mistake, and he winces just a millisecond before Katsuki screams, “Let me? Let me!? Alright, I wonder if they’ll let me introduce their asshole to my fist!”
Never one to read the room, Shouto chimes in, “Does that count as cheating?”
This time, Katsuki really does come close to exploding, and Denki helps Eijiro hold Katsuki back. “Bakugou, please! This is not the time for this!”
“I don’t care!” Katsuki roars, though thrashing of his body halts and he goes limp against Eijiro and Denki. “I don’t care,” he repeats. His heart cracks open before his old classmates, who look downright disturbed at the sight of a fightless Katsuki.
Eijiro and Denki don't seem fazed at all. Denki nods and huffs helplessly. Eijiro pounds Bakugou’s back with a fist, hard enough to leave a bruise. “Do you feel like punching me until you feel better?” It’s a desperate call to their high school days, when Katsuki had no words for his emotions and only knew how to release them with fists and sparks.
Eijiro doesn’t look surprised when Katsuki shakes his head. “I told you that’s not fucking funny,” Katsuki deadpans, eyes fixed to the floor like he's waiting for it to swallow him up.
“I know,” Eijiro shrugs, “But I figured… extreme circumstances, extreme solutions.”
“Extreme,” Katsuki laughs bitterly. “What’s so extreme about this? Just good ol' Deku, at it again! Just another normal ass Tuesday!”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Ochako cuts in. She steps forward, hand slipping from Tsuyu’s. “Deku makes mistakes, and sometimes he goes too far, but all of us do! Even you, Bakugou. It happens to all of us! Isn't that what we sign up for, when we become heroes? Haven't we all been there before?”
The others shift their gaze uncomfortably. Katsuki, standing in the private waiting room at the same hospital where he promised Izuku he would always be there, takes a deep breath before lifting his gaze to Ochako’s.
“Do you really think that, Round Face?”
They can hear in his voice that familiar flame of anger and a challenge; they also can’t deny the profound grief in his eyes. Under the hospital lights, the shadows shatter against Katsuki's harsh edges and bring out the age in his eyes. Katsuki looks decades older than he actually is. He feels decades older than he actually is. “Did you know that I’m the only one they call when Deku is on life support now? Not Half-and-Half, not Round Face, not Four Eyes, not even Auntie Inko. Me. Because he doesn’t think it’s worth worrying any of you for something as routine as him getting fucked up.”
Katsuki can feel the sting of tears behind his eyes, but he holds them back to glare at each and every one of his old classmates. One by one, surprise turns to shame on each of their faces. Some of them even turn away, unable to hold the gaze of a man who has felt love nearly slip through his fingers one too many times. Tension ripples through the room, and Katsui doesn’t feel guilty for causing it. He, alone, carried the consequences of Izuku's sacrifices for years. He's cried and worried and begged every god known and unknown to man, enough for every last one of them combined.
“Did you know that Deku had Goggle Bitch design prosthetics for his arms and legs over a year ago? Can you imagine thinking that kind of damage is inevitable? Or watching someone just accept that kind of shit like it's nothing, like it doesn't even matter? Where were you when he was mumbling about new designs and asking for ideas and—”
“Stop.” Tenya holds up a hand and adjusts his glasses. Katsuki notices he wipes away a tear as he does it, too, and something ugly and mean and rotten relishes their pain. Good, let them cry. It's about damn time they catch up to him, because he’s been doing this alone and he’s sick of it, he’s fucking done —
Oh.
A stone drops from his heart to his stomach, and Katsuki feels numb as Tenya speaks.
“As class representative, it is my responsibility to stay in touch with all of my former classmates and now esteemed colleagues. I deeply regret that not only did Midoriya suffer the loss of his arm in yesterday’s mission, but also that you, Bakugou, witnessed his reckless behavior alone. I, too, understand the burden of feeling helpless when your most cherished friends do not care for themselves as much as you care for them. I also regret that Midoriya and you, Bakugou, were —”
“Enough, Tenya.” Ochako puts a hand on his arm and Tenya abruptly stops.
Everyone is crying now, and Katsuki was just feeling petty and vengeful about it, but now he can’t feel anything at all. He watches blankly as they all hold onto each other in one giant embrace. Mina reaches an arm out toward him, eyes so wet that he’s surprised she can see him at all.
“Katsuki,” she says, “Come on. You’re not alone anymore. We’re here, now.”
It’s like she’s given him permission to unravel the weight of the sky from his shoulders, and Katsuki falls into his friends’ arms with a shuddering breath. I am though, he thinks, I’m alone. I’m alone, and the only person who understands is the person I have to hurt all over again.
“I don’t… I don’t understand.”
Katsuki hates that every word feels jaded and false on his lips. He hates that he can see the fear in Izuku’s eyes, that shade of green he’s always tired to capture perfectly to memory but can’t get quite right until it’s in front of him. He hates that he is the one to love Izuku best and hurt Izuku most, all at once.
He hates that they had to ruin it. Deku and Kacchan, the greatest duo to ever live. They were supposed to be legends. They were supposed to stand side by side, the top hero duo in the world. The Symbol of Hope and the Symbol of Victory.
Izuku is the first—perhaps the only—person who understood Katsuki better than he sometimes understood himself. It’s how Katsuki knows, without a doubt: “You’re lying.”
Green eyes flutter sheepishly away. No, Katsuki thinks, come back. As if he willed it, Izuku looks back at him. A steady stream of tears follows the curve of his cheek, the one with exactly twenty one freckles the last time Katsuki counted (the other cheek has twenty seven, and his nose has eleven).
“We talked about this,” Izuku whispers. “We knew it was a possibility, ever since high school. Is it the sex stuff? Because we had that embarrassing conversation with Mei already and I’m ambidextrous, remember? Is it that the villain got away? Do you think I lost? Are you ashamed to be with me now?”
Fuck, Katsuki can’t stand this. He wants to look away but he won’t; he owes Izuku that much. To memorize this open pain on Izuku’s face because he didn’t see it until too late last time. This is your fault, Katsuki tells himself. You knew this would happen, and you still wanted. You knew, didn’t you?
He knew. Izuku will always be Izuku. Izuku will forever save the world before he saves himself, and Izuku will always leave Katsuki behind by letting himself pay the price. It’s why Katsuki loves him. It’s why Katsuki has to leave him.
It’s his fault, anyways. He was the first person who let Izuku save his pathetic, sorry ass. Even when he was quirkless, even when he barely understood his own power, Izuku saved Katsuki, and Katsuki let him. Katsuki loved— loves —him for it. If he had been stronger, maybe Izuku might have trusted him and every other hero to save him back.
“I could never be ashamed of you, Deku,” Katsuki insists through his teeth, a bite to every word like he’s furious at Izuku. He’s not, though, not really; he’s mostly afraid.
It’s like Izuku doesn’t hear it, or like he willfully blocks it out. “Then why, Kacchan? I’m owed an explanation, because you can’t take back three years—hell, our entire lives —for no good reason. I deserve that much, don’t I?”
It's the question that undoes Katsuki. Of course you do, he wants to scream, but you don’t believe it, and I’m done being the one who believes it for you.
In a voice that’s tired and weary down to the bones, all hope sucked from his marrow, Katsuki gives Izuku the answer he wants: “Because I want you to live more than you do.”
He rises to his feet before Izuku can respond. After a moment’s hesitation, Katsuki takes Izuku’s hand before he can think better of it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Without looking back, he lets go and walks away.
DO I HAVE TO / FORGIVE IN ORDER TO LOVE? OR DO I HAVE TO LOVE / FOR FORGIVENESS TO EVEN BE POSSIBLE? WHAT DO YOU THINK?—CHEN CHEN
This is… in a word, awkward. Or surreal might be a better word for it. Yes, Katsuki decides, surreal is the word. Even though they both planned to meet at this specific ramen restaurant, at the same table Katsuki realized he was in love with his childhood friend, seeing Izuku again feels… bizarre.
The years have been kind and unkind in equal measure to them both. Izuku’s hair has lines of white running through green. Katsuki has wrinkles from all the frowning and yelling he did in his youth.
They’re in their thirties now, but being a pro hero has a way of breaking down your body quickly and relentlessly. An old habit he thought he forgot, Katsuki’s eyes scan Izuku's frame and counts any visible injuries. Only one prosthetic arm, Katsuki notes with dull pride.
Of course, that’s not the only measure of Izuku’s self-sacrifice.
“It’s been a long time, Katsuki.” Izuku’s voice sounds a little different, though that might be years of distance talking. Some longing, too—a petty hope that the time apart has irreparably changed Izuku the same way it has Katsuki.
Without Izuku, the anchor to all of his ambitions and fears and mistakes, Katsuki has felt a little lost at sea. It’s been this way for years; he’s even gotten used to it. Seeing Izuku again, though, only cuts through the dull ache like a knife.
“Katsuki?” He frowns and wrinkles his nose unhappily. “Fuck you too, Izuku. Or better yet, Midoriya.”
Izuku’s laugh is the same, Katsuki realizes. He falls in love with it—with him—all over again in an instant. “You’re the same, Kacchan. Exactly the same.”
“Wouldn’t that be depressing if it were true,” Katsuki snorts, taking a sip of his tea as he drinks in more of Izuku’s laughter.
“You’re right. But it’s a little comforting, isn’t it, to know that some things never change.”
“Have you changed?” The moment Katsuki realizes he’s almost too nervous to ask, he goes ahead and asks the question anyways.
Izuku’s eyes sparkle, and that green undoes him. Katsuki tried to take up painting in America, and he could never get it quite right. Once he realized that, he gave it up. He never really painted anything so much as he mixed every shade to get that exact green right, anyways.
“It’s been a long time, Kacchan. Why don’t you tell me why you wanted to meet?” Izuku’s bolder now, Katsuki realizes with a start. He asks his questions directly without so much an anxious blink or a stutter.
He sneaks a peek toward Izuku’s legs, folded beneath him. Ah, but there’s the tattletale tremor of the knee.
“I was waiting for it, you know. You’ve been in Japan for months already. It seemed right for us to talk about everything. You left so soon.” There’s the tattletale mumbling, too, though Katsuki could do without the stab of regret in his chest that came with it.
“I couldn’t stay, Deku. I thought that one day, I’d turn on the news and find out you’d died for real. I knew if anything happened to you, I would have kicked my way through every hospital until I found you.” Ha, Katsuki thinks, I’ve grown too, Deku. I can be honest and vulnerable now.
Izuku scratches his head sheepishly, and it should look ridiculous on a man in his thirties but it’s endearing on him. “Ah, that makes sense. I never… I really never understood, Kacchan. I heard you, and I knew what you were saying, and I tried to wrap my head around it... but it didn't make sense to me, not for a long time.”
Setting his cup down on the table, Katsuki leans back and asks, “What changed?”
A shy smile makes Katsuki’s heart squeeze. “I got married.”
“Hah!?” Katsuki screeches.
“His name is Yo—you might remember him as Shindou, from the provisional licensing exam our first year at U.A. We were just fooling around for a long time, I didn’t know if I was even capable of loving someone who wasn’t you.”
How can he say such a thing so easily without so much as blushing? Katsuki fights to slow the hammering of his heart and ignore the sudden urge to flip the table.
“But my relationship with Yo helped me see what I was doing. Not just to you or him or any of our friends—to myself. He helped me choose myself, and after that, it was hard to say no to someone I was falling for.”
Katsuki isn’t sure what he wants to do first: hold Izuku close until he can breathe again or force this Yo’s address out of him and kill him.
“When I told Shouto that I felt guilty loving someone else, Shouto told me what happened that day. When you told our friends how much you were hurting…” Izuku begins to get teary and it’s true, Katsuki realizes with a reluctant smile: some things never change. “I was so proud of you for letting them in. Shouto told me that the most I could do for you, after everything we went through together, was to live. So I did.”
If Kacchan ever takes up painting again, he thinks he’ll try to capture the way Izuku is smiling at him now: full of light and that stupid, amazing ability of his to never lose hope. Not when he’s quirkless, not when his heart is broken, not when he’s facing the end of the world and has to save everyone he loves, including himself.
Especially himself.
“Kacchan, I—”
“Deku, will you forgive me?”
Katsuki kicks himself for interrupting Izuku, but the question has been burning on the tip of his tongue since before he even came to Japan. He’s spent years and years trying to become a stronger hero and a better man—someone more like Izuku, who is still Katsuki’s aspiration. His image of a true hero, both gentle and fearless at once, so vulnerable and so resilient.
He likes to think that he did alright. Number one hero in the Hero Capital of the World has a nice ring to it, after all. He lived a good life overseas, and perhaps even a fulfilling one. He had a home that welcomed many regular visitors, and a community that learned to speak the language of Katsuki's curses and insults and brutal honesty. He loved as best as he could with half of his soul in Japan, but no one loves Katsuki better than Izuku; just like no one loves Izuku better than Katsuki, this Yo bastard be damned.
When the press asks, Katsuki returned to Japan to be closer to family. When his friends ask, Katsuki came back home for the food and the company.
Ask me, Deku, Katsuki tries to command Izuku without words. Ask me so I can tell you I came to find you, because I've celebrated your birthday alone all these years. Because I broke my phone for good and couldn't stand not having some piece of you with me, even if it's just a phone number. Because I looked up one day and I was in bed with someone who knew the average of all my parts but not my worst and certainly not my best, because those parts have your name all over them.
Instead, Katsuki says, "Will you forgive me?" He reaches across the table, palm facing up, open for Izuku to take.
Izuku smiles at him with all that light and hope and a heavy sorrow, too. How much of his pain has Katsuki's fingerprints all over it? How many of Izuku's nightmares and ghosts have his eyes, his name, his voice? Too many, Katsuki knows, but Izuku has always made Katsuki hope and he'll be damned if that stops now.
“Kacchan.”
Katsuki holds his breath.