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The scent of nitroglycerin takes Izuku back to his childhood.
He is five years-old all over again, chest swelling with admiration as he watches another boy cast sparkles in his palms with steady pop-pop-pop ’s. They light the darkness around the two of them and Izuku stumbles forward, reaching out to try and touch, and finds himself in his middle school classroom.
The sparkles are larger now. Flashier. Crueler. Burnt sugar leaves an acrid taste in the back of his mouth. It clings to the dog-eared corners of a destroyed notebook and to the edges of harsh words. Despite it all, he dreams of a day where the smoke disperses and those crackling explosions light the darkness once more.
Standing across from him, softened by the torrent of rain, blonde and crimson blurs. For a moment, Izuku thinks he sees the boy with sparkles in his hands. His knees buckle.
Katsuki catches him around the middle. The thick, sweet scent of nitroglycerin makes his head spin, filling him with equal parts nostalgia, unease, and remorse. He can’t stop trembling. For once, the voices of the previous users are silent, allowing him to make his own choice.
The right thing to do is to pull away. To leave before he endangers yet more precious souls.
“I’m sorry I said you couldn’t keep up,” Izuku croaks, instead.
“I know,” Katsuki says, and a few, hot tears leak down Izuku’s face. Let go, Izuku wants to beg and scream. Let go, because there’s no way I can leave on my own.
The other doesn’t let go, and neither does his classmates when he’s led back to them. Voices murmur and faces swim around him as he’s bundled into the cocoon of Shouji’s arms. He feels it when Katsuki withdraws, but when he tries to work his throat to protest, nothing comes out.
Eventually, the security of Shouji’s limbs lulls him into a half-lucid state, but never quite asleep. Each bump in the road has him jolting, quirk crackling in expectation of a jailbreaker. If his friends notice his behavior, they keep their comments to themselves.
Only Ochako reaches upwards, once, to squeeze his hand. It’s comforting, but it isn’t the touch he’s wishing for.
The massive UA gate fills the space before them. Evacuees shoot them hateful glances, but keep a wide berth. No. Not them. Izuku knows who their anger is really directed at.
“Don’t look at them.” Katsuki trudges beside him, eyes set forward. He seems to challenge anyone who even looks their way simply with his presence. “They’re all just a load of extras.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku tries to say, but more chokes out. His eyes drift to Katsuki’s gloved hands, and he wishes, for a moment, that the other could reach out, like Ochako, and take his hand in his. The thought is swept over by a wave of shame.
Yes, Katsuki had apologized. Yes, he had ripped apart his skin and exposed his raw, fleshy insides for Izuku, but this didn’t mean he was obligated to concede to any of Izuku’s desires. After all he’d done, it would be selfish to hope for more.
The feeling this is all a too-good dream intensifies as they step through the doors of the 1-A Alliance. Tenya speeds over to flick on the lights while Shouji sets down Izuku. He knows what he must look like; the rain-splattered darkness had disguised the extent of his appearance, but here in the fluorescent lights of the dormitory, every inch of grime, scabbed-over wound, and swelling bruise sticks out sorely. He doesn’t miss his classmate’s winces, nor the way they hold their breath, as if expecting him to flinch from the brightness like a small, frightened animal.
A part of him, cultivated over the last few months, wants to. Izuku pushes it down.
Shouto breaks the silence first. “He needs a bath.”
“Definitely,” Kaminari nods, reminding Izuku of the other’s pleas from earlier. Does he stink? He almost lifts an arm to check before wisely deciding against it. “I can get the bath running.”
“I’ve got the manliest body wash,” Kirishima says. “ And, it’s a shampoo and conditioner, too! How awesome is that?”
“Oh, oh! I’ll lend you some of my bath bombs, Midoriya!” Mina volunteers. She goes off into a tangent about the different scents and colors, Izuku’s lip twitching at her contagious excitement. Emboldened by his response, the rest of the class chimes in.
Shouto offers to heat his room to the perfect temperature. Momo insists on producing the softest shirt for him. Satou takes the responsibility of whipping up his meal, and Izuku is painfully reminded of a bento, smashed against the dirt. Over all the suggestions, Izuku’s gaze drifts to a lone figure, hunched in the background.
“Thanks, everyone,” he finally says, barely audible over the clamor, “but, I-”
“Deku-kun is probably tired right now,” Ochako cuts in, her voice gentle but firm. Izuku shoots her a grateful look. “I’m sure he wants to rest as soon as possible.”
The first to react is Tenya, nodding vigorously as he launches into various chopping motions. “Uraraka-san is correct. We should not overwhelm Midoriya-kun! Everyone, take three steps back.”
Izuku scratches the back of his neck. “That’s not necessary, Iida-kun…”
“Even so,” Momo says, “if there’s anything or anyone who can help, please let us know. None of us will hesitate to act.”
Her statement is met with murmurs of agreement. “You should still have that bath,” Kaminari adds, and at this, the murmurs are replaced with vigorous nods. Something warm unfurls in his chest.
“Thank you,” he says, and he means it. These classmates—his friends— had gone up against the top heroes to demand information about his whereabouts and had fought to bring him back to UA. “Really, I’m so grateful. I’ll be okay, now.”
I’m okay. Really, I’m fine. I don’t need your help. He’d repeated these to himself dozens of times, as if the more he said it, the more likely it was to become reality. But when the words leave him now, they feel right. A truth, rather than useless statements to bolster his conviction.
“I just-”
He hesitates. Eighteen pairs of eyes blink at him expectantly, but none of them are the ones he’s searching for.
“Kacchan,” he says, finally.
Since they’d arrived at the dorms, Katsuki had kept his distance. Now, their classmates part for him as he trudges forward, clearing a path to Izuku. A foot apart, he stops. His expression is unreadable.
He’s too far away. Izuku wants him to be closer, like earlier, with their rain-slicked skin pressed together and the smell of nitroglycerin invading his senses.
Their classmates watch, wide-eyed and nervous. They balk when Katsuki twists around, scowling at them. “Didn’t you extras hear him? Scram.”
Kaminari looks like he wants to say something. So does Mineta, but the rest of the class launches into motion, scattering with reassurances and reminders of their offers as they duck out the room. Ochako is the last to go, offering Izuku a smile, albeit a little sad, before filing out.
Only when they’re alone, Katsuki turns back to him. “You smell like shit.”
There was that familiar, curt tone. Izuku cracks a smile. “I pretty much guessed,” he says. Belatedly, he realizes he hadn’t planned out any of this. He hadn’t even planned on saying Katsuki’s name—it had slipped out on its own. Weakly, he gestures to himself. “Do you-”
He falters as Katsuki turns on his heel, stomping away. The other’s nearly out the door when he glances over his shoulder. “I’m still here. Keep up.”
Izuku stumbles in his haste to follow.
The communal bath is cold and clammy. Katsuki disappears briefly; when he returns, he’s dressed in a simple, dark shirt, and even darker shorts, his arms laden with tubes and bottles. When he sees Izuku standing in the same place he’d left him, he frowns. “Are you gonna just stand there or take your fucking clothes off?”
“Oh! You’re right.”
“‘Course I am. Hurry and get your sorry ass over here, we don’t have all day.”
It takes Izuku more than a little tugging and pulling to shimmy out of his costume; after weeks of constant wear, it had essentially turned into a second skin. Katsuki doesn’t offer to help him nor say a word, but he does watch as every inch of fabric peeled off reveals a new branch of scar tissue, some healed, some not.
Izuku shivers. Maybe he should feel embarrassed to be exposed like this, but the thought doesn’t occur to him, not even under the heavy weight of Katsuki’s gaze. His mouth is twisted into a hard line.
“Get in already.”
The warmth of the bath shoots up his numb legs as Izuku wades in, until the water is level to his chest. A sigh shutters from him. “Kaminari was right—a bath really does fix everything. We should try this out with villains, too.”
“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard,” Katsuki says. “We might as well sit down and play Rock-Papers-Scissors with them.”
Izuku perks up. “There was actually a jailbreaker with a quirk like that! It was pretty cool, because the only way to take her out was by getting her to pull ‘Paper’ because I’m sure you can imagine but ‘Rock’ and ‘Scissors’ weren’t really great to fight against…” he trails off mid-ramble, noticing the scrunch between Katsuki’s brows. “Kacchan?”
“Fuck.” The strain in that singular word makes Izuku blink—he’d never heard Katsuki sound like that. Then again, he’d never expected to receive an apology from him either. “How can you just pretend like everything’s fine?”
“I don’t get it. What’s wrong?”
“You,” Katsuki snarls. “You—you left UA. Somehow, you bullshitted your way through surviving all this time. You were half-dead when I—when we found you.” Izuku opens his mouth to deny it, but shuts it at the warning look he receives. “Do you have any idea how fucking annoying it was for me—for us to deal with you ditching us?”
Katsuki’s avoiding using first-person pronouns, but the sentiment bleeds through anyway: I thought I’d lost you.
Of course he’d been scared. Izuku can only imagine how he’d felt, waking up, still bruised and battered from the last battle, only to be informed Izuku had fled from UA. He must have been confused. He must have been infuriated.
“I know,” Izuku says, and although he receives another warning glance again, he plunders on. “I know, I inconvenienced you and all of our classmates. But I’m here now, even if I don’t deserve to be. And I’m glad you looked for me.”
“I barely had a choice—the whole load of those nerds wouldn’t stop simpering until someone stepped up.”
“I know, but I-” At the very least, courage betrays him, and his voice splinters. Izuku doesn’t let the failure overwhelm him, gathering himself up again. “I really missed you.”
Katsuki’s face hardens. “No reason for you to. I’ve only made your life hell.”
Months ago, it would’ve been but a pipe dream to hear Katsuki speak as candidly as this. Now, Izuku only accepts the change, instead of letting it stun him.
“You’re wrong,” he says. “Yes, our relationship wasn’t the best before. We’ve had our fair share of problems, but you’re my classmate. You’re my friend.” His throat closes around the word. The image of blood-stained edges, buried into pale flesh, curdles his stomach. “You protected me against All For One without hesitating.”
“So did everyone else. S’not a big deal-”
“You almost died,” Izuku snaps. Before his departure, he’d gotten his hands on the medical records of his classmates. Katsuki’s had stretched on for paragraphs upon paragraphs, detailing punctured organs and shattered bones—all because Izuku had been too weak to protect himself. “You almost died, for me."
“Yeah, well.” Katsuki’s laugh is short and hollow. “Seemed the least I could do, after telling you to kill yourself.”
Something aches in Izuku’s chest.
“Kacchan,” he says. When Katuki’s eyes shift over to him, the ache intensifies. “I accept your apology, and I forgive you.”
He looks now, at pale skin, nearly translucent in the harsh lighting of the bath. At those eyes, wide as they look back at him. How long had Izuku spent, desperately hoping to be looked at by those eyes? Weeks? Months? Years?
“I think—I think I already forgave you, a long time ago.”
Izuku prides himself on having cataloged every Bakugou Katsuki microexpression but right now, it’s difficult to interpret the look on his face. A mismatch of confusion and relief twists his features, but they’re wedged in with the ever-present anger. Drowning it all out is overwhelming-
Guilt.
“Fuck,” Katsuki says. His head bows between the slump of his shoulders. When he speaks again, his voice is raw and hoarse. “Goddammit. Why-? How can you-?”
Izuku’s smile feels wobbly. “That’s just the sort of person Kacchan is to me.”
The sound of their breathing is strong and ragged. Katsuki isn’t crying, but somehow, this feels just as personal. He waits without a word, until Katsuki raises his head; his face is clear, the only indication of emotions the pink rimming his eyes.
With a hand, he beckons. “C’mere, De-”
A beat. As if activated by Float, Izuku’s heart lifts to his throat.
“Izuku.”
Oh.
Katsuki had said it earlier, but hearing it now is different. Izuku’s body flushes, his heart rushing. There’s nothing more he wants than to hear Katsuki’s voice wrap around the syllables of his name again, but he works his mouth open anyway.
“You don’t have to do it if it’s impossible. You can still call me ‘Deku,’ Kacchan.”
“My dictionary doesn’t have the word impossible in it,” Katsuki sneers. He gestures again, this time more aggressively. “Get over here, I-zu-ku.”
It’s childish, the way he spells out his name and then smirks, victorious, but Izuku doesn’t care. He tingles all over, from his spine to his fingertips, more or less out of it when he wades closer.
“What do you need-?”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. He doesn’t provide any warning before grabbing his shoulder, and Izuku squeaks as he’s swiveled around, occipital knocking against the back of Katsuki’s knees. Only when digits slip into his hair does he realize what the other’s plans are.
Strong fingers weave into his meshed curls, working into the tangles accumulated over weeks of neglect. His touch is firm, yet lenient. Izuku sits stiffly as Katsuki assesses the damage.
“I’m impressed there aren't any bird eggs in here,” he says. Izuku blushes.
“I didn’t even sleep much, so, um, hair-brushing wasn’t at the top of my worries.”
“Yeah, no shit.” And then, quietly: “Fucking All Might.”
“It wasn’t his fault, though. He really tried to look after me and would always tell me to take care-”
“Fucking Endeavor,” Katsuki continues, as if he hadn’t heard him. Izuku wonders what sort of face he’s making, but he can’t twist over to check—it’ll only make the other angry. “Fucking Best Jeanist. Fucking Hawks.”
“It was my idea-”
“And they let you do it.”
“They didn’t have any other choice.”
“Bullshit.”
The click of a bottle effectively ends their conversation. Katsuki massages something creamy and unscented into his hair. He’s—he’s really good at using his hands, and Izuku finds himself battling the urge to shut his eyes. “Your shampoo?”
“What’s it to y-” A pause. “Yeah.”
“It feels really nice.”
“Obviously. Better than whatever 12-in-1 crap Shitty Hair was trying to pawn off to you.”
A laugh escapes him. “They’re not that bad, you know.”
“I don’t want to hear it from the guy who didn’t touch a hairbrush for a month.”
“It might be a little more than that,” Izuku muses. He flinches when Katsuki wrangles with a particularly-nasty knot. “O-ouch.”
“Sorry,” Katsuki says. Izuku shivers.
“I just got surprised, that’s all.” They lapse into silence, giving time for Izuku to think. The concept of Katsuki baring him so easily is foreign. It’ll take more than a couple of days for Izuku to become accustomed to it, and even longer for his chest to quit tightening each time he does.
He allows his mind to wander, to focus on anything but Katsuki and this newfound vulnerability. Between musings over apologies and forgiveness, he’s reminded of a rainy night and spilled rice.
“I acted terribly towards All Might.”
Although Katsuki doesn’t respond, Izuku knows he’s listening. He continues.
“I became obsessed with being alone. I thought it was better to take out villains by myself, and that I didn’t need any shoulder to lean on. When he tried to keep me close, I’d feel annoyed, like I was so much better than him. And not just him. Endeavor. Best Jeanist. Hawks. Our classmates.”
He takes the risk this time, tilting his head back to look Katsuki in the eye.
“You.”
Katsuki looks back at him, steadfast.
“I’ve been a horrible ally, a terrible student, and an even worse friend. I’m so-”
Before the apology can spill from him, Katsuki clasps a hand over his mouth. Izuku jerks, eyes going wide. He can smell the barest whiff of burnt sugar, and it’s pure willpower which keeps him from inhaling.
“I’m done with apologies for the day, Izuku. Save it for the extras tomorrow.”
Izuku nods and Katsuki releases his grip. Instinctively, he licks his lips—and cringes at the bitter taste flooding his mouth. “You had soap on your hand!”
“Yeah.”
“Kacchan…”
Something close to amusement glints in Katsuki’s eyes. He tilts Izuku’s head to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, arm sliding lower to support him. The tips of Katsuki’s fingers brush his skin.
Izuku had known he’d been wishing for Katsuki’s touch. He hadn’t realized he’d been aching for it, not until Katsuki’s thumb is pressed right to the pulse point under his jaw.
His heartbeat goes thick. It feels like the first time he’d channeled One For All, and he half-expects to hear the familiar crackle of green lightning. But his body is bare and there is no quirk to blame when he reaches up, grasping Katsuki’s wrist.
“Kacchan,” he breathes out, the name wobbling in his throat. “Can I touch you?”
Katsuki’s hands are his everything. They are his quirk and his dreams, and to touch them is asking to take on the burden of Katsuki’s past, present, and future. Perhaps it’s a fool’s errand, but Izuku wants to feel the weight.
If the other refused, Izuku would understand. He’s already toed the boundaries enough.
But Katsuki doesn’t refuse. He doesn’t pull away, either.
“You already are.”
It’s the closest to permission he’ll ever get. Carefully, he trails a thumb upwards, dragging a path upwards into Katsuki’s palm. There is no resistance as it blooms open like a rosebud, and Izuku swallows. The skin here is thick, toughened from years of building his quirk, and a little clammy, but other than that, it’s surprisingly-
“Hey,” Katsuki says, and Izuku goes stiff. “I’m not fucking made of glass.”
“Oh. Of course.”
Emboldened, he spreads the expanse of his palm over Katsuki’s. Izuku’s hands are wide and torn-up from the abuse of One For All, knuckles thick and nails bitten to the quick. Katsuki’s are more slim, slight around the bones and kept clean and tidy. If Izuku bends his fingertips, he could fold them over the ends of Katsuki’s.
Katsuki watches, his long lashes casting subtle shadows over his cheekbones. Nearly translucent in their paleness, they only revealed themselves in the rarest moments. Izuku wants to get close enough to count each one.
Steeling himself, he takes the plunge.
When he twists their fingers together, melding together pale and scarred skin, he doesn’t check to see what sort of expression Katsuki is making. If he looks up, this might come apart and dissolve into nothingness: Katsuki’s closeness, the warmth tingling in his body, the safety of UA and his friends.
“Your hands are so soft,” Izuku muses, and Katsuki’s fingers tighten around his.
“Something wrong with having soft hands, De—Izuku?”
“Of course not. It’s incredible to me. Even with your powerful quirk, you’ve managed to deal with it, but mine are…”
“No shit, my hands aren’t fucked up like yours. My quirk keeps them from scarring. Duh.”
Izuku had already known that—he had a whole notebook dedicated to the other for a reason, after all. Still, he can’t help the uneasiness as he stares at the ropes of scar tissue wrapped around his skin, all permanent evidence of his failures. Katsuki notices and scoffs.
“S’not like the way your hands look even matters; you’re saving people, not fucking modeling.”
After all that has transpired, Katsuki trying to comfort him—in his own, odd way—shouldn’t stun him as much as it does. It’s difficult to say his next words.
“Well—that can be a part of being a hero, too. Like, um, in Yaoyorozu-san’s internship with Uwabami, she had to film a commercial, and we might have to do that in the future.” He stops and swallows. “If—if there is a future for heroes.”
“If? Be serious. I’ll destroy those puny villains.”
“Right. And Kacchan can do anything.”
“Damn right I can. And we’ve got everyone else, too. Shitty Hair. Half n’ Half. And you, even if you’re a self-sacrificial bastard half the time.”
Ah, shit. Izuku’s throat is thick, his ribs aching . Katsuki’s hand is in his, but he needs more. He needs to be closer, to be enveloped in his scent and in his warmth, and without permission, the words tumble out.
“I… I want to hug you, Kacchan. Is that okay?”
Katsuki’s brow is creased. When he mutters, it’s more to himself. “Always asking for shit.”
“I know. I won’t bother you anymore, so-”
“Shut up. Do whatever you want.”
Water sloshes as Izuku moves—no, surges forward. His arms wrap around Katsuki’s strong torso, face pressing against his stomach, and when he breathes in, nostalgia crashes over him.
His next exhale is a sob.
The tears creep up on him without warning. In a matter of moments, he comes undone, openly crying into the fabric of Katsuki’s shirt. He doesn’t know why he’s crying. Maybe because the exhaustion of fighting each day for his life is finally crashing down on him. Maybe because at the end of the day, he’s sixteen years-old and Katsuki’s scent reminds him of childhood, and all he wants to do is go home.
A hesitant hand lays against his spine. Katsuki, clearly unused to the art of comforting, alternates between awkward pats and unsure nudges. Still, he never pushes him off and Izuku never loosens his grip.
Eventually, the tears subside into sniffles and he’s breathing evenly again, sickly-sweet toffee clogging his lungs. His face feels tired and wrung-out when he raises his head, immediately wincing at the great, wet splotch on Katsuki’s shirt.
“I got your shirt wet. Sorry. Oh, right. No more apologies. Sorry-”
“It’s whatever.” Katsuki is uncharacteristically subdued when Izuku lets go, eyes trained somewhere over his shoulder. “I’m tired.”
“Right. It’s way past Kacchan’s bedtime. It’s my fault, again.”
“Don’t be so full of yourself. I’m up because I want to be.”
Izuku doesn’t trust himself to speak. He pulls himself out of the water instead.
He barely catches the clothes Katsuki throws at him; he unfolds one to reveal a washed-out shirt, All Might’s face having been put through the laundry machine enough times he’s begun cracking apart. Katsuki must have gone up to his room to get it for him.
“This doesn’t change anything,” Katsuki says. One arm in, Izuku looks up.
“What?”
“I’m still going to be number one. Everyone’s still my rival, including you, Izuku.” His eyes narrow. “The fuck are you looking at me like that for?”
His first instinct is to lie, but if Katsuki was making all these efforts to be honest with him, it was only right for him to as well. “I’ve always been running, trying to catch up to Kacchan. It seemed impossible before, but—I just realized I made it. I’m happy that I can stand next to you, whether as rivals or not.”
A mutter. “Like it isn’t you who everyone had to catch up to today.”
“And I’m glad you all did.”
“Put your clothes on. I’m not talking to you with your balls out.”
“Oops. My bad.”
Tenya must have shooed everyone to bed, because the dormitory is quiet when they step out. Izuku only realizes how fatigued he is when they take the stairs and his thighs quake with each step. His struggle earlier seems foolish now; how long had he expected to keep going on power of will alone? Sooner or later, he’d have collapsed, whether from an untreated wound or a skipped meal or simply exhaustion.
They reach the second floor landing. Izuku expects Katsuki to leave him here and continue climbing up, and fails to hold his surprise when the other follows after him instead. He opens his mouth to ask before thinking better of it.
When they approach his door, his chest compresses at the golden nameplate: Midoriya Izuku. He’s really back, and the realization almost reduces him to tears again.
He gulps down the swell of emotions. “This is me.”
Since they’d left the bath, Katsuki hasn’t said a word. He’s standing in the shadows now, shoulders bunched like an accordion. When he still doesn’t respond, Izuku tries again.
"Thank you for helping me. I’ll be fine from here so—you should go. It’s late.”
Izuku doesn’t want him to go. God, he wants him to stay so badly, he can taste it, saturated at the tip of his tongue.
“Can’t.” Before Izuku can ask him what he means, he extends a hand.
Wrapped around the width of his pale wrist—the same one Izuku had held on to earlier—is a thick, black tendril. Izuku looks down and sure enough, it stems from his palm. Sure, he’d become accustomed to letting his quirks run free, but for Blackwhip to activate without him even noticing…
“I—I didn’t notice, um, let me…”
He tries to coax the energy back into his body. As if it has a mind of its own, the tendril stretches and spreads, coiling tightly around Katsuki’s elbow. Izuku cringes. Of course, it’s now , when Blackwhip is acting out, that Banjou chooses to remain silent.
“I have full control over Blackwhip now, I swear. This hasn’t ever happened before-”
“I’ll stay,” Katsuki says, cutting him off. Izuku’s mouth snaps shut, nearly snipping through the tip of his tongue.
“Huh? No, you don’t have to do that, really.”
“Shut up.” Katsuki doesn’t meet his eyes, jaw set. “Your freaky quirk doesn’t want to leave me alone.”
“Right…” His quirks—Blackwhip in particular—are extensions of his being. Although neither of them address, they both know who really doesn’t want Katsuki to leave. “Still…”
“Move over, I-zu-ku,” he says, and Izuku’s defiance crumbles into dust.
It’s strange to see Katsuki standing in his room, surrounded by his collection of All Might merchandise. Izuku half-expects a sneer of ‘nerd’ or similar, but the other hardly looks, let alone comments. He only steps in further, and the moonlight from the half-closed curtains spill over him, catching onto his hair, his translucent lashes. They shine like optic fiber strands.
Blackwhip tugs on him, insistent. Izuku blinks away his sudden dizziness. “I’ll take the floor.”
“Get your ass in bed.”
“Fine. But only if we share.”
A hiss. “You better not kick.”
“I won’t.”
Obediently, Izuku pads over. The covers smell like detergent when he slips in, and he wonders if anyone had been keeping his room tidy. He doesn’t mull over the thought for long, attention returning to Katsuki.
The other hovers at the edge of the bed. In the moon-lit darkness of the room, Izuku can’t see his face, but he can imagine his uncertain scowl. This time, it’s entirely his will which sends Blackwhip curling around Katsuki’s waist, tugging him in.
They’re lying face-to-face. He can hear Katsuki’s quiet, ragged breathing.
“This feels like when we used to have sleepovers as kids,” Izuku says. “Kacchan used to hold my hand because I was scared of the dark.”
“Better not be expecting me to hold your fucking hand right now,” is the response, and Izuku giggles. He doesn’t point out how, earlier, Katsuki had allowed him to feel the heat brimming under his palms.
Izuku thinks he can feel that heat now, bleeding from Katsuki’s body and spreading over to him. He wouldn’t mind it, if he was to be consumed by it.
It would, he thinks distantly, feel like coming home.
“You know,” he begins, speaking into the space between them, “when I looked up and saw you, I thought I was hallucinating.”
He had been at his limit, stretched out thin and barely able to move a muscle as hands pulled him under. For a fleeting moment, he’d thought about his mother, and her green hair. He’d thought about All Might, and his sad eyes. He’d thought about Katsuki, and his gritted teeth, and-
There he was, floating in the sky. Hair aglow in the dying rays of daylight, eyes flashing.
Next to him, Katsuki offers no response. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Still, Izuku continues.
“I’d thought about it before—Kacchan coming to look for me. I still can’t believe it.”
“Stupid,” Katsuki murmurs. Not asleep, then.
“A little. I wasn’t lying, earlier. I really did miss you.”
A soft grunt.
“...Thank you for staying with me.”
“‘M only making sure you don’t get any shitty ideas about running away again. The nerds will lose their minds again.”
“I won’t,” Izuku says, and he means it. “I’ll stay.”
Despite Katsuki’s previous warning, it’s him who reaches out to slide their palms together. Izuku doesn’t hesitate to thread his fingers through the other’s, locking them tight. Katsuki’s hand flexes in his grip but remains still otherwise.
With a hum, Blackwhip unwinds, as if finally satisfied with their proximity. Izuku feels the energy trickle back into his body.
There’s much to be done. The world is still unsafe and All For One remains at large. With the buzz of One For All under his skin, Izuku will always owe the world, even at the cost of his own self.
But right now, he’s back. He’s warm in his bed, and Katsuki’s hand is warmer in his. For now, he’s sixteen-years old, and he’s home.
Izuku closes his eyes.
Shocking scarlet and fingers around his throat fill his dreams. Partway through, the color softens to crimson and the fingers slacken, tenderfoot and shy.