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Katsuki’s heart was pounding in his chest and he felt sick to his stomach. They’d fought before. God, they always fought. But this felt different. This felt final.
He was terrified. He knew what he was saying crossed so many lines but he couldn’t help himself. The poison coming out of his mouth was fueled by anger and exhaustion and sheer frustration—and it couldn’t be stopped.
They’d been dating for six months and the good parts were so good. But they were heavily laced with moments like these—where all the sickness they hadn’t healed spewed forward and threatened to ruin them.
Moments where Deku’s soft heart clashed with Katsuki’s abrasive nature. Where Deku’s stubbornness battered against his pride and Katsuki’s worry crashed against Deku’s self-sacrificial bullshit.
Moments where they failed to find middle ground.
Like now. Like this argument that started with Katsuki declining to visit their parents together, which bled into the greenette accusing him of being ashamed of him. It had made him furious. It was a valid concern that they should have been able to talk about, but the implication that Katsuki would be ashamed of him after all this time fucking hurt. He’d never handled hurt well.
“You have patrol before then,” said in a surly sneer. “I’m not making plans when you’re probably just gonna end up in the fucking hospital. You expect me to be proud of that?” The words tasted like acid on his tongue. He knew he was going too far but his blood was thrumming with fight. He couldn’t stop himself.
“I haven’t been to the hospital in months!”
“Dumb fucking luck! Did you see how you handled shit in training today? Fucking pathetic—”
“I’m not going to run and hide when people are in trouble! I’m a hero, Kacchan!”
He felt the words on his tongue before he could stop them.
They were poisoned arrows, landing before he realized he’d even drawn the bow.
“You’re not a fucking hero, you’re a burden!”
Izuku stared at him—face paling in shock. His bottom lip trembled as tears streamed down his face.
Katsuki wanted to take it back. He couldn’t believe he’d said it at all—he wanted to take it back. He wanted to kiss him and get on his knees to beg for forgiveness.
He wanted to take it back.
He moved forward, mouth opening to say something to fix what he’d just broken, but Izuku flinched back.
He stilled. Izuku hadn’t flinched away from him in years. They’d fixed this and he’d broken it again.
“You’re constantly pushing me down, I’m afraid to ask you for any type of affection because I don’t know how you’ll react. I shouldn’t be afraid to ask for what I want. I shouldn’t just take what I can get, especially when I get nothing. You’re a bully,” Izuku rasped. “You’ve always been a bully, I don’t know why I thought you were any different.”
The words cut into his heart like a dull knife. He wanted to throw up. It fucking hurt.
“Better than getting a sack of broken bones and pipe dreams,” he sneered. Why was he doing this?
“I wish I’d never asked you out. I wish I’d never met you,” Izuku sobbed. Katsuki’s heart was crumbling. He deserved this.
He didn’t have anything else to say. He knew he’d fucked up. This felt like the point of no return, and he had no one to blame but himself. He was poisonous. His anger was toxic, and it had ruined them.
Deku deserved better than his bullshit.
He couldn’t breathe.
“Wish fucking granted,” he snapped, voice coming out raspier than he intended. “I’m gone.”
He turned on his heel and stormed toward the door—footsteps faltering as Deku broke down behind him. His hands shook as he gripped the handle, his entire body willing him to turn around to stop both of their hearts from bleeding.
But if he turned around now, Deku would forgive him. That soft-hearted hero who deserved so much better than him would open his heart again, just so Katsuki could keep poisoning him.
He deserved better. Better than someone who lashed out when they were angry. Better than someone who made him feel like a secret or a shame.
Better than him.
It had been a week since they’d broken up, and Izuku still felt hollow. When he wasn’t crying, he couldn’t focus on anything except the cavity where his heart used to be.
He knew Kacchan hadn’t meant it the way he’d said it. If he’d meant it, he wouldn’t have looked so pained. He wouldn’t have taken that step forward to comfort him. That didn’t change the fact that he’d said what he’d said, and he always meant what he said—even if it didn’t come out right.
That didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t apologized.
That didn’t change the fact that he’d walked away. That he’d given up on all the work they’d put into being together—platonically and romantically.
And what if he had meant it? After all, Kacchan always said what he thought—honest to a fault. Why would this be any different?
It was worse because Kacchan was right. He was right that Izuku was reckless. He was right that he spent too much time in the hospital. He was right to say that if Izuku didn’t start taking care of himself, he’d never achieve his goals.
He didn’t say it nicely, but that didn’t make him wrong.
His only fault was that he’d let his insecurities speak louder than his concerns. So had Izuku.
He knew Katsuki wasn't ashamed of him. He knew Katsuki wasn’t good at initiating contact but liked it.
He knew Katsuki would give him affection if he asked for it. He was just terrified that their relationship would become a burden if he asked for more than Katsuki was willing to give. After all, that’s what broke them the first time. He hadn’t wanted to make the same mistake.
Instead, he pushed it down until there was no room for the anxiety and hurt and insecurity to go except out. And when his spilled, Kacchan’s had spilled, too.
Normally, when they’d fight, they would apologize. They’d take a couple hours to cool off, and then one of them would seek the other out and they’d talk it out, say their sorries, and kiss the pain away.
They’d never even suggested breaking up before.
This was different. This felt final.
This felt like all the hopes and dreams they’d whispered to each other in the dark had been ripped into the light and thrown on the floor—shattering on impact like the pieces of his stupid fragile heart.
Maybe he and Kacchan weren’t strong enough to love each other. Maybe they were too good at hurting each other to be good together. It even hurt to call him Kacchan.
He didn’t have the right anymore.
This morning, when he’d entered the classroom and Kacchan had been standing in his path, he’d said “Excuse me, Bakugou,” as quiet as he could—and the entire room had gone still.
Kacchan had moved aside, eyes wide and face pale.
Izuku had walked past him, feeling the chasm between them growing—the distance ripping wider like a physical ache. It sat inside his sternum like a lead weight—pushing down on his lungs and stomach so hard that he felt sick.
Now, he sat behind the blonde, vacant stare fixed on the side of his neck. He’d left a hickey there two weeks ago. He wasn’t allowed to do that anymore. He wasn’t allowed to praise him or tell him how much he loved him or how good it felt to be in his arms.
He was miserable.
It had only been a week and he missed Kacchan—even just talking to him—but he’d barely even looked in his direction.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa’s voice cut through his haze. He looked up, expression blank. “Pay attention in class, or I’ll ensure you’re held back. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” he replied. Kacchan’s shoulders went stiff in front of him. He knew he sounded like crap. His voice was rough but devoid of emotion. He’d cried all of his feelings out before class, and his eyes and throat were sore from it. “Sorry.”
Something achingly sympathetic crossed his teacher’s face. “Don’t let it happen again.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to help himself. Not for a while anyway. He couldn’t focus with his stupid hollow heart sitting in his throat. Not when Kacchan was so eager to escape him, leaving his line of sight as fast as he could whenever he wasn’t required to be there.
Case in point—as soon as the bell rang to let them out for lunch, Katsuki was out of his seat and disappearing behind his curtain of friends. Eijirou tossed a concerned look in his direction, even as he ushered Kacchan out the door. None of them knew what had happened. Only that they weren’t together anymore.
And the worst part? Every time Kacchan disappeared, he seemed to take the door with him—the door that held back all the ugly feelings that ripped him raw and left him bleeding.
The feelings that made him wonder why he wasn’t worth fighting for anymore. The pain of missing Katsuki’s mean but easy smiles and crass jokes. The bitter jealousy that he wasn’t the person Kacchan confided in anymore.
The fear that someone as amazing as Kacchan would find someone new. Someone who would make love easy. Someone he’d have to see—taking the space beside him that he wanted so badly.
And when Kacchan took that stupid door with him, he crumbled.
Now, he leaned over his desk and pressed his face into folded arms. His shoulders shook as the tears came out, but he stayed quiet—overtaken by his bone-deep solemn sadness.
A hand landed on his upper back—rubbing soothing circles into his shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay,” Ochako promised quietly.
He wished she could know that for sure.
Katsuki stared at his ceiling.
After class, Deku had come straight back to the dorm and went to his room. He’d barely spoken to anyone all day. He’d barely heard Deku’s voice all week.
When he’d spoken to Aizawa he’d sounded so tired. So sad and raw.
He’d wanted to turn around and kiss it better. His heart was bleeding and so was Deku’s and it was his own fucking fault.
He’d done this. His pride and anger had done this.
He was a bully.
He couldn’t fucking sleep.
He hadn’t been able to sleep all week.
All he could see when he closed his eyes was the wounded look in Deku’s eyes as Katsuki ripped into him. He couldn’t stop thinking about the last time Deku had kissed him, excited and almost painful after a training exercise.
Deku had rushed him and jumped into his arms like he fucking belonged there, grabbing Katsuki’s face with both hands to congratulate him on his win.
Eight fucking days, and he felt like he was gonna break open. The number of times he’d wanted to turn around in class and just talk to him, just to realize that he couldn’t?
It was driving him insane.
And Deku was so fucking quiet. Deku had been a constant stream of sound in his life for as long as he could remember—a soundtrack of shitty whispered rambles. He’d never been silent like this.
He couldn’t fucking sleep.
They hadn’t broken up. They’d just broken.
Something vital was fractured and his body seemed to ache with it, starting from his stupid, stunted heart and radiating outward. He squeezed his eyes shut as he turned on his side, willing the mental image of Deku’s wounded face out of his head.
“Fuck,” he groaned, eyes stinging no matter how hard he pressed them into his palms. He knew what he said was shitty, but that didn’t mean he was wrong.
Deku was insecure about the stupidest shit, and he never took care of himself. Deku had started that fight, and Deku had broken up with him. He’d been hurt and frustrated, and he’d been shitty about it—but that didn’t mean he was wrong.
But fuck, was being right any good if it hurt this badly?
After all, he’d been the one who walked away.
He couldn’t fucking sleep.
Not without Deku.
He was swinging his legs over the side of the bed before he really understood what was happening—shoving his feet into his slippers.
Katsuki loved him. They were volatile and stupid—both of them—but fuck, Katsuki loved him. He could put his pride away long enough to apologize. Even if…
He swallowed thickly, eyes burning. Even if Deku didn’t want him back, maybe he could salvage some tiny scrap of their relationship and fucking superglue their shattered pieces back together.
Katsuki missed his eyes. He wanted to watch them light up while Deku talked about quirk analysis until Katsuki’s ears went numb. He wanted to hear his voice mumbling up a storm behind him or whispering in his fucking ear during movie nights, or fucking something aside from the empty silence.
He was banging on Deku’s door a minute later—fighting back his stupid pride as tears finally escaped and rolled down his face. He grit his teeth, staring down at the floor. Deku’s light was still on.
He couldn’t fucking sleep.
The door swung open and even though his eyes were red and puffy and his face was wet—even though his hair was mussed and there were dark circles overshadowing his pretty freckled cheeks. He couldn’t sleep either, and it was Katsuki’s fault.
“K—Bakugou?” he uttered, looking wounded just at the sight of him. Katsuki flinched. “What are you doing here?”
He even sounded tired—raw and pained and so fucking vulnerable, like Kacchan was a shrapel bomb that was only there to rip him further apart.
He looked dull around the edges even though he was the best thing Katsuki had ever laid eyes on. He looked tired to the bone, and Katsuki wanted to bully him into bed and hold him until he fell asleep.
God, what if he’d gone on patrol like this? What if he’d been too tired to focus and he’d gotten hurt? God, what if he’d fucking died?
What if the last shitty thing Katsuki said was that Deku was a burden? What if the last thing he remembered about Katsuki was that he’d called his goals pipe dreams and told him he wasn’t worth being proud of.
He let out a ragged sob, shoulders hunching as he caved in on himself. “I’m sorry,” he uttered. “Fuck, Deku, I’m so fucking sorry—”
He heard Deku’s startled inhale two seconds before strong, scarred hands took him by the shoulders and pulled him into the room.
“Oh my god, are you crying?” he uttered, even as he herded Katsuki to sit on the bed. “Why are you crying?”
“I miss you,” he admitted, quiet and miserable. “It’s been a fucking week, and I’m fucking miserable.”
Deku’s hands tensed on his shoulders.
“Kacchan…maybe we’re not that good together,” he sniffled. Sweet, soft-hearted crybaby. “We’ll always be friends, but—”
“I—fuck,” he whined, grabbing at Deku’s hand that was still on his shoulder—squeezing it. Deku gasped again. “I”m so fucking sorry,” he uttered. “I’m a fucking asshole, and I got frustrated, and I said shit I meant in a shitty way because I wanted to hurt you. I’m a fucking jackass—”
“Kacchan—”
“I was mad at my fucking mom,” he sobbed. “I didn’t wanna see that fuckhead, and you were pushing for a goddamn family dinner, and I was already fucking frustrated and—”
“I said awful things too, Kacchan,” Deku said, shuffling closer. “Please don’t cry—”
“You called me a bully,” he cried through gritted teeth. “And dammit, you were right. But fuck, Deku, you’re worth being better for and I’m *trying.”
“It shouldn’t be so easy for us to hurt each other,” Izuku whispered. “Don’t you think?”
Katsuki sobbed harder, curling in on himself until his forehead came to rest on Deku’s stomach. Deku’s free hand moved to his hair reflexively, marred fingers carding through blonde strands like they were meant to be there.
“If you—” he swallowed against the lump in his throat. “If you don’t want to be with me anymore, I won’t fight you on it. But I don’t want to lose you. Fuck, it feels like I just got you back.”
“I wouldn’t cut you out of my life completely," Izuku said, clutching him tighter as though the thought of them detaching was terrifying. “I couldn’t. And I want to be with you, I really do, but we—god. We fight all the time. And fighting with you hurts, Kacchan. I don’t want us to hurt each other anymore,” he whimpered.
He would take whatever he could get. He would. But he’d come here to fight for them, and the defeat in Deku’s voice felt like a thousand fucking razorblades digging into his heart.
He was a selfish bastard.
He couldn’t fucking sleep.
Katsuki’s arms snaked around Deku’s waist, anchoring them together. A safety line so he wouldn’t sink.
“I’m an asshole,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what the fuck you see in me but if there’s any part of you that still wants me, I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” he pleaded.
“Kacchan—”
“I love you,” he uttered. Izuku went stiff in his arms before winding Katsuki closer into his hold—shaking. God, had he never said it before? He thought it every day, was he really this much of a jackass? Maybe Deku really was better off without him. But fuck, he was selfish, and there was no way he was better off without Deku.
“Kacchan,” Deku sobbed, gripping him tighter with each passing second. “Don’t—”
“I mean it,” he insisted, pulling back to look him in the eye. “I love you. I’m shit at saying it and I’m even shittier at showing it, but I want to. I don’t deserve you—”
“Stop saying that—”
“But I want to deserve you. I can’t sleep. Knowing that I can’t talk to you like normal when I wake up? Or k-kiss you?” he stumbled over the words. Fuck, why was he so goddamn bad at this? “I can’t sleep knowing I won’t wake up to you.”
Deku had crawled into his lap—his entire body wound around his and face buried in Katsuki’s neck, tears soaking into the collar of his t-shirt.
“I can’t sleep either,” Deku admitted as though he was ashamed. “I told you I wished I’d never met you,” he hiccuped. Katsuki smoothed a hand down his back to soothe him, but he only cried harder. “I didn’t mean it—”
“I know,” Katsuki assured him, pressing his lips to his shoulder. “I know you didn’t. But if you did—”
“I didn’t,” he insisted. “But Kacchan—”
“We can’t keep doing this,” Katsuki said quietly. Deku’s answering sniffle was small and sad. Resigned.
“We can’t keep doing this,” he agreed. “If we even want to be friends, we need to talk to each other. But we’re both bad at talking, and I don’t think I can go through something like this again.”
Katsuki swallowed thickly, dread pooling in his stomach. His throat was tight as he pushed his face further into Izuku’s neck, trying unsuccessfully to hide from whatever came next.
“I’d learn how to talk and shit if that’s what it takes,” Katsuki said—maybe even pleaded. “I’ll go to that shitty therapist that Aizawa recommended.” He paused, measuring his next words. “We’re worth it, Deku. I think you’re worth it.”
Deku was silent for a long time, except for his miserable sniffling that made Katsuki feel like a fucking monster. “It would be a lot of work,” he finally said. Katsuki’s heart twisted miserably. It sounded like he thought it would be too much work.
“So where does that leave us?” he asked, afraid of the answer.
Deku squeezed him tighter. It felt like he was bracing himself. Katsuki felt like he was gonna throw up. What if Deku was done with him?
He’d deserve it. Even if he couldn’t sleep.
His heart twisted miserably as Deku pulled away from him—every inch of distance was like a vice around his throat, strangling him. His eyes blurred with tears and he hung his head as his lip trembled.
Then, rough warm hands were tilting his face upward so that their eyes met.
“I don’t think I can go through this again,” Deku said, eyes wet and lips twisted.
Katsuki couldn’t stop the tears now—face gross and wet. He held Deku’s gaze anyway. He owed him that much. His stupid heart fluttered when Deku’s thumb traced his lower lip, surprise making way for heart-wrenching hope. “But if you think we’re worth it…If you think we can do it—”
“We can,” Katsuki insisted. “If you want to, we can.”
He tried to keep the desperation out of his tone. He’d ruined them, it was up to Deku if he wanted to fix them. He’d told him how he felt—if he pushed any harder, Deku would cave just to make him feel better.
He let out a ragged sob when Deku wound his arms back around his shoulders and leaned in to plant a soft, sweet kiss on his lips. It was gentle, and slow, and wet from tears—but so perfect. Everything he’d been missing, all week long.
It smoothed the jagged edges of their broken pieces.
He pulled back too soon, and Deku laughed softly at the pitiful whine Katsuki let out as they separated. “I love you, too” Deku murmured, still only a breath away. Katsuki knew. Deku wasn’t a coward. Unlike him, he’d said it before. “And I wanna try again.”
Katsuki’s grip tightened on his waist, and he buried his face back in Deku’s neck—pulling him closer on his lap. “Thank fuck,” he uttered. He was still crying, but this time it was from sheer relief.
“I just…have one condition.”
Every time he saw them, Eijirou breathed a sigh of relief.
They’d only broken up for a week, and it had taken all of his strength to hold Katsuki together. All of their strength—Mina, Denki, and Sero all helping to hold Katsuki’s pieces together through sheer force of will.
But how did you hold someone together when they were shattered? What could they really do except watch shards of Katsuki’s splintered heart slip through their fingers every time he looked at Izuku?
It had been a full week of wondering if they’d ever be the same again.
Of wondering whether the cracks were too deep to patch this time.
And then, miraculously, they were back together again. Still sad, still cautious, but together and in love.
Not that they’d ever been out of love, but they’d been separated. A kite clipped from its string one falling to the ground, limp and lifeless while the other drifted, unstable and untethered.
One evening, they’d been broken up and miserable and the next morning, they’d come downstairs to find the Wonder Duo squished together on the couch picking food off the same plate and sharing a coffee cup. Just like before. More careful, but charged—every motion intentional and reverent.
It had been four days since then, and they seemed to be growing back into each other with ease.
It made him feel soft, watching them heal from whatever had happened. They may have even been more solid now than they were before.
It showed in the way Katsuki seemed determined to be touching Izuku as much as he possibly could an arm thrown around his shoulder or their fingers intertwined. There was also the way Izuku seemed to take an extra moment before diving in, and Katsuki sagged with relief every time he did.
There was something changed about them, and Eijirou was so fucking relieved.
But then, there was the thing that he was…perplexed about. He was grateful that they were back together, really. But: “Shouldn’t you be watching the stove, man?” Eijirou asked nervously. The pot was completely unsupervised, and it was starting to boil a little too violently.
He wasn’t qualified to touch Katsuki’s cooking, but he was pretty sure that it was going to start smoking soon.
“Fuck off,” Katsuki grumbled, only separating from Izuku’s lips long enough to swear at him. The key difference between pre-breakup and post-breakup was the sheer amount of unexpected, overwhelming PDA. Like seriously, any time they weren’t talking or walking or heroing, they seemed to be fused together at the mouth.
It was honestly getting ridiculous.
Even now, Katsuki was crowding Izuku up against the fridge and pressing kiss after leisurely kiss onto his lips, and it was a little stomach-turning. He was mumbling between each kiss, too—saying something that made Izuku grin and giggle like a besotted schoolgirl.
He was happy for them, really. But it was kinda sickening.
“Are you serious?” Denki whined as he ventured into the kitchen. “I was gonna eat my leftovers. Can’t you do that somewhere else?”
Katsuki and Izuku didn’t even hear him—Katsuki opting to ignore Denki so that he could trail more kisses across Izuku’s face and down his jaw. Izuku wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s neck, pressing him even closer.
Ochako and Mina walked in—recoiling as Katsuki made his way back up to Izuku’s mouth and slid his tongue between his teeth. “Seriously! Can’t you two get a goddamn room?” Ochako yelled. “People eat here!”
They separated, both turning just enough to blink at them owlishly without leaving each other’s arms. It was super manly that they were so affectionate, did they have to be so extra about it?
“Are we fucking stopping you?” Katsuki snapped after a few, long moments.
He looked a little dazed, so Eijirou assumed he’d had to reload his brain before responding.
“No, but you’re spreading your cooties all over the kitchen, Blasty,” Mina complained.
“Well, yeah, you’re stopping me from eating. You’re blocking the fridge,” Denki complained.
“Sorry, Denki,” Izuku chuckled, herding Katsuki out of the way so that Denki could get to his food. Denki just grumbled, shuffling forward to rummage through the fridge for his tupperware.
“Seriously, though, isn’t the PDA a little much?” Ochako huffed. “You weren’t like this before. I’m all for you getting your shit together, but you’re basically attached at the mouth!”
Izuku and Katsuki glanced at each other, one blushing and the other smirking. “Little nerd thought I was embarrassed to show him affection—”
“That’s not—”
“So the condition for us to try again—”
“Kacchan, at least give them accurate information! I know you’re not embarrassed now—”
“Was a hundred kisses a day,—”
“Well…that part’s true, but it was mostly a joke! ”
“Yeah? Haven’t heard you complaining so far, you little shit,” Katsuki teased, pecking his nose, then his cheek, then his mouth. “78.”
Is that what he’d been doing between kisses? Counting each one? So manly.
“I’m not gonna tell you to stop kissing me,” he pouted. “But you don’t have to. It was hyperbole—”
“Fuck that,” Katsuki snorted, smirk wide and gaze disgustingly adoring. “I’ll deliver every last one, even if my fucking lips fall off.”
Izuku’s blush deepened, and he looked pleased. Flattered and secure knowing that Katsuki wanted this. Eijirou’s heart felt stupidly warm for these two idiots.
Izuku leaned up to kiss his jaw, slow and gentle. “If you say so, Kacchan. Whatever makes you sleep better.”
They were gonna be fine.