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“The Commission has informed me that, if they so chose, any U.A. Hero Track student is eligible for total licensure, with the actions of the last months serving as your test,” Aizawa says, a week after it all, finally, ends.
Izuku can feel his stomach fill with concrete as his peers turn to him.
The few remaining top-tier heroes would take them into their agencies in a heartbeat or they could team up together and start their own. They would be fine. Izuku’s friends turn to him, waiting for his judgment before they make their moves.
“If we accept do we have to leave school?” Izuku asks.
He wants more in-depth first aid training, wants to understand how to file a claim on behalf of a business when he gets slammed into it and windows need to be replaced. He wants to train in controlled settings so he doesn’t feel like he’s actively dying every time he puts his costume on.
They were projected to graduate a little more than a year from now, four terms, and Izuku wants them.
More than that, he needs them.
Aizawa must see something ugly and haunted on Izuku’s face because he places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes firm.
“Yes, you can stay. No one would dream of making you leave.”
-
“Deku,” Uraraka says, “Stop.”
“Stop what?” Izuku asks, “The foot tapping? Sorry, I wasn’t thinking--”
“The tapping’s fine Deku,” Uraraka says, “Look at your hands.”
Izuku looks down, sees the raw spot on his hand where he’s pulled his skin away like an orange peel. It’s a big space, taking up about a third of his palm, and the pull is deep. He watches, detached, as the skin bleeds sluggishly.
“Oh,” Izuku says, suddenly feeling very small, “I didn’t know I was doing it. Sorry. I’m fine, really. I’m fine.”
“I know,” Uraraka says. Izuku knows she doesn’t mean that she thinks he’s fine. She knows he’s lying out of a sense of desperation and self-shielding. “You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s okay.”
Uraraka thinks for a moment, staring at Izuku’s hands, and he sees the moment when the solution occurs to her.
“Can we bandage that and then put on some gloves? You feel better when you’ve got your gloves on, right?”
Better is relative, but Izuku feels safer with his gloves on.
“All right,” He says, “Thanks, Uraraka.”
-
Izuku is hesitant using his Quirk in class.
He’s a powerhouse, a nuclear bomb. Generally, going easy on your peers in combat training is frowned upon, but these are Izuku’s favorite people on the planet.
“I don’t want to do one-on-one,” He says, watching Uraraka throw Kirishima over her shoulder. With Kirishima’s pin, It’s Izuku’s turn. “Aizawa-Sensei, it’s a bad idea .”
Izuku would rather fight Quirkless and get his ass beat over accidentally hurting one of them.
Izuku wonders if he’ll stop feeling like a loaded gun.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa says, “Do you trust me?”
The answer is obvious. Izuku has put his life in Aizawa’s hands countless times. Aizawa has bled for them, lost for them, dedicated his life to his students.
Izuku nods.
“Good,” Aizawa says, “Do you believe that I have this under control?”
That’s harder because Izuku is still so scared that something will happen to his family, but he sets his shoulders and nods.
“Good,” Aizawa says, then louder, “Alright Class! There are two hours left before we break for lunch. The rest of the one-on-ones are going to be against Midoriya. He has been reminded that this is Full-Quirk training and will not go easy on you, because Villians will not go easy on you.”
“Oh my god,” Mina says,
Izuku covers his face with his hands.
“Stop,” Aizawa chides, “If any of you manage to pin Midoriya, you will get twenty extra credit points added to your class of choice. Todoroki, you are up first.”
For the first few minutes, Izuku is terrified.
Todoroki is one of his best friends. Izuku treated the burns his older brother left across his arms in the field, has set a broken ankle for him, and taped him back together with fucking duct tape so he didn’t fall to pieces during the final clash. He knows how to order soba for Shouto when he gets to the cafeteria first, that he’s allergic to cherries of all things, and that he wears strong contacts in his left eye because he’s near-blind where the boiling water struck him.
Izuku can not, will not, hurt Shouto Todoroki.
He avoids him, flying up, up, up in the air while he tries to soothe his pounding heart.
“Midoriya!” Todoroki yells from the ground, “Once upon a time, you told me off for not using my power to win.”
“That was different!” Izuku protests, “I don’t want to hurt you!”
He’s killed people. He was defending himself, it was kill or be killed, but he still did it. Don’t they understand that? Don’t they understand that things are different now?
“I am actively on fire. Am I going to hurt you?”
Todoroki might singe the hair off Izuku’s arms or burn his eyebrows off and he might encase his arm in ice so the old elbow injury throbs for a week, but he won’t hurt Izuku.
“No,” Izuku says, “You could never.”
“I trust you,” Todoroki says, “Come down.”
Izuku floats down, but not to the ground, hovering twenty meters above the gym floor.
Todoroki lashes out, ice and fire coming from two separate directions. Izuku reacts, dodging out of the way and pulling with Blackwhip. In an instant, Todoroki is on the ground, arms pinned beneath his back and underneath him, so he can’t use his Quirk. Izuku can feel him struggling, feel the fire arching off of his arm where Blackwhip has him contained, but it’s a dull heat.
Aizawa’s count to five is an eternity.
Izuku drops to the ground, somersaulting over to where he pinned Todaroki to the ground and landing on his knees.
“Oh my god, are you okay? You moved so fast I just reacted and I didn’t want to hurt you but you lashed out and I had to respond. The way that you’re moving simultaneously with the ice and fire is so effective, I really had to move to get out of the way. I wonder if there’s a way to twist the two? Do you want a sword like Aoyama? I feel like you could make a sword like him, and set it on fire? That would be really cool. You’d be more intimidating than you already are--”
Todoroki laughs. It gives Izuku pause because Todoroki is a quiet guy, but he looks thrilled. After a beat, Izuku realizes that this is probably the first time he’s nerded out hardcore in months.
“There you are,” Todoroki says, grinning, “We’ve missed you.”
-
It’s an unprecedented situation, but most of Japan’s pro heroes are still in high school.
Where they previously were not allowed to have their phones out during class, now ringers stay set on high volume.
Their Tuesday goes like this:
They’re having an ethics discussion, Aizawa moderating a talk on what the most correct form of action is when a civilian refuses aid in a way that endangers their lives and others.
The first two phones ring. Asui and Uraraka reach for their respective phones simultaneously.
“Cala?” Uraraka confirms, “In Yamanashi? Yes, we’re on our way, expect us in twenty.”
Jiro is already getting their briefcases for them, Mina moving their backpacks out of the way.
“See you soon!” The girls say, running down the hall.
“Be safe!” Iida yells after them, “We’ll take notes!”
The class returns to their discussion, Yaomomo’s careful hand taking detailed notes on the nuances of protocol and the importance of autonomy in disaster situations.
It’s not unexpected when the phones ring again, but the magnitude is overwhelming. Every phone in the damn room rings.
“This is Deku,” Izuku says, kicking his bag underneath his desk.
“Deku,” The operator says, “Please state the identification number as it is printed on your license.”
Izuku does, phone pinned against his ear as he accepts his briefcase from Aoyama. He signs thank you and Aoyama bows dramatically because he’s like that.
“Intelligence suggests that a Quirk Emergence is occurring in Cala. A typhoon has settled over the city and is growing, with gusts already topping 200 kilometers an hour.”
“A typhoon?” Izuku clarifies, “In Yamanashi Prefecture?”
“We’re aware that Cala is landlocked. That’s part of the problem. They have no infrastructure in place for this type of storm.”
“Alright,” Izuku says, “We’re on our way.”
They get dressed on the bus, bundling up in their water-resistant gear. Izuku pulls his cowl over his head and snaps it against his mouthguard. He considers taking off his cape entirely, it’ll get soaked almost instantly, but decides against it. The outside is water-resistant, like the rest of his suit, and it’ll be helpful during evacuation efforts.
The sound of the class buzzes over Izuku, the chaos soothing him.
“Disrespecting women is the least manly thing you can do,” Kirishima snaps, twisting Mineta’s head so that he can’t look behind him towards the girls, “Look at the floor.”
“Iida,” Todoroki says, “Your straps are twisted, turn around.”
“Kaminari,” Momo says, “Make sure your boots are zipped all the way, you’ll need the rubber for ground.”
“You’re cold,” Izuku says as Katsuki sits down on the bench seat beside him.
“Am not,” Katsuki says sharply like if he’s abrasive enough he’ll stop shivering. He is cold, the air chilling as they get closer to the storm, but that’s nobody’s business but his own. “Go die in a ditch.”
“Nah,” Izuku says, “Take off one of your gloves.”
“I’m not going to do that,” Katsuki says as he tugs his left glove off.
“Sure,” Izuku says, and he’s not laughing but it’s close, “Give me your hand.”
“God, preventing the apocalypse turned you into a brat,” Katsuki says, “Maybe I don’t need your help. Maybe I’ve learned how to warm myself up when I’m too cold like fucking Icy-Hot.”
Instead of responding, Izuku takes his hand rubs blood flow back into it.
Katsuki’s fingers go from cold and clammy to hot and sticky.
Katsuki shoves his glove back on as soon as Izuku releases him, palm sweaty. He feels infinitely better. Safer.
“You’re so gross,”
“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki says, “You ate All Might’s hair and broke your bones on purpose for three months, you have no room to talk.”
“Mm,” Izuku says, “Zip up your jacket.”
Ultimately the source of the destruction, of billions of yen worth of property damage and a city displaced, is a five-year-old girl.
They knew they were getting close to her, the storm getting denser and denser until it eased almost completely. She’s tucked herself under the twisted slide of a playground and she’s screaming, her panic fueling the storm.
Izuku pulls his mask back and pushes his hair out of his eyes. They’ve been out here a while, at least three hours, and despite his best efforts, he’s soaked to the bone.
“Hi,” He says, as he kneels down beside the slide, “Can I join you down there?”
“No!” The girl screeches, startling and hitting her back against the slide, “Stay back!”
“Alright,” Izuku says, “I won’t come any closer. Can you tell me if you’re feeling okay? Anything hurt?”
There’s a pause. “My arm hurts.” She says eventually.
“Okay,” Izuku says, “Is there blood?”
“A little.”
“Can I see?” Izuku asks.
A shaking arm reaches out from behind the slide. The biggest issue isn’t that it’s bleeding, but that there’s bone visible. The girl is filthy, covered in mud. Infection prevention has just become their secondary objective, immediately following the stopping of this storm.
“Ouch,” Izuku says sympathetically, “Hey buddy, what’s your name? I’m Izuku, but you can call me Deku if you want?”
Eraserhead comes into Izuku’s field of vision and he quickly places a finger over his lips. Scaring this girl even further is a bad idea.
“You’re Deku?”
“Yeah,” Izuku says, “The one and only.”
“I’m Ai,” The girl says, “My mom and I watched you on TV, in your fight with the Guy.”
It was the worst day of the worst month of Izuku’s life. He felt like a dead thing possessing the shell of his body instead of a living, breathing person. He was Nana Shimura and Daigoro Banjo and Yoichi Shigaraki and Izuku Midoriya at the same time, power a hundred years in the making exploding from him.
“Oh,” Izuku says, “I hope that wasn’t too scary.”
“It was for a minute, but then you won, and my mom said everything was going to be okay.”
Izuku takes a deep breath, reeling a little from that.
“Hey Ai?” He says, “I totally understand if you don’t want me to come down with you under the slide, but could you come and say hi to me out here?”
“Who else is out there?” Ai asks, a little calmer.
“On the playground? There’s you, me, my friend Mr. Eraserhead, and I think I can see Uravity, but she’s over at the swings right now. They helped keep me safe when I fought the Guy and I know they’d like to help keep you safe too.”
“Okay,” Ai says, taking a deep breath, “Okay, I’ll come out.”
-
It’s late, late enough for even Katsuki to be in bed. He was sleeping, his literature paper only slightly dog eared in his backpack, the schematics for his support gear meeting saved in his phone. They’re busy, living double lives of high school students and stand by Pro Heros. This means that Katsuki is exhausted.
He sleeps like the dead until he doesn’t.
Izuku screams. It’s only once, only for a moment, but it’s enough. Katsuki is on the move before he’s even really awake. He clumsily clicks the magnet on his cochlear implant against his skull as his bare feet strike the cold tile.
Sometimes, Katsuki wonders what that month out alone was like for Izuku. He doesn’t talk about it much. Katsuki knows that there are people he couldn’t save, injuries he couldn’t avoid, and that he jumped when people got too close to him for weeks after. Izuku was so damn sure that he could do it all by himself that nineteen people had to drag his ass to safety. He was so sure that his presence would bring them all down, too scared to let them in.
“Nobody touch him,” Katsuki snarls, even though everyone in this wing already knows. There are only a handful of people that Izuku will let in following a nightmare.
How he’ll never understand, but Katsuki is at the top of the damn list. With Todoroki, Iida, and Uraraka, he’s in good company, on Team Stop Deku From Self Destructing. Katsuki doesn’t really get why he makes the cut, he’s still trying his best to atone for being the fucking worst for four long years, but he’s glad he does.
Aoyama is standing outside of Izuku’s door, a stupid, sparkly knight in purple polka-dotted pajamas. The smell of ozone leaks through the cracks in the door, but even as the lights flicker he stands firm.
“You beat Iida,” Aoyama says tiredly.
“Of course I fucking did,” Katsuki says, “I’m better than him. Get out of my way.”
When Katsuki steps into Izuku’s room, it’s full of energy, contrasting crackles of glowing green and tendrils of consuming darkness arching off of his body. He’s sobbing, his arms wrapped around his head and his knees pulled tight to his chest. He only takes up a third of the space he should, compressed tightly.
“Deku,” He says, “I’m going to come closer. Grab me with Blackwhip and I’ll beat your ass.”
Katsuki’s able to get closer, stepping in the gaps in the energy that Izuku shields himself with before he sits on the bed. It’s a measurement of how much Izuku trusts him that there are gaps at all.
“You are having a panic attack,” Katsuki says, clearly, “It doesn’t matter what you saw, or if it was real or not because if you don’t snap out of it’s you’re going to bring the building down. If you wreck the dorm, even by accident, you’ll feel like shit. Breathe .”
Izuku takes a shuddering breath, energy ebbing for a moment. Katsuki takes the opening and places his hand on the base of Izuku’s neck.
“You are at U.A.,” He says, rubbing circles on his spine, “You are safe. I know you can use your Quirk to check. Snap out of it.”
It takes a few minutes but Izuku stops crying. He breathes deeply, methodically, until his lungs sound clear.
“Kacchan,” He says, tired like he’s been in a physical fight.
“Crybaby.”
“Sorry.”
“You aren’t welcome,” Katsuki says, “Go to sleep before I knock you out myself. We have a math test tomorrow and if I fail it’s your fault.”
“Mm.” Izuku says, “You going back to your room?”
“Too far,” Katsuki says, even though it’s only fifteen meters down the hall, “Move over.”
-
“You have to be kidding me,” Izuku says, face drained of blood.
“Nope,” Hawks says. “Looks like you’re gonna be Number One this time, kid.”
“You’re supposed to be Number One,” Izuku says incredulously, “Or Jeanist or Fat Gum or someone. I just turned seventeen.”
“That doesn’t seem to matter much, this time around,” Hawks says, “You’ve got a total license and you stopped an eldritch god from taking over the world on international television. That’s Number One behavior.”
“You are way too happy that you’re being knocked from the top spot,” Izuku says.
“Being at the top gets in my way,” Hawks says, “Just the kind of hero I am. I like doing my own thing, taking on complicated cases when the Commission throws them my way. Being at the top is going to help you out because that’s the kind of hero you are, Symbol of Peace.”
“Oh god,” Izuku says, a little nauseous. He thought he’d be at least twenty-five before he even came close to the top spot. All Might was almost thirty, “Do you know who Number Two is?”
“Of course I do,” Hawks says, “They’re calling her the Symbol of Hope.”
-
Izuku and Katsuki spar often.
Not in the dead of night, and not as explosively, but often. It’s easier now that they’re upperclassmen, and that Aizawa understands that they (probably) won’t go nuclear.
Probably being the keyword here. They’re still required to have a chaperone.
Iida agrees, if only because Izuku and Katsuki are both better following a good spar.
“Gentlemen,” Iida says mildly, settling his Quirk Theory textbook and notes around him in a semi-circle where he rests against the wall of the gym, “You have until I’ve finished this draft, so about forty minutes. Please try not to bring the house down. I can’t say I’m in the mood for more paperwork.”
“I’m going to beat your ass,” Katsuki snarls.
“Sure, if you can catch me,” Izuku says, grinning.
It’s messy, brutal, and fast.
They’ve decided that hand to hand is the game of the day, limited Quirk. The goal is to get as many pins as possible until their time is up. Katsuki’s palm strikes between Izuku’s shoulder blades and holds him to the ground. One. Izuku sweeps Katsuki’s legs out from underneath him, a knee on his stomach. Two. Again, and again and again.
The world that they live in is terrifying and dangerous but right now? Drenched in sweat with screaming muscles and burnt sugar overcoming his senses, Izuku feels so light.
He tucks himself tightly as Katsuki throws him, springing to his feet and elbowing him in the stomach in retaliation.
Katsuki gets the last pin. Izuku slams down on the mat and his spine stings. Katsuki’s palm hovers in front of his face, between his eyes, small explosions popping off of his skin.
“Nice work, Dipshit,” He says, grinning, “You’re fucking dead.”
“Oh no,” Izuku says dryly, “Whatever will I do?”
“Yakitori,” Katsuki says firmly, “You’re buying and I’m going to eat as much as I want.”
“Fine,” Izuku says easily, even though last pin was not what they agreed upon when they set the terms, “Let’s go eat.”
-
“Give me your cape,” Katsuki demands, “God, you’d think you’d be able to put your costume on by yourself.”
“It looks fine,” Izuku protests, going easily when Katsuki pulls him into place.
“It does not,” Katsuki says firmly, untying the mess that is Izuku’s freshly cleaned cape, “You’re hopeless. Chin up.”
Izuku tilts his head so Katsuki has more room to work, carefully arranging the cape so it lays nicely across his chest, connecting it to the break-away straps on his shoulders. They’re close and Katsuki is warm. In this moment, Izuku is terrifyingly happy, Katsuki in front of him and the Billboard Chart ahead of them.
“Kacchan,” He says quietly.
“Mm?” Katsuki responds distractedly.
“Kacchan. Look at me a second, put the cape down.”
Katsuki drops the cape, laying it swing down against Izuku’s spine.
“I don’t know how you do this,” Katsuki says, “You’ve basically ruined it, wrinkles fucking everywhere--”
“Katsuki,” Izuku says, “Forget about the cape.”
Katsuki looks at him, stunned. “You know,” He says, “Sometimes I almost forget that you know my first name, I’ve been Kacchan for so damn long.”
They’re still close, but the closeness required to straighten a cape is not quite enough for Izuku in this moment, so he steps closer until they’re pressed together.
Izuku cups Katsuki’s face in his hands, calloused fingers brushing across his cheekbones with the utmost care. There’s a new burn on his temple, cutting off the tail of where his right eyebrow used to live. The incision from his cochlear surgery curves under his left ear, old and cleanly healed. Amongst the scorch marks and acne scars, there are three small circular scars above his lip where Katsuki stabbed himself with a fork at six years old, distracted by a Hero on the news. Katsuki bares his teeth as Izuku traces his face, but it’s all for show. Izuku knows he likes the attention, leaning into his hands like a content cat.
“You know,” Izuku says, “When I was three or four I threw the biggest fit because Mom told me I had to wait until I was older to marry you.”
“Really,” Katsuki says, pink,
“Really,” Izuku confirms, “It was the worst fit I ever threw as a kid. You were gone for about a week, I think you were visiting family? I didn’t really care what was going on except that you’d left and I wasn’t allowed to come with you. I would not shut up about how we were going to get married and be heroes and live happily ever after. I’ve seen the video; it was rough.”
“My mom’s youngest sister got married when we were four,” Katsuki says absently, “I was in the wedding party, hated every goddamn second of it. I missed home, missed you.”
“Yeah,” Izuku breathes, “Okay if I kiss you?”
There’s no verbal answer to the question but there doesn’t have to be because Kasuki surges forward. His mouth is hot against Izuku’s as crowds him until Izuku’s back is up against the wall. It’s firm but not desperate, burning without consuming. Izuku breathes Katsuki in as they kiss, breath hitching as Katsuki licks into his mouth. He tugs Katsuki’s shirt to untuck it, sliding his hand up and across his chest.
“Hey,” Izuku says, turning his head a little. Katsuki shifts his attention, pressing burning kisses down his jaw and into his neck. Izuku loves it, never wants it to stop, but they’ve got plans they can’t skip. “Kacchan, a car is coming for us in twenty minutes and neither of us is ready to go.”
“Then we have nineteen minutes,” Katsuki protests, “I can fix your stupid, shitty, wrinkly cape in the damn limo and belts are for suckers anyway, I don’t need it. We can just go from here.”
“You will not give me hickeys before we go on national television,” Izuku says, “I love you so much but I will die if my mother asks me why it looks like I got in a fight with a shark.”
“I have concealer in-- Wait .”
“Yes?” Izuku laughs.
“You love me?”
“I just told you my embarrassing screaming and crying about marrying you story. I’ve always been stupid for you, even when you were an asshole with the emotional intelligence of a sponge.”
This next kiss is gentle and slow, which Izuku hasn’t been expecting from Katsuki, but it warms him through to his bones.
“I love you too, loser,” Katsuki says, soft.
“In twenty minutes,” Izuku says, “Reporters are going to call Uraraka and I The Prince and Princess of U.A. High, Number One and Number Two. They’re going to ignore her when she shows up with Tsu on her arm and they’re going to ignore me when I say that she’s my best friend. That’s what the media is like. I need you to know that this? It belongs to you.”
Their whole class, twenty students, are included in the top two-hundred heroes. Part of it is definitely because of the spectacle because a homeroom class fighting a war alongside veteran heroes is exciting. There are other student heroes within the ranks. Shiketsu’s Inasa Yoarashi and Camie Utsushimi have shown up together, but part of it is just because they’re good.
There are seven U.A. hero students from their room in the top twenty, four in the top ten. Izuku and Uraraka sit at one and two, with Todoroki and Kirishima at five and seven.
Katsuki ranks in at eleven, and he’s furious until he realizes that he’s ranked above Endeavor, at which point he becomes insufferably smug.
They’re all professional at the event, with winning social media smiles that Mount Lady would be proud of. Izuku and Uraraka lean on each other, arms linked as they speak to news station after news station. Katsuki watches as Todoroki runs three markers dry, signing and signing and signing. Katsuki stands with Kirishima, faking scary until a rookie reporter braves their presence and is rewarded with a quality quote.
“Iida,” Aizawa says as they pile out of the limo, “Stay here a moment, I don’t want to yell.”
“Yes Sensei,” Iida says quickly.
“As I understand it,” Aizawa says mildly, “You all have planned a party at Alliance Heights.”
“That is correct,” Iida says.
“I see,” Aizawa says, “I’m going to leave Class A to your capable hands and will see you in the morning. The faculty is having our own gathering and I imagine we will be too busy to check on you.”
“Of course,” Iida says.
“I, of course, cannot condone underage drinking,” Aizawa says, faux bored, “But you are in charge now, and I will believe you when you tell me that there was no alcohol on the premises in the morning. As irresponsible as underage drinking would be, it would be even more so if the students who were featured on national news attempted to purchase alcohol when the entire country has been reminded that they were seventeen. ”
On the sidewalk, Uraraka squeaks and Tsu covers her mouth, tugging her inside.
“If students were to be drinking underage on campus,” Iida says, “Which will of course, not happen because it would be wildly irresponsible, they would have likely acquired their beverages before the event. One possibility is that one of the students' parents, who wanted to ensure that students were safe in their irresponsibility, would have dropped a gift off earlier in the day.”
“I see,” Aizawa says, “Good luck, Class Rep.”
“Hey Crybaby,”
“I cried a normal amount!” Izuku protests. He’s one of the first people back from changing out of their costumes; Katsuki’s the only other person in the common room. Izuku looks at the couch for a moment before climbing directly into Katsuki’s lap, “You cried too, don’t lie.”
“I’m going to sue you for defamation,” Katsuki says, “I’ve never cried in my life.”
“Mm,” Izuku hums, handing Katsuki an aluminum can, “Sure, you’ve never cried and I didn’t bring you chūhai, this is all for me.”
Katsuki pops the tab and takes a drink of the seltzer. He notes that he hasn’t been handed a beer, which makes sense, because Izuku hates beer and their faces are very close to each other.
Izuku’s hair is still damp from the shower and his face is flushed pink.
“I’m going to say it once and then I’ll never say it again,” Katsuki says, lying shamelessly, “I’m proud of you, Deku.”
Izuku lights up like hearing this is the best gift he’s ever been given and leans forward to press his lips to Katsuki’s.
He tastes like strawberry chūhai and smells like the most boring men’s wash on the planet. It’s perfect.
“Title’s only going to be yours for the year,” Katsuki promises against his lips, “I’m coming for your spot.”
“I’d expect nothing else,” Izuku says. He presses a firm kiss against Katsuki’s forehead, breathing deeply. Katsuki’s at a good height to press a kiss to Izuku’s neck, so he does. He feels Izuku’s responding shudder of breath.
“Whatcha doing there, Kacchan?” He asks,
“We’ve got nowhere to be and there’s not a news camera in sight,” Katsuki says, “That means I’ve got plans tonight.”
-
Izuku feels like his brain is full of fuzz.
He’d been doing something, something that was usually fine and normal, and then his brain just shut off. He’s moving through a cloud of smoke, unable to hold onto anything in the material world.
“Deku,” Uraraka says, “You okay?”
Izuku can talk, he knows he can, but his mouth and his brain are overcome with the smoke. He can’t make it work. Even listening to Uraraka is hard, the smoke muffling everything around him.
“It’s okay,” Uraraka says, “Can you nod?”
Izuku tries moving his head and finds that he can, so he does.
“Good,” Uraraka says, “Do you know where you are?”
Izuku nods. He’s at home: U.A.
“Alright,” Uraraka says, “Can I touch you?”
No, no, no, no, no.
“Okay,” Uraraka says, holding her hands up, “I won’t, it’s okay. You don’t need to worry.”
Izuku breathes, in and out. Uraraka stays true to her word and keeps her hands in her pockets, Izuku safe on his own.
“He’s coming,” Izuku manages, “I’m next.”
Uraraka’s face softens.
“Nobody is next,” She promises, “We won.”
Somehow, Uraraka convinces Izuku to sit on the ground. Izuku wedges himself into the corner of the room-- the gym, they’re in Gym Gamma, they’re safe.
Uraraka talks. She starts by telling Izuku about her latest date with Tsu. They’d gone off campus to a fancy restaurant, an early birthday celebration for Uraraka because they would be on break during her actual birthday next week. Tsu told me you helped pick out my present, Uraraka says, I loved it. I’m looking forward to breaking the skates in. I’m really glad you’re my friend. She moves from her date to her plans with her parents over break and then the agency offers she’s been getting, her voice soothing and constant.
Slowly, Izuku comes back to himself.
His hands hurt from how tightly he’s been clenching his fists but other than that he’s fine. He’s not bleeding, which is a testament to Uraraka’s ability to calm him down, because he usually has to wrap his hands following trigger events.
“I feel like a child,” Izuku says, “It’s stupid.”
“It’s logical,” Uraraka corrects, “Every time somebody said that you were next for almost a year, someone hurt you. The words are trapped with the danger in your brain. You’ll work through it, you’re already doing better than you were.”
“Okay,” Izuku says, because even though he’s not sure he believes Uraraka now, she’s usually right, “Did you and Tsu find a skate park you liked?”
-
Izuku would say that he doesn’t know what possesses him when he makes these types of decisions, but he’s more than aware of who he’s dealing with. Sometimes he forgets the magnitude of influence his ghosts have on him, but his predecessors have pull.
Now. Banjo says, and Izuku moves without thought.
He’s used Blackwhip in a million different ways, has lifted cars, protected allies, and restrained combatants but this? This is pushing it.
He’s holding a building together, tendrils of energy forming spectral supports. He expects it to hurt some, but he’s not prepared for how much it would burn.
Izuku drops down to one knee, arms locked in an X formation in front of his face.
“Deku,” Hagakure shrieks.
“I’ve got it,” Izuku says, voice cracking as he attempts to breathe through the pain, “I’ve got it. It’s fine. Run for help, we have to evacuate the rest of the building.”
“I can’t leave you like this,” Hagakure says.
“You’re going to have to,” Izuku says, “Go fast, I’ll be fine.”
Hagakure doesn’t believe him and Izuku doesn’t blame her. He’s not sure he believes himself at this point.
“Don’t die,” Hagakure says firmly, “It’ll make Dynamight sad and he’s already too much of an asshole to handle.”
You’re my friend. Her tone says I can’t lose you again.
“Go,” Izuku says, “I’ll be here.”
She runs.
Izuku doesn’t remember every story from Cementoss’ literature lessons, but here’s one that sticks with him:
A titan makes a bad call, decides for the losing side of a war. For his crimes, he’s cursed to hold up the world until he can get someone to take his place. If he fails, the world ends.
In this moment, Izuku is Atlas, the world sitting on his shaking shoulders. It’s eerily quiet. The building is in stasis, nothing falling, nothing creaking. Distantly, Izuku can hear Hagakure’s frantic voice, but she’s too far away for him to discern any words.
Stay alert, Nana says. You are more than this.
Izuku knows that. He knows that this building will not be what kills him, he will constrain it as long as he needs to, but it’s so much.
No tears yet, Crybaby. Nana says You need your eyes and ears for this.
Izuku hadn’t even realized he’d started crying, tears streaming down his cheeks. He sucks in a dusty breath, blinking hard to stop the tears.
“It’s fine,” Izuku says to the silent room, “I’m fine.”
He has to be.
“Deku,” Katsuki says, “Pinky told me you did something idiotic again, but holding up a twenty-story building on your own is a lot even for you.”
He’s covered in concrete dust with blood running down his arm, a gash torn through the side of his bicep. Izuku is pleased to see that he’s walking fine and that his stupid flame hair clips are still in, so he can’t have gotten hit in the head. If Katsuki had to be hurt then minor, superficial injuries are Izuku’s preference.
“It’s not safe,” Izuku says, head fuzzy, “You should go.”
“No,” Katsuki says, “You need a chaperone, you look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I won’t,” Izuku says, “I’m fine.”
“You know, every time you say you’re fine all I can think about is you collapsing from exhaustion and malnutrition. You’re not very convincing.”
“I am very convincing,” Izuku says, just to be contrarian.
“Sure,” Katsuki says, “You’re bleeding.”
“I am?” Izuku asks. He can’t feel it, can’t feel anything other than the crush of the building above him.
“From the nose and ears,” Katsuki confirms, “I’m surprised you couldn’t tell, it looks like you got some in your mouth.”
“Mm,” Izuku says, “Civilians?”
“They’re getting the last of them out now. Icy Hot will be here in a minute to help get us out of here.”
“You can go,” Izuku says, “It’s okay. You should get your arm looked at.”
He wants Kasuki away from this building, which feels heavier and heavier by the minute.
“No,” Katsuki says, getting closer. He kneels beside Izuku on the ground and Izuku leans against him. He can’t give Katsuki the weight, can’t share Blackwhip with him, but the contact makes him feel better. “You’re crying,”
“I’m always crying,” Izuku says, “That’s me: Deku, The Crybaby Hero.”
“Yeah, but usually it’s not black. Looks like you face-planted in ink.”
“Oh,” Izuku says, “‘s not good.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“This hurts a lot,” Izuku says, “Don’t tell anyone.”
“You’re okay,” Katsuki says, and the biggest giveaway that he’s scared is that Katsuki hasn’t even tried to insult Izuku since he got close, “Help’s almost here.”
“You’re going to let go,” Todoroki says, “I’m going to throw up a thick sheet of ice, and then we’re going to go outside.”
“The building will fall,” Izuku protests.
“It’s going to do that either way,” Aizawa says, “You gave us an extra ten minutes. Everyone else got out, it’s your turn. I’m going to count you down, ready?”
Three. Two. One.
Izuku bails, body screaming as he drops the weight. He gasps, the sound of concrete colliding with ice deafening. He tries to stand but even though his legs aren’t broken they don’t seem to have the strength required to hold him upright.
“Up, come on,” Katsuki says, “You hold one little building and think it’s time to be lazy. Let’s go, it’s freezing in here.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku says, tugging at his arm.
I know I need help, don’t make me ask for it.
“Okay,” Katsuki says because of course, he understands. He lifts Izuku off the ground and lays him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, treating Izuku’s exhausted body with extraordinary care, “I’ve got you. Try not to get your blood everywhere, you’re fucking disgusting.”
-
“You have gravel in your hair,” Izuku says, “How’s your head?”
“Pull down your mask,” Katsuki says, “Shitbag Villian crushed my processor.”
Izuku pulls down his mask as asked, but he signs his question as well as verbally repeating it because Katsuki has never made it a secret how much he hates lipreading.
“I don’t have any concussion symptoms, I’m just pissed,” Katsuki assures, “Talked to Hatsume and she’s going to get it fixed, but it’ll take a couple of days.”
Sorry, Izuku signs, Anything I can do?
Stay. Katsuki signs back.
Izuku could never say no to that.