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Katsuki knew these thoughts weren't right.
He knew that looking at Izumi and feeling that sharp, instinctive sense of ownership wasn't something he should be proud of. She wasn't an object. She wasn't something that belonged to anybody.
But knowing that and feeling it were two entirely different things.
Because the truth was, nobody knew Izumi the way he did.
They had spent their entire lives tangled together, whether they wanted to admit it or not. Their childhoods overlapped in a thousand different ways. Every memory of growing up seemed to have her somewhere in the background, running after him, arguing with him, crying, laughing, smiling.
Izumi had always been there. And Katsuki had always been there too.
He knew how she took her coffee. He knew which hero statistics she had memorized and which ones she only pretended to remember. He knew the exact look she got before she started muttering to herself, and the way she chewed the inside of her cheek whenever she was nervous.
He knew her. Better than anyone.
It was him she sought out whenever something excited her. The moment new hero rankings were released, she would appear beside him as if summoned by instinct, words spilling from her mouth faster than he could keep up with. She would wave magazines in his face, point at charts, rattle off percentages and rankings until his head hurt.
And somehow, despite all his complaints, he always listened.
Because he liked hearing her talk.
It was him she came to when she needed help studying. Him she asked for training advice. Him she trusted to tell her when she was screwing something up.
Every time.
Katsuki would roll his eyes, call her a pain in the ass, tell her to figure it out herself.
Then he'd help anyway.
Because nobody understood her strengths better than he did. Nobody understood her weaknesses either.
The realization should have been reassuring. Instead, lately, it just made him irritated.
Dangerously irritated.
Standing in the dorm kitchen, Katsuki leaned against the doorway and watched from a distance.
Izumi sat across from Todoroki at one of the tables, textbooks spread between them.
She was talking, of course. She was always talking.
Her hands moved animatedly as she explained something, eyes bright with enthusiasm. Whatever topic had captured her attention today had apparently earned Todoroki's full attention as well.
The bastard was actually listening. Patiently. Attentively. Like he wanted to.
Katsuki's jaw tightened.
He watched Todoroki nod along as Izumi rambled. Watched him ask questions. Watched the way Izumi smiled whenever he responded.
Then she laughed. A soft, genuine sound that carried across the room.
Todoroki's lips twitched upward in return.
Something unpleasant twisted in Katsuki's stomach.
Izumi leaned forward to point something out in one of the textbooks. The movement brought her closer to Todoroki without her even realizing it. Closer than she needed to be. Their shoulders nearly touched.
Katsuki felt heat crackle beneath his palms.
She didn't notice. Of course she didn't.
Izumi never noticed when people gravitated toward her. Never noticed the looks she got. Never noticed when someone lingered around her longer than necessary.
She was oblivious to it. Katsuki noticed enough for both of them.
His eyes narrowed.
Todoroki was looking at her again.
Not the textbook. Not the notes. Her.
And suddenly Katsuki was very aware of how often he'd been finding the two of them together lately.
Training, studying, walking back from class.
None of it meant anything.
Probably.
Yet the thought did little to cool the simmering anger crawling beneath his skin. Because every instinct he possessed hated the sight in front of him.
Hated seeing someone else occupy a place that had always felt like his.
Not because Izumi belonged to him.
She didn't. He knew that.
But there was a selfish, ugly part of him that couldn't stop thinking that if anyone was supposed to sit across from her listening to her endless muttering, it should be him.
If anyone was supposed to understand her strange tangents and half-finished thoughts, it should be him.
And if anyone was supposed to make her laugh like that—
His teeth clenched.
It should be him.
The realization hit harder than any explosion he'd ever created.
Across the room, Izumi laughed again. Todoroki smiled. And the look settling onto Katsuki's face was so dark, so openly hostile, that anyone passing by would have sworn he was contemplating murder.
"Yo, Bakugo."
Katsuki barely registered Kirishima's voice at first.
His attention remained fixed across the common room, eyes narrowed as he watched Izumi and Todoroki continue their study session at the dining table. Izumi was talking again, hands moving animatedly as she explained something written in one of the textbooks. Todoroki listened with that same calm expression he always wore, occasionally nodding or asking a question that only seemed to encourage her further.
The sight made Katsuki's jaw tighten.
A moment later, Kirishima stepped beside him, following the direction of his stare. His eyebrows rose immediately.
"Oh."
Katsuki finally tore his gaze away long enough to glare at him.
"What?"
The sharpness of his tone would have been enough to send most people running. Kirishima, unfortunately, had spent too many years around him to be intimidated anymore.
"Nothing," he said, drawing the word out. "It's just... you seem kinda tense, man."
"Tense?"
"Yeah." Kirishima scratched the back of his neck. "Like, really tense."
Katsuki scoffed.
"The hell's that supposed to mean?"
Kirishima gestured vaguely toward him.
"Well, for starters, you've been standing in the exact same spot for like ten minutes."
"So?"
"And you've been staring at Todoroki the entire time."
"I haven't."
"You definitely have."
Katsuki clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Across the room, Izumi laughed again. The sound immediately dragged his attention back.
He watched as she nudged one of the textbooks toward Todoroki, pointing at something on the page. Their heads dipped closer together as they looked at the same section.
Something unpleasant twisted in his chest.
Beside him, Kirishima noticed. Of course he noticed. The guy practically lived for reading people. A slow look of realization crossed his face.
"...Oh."
"What?"
"Ohhh."
Katsuki's eye twitched.
"The hell is that supposed to mean?"
Kirishima wisely took half a step back.
"No reason."
"Then shut up."
Kirishima glanced between Katsuki and the pair sitting at the table.
Then he made the mistake of smirking.
The mistake became immediately apparent when Katsuki's glare sharpened.
"Dude," Kirishima said carefully. "You're kinda looking like you're trying to burn a hole through Todoroki's skull."
"I'm not."
"You totally are."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not."
Kirishima sighed.
"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you were—"
The explosive crack that sounded from Katsuki's palm cut him off.
Kirishima stopped talking immediately.
"...Never mind."
"Damn right."
The redhead held both hands up in surrender.
For a moment, silence settled between them. Kirishima should have left it there. He knew he should have. Unfortunately, curiosity had always been one of his biggest weaknesses.
"So..." he began carefully.
Katsuki immediately looked irritated.
"What now?"
"You don't think Todoroki likes her, do you?"
The question landed like a grenade.
Katsuki's entire body went rigid.
Across the room, completely oblivious to the conversation happening about her, Izumi smiled at something Todoroki said.
Katsuki's scowl deepened.
Kirishima noticed that too.
And suddenly several months' worth of strange behaviour started clicking into place.
The way Bakugo always seemed to know where Izumi was. The way he'd appear whenever another guy started talking to her. The way he'd complain endlessly about her while simultaneously dropping everything to help her whenever she asked. The way he was currently glaring at Todoroki like he was a villain that needed to be taken down.
"Oh my god," Kirishima breathed.
"Don't."
"You do."
"Shut up."
"Dude, you actually do."
Katsuki's glare could have killed a lesser man. Kirishima grinned despite himself. The reaction alone was answer enough.
For someone claiming he wasn't bothered, Bakugo seemed awfully interested in who Izumi was spending her afternoon with.
Meanwhile, across the room, Todoroki leaned over to point something out in the textbook.
Izumi leaned closer to look.
And Katsuki's expression darkened so dramatically that Kirishima seriously considered evacuating the common room before someone ended up blasted through a wall.
Screw this.
Katsuki had reached his limit.
Screw standing over here like some idiot, watching this entire scene play out from the sidelines. Screw pretending he wasn't bothered. Screw Todoroki and his stupidly handsome face. And screw the way Izumi kept smiling at him.
The more he watched, the worse it got.
Every laugh that left her mouth seemed to scrape against his nerves.
Every second she spent leaning across that table felt longer than the last.
And the worst part?
She looked like she was having a good time.
A really good time.
Katsuki hated it.
Before he could think better of it, he pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning against. His shoulders rolled back as he straightened to his full height, sparks snapping faintly from his palms before he shoved both hands deep into his pockets.
The decision was reckless.
Impulsive.
Entirely driven by emotions he didn't particularly want to examine. That didn't stop him from making it.
Beside him, Kirishima immediately noticed the shift.
"Oh no."
Katsuki ignored him.
"Oh, this is a terrible idea."
Still ignoring him.
Kirishima glanced toward the study table and then back to Katsuki's determined expression.
Years of friendship had taught him exactly what that look meant.
Someone was about to have a bad day.
"Well," Kirishima muttered, slowly backing away, "I'm gonna go be somewhere else."
A wise decision.
Katsuki didn't even spare him a glance as he crossed the common room.
Each step felt deliberate. Purposeful. Like a predator closing the distance.
Several students noticed his approach and immediately found something else to look at.
Experience had taught Class A that when Bakugo marched toward something with that expression, getting involved was rarely beneficial.
Across the room, Izumi looked up first.
The moment she spotted him, her entire face brightened.
The irritation simmering beneath Katsuki's skin eased slightly despite himself.
Just slightly.
"Hey, Kacchan!"
There it was. That smile. That stupid smile she seemed to save specifically for him.
For a brief moment, he felt unreasonably satisfied that it looked different from the ones she'd been giving Todoroki all afternoon.
Meanwhile, Todoroki glanced up from the textbook.
His expression remained as unreadable as ever. Katsuki resisted the urge to scowl.
Barely.
He stopped beside the table. Close enough that his presence immediately dominated the small study space.
"Deku."
The word came out bluntly. More of a demand than a greeting. Izumi blinked.
"Yeah?"
"You said you wanted to train today."
It wasn't technically a question. More like an accusation. Izumi tilted her head.
"Oh."
Katsuki crossed his arms.
"Well?"
A small crease appeared between her eyebrows as she tried to remember. Then realization dawned.
"Oh, right!"
She had mentioned it earlier that morning.
The fact that Katsuki remembered every offhand comment she made was something she had long since stopped questioning.
"We can train later if you want," she said. "Todoroki was just helping me with—"
"We're going now."
The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Silence followed. Izumi stared. Todoroki stared. Even a few nearby students looked over.
Katsuki felt heat creep up the back of his neck.
Damn it.
He sounded insane.
He doubled down immediately.
"'Cause I ain't got all damn day."
There. That sounded more reasonable.
Probably.
Izumi looked between him and the textbooks scattered across the table. Then she looked back at him.
"You coming or not, nerd?"
Katsuki's voice carried its usual edge of impatience, though anyone who knew him well enough would have recognized that he wasn't really asking.
He was expecting an answer.
Across the table, Izumi blinked before looking up at him. For a moment, Katsuki thought she might argue. Or at least remind him that she'd been in the middle of something.
Instead, her expression softened immediately.
"Oh."
Without hesitation, she began gathering her things. The textbook she'd been studying from snapped shut beneath her hands. Papers were stacked. Pens disappeared into her bag.
Just like that.
The study session was over.
Something deep inside Katsuki immediately relaxed.
The tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter in his chest ever since he'd walked into the common room eased slightly.
Because of course she was coming. She always did. Not because he ordered her around. Not because she had to. But because somewhere along the way, following his lead had become second nature to her.
It had always been that way.
If Katsuki said they were training, Izumi trained. If he told her she was doing something wrong, she listened. If he called her over, she came.
Half the time she didn't even seem to realize she was doing it.
And the stupid thing was that she never acted that way with anyone else.
The thought sent a strangely satisfying warmth through him.
Izumi glanced toward Todoroki, offering him an apologetic smile.
"We can carry on later, if that's okay?"
Katsuki's jaw tightened.
Immediately.
The irritation he'd just managed to get under control flared right back up.
Later? Why later?
Why did she care so much about finishing some stupid study session with him? It wasn't like Todoroki needed the help. And it definitely wasn't like Izumi needed his.
Katsuki had been helping her study for years. Long before U.A. Long before Todoroki had ever entered the picture. He knew exactly how her brain worked. Knew when she was overthinking. Knew when she was stuck. Knew when she was about to disappear into one of her muttering spirals.
Todoroki didn't know any of that.
The fact that she wanted to continue studying with him anyway irritated him far more than it should have.
Across the table, Todoroki looked entirely unaffected.
"Sure."
He closed his own textbook.
"We can finish it later."
Izumi smiled gratefully.
"Thanks."
Then Todoroki's eyes shifted toward Katsuki. The smallest hint of amusement crossed his face. The expression was subtle enough that most people probably wouldn't have noticed it.
Katsuki did.
Unfortunately.
"All yours."
The words were completely harmless. Probably. Yet Katsuki immediately felt his eye twitch. The bastard knew. He had to know.
There was no other explanation for the way he said it.
Todoroki stood from his chair and slung his bag over one shoulder. As he passed, his gaze flickered briefly between them. Then he continued walking. Leaving Katsuki standing there beside the table. Leaving Izumi looking up at him expectantly.
Ready to go. Just like that.
No arguments. No complaints.
No insisting she finish studying first.
The moment he'd asked, she'd packed up her things and followed. The realization sent another wave of satisfaction through him.
A selfish one. An ugly one.
But satisfying all the same.
Because for all the time she'd spent laughing with Todoroki this afternoon, when Katsuki showed up, her attention had shifted to him without a second thought.
"Well?" Katsuki grunted.
Izumi immediately adjusted the strap of her bag and stepped around the table.
"Right."
She smiled.
"Let's go."
And despite every effort to remain annoyed, Katsuki found himself feeling considerably better than he had five minutes ago.
---
"What the hell, Kacchan?!"
Izumi's voice rang through the training grounds as she threw herself sideways, narrowly avoiding an explosion that detonated against the concrete where she'd been standing a split second earlier.
The blast echoed throughout the facility. Smoke curled through the air. Chunks of shattered concrete scattered across the floor.
Izumi landed awkwardly before catching herself, green eyes wide as she looked back at him.
"Kacchan!"
Another explosion erupted from his palm. Instinct took over. Izumi moved before the blast could reach her, using her momentum to propel herself backward.
The force of the attack sent a rush of heat across her face.
She stared at him. Confused. Concerned. A little irritated.
Because this wasn't normal.
Katsuki always pushed her hard during training. Harder than anyone else.
But there was a difference between pushing her and whatever this was.
This felt reckless. Distracted.
Like he was trying to fight something that wasn't standing in front of him.
Another blast crackled in his palm.
Izumi frowned. She knew that look. The tightness in his shoulders. The scowl pulling at his features. The way his movements became sharper whenever something was bothering him.
Most people only saw anger when they looked at Katsuki.
Izumi saw the differences.
She knew when he was annoyed. She knew when he was frustrated. And she knew when something was genuinely eating away at him. Unfortunately, she was pretty sure this was the third one.
"Kacchan, seriously—"
"Quit talking and fight!"
The explosion accompanying his words forced her to move again. Izumi clicked her tongue.
Yep.
Definitely something wrong.
Because underneath all the aggression, his timing was slightly off. His focus wasn't entirely on her. Part of him was somewhere else. Thinking about something else.
Or someone else.
The realization only made her more suspicious. Across the training field, Katsuki was having problems of his own.
Far too many.
His chest still carried an uncomfortable mix of emotions that he couldn't seem to untangle. The worst part was that he'd gotten exactly what he'd wanted.
He'd interrupted the study session. He'd pulled Izumi away from Todoroki. Now she was here with him instead. Exactly where he'd wanted her to be.
So why the hell did he feel so guilty?
A fresh wave of shame twisted in his stomach.
Because deep down, he knew exactly what he'd done. He'd taken advantage of something he wasn't supposed to.
Not intentionally. Not consciously.
But he'd done it all the same.
For as long as he could remember, Izumi had always responded to him differently than she responded to everyone else. She always had.
As kids, she'd followed him everywhere. No matter how many times he told her to get lost. No matter how often he'd yelled at her.
She'd always come running when he called. Always looked his way first. Always cared about what he thought. And somewhere along the line, he'd gotten used to it.
Far too used to it.
The memory of her immediately closing her textbook replayed in his head.
No hesitation. No argument. No complaints.
Just a quick apology to Todoroki before she'd packed her things and stood up.
Ready to leave. Ready to follow him.
The thought should have satisfied him. Part of him hated how much it did. Because he knew Izumi trusted him. Trusted him more than almost anyone.
And instead of respecting that trust, he'd used it.
Used it because he was jealous. Used it because he'd been unable to stand there and watch her laugh with somebody else. The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Another explosion burst from his palm.
Larger than intended. Izumi barely avoided it.
"Kacchan!"
This time there was genuine concern in her voice. Not annoyance. Concern. The sound immediately made him feel worse. Of course she was worried about him.
Even now.
Even after he'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to blast her into next week.
"Kacchan."
Her voice came again. Closer this time. He blinked. Somehow she'd managed to close the distance between them.
She stood a few feet away now, hands resting on her knees as she caught her breath.
A sheen of sweat covered her forehead. Her brows were furrowed. Not in anger. In worry.
"What's wrong?"
The question hit harder than any punch. Because she wasn't asking why he was angry. She was asking what was hurting him.
Like she always did.
And for the first time since entering the training centre, Katsuki found himself unable to meet her eyes.
Because the answer was humiliating. The answer was jealousy.
The answer was that he'd spent the better part of an hour acting like an idiot because he'd hated seeing her give someone else the attention he had selfishly grown accustomed to receiving himself.
"What are you babbling on about?"
Katsuki's response came out sharper than he intended.
He dragged his forearm across his forehead, wiping away the layer of sweat that had begun to form there. The training session had been intense, but the exhaustion settling in his chest had very little to do with the physical exertion.
Across from him, Izumi straightened slightly.
"You're annoyed."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not."
Izumi stared at him.
Katsuki stared back.
The silence lasted all of three seconds before she folded her arms.
"You are."
A frustrated groan escaped him. Some things never changed.
Years of friendship had taught him that arguing with Izumi about his own emotions was usually pointless. She had an infuriating habit of seeing straight through him, peeling away every layer of irritation and aggression until she found whatever he was actually feeling underneath.
Most people backed off when Katsuki got angry.
Izumi never did. Unfortunately.
She knew him too well. Far too well.
"You're acting weird," she continued.
"You're annoying."
"You're avoiding the question."
"And you're still annoying."
Izumi ignored him entirely. The concern in her expression only deepened. Katsuki hated that look. Not because it was unpleasant.
Because it wasn't.
It was because he knew exactly what it meant. The moment Izumi noticed something was wrong, she couldn't let it go. She'd follow him around. Pester him. Ask questions. Watch him with those stupid worried eyes until he finally cracked.
It had been happening for years.Ever since they were kids.
Back then, she'd trail after him whenever he got upset, refusing to leave him alone until he eventually snapped and told her what was bothering him.
Now they were older, nothing had changed. If anything, she'd gotten worse. And the embarrassing part? A small, pathetic piece of him had grown accustomed to it.
Accustomed to being noticed.
To having someone who always seemed to know when something was off. To having someone who cared enough to keep asking. The thought only soured his mood further.
"Did I do something?"
The question immediately pulled him from his thoughts.
Izumi's eyebrows had drawn together. Concern radiated from her face. She looked genuinely worried. Like the possibility of being responsible for his bad mood actually bothered her.
Katsuki felt something twist uncomfortably in his chest. Because of course that was where her mind went. The second something felt wrong between them, she assumed she'd caused it.
As though his moods somehow belonged to her. As though it was her responsibility to fix them. The thought should have annoyed him.
Instead, it just made him feel guilty.
He exhaled heavily.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The training ground suddenly felt strangely quiet. Then Katsuki finally looked at her.
Really looked at her. At the concern in her eyes. At the way she'd completely forgotten about training. At the way she'd been trying to figure out what was wrong with him ever since they'd arrived.
Just like she always did.
The same way he'd spent the entire afternoon obsessing over who she'd been spending time with.
The realization hit him all at once.
They were ridiculous. Both of them.
Far too wrapped up in each other. Far too aware of each other. Like their moods existed on the same frequency. Like neither of them quite knew how to function when something felt off between them.
"Why do you always do everything I say, dammit?"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Izumi blinked.
"What?"
Katsuki looked away immediately. Because now that he'd said it aloud, it sounded insane. But he couldn't take it back.
The question had been sitting in his chest all afternoon.
Growing heavier. Growing louder. So he continued.
"You just do."
His voice was quieter now. Less defensive.
"When I tell you to come train, you come train."
Izumi looked confused.
"When I tell you to stop overthinking, you try."
Her confusion only deepened.
"When I tell you something's a bad idea, you listen."
"Kacchan—"
"And when I dragged you away from Todoroki earlier, you came with me without even arguing."
Silence settled between them. The memory immediately resurfaced. Her closing her textbook. Packing her things. Standing up. Following him.
Just because he'd asked.
No.
Not because he'd asked.
Because it was him.
Izumi stared at him for several long seconds. Then her expression softened. A little understanding flickered across her face.
"You've always done the same thing."
Katsuki frowned.
"The hell are you talking about?"
She gave him a look. One that suggested he was being particularly dense.
"When you're upset, you come find me."
"I do not."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You literally interrupted my study session."
Katsuki opened his mouth. Then closed it. Izumi continued before he could argue.
"When you're stressed, you train with me."
"..."
"When you're frustrated, you call me."
"..."
"When something good happens, I'm usually the first person you tell."
Katsuki hated how accurate she was. Izumi smiled faintly. Not teasing. Just honest.
"I listen to you because I trust you, Kacchan."
The simple answer caught him off guard.
"And you listen to me more than anyone else too."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Because the worst part was that she was right. They had spent so many years orbiting around each other that sometimes it felt natural.
Automatic.
Like reaching for something that had always been there. Neither of them questioned it most of the time. It simply existed.
And standing there in the middle of the training ground, Katsuki realized that maybe what had bothered him so much about Todoroki wasn't just jealousy.
Maybe it was the uncomfortable realization that for the first time, someone else had started occupying a space beside Izumi that he had unconsciously assumed would always belong to him.
And he wasn't entirely sure what to do with that.
"I don't just do anything you say, Kacchan."
Izumi's voice was soft, but there was a certainty behind it that immediately caught his attention.
For once, she wasn't looking away.
She wasn't laughing off the conversation or trying to smooth things over.
Instead, she held his gaze. Really held it.
"Kacchan," she continued, a small crease forming between her brows, "I do what I want."
The words weren't defensive. They were simply true.
"I came because I wanted to train."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"I'm the one who asked you earlier, remember?"
Katsuki opened his mouth. Then closed it. Because she was right. He remembered. Of course he remembered. He remembered almost everything she told him.
The thoughts landed heavily in his chest.
For so long, he'd been convincing himself that the problem was how readily Izumi followed him.
How easily she fit into his life. How naturally she seemed to choose him.
But standing here now, looking into those familiar green eyes, he suddenly realized he'd been looking at the situation entirely wrong.
It wasn't one-sided.
Never had been.
A strange silence settled between them. The training ground felt quieter than before. The distant sounds of other students training seemed to fade into the background.
Katsuki found himself taking a step forward before he even realized he was moving.
The distance between them shortened. Not enough to be inappropriate. Just enough that he could see the flecks of emerald within her eyes.
Just enough that he noticed how a few strands of hair had escaped during training and stuck to her forehead.
Just enough that he became painfully aware of her.
Izumi didn't step back.
If anything, she seemed even more focused on him now. And that somehow made everything worse.
Or better.
He wasn't entirely sure anymore. Because suddenly the answer felt obvious.
The reason he'd been so angry. The reason he'd hated seeing her with Todoroki. The reason he'd spent the entire afternoon obsessing over who she was smiling at.
It wasn't because he thought she belonged to him.
Not really.
It was because somewhere along the way, she'd become important in a way he hadn't known how to define.
Dangerously important.
The kind of important that made his chest tighten whenever something felt different between them.
The kind of important that made him seek her out without thinking.
The kind of important that made every room feel a little emptier when she wasn't in it.
And maybe the most frustrating part of all was realizing that she seemed to have a similar effect on him.
Because Izumi had influence over him too. Far more than he'd ever been willing to admit.
If she was upset, he noticed. If she was hurt, he cared. If she smiled at him, his day somehow improved despite himself.
Hell, she'd managed to drag him into conversations, training sessions, and situations he would've walked away from if anyone else had asked.
The realization was humbling. And a little terrifying. Maybe that was why everything felt so different lately.
They weren't children anymore. The habits they'd built over years of friendship suddenly carried a weight they never used to.
A look lasted a little too long. A touch lingered a little too much. A smile affected him more than it should. Things that had once been simple no longer felt simple at all.
Katsuki exhaled slowly.
For the first time all day, some of the tension left his shoulders. Because another realization followed close behind.
Izumi wasn't his. She never had been.
She wasn't something he could claim. Wasn't something he could keep. She was her own person. Free to spend time with whoever she wanted. Free to laugh with whoever she wanted.
Free to choose.
And if the thought of that still made something possessive and ugly twist inside his chest, then that was his problem to deal with.
Not hers.
Yet even as he thought it, his eyes drifted back to hers. And something about the way she was looking at him made his pulse stumble.
Concern. Affection. Trust.
All wrapped together into something he wasn't brave enough to examine too closely.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
They simply stood there, facing one another in the middle of the training ground.
Close enough to hear each other's breathing. Close enough to notice every small expression.
And for the first time, Katsuki wondered if maybe the reason he was struggling so much to let go wasn't because he wanted Izumi to belong to him.
Maybe it was because some reckless part of him desperately wanted to belong to her too.
"I..."
The word died in his throat almost immediately.
Katsuki looked away first. Of course he did.
His jaw tightened as he clicked his tongue in frustration, eyes dropping to a crack running through the concrete beneath their feet. Suddenly, the ground seemed far easier to focus on than the girl standing in front of him.
Why was everything so damn difficult when it came to her?
He could walk into a fight against villains without hesitation.
He could stand in front of cameras, teachers, and pro heroes without feeling intimidated.
He could tell practically anyone else exactly what was on his mind.
But Izumi?
Izumi somehow turned simple thoughts into impossible ones.
His chest felt tight. Uncomfortable. Like there was something lodged between his ribs that refused to come out.
Because how exactly was he supposed to explain this?
How was he supposed to tell her that watching her grow closer to Todoroki had gotten under his skin in ways he didn't understand?
That every time he saw the two of them together, something unpleasant twisted inside him.
That he'd spent half the afternoon glaring at a guy who had done absolutely nothing wrong.
Todoroki hadn't crossed any lines. Hadn't made a move. Hadn't even looked particularly interested.
And yet Katsuki had still hated every second of it.
The thought made him feel ridiculous. Pathetic, even. Because Todoroki wasn't just anyone.
Todoroki was smart. Popular. Talented.
The kind of guy people naturally gravitated toward. Hell, half the school probably had a crush on him. The other half probably wanted to be him.
And Izumi...
Katsuki's chest tightened further.
Izumi liked spending time with him. That much was obvious.
The two of them studied together. Trained together. Talked constantly. Every time Katsuki turned around lately, Todoroki seemed to be there.
And the possibility that something more could grow from that had been eating away at him all day.
The idea alone made his stomach churn.
Not because he thought Todoroki would hurt her. If anything, the bastard would probably treat her well.
That somehow made it worse.
Because if Izumi ever looked at someone differently, really differently, someone like Todoroki made far more sense than someone like him.
Someone calm. Patient. Kind.
Not someone who spent half his life yelling.
Not someone who had spent years pushing people away.
Not someone who still struggled to say the simplest things when they mattered most.
His hands clenched at his sides.
Things between him and Izumi had only recently started feeling easy again. After everything they'd been through. After all the mistakes he'd made. After all the years it had taken to rebuild what he'd nearly destroyed.
The last thing he wanted was to ruin it.
And yet here he was.
Standing in the middle of a training ground.
Jealous. Possessive. Terrified.
All because the thought of losing his place in her life felt unbearable.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Katsuki finally forced himself to look at her. The concern in her eyes hadn't disappeared. If anything, it had grown.
And somehow that made it harder.
Because she was listening. Really listening. The way she always did when something mattered.
His throat felt dry.
"I didn't like the way you were looking at him."
The confession came out rough.
Almost reluctant.
As though the words had been dragged from him against his will.
The moment they left his mouth, silence followed.
Katsuki immediately wanted to take them back.
Not because they weren't true. Because they were.
Painfully true.
Izumi blinked.
Once. Twice.
Clearly caught off guard.
"The way I was looking at him?"
Her voice was quiet, confused .
Katsuki resisted the urge to groan. Hearing it repeated back to him somehow made it sound even worse.
"Yeah."
He looked away again.
Coward.
"The way you were smiling at him."
The admission slipped out before he could stop it.
"And laughing."
Another pause.
"And the way you kept leaning toward him."
Every word made him feel more exposed. More ridiculous. Yet once he'd started talking, he found it increasingly difficult to stop.
"It pissed me off."
Izumi stared at him. Katsuki stared stubbornly at the floor.
Neither moved.
Finally, she spoke.
"Kacchan..."
There was something different in her voice now. Something softer. His chest tightened.
"I smile at lots of people."
"I know."
The answer came immediately. Too immediately.
Because of course he knew.
He knew the difference between Izumi being friendly and Izumi genuinely enjoying someone's company.
He paid far more attention than he should. Far more than was healthy. Far more than a friend probably ought to. The idea made him laugh bitterly under his breath.
"That's kinda the problem."
For the first time since the conversation began, Izumi's expression softened completely.
And when Katsuki finally gathered enough courage to look at her again, he found her watching him with an intensity that made his pulse stumble.
Not judgment. Not discomfort. Just understanding. Which somehow felt far more dangerous.
Because if she understood what he was trying to say before he figured it out himself, then he wasn't sure he was ready for whatever came next.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The training ground felt strangely quiet.
Even the distant sounds of clatter and shouted instructions from other students seemed muted somehow, fading into the background as Katsuki stood there feeling more exposed than he had in years.
Izumi simply looked at him. No teasing, no judgment. Just that infuriatingly gentle understanding that always made it impossible to hide from her.
"Kacchan..."
Her voice was soft. The concern in her eyes eased into something warmer. Something that made his chest feel tight for an entirely different reason.
"Todoroki is my friend."
Katsuki looked away immediately. Of course she would say that. It should have reassured him. Instead, he found himself waiting for the rest of it. Waiting to hear what she wasn't saying. Izumi seemed to notice. Because she took a small step forward. Then another. Close enough that he could feel her presence beside him.
"Todoroki's important to me," she admitted honestly. The words stung more than they should have.
"But not like that."
Katsuki's eyes lifted back to hers. For the first time since this conversation had started, he looked genuinely uncertain. And Izumi hated seeing that expression on him.
Because beneath all the confidence and stubbornness and arrogance, there were moments like this. Rare moments. Moments where Katsuki looked almost vulnerable. Like he wasn't entirely sure where he stood. And she realized then that this whole thing had never really been about Todoroki.
Not entirely.
It was about fear.
Fear that things were changing. Fear that they were growing up. Fear that one day they might wake up and discover they weren't each other's first choice anymore.
The thought made her chest ache.
Before she could overthink it, she moved. Katsuki barely had time to react before her arms wrapped around him.
He froze.
Completely.
His brain stopped working.
"Oi—"
The protest died instantly. Because Izumi was hugging him. Not a quick hug. Not an awkward one.
A real one. The kind she'd only ever given him when she knew he needed it.
For several long seconds, Katsuki stood perfectly still. His hands remained awkwardly at his sides, his heartbeat hammered against his ribs. And despite everything, despite how embarrassed he should have been, despite how ridiculous this entire conversation had become...
He didn't pull away.
Slowly, Izumi rested her cheek against his shoulder. The familiar gesture carried years of history behind it, years of trust, years of finding comfort in each other without needing to explain why.
"Kacchan," she murmured.
His throat felt dry.
"What?"
A small smile tugged at her lips.
"I think you're being an idiot."
"The hell?"
She laughed quietly. The sound vibrated against his chest. For some reason, that made it even harder to think.
"Todoroki's my friend."
There it was again. Simple. Honest. Certain.
"And before you ask, no, I don't like him like that."
Katsuki's stomach immediately unclenched. The reaction was so immediate that it was almost embarrassing. Unfortunately, Izumi knew him well enough to notice. Her smile widened.
"I wasn't gonna ask."
"Liar."
"...Yeah."
She laughed again. Katsuki rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked any real irritation. For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither seemed particularly eager to be the first one to let go.
Then Izumi spoke again, quieter this time, more sincere.
"You know something?"
"What?"
She pulled back just enough to look up at him, green eyes meeting red.
"I've been following you around for years."
Katsuki felt his face warm. "Damn right you have."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
The smile she gave him then was fond enough to make his heart trip over itself.
"I know."
Her voice softened. "And I'll probably keep doing it."
Katsuki stared. Izumi shrugged, as though she were discussing the weather.
"As annoying as you are, you're still my favourite person."
His breath caught. Just for a second.
"You don't get to say stuff like that so casually."
"Why not?"
"Because you're impossible."
Izumi grinned. "And you're stuck with me."
The words were teasing. Lighthearted. But something about them settled deep inside his chest. Because despite everything that had changed over the years, despite the uncertainty he'd been wrestling with all afternoon, there was one thing he suddenly felt sure of.
Izumi was still here. Still choosing him. Not because she had to. Not because of habit. But because she wanted to.
And somehow, that meant more than any answer he'd been searching for.
For the first time all day, the knot in his chest finally began to loosen.
Later that night, Katsuki couldn't sleep.
Not that he was surprised.
He lay sprawled across his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling in frustration. Every few minutes he would roll onto his side, adjust his pillow, or pull the blanket higher before immediately becoming irritated and throwing it back down again.
Nothing worked.
Because the problem wasn't physical. The problem was that his brain had apparently chosen tonight to become his worst enemy. Every time he closed his eyes, the events of the afternoon replayed themselves with painful clarity.
Izumi's voice. Izumi's smile. Izumi's arms around him.
His jaw clenched.
"Damn it."
The words disappeared into the darkness of his room. The digital clock on his bedside table informed him that it was well past midnight. Sleep remained nowhere in sight. Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking. And lately, thinking seemed to be getting him into trouble.
Katsuki sighed heavily before sitting upright.
The room was dark except for the moonlight filtering through the curtains. Most of the dormitory had gone quiet hours ago. Everyone else was asleep. Everyone except him.
Typical.
He scrubbed a hand down his face.
Over the last few years, he'd been trying. Really trying. Trying to become better.
Trying to become someone worthy of the future he'd fought so hard to earn.
A better hero, a better friend, a better person.
The old Katsuki would have buried today's feelings beneath anger and stubbornness. Would have ignored them. Pretended they didn't exist.
But he wasn't that kid anymore. At least he was trying not to be. Unfortunately, growth required something Katsuki hated more than almost anything else on the planet.
Self-reflection.
The mere thought made him grimace. Because self-reflection usually led to uncomfortable truths. And tonight's truth was particularly awful. His thoughts drifted back to the training grounds. Back to Izumi standing in front of him. Back to her telling him Todoroki was just a friend.
The memory caused an immediate warmth to settle in his chest.
Katsuki froze.
Then immediately scowled.
That couldn't be normal.
Could it?
Friends weren't supposed to have this effect on each other. Friends didn't spend entire afternoons irrationally jealous. Friends didn't feel relieved enough to nearly collapse when they discovered someone wasn't interested in another person. Friends didn't replay hugs in their heads six hours later.
His face heated.
"Damn it."
There it was again.
The hug.
The memory had become particularly problematic. Because no matter how many times he tried to think about something else, his brain always returned to it. Returned to the feeling of her arms around him. The way she'd looked up at him. The way she'd smiled when she called him her favourite person.
Katsuki groaned and dropped backward onto his mattress. This was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.
Except it wasn't.
Because if he was being honest with himself, really honest, this hadn't started today. Today's events had simply forced him to look at something he'd been avoiding for a very long time.
His thoughts drifted further back.
To countless mornings spent waiting for her before class, to training sessions that somehow always felt easier when she was there, to late-night conversations, to victories that felt incomplete until he shared them with her, to all the moments he'd spent unconsciously searching for her in crowded rooms. Finding her, and immediately feeling better.
His chest tightened.
The realization was beginning to take shape now.
Slowly, inevitably.
Like a puzzle he'd been assembling without noticing.
For years, Katsuki had told himself that Izumi was important because she'd always been there. Because she was his best friend. Because they'd grown up together. Those explanations had been easy.
Comfortable. Safe.
The problem was that none of them explained this.
None of them explained why seeing her laugh with someone else had made his stomach twist. Why her opinion mattered more than anyone else's. Why a single hug had occupied his thoughts for an entire evening. Why the idea of losing her felt terrifying.
Or why the thought of someone else falling in love with her felt even worse.
Katsuki stared at the ceiling. His heartbeat felt strangely loud. Because the answer was becoming impossible to ignore.
The answer had been sitting right in front of him all along.
He just hadn't wanted to look at it.
Maybe because it was terrifying. Maybe because it changed everything. Or maybe because if he admitted it, there would be no taking it back.
The room felt very still.
Very quiet.
And somewhere in the darkness, Katsuki Bakugo finally allowed himself to think the words he had spent months, perhaps years, avoiding.
Not aloud. Never aloud.
Just to himself. A private admission. A dangerous one.
Because once the thought entered his mind, it refused to leave.
Maybe I don't just want her in my life.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
Maybe I want to be the person she chooses.
Not out of habit. Not out of history. Not because they've always been together.
Because she wants to. Because she feels the same way.
Katsuki closed his eyes. And for the first time all night, the truth felt startlingly obvious. The jealousy. The possessiveness. The constant need to know she was okay. The way his entire day seemed to improve whenever she smiled at him. It all pointed toward the same conclusion.
A conclusion that terrified him far more than any villain ever had.
Because villains were easy. Feelings weren't.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part?
He was beginning to suspect that he was completely, hopelessly in love with Izumi Midoriya.