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It had been a few weeks since their third year of U.A. had started. Everyone was outside in the dorm's courtyard, some of them playing games, others just relaxing, letting the night sky linger a bit longer. The smell of burning firewood in the air made everything feel warm and comforting. Kaminari was with Sero, literally embarrassing himself as usual. Izuku was with Uraraka, Todoroki, and Iida who was lecturing them about taking this year seriously, reminding them that their futures as pro heroes depended on it.
Katsuki was with Jirou and Kirishima, listening half-heartedly as Jirou talked about a new playlist she’d found. He was there physically, but mentally, he was drifting.
Starting their third year had forced Katsuki to reflect on his past, his present, and the uncertain stretch of future ahead. His second year had made him confront a lot of things he’d buried. Therapy and anger management sessions had changed him, though he’d never admit it out loud. His classmates noticed though, they told him they were proud of him. He brushed it off as dramatic, but secretly it had warmed something in him.
Now that the war was over, life was quieter. They didn’t have to live in constant fear anymore, and didn't have to flinch at every shadow. Still, Katsuki carried a sourness he couldn’t shake. Time was slipping too fast. Adulthood loomed. He was overwhelmed, there was so much to do, experience, yet he felt like he had experienced it all. Experiencing death, trauma, and watching his childhood rival lose the last sparks of his power only months ago.
Izuku had lost the last bit of One For All four months back. Katsuki remembered it vividly.
It was winter. Snow blanketed the ground outside, and the class had gathered in the common room to watch movies, everyone curled together in blankets. Kaminari, restless as always, had been pestering Izuku about his hero analysis notes. Izuku had tucked himself into a corner, scribbling away, freshly inspired by a first year’s quirk he’d observed. The kid’s movements had fascinated him, quirk and technique blending so seamlessly that Izuku couldn’t wait to get back to his notebook.
Kaminari wasn’t letting Izuku get away with this one. When he noticed Izuku wasn’t paying attention, he snatched the notebook and ran off. Izuku didn’t realize it was gone until a few seconds later, when he heard laughter coming from the common room. Everyone was watching Kaminari dash up the stairs, holding the notebook high in the air. Izuku let out a tired sigh, and before Kaminari reached the third floor, he activated his quirk and got there in seconds.
But this time, something felt wrong. His body tingled, then he felt nothing. By the time Izuku and Kaminari were back in the common room, he froze for a second and tried to activate his quirk again. Nothing happened.
“Uhh… guys?” Izuku’s face twisted in confusion as he stared down at his arms.
Everyone looked at him, wondering why he had spoken up and why he was making those strange expressions. He tried activating his quirk again, but still nothing. That’s when fear set in. His breathing grew uneven, panic overtaking him.
“No, no, no. Please, not yet.” His voice cracked as his face shifted into raw terror. Everyone around him grew tense, their worry spiking. Izuku collapsed onto the floor, staring at his trembling arms in disbelief.
“Hey, man. You okay? What’s going on?” Kaminari asked, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder.
“One for All… I can’t feel it. I-it’s not…there are no embers.” Izuku’s expression was shattered, his wide eyes brimming with tears that wouldn’t stop, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
Katsuki quickly sat in front of him, grabbing Izuku’s hands to steady them.
“Hey. Look at me. Izuku, look at me.” When Izuku didn’t respond, Katsuki cupped his face with both hands and forced him to meet his eyes.
“Breathe. In and out. You hear me? In… and out.”
And finally, Izuku listened. His trembling slowed, his breathing softened, and he leaned into Katsuki’s touch for support.
That night, Katsuki stayed by Izuku’s side, reminding him that losing his quirk didn’t make him any less of a person. He told him about all the incredible things he had done and the good person he still was. But Katsuki could still see it, the way Izuku’s eyes sometimes drifted, deep in thought, haunted by the loss.
Eventually, everyone close to Izuku knew the truth, he was quirkless again. Katsuki mourned the loss too. What he thought would last a lifetime had burned out in less than three years. He remembered when Izuku had first told him, back at the hospital, that this day would come. Katsuki had been crushed. He never cried in front of people, not even Izuku. But hearing those words had broken something in him, especially when Izuku had seemed so accepting of it. Katsuki had wanted a rival, someone to fight against for the number one spot.
But time forced him to accept it. He learned to live with the devastation, even if it left him feeling lost. Izuku still understood him better than anyone, and Izuku was there to comfort him too. They both carried dreams they could no longer fully reach.
Now, laughter filled the courtyard. The fire crackled, sparks breaking the quiet hum of summer insects. Katsuki leaned back, letting himself get lost in the stars above. They burned so bright it felt like the sky was celebrating something unseen. When the noise of his classmates became too much, he slipped away, settling onto the front steps of the dorm.
Resting his head in his hand, he tilted his face toward the moon. It hung low and pale in the sky. The night air was cool against his skin, brushing away the lingering warmth of the day. His chest tugged with quiet exhaustion as he breathed in slowly, then exhaled through his teeth.
The world felt too big tonight, too still. His body hummed with fatigue, but he let himself stay there. No yelling. No fire in his ears. Just the distant laughter of his classmates, the soft hum of insects, the rustle of trees, and the steady pulse of his own breathing.
It wasn’t exactly peaceful, but it was something.
The door creaked open, then shut softly. Footsteps approached, careful and slow, as if not to disturb the fragile silence. Izuku sat down beside him. Katsuki felt the brush of warmth as Izuku settled next to him, his faint scent mingling with the cool night air.
Neither spoke. They let the silence linger, not awkward but comforting. Their warmth contrasted the chill around them, grounding them both.
Only after a few moments did Katsuki finally speak.
“Why’d you come outside?” he asked.
Izuku flinched at the sudden question, but his shoulders eased quickly.
“I wanted some fresh air, didn’t think you’d be out here though,” he admitted with a quiet breath.
Katsuki hummed in acknowledgment, leaning back on his hands against the steps.
After a beat, Izuku spoke again. “Don’t you think it’s crazy? We’re going to be full grown adults in less than a year.”
Katsuki snorted. “Nah. It’s just another part of growing up.”
“Oh, come on, Kacchan don’t be like that, you're going to be a pro hero. Doesn’t that excite you?” Izuku nudged his shoulder lightly, playful but gentle.
Katsuki turned his head, meeting Izuku’s eyes for a moment before looking away, dropping his gaze to the ground. Izuku’s smile faded, replaced by concern, and then realization.
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize, it’s not like you can do something to change the outcome.” Katsuki muttered, his voice steady, but quieter than usual.
Izuku stayed silent for a long moment, staring at him, then said softly, “I wish I could stand by your side, you know. Not just chasing after you, not just catching up. I wish I could be there, fighting alongside you. Competing with you the way we used to dream about when we were kids.”
Katsuki scoffed lightly, but it didn’t carry any weight. “You’re already doing that, Deku.”
Izuku shook his head. “No. It's different. You’ve always shined brighter. And I…sometimes I feel like I'm just trying not to get left behind in your fire.” He let out a small laugh, self-conscious, before his voice softened again. “But even if I can’t match you step for step, I want you to know I’d choose to run right next to you. Always.”
Katsuki’s jaw tightened, and he leaned further back against his hands, staring up at the sky. The tree's movement fills the silence between them.
“You’re such a damn nerd,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.
Izuku smiled faintly, tilting his head to watch the same stars. “Maybe. But it’s the truth.”
Katsuki shifted his head to look at Izuku, “I-I just think I got used to having you by my side. Fuck, I knew you would be there through the good and bad times.” He then looked away, making sure his vulnerability wasn’t seeking through. “Now, I have to stand there alone. I d-don’t know if I can just do that.”
Izuku then moved to put his hand on top of Katsuki’s, and squeezed it. His voice was low, steady, but tinged with that familiar sincerity that always seemed to cut through everything.
“Kacchan… losing One for All was painful, yeah. It felt like having a part of myself ripped away. But it also gave me something I never thought I’d have. The chance to feel what it meant to be a hero. To save people, to stand in the same battles as you, even just for a little while. That was my dream for so long. And I got to live it.”
He drew in a shaky breath, eyes flickering to the stars above before back down to Katsuki. “But the truth is… even without it, I don’t regret anything. Because I’m who I am today because of you. You’ve been there from the start, even when it wasn’t easy, even when we were at each other’s throats. You’re the reason I kept pushing forward when it hurt, when it felt impossible. You’re the reason I wanted to be strong in the first place.”
Izuku’s lips curved into a soft, almost fragile smile. “So even if I don’t have a quirk anymore… even if I can’t fight beside you the way I wish I could, I’ll still be here. Watching you, supporting you, reminding you of who you are when you forget. Because that’s what I can do. And that’s enough for me.”
Izuku tilted his head closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for Katsuki. “You’re not alone, Kacchan. Not now, not ever. I’ll always be by your side, even if it’s not the way we imagined when we were kids.”
Katsuki’s grip twitched beneath Izuku’s hand. He tilted his head down, shadows cutting across his face, his hair hiding the sharpness in his eyes. His voice came rough, almost breaking at the edges.
“How the hell could you be okay with that, Deku?” he muttered, almost like the words were being torn out of him. “How can you sit there and say it’s enough? You…you were finally standing with me. We were finally competing like we were meant to. And now-” He cut himself off, sucking in a sharp breath, his jaw tight.
Izuku stayed quiet and patient, letting him wrestle with the words.
Katsuki’s shoulders shook once before he forced the rest out. “..I wan-needed more time. More fights. More reasons to keep chasing after each other. I wanted to know how it felt to go all out against you, not holding back, not worrying about who was stronger or weaker. Just you and me, side by side…like it always should’ve been. And I almost had that.”
His hands curled into fists, though he didn’t pull away from Izuku’s. “And now, I don’t get that. You don’t get that. And it pisses me off, ‘cause I can’t change it.”
For a long moment the night held nothing but the faint rustling of leaves and the quiet stir of the earth. Then, Katsuki exhaled hard through his nose, his voice dropping low.
“But don’t think for a second I don’t appreciate what you did. What you gave. Damn it, Izuku, you’ve been the one constant thing I had, the one person who never let me give up, even when I didn’t deserve it. You’re the reason I’m here, the reason I’m still pushing forward.”
Finally, Katsuki turned his head, just enough to meet Izuku’s eyes. His gaze was fierce, but there was a flicker of something softer underneath. “So yeah. Maybe I can’t stand losing what we could’ve had. But don’t ever think I don’t need you. ‘Cause I do.”
Izuku’s eyes softened, sparkling faintly in the pale light of the moon. He gave Katsuki’s hand another squeeze, gentle at first, then firmer, ground him in a way that words never could.
“You’ll always have me, Kacchan,” he said, simple and so sure, like it was the most natural truth in the world.
Katsuki’s chest tightened, the words hitting harder than he wanted them to. He tried to look away again, but Izuku’s grip only grew stronger, holding him there, refusing to let him sink back into the shadows he always hid behind.
Izuku didn’t even notice. His gaze had drifted upward, fixed on the night sky as if he could count every star. The moonlight spilled across his face, catching on the edges of his features, softening him in a way that made Katsuki’s throat go dry.
He hated how he found himself unable to look away, his eyes teaching the outline of Izuku’s face in the pale moonlight. He stared at the freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks, small, delicate, and stubbornly endearing, like some constellation all their own. His messy hair fell in chaotic strands, each one defying order, yet framing his features perfectly, softening the sharp edges of the world around him.
He watched the way Izuku’s lips moved slightly as he breathed, the gentle curve that made him look almost unguarded, almost fragile in a way Katsuki rarely allowed himself to see. The scent clung faintly to him, a mixture of soap, earth, and something uniquely Izuku, warm, familiar, and undeniable grounding.
Katsuki’s eyes roamed to his posture, his shoulders relaxed just enough to show the weight he carried without giving it away, the subtle movements as he shifted, completely absorbed in the night, unaware of the intensity of the gaze on him. And then that smile appeared, soft, quiet, so honest it felt like it could pull something tight and tangled from Katsuki’s chest.
He hated that he was noticing all of this, hated that the sight of him made his chest feel impossibly tight. But he couldn’t look away. There was something magnetic in the way Izuku existed in that moment, stubborn, earnest, glowing with a quiet kind of strength that didn’t scream for attention, but demanded it anyway.
He blinked, suddenly realizing how long he’d been staring. His chest tightened, and heat crawled up the back of his neck, his ears flushed bright red, betraying him even as he tried to mask it. He shifted slightly hoping Izuku hadn’t noticed, but of course, Izuku had.
A small, soft laugh escaped Izuku as he tilted his head toward him, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “You’re staring, Kacchan,” he said, gentle but teasing, his voice carrying that quiet warmth that always seemed to disarm Katsuki.
The words hit Katsuki like a jolt. His jaw tightened, and he opened his mouth, intending to deny it, but nothing came out. He felt that familiar burn of embarrassment creeping up his ears again, hotter this time, and his hands clenched involuntarily.
Izuku’s lips curved into a shy, almost bashful smile, and his gaze softened. “But…it’s okay,” he added quickly, the teasing gone, replaced entirely by something tender. “I don’t mind.”
Katsuki froze, caught off guard by how earnest Izuku sounded. He wanted to look away, wanted to tell himself to stop but he couldn't. His eyes stayed locked on Izuku, tracing the lines of his face, memorizing the curve of his lips and the way his hair fell across his forehead.
He didn’t move, didn’t speak. And Izuku, sensing his hesitation, simply smiled back, the softest, gentlest smile, letting him stay exactly where he was. The silence stretched between them, delicate and almost tangible, like the world had slowed down just for this moment.
Their eyes met again, and this time, neither moved. The moonlight painted Izuku’s features softly, and Katsuki could see everything, the stubborn tilt of his messy hair, the curve of his lips, the quiet, steady patience in his gaze. Each heartbeat felt loud in the silence, echoing through the space between them.
Katsuki found himself leaning in, ever so slightly, drawn to Izuku like a moth to flame. His eyes flicked down to those soft, tempting lips, and he felt his breath catch. The moment stretched out, waiting with anticipation.
Then, Katsuki closed the distance, pressing his lips gently to Izuku's. His lips radiated with immediate warmth, softer than he had imagined, a spark that made his chest feel like he was caving in.
The kiss was brief, hesitant, almost clumsy in its tenderness, but the sensation lingered, clinging to him like fire that refused to die. His lips tingled, his body tense, caught between panic and longing. And then, the realization struck him. Izuku wasn’t kissing him back.
Katsuki froze, his stomach twisting. His heart lurched painfully, as if the ground had been yanked out from under him. For a split second, all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, shallow and uneven. He pulled back just slightly, his ears blazing red, shame creeping in where courage had been moments before.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he muttered, the words rough, dragged from his throat like they were breaking him apart. He couldn’t bring himself to look directly at Izuku, his eyes lingered on the ground instead, on the way the moonlight spilled across the steps, anywhere but where Izuku was facing. “I shouldn’t have-”
But before the rest could leave his lips, Izuku’s hand came up, warm and steady, cupping his cheek. The sudden contact startled him, forcing his gaze upward, and he found Izuku’s eyes gentle, sure, glowing with a quiet warmth that cut through the storm in his chest.
And then Izuku leaned in.
The kiss was unhurried but firm, deeper than before, carrying with it an unspoken certainty. Izuku’s lips moved softly against his, no hesitation, no judgment, only warmth, only quiet reassurance. Katsuki’s breath caught, his entire body going rigid before melting into the sensation, the panic in his chest unraveling into something he didn’t have words for.
Izuku pulled back slowly, his hand slipping away from Katsuki’s cheek but not his presence. He didn’t move farther, didn’t say anything, he just stayed there, eyes wide and earnest, tilted up toward him as though waiting.
Before he could stop himself, Katsuki leaned forward again, slower this time, deliberately. His hand came up, fingers brushing against Izuku’s jaw, almost trembling as if asking permission before he closed the distance. Their lips met once more, and this time the kiss was hungrier, still careful, but edged with something desperate, something that clawed out from deep inside him.
Izuku responded almost instantly, lips parting under him, matching his rhythm. The kiss deepened, unhurried but intense, a soft press turning into something warmer, fuller. Katsuki tilted his head, pushing closer, his chest brushing Izuku’s as if the space between them was unbearable.
The world around them melted away, no night air, no moonlight, no quiet of the dorm steps. Just the heat of Izuku’s mouth, the faint taste of him, the way their breaths tangled as if they were sharing the same air.
Katsuki kissed him again, shorter, quicker this time, like he couldn’t quite get enough. Izuku let him, meeting each press with gentle insistence, grounding him even as Katsuki’s need threatened to spill over.
Katsuki finally tore himself away, chest heaving as he dragged in a breath. Their lips parted, but only just, and his eyes locked with Izuku’s.
Izuku looked wrecked in the softest way, his cheeks flushed, lips pink and slightly swollen, green eyes wide and shining. The sight knocked the air out of Katsuki’s lungs, leaving him reeling, desperate.
They lingered there, breaths mingling, eyes locked. The silence between them wasn’t empty, it thrummed, heavy and alive, carrying everything they weren’t saying. Katsuki’s chest tightened, his pulse wild, like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t step back from.
Then Izuku moved.
His hands came up suddenly, cupping Katsuki’s face with both palms, fingers warm and steady against his skin. Katsuki’s breath caught, his body going rigid, but before he could speak, Izuku leaned in.
It wasn’t just one kiss. Izuku pressed soft, scattered kisses wherever his lips could reach, the edge of Katsuki’s jaw, the apples of his flushed cheeks, the tip of his nose. Each one was gentle, deliberate, as though he were trying to imprint comfort into Katsuki’s skin, to quiet every doubt he hadn’t voiced.
Katsuki’s eyes fluttered shut, his hands clenching at his sides, undone by the sheer tenderness of it all. Izuku didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, he kept kissing him like he had all the time in the world, like Katsuki was worth every breath.
Finally, Izuku leaned back just enough to hover, their foreheads brushing. His lips found Katsuki’s again, slow and soft, lingering this time. It wasn’t desperate or hurried, just a quiet, grounding kiss that held more certainty than words ever could.
“You’re… such a damn nerd,” he muttered, the words tripping over his tongue, as if that was the only thing he could think to say when his chest was this tight and his ears were burning.
Izuku pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, a soft, knowing smile tugging at his lips, but he didn’t tease him for it. He didn’t need to, Katsuki’s flushed face, the tremor in his voice, said everything.
Katsuki huffed again, glaring as though daring Izuku to laugh, but instead his hand found Izuku’s. Without thinking, he tangled their fingers together, gripping tight, almost stubbornly. His palms were still sweaty, his pulse still unsteady, but he didn’t let go.
Their joined hands sat between them, grounding, solid in the way their words couldn’t be. Izuku’s thumb brushed lightly against the back of his knuckles, and Katsuki felt the fight drain out of him, leaving only the quiet thrum of something fragile and fierce.
Katsuki’s chest still thudded wildly, his ears burning, but the tension between them softened as their fingers remained intertwined. He didn’t know whether to glare, laugh, or completely lose himself in the way Izuku’s green eyes held his—so steady, so warm, so impossibly patient.
“I…” Izuku’s voice was low, careful, almost a whisper. His thumb brushed against the back of Katsuki’s hand again. “I like this.”
The words hit Katsuki like a punch and a sigh at the same time. His brows furrowed, a mix of embarrassment and disbelief twisting his features. “You… like this?” he stammered, voice rough, unsure if he meant the closeness, the touch, or just Izuku being his normal, earnest self.
Izuku’s smile softened, a little shy, a little bashful, and his eyes flicked down to their hands before meeting Katsuki’s again. “Yeah… being with you like this,” he said softly, letting each word linger between them. “It feels… right. I don’t want to rush anything, but…” He exhaled slowly, almost trembling, “…I like it.”
Katsuki’s ears flared redder, heat pooling in his chest, but for once, he didn’t look away. Instead, he leaned just a little closer, their foreheads brushing together. “Damn it… you always gotta say the softest shit,” he muttered, his voice rough but quiet, almost a growl. “You’re… lucky I like it too.”
Izuku’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, and he squeezed Katsuki’s hand gently. “I know,” he murmured, almost teasing, almost tender, and the world felt impossibly quiet and warm around them.
Then, slowly, Izuku shifted closer, his movements cautious but sure. He rested his head against Katsuki’s shoulder, his wild hair brushing lightly against Katsuki’s jaw. The simple weight of him, the way he seemed to settle so easily at his side, sent a jolt through Katsuki’s chest.
Katsuki froze at first, breath caught in his throat, every muscle tense. But as the seconds passed, the warmth of Izuku against him seeped deeper, quieting the storm in his veins. He let out a low exhale, his head tilting until his temple brushed against Izuku’s messy curls, resting there in a way that felt strangely natural.
The silence wrapped around them like a blanket, broken only by the sound of their breaths and the faint rustle of leaves in the night breeze. Katsuki could feel every detail—the rise and fall of Izuku’s chest against his arm, the steady weight of his head, the quiet thrum of warmth that made his own pulse stutter.
It felt dangerously easy. Too easy. Like this was where Izuku was meant to be all along.
“...Kacchan,” Izuku murmured after a while, his voice muffled against Katsuki’s shoulder. There was a trace of reluctance there, a hesitation that mirrored Katsuki’s own.
Katsuki grunted low in his throat, a sound that meant what? but not unkind.
Izuku shifted slightly, his cheek brushing closer to Katsuki’s collarbone. “We should probably head back inside soon… before everyone starts suspecting something.” His words were soft, careful, like he didn’t really want to say them, like the thought of leaving this quiet corner hurt just a little.
Katsuki’s jaw tightened. The last thing he wanted was to move, to break the fragile calm they had stumbled into. His fingers flexed against Izuku’s, still holding on tightly, and for a moment he didn’t answer, didn’t breathe, just held the weight of those words in his chest.
Finally, he muttered, low and gruff, “Tch… let ’em suspect what they want.”
Izuku let out a small, breathy laugh against his shoulder, and the sound curled warm and dangerous in Katsuki’s chest.
Katsuki huffed at Izuku’s laugh, but he didn’t move to pull away. Not until Izuku finally lifted his head, blinking sleepily as though he’d been too comfortable against Katsuki’s shoulder. Reluctantly, Katsuki let go of the warmth pressed against him, though he tightened his grip on Izuku’s hand, tugging him gently to stand.
They rose together, quiet, the night air cool against their flushed skin. Without thinking, Katsuki kept their hands linked, the contact grounding him more than he’d admit. Izuku, instead of slipping free, shifted closer until his other hand wrapped around Katsuki’s arm, hugging it against his chest as they started walking back toward the dorm.
Katsuki felt the brush of Izuku’s curls against his bicep, the steady weight clinging to him. He tried not to look down, not to focus on how natural it felt to have Izuku tucked against his side like that.
But then Izuku tilted his head up, green eyes catching the moonlight, glowing with something fierce and unshakable. His smile was small, almost shy, but steady.
“I don’t think I could ever leave your side, Kacchan,” he whispered.
Katsuki’s steps faltered at Izuku’s words, his chest seizing tight as though every heartbeat had been caught off guard. He turned his head, eyes locking onto that glow, those stupid, shining green eyes that always carried more weight than Izuku ever realized.
Before Izuku could say another word, Katsuki leaned down, sharp and sudden, pressing his lips to Izuku’s. It wasn’t messy, or desperate this time, it was firm, sure, a kiss that left no room for doubt. Just a single, grounding press of lips that said everything he couldn’t put into words.
When he pulled back, his breath brushed against Izuku’s mouth, his own ears burning scarlet as he muttered, rough and low, “Don’t ever think of it, nerd.”
Izuku’s smile bloomed soft and radiant, his grip on Katsuki’s arm tightening as if to prove his words. And under the moonlight, hand in hand, they kept walking, two hearts tethered, unshakably, undeniably, side by side.