bloomed for you

by mirrorkoi

Summary:

Katsuki returns home, they say he’ll make a full recovery.

He locks eyes with one of the two photos framed and placed on his countertop. It’s a class photograph, he locks eyes with a familiar man, then just a teenager- a habit from long, long ago. Green eyes meet his through the glass. Suddenly, that person that he’s been thinking about on the walk home had a concrete face, no longer something blurry. Seeing Midoriya Izuku like this, it brings a flash of familiarity, but in a way that brings no emotions at all other than a brief, contemplative:

I think I loved you.

Or:

When Katsuki had the Hanahaki flowers blooming within him removed, he was prepared for almost all the side effects: blurry memories, dull emotions, and a scratchy throat. But no one had mentioned that one side effect would be Izuku's growing attention.

Katsuki doesn't know how to manage this side effect, because he doesn't know what he's done to garner it in the first place.

Notes:

spoilers for 431!!

Chapter 1: withered

Perhaps in another world Katsuki would’ve chosen those flowers over his life, his family, his career.

Over everything.

But this is not that world, and he is not that Katsuki.

In this world, Katsuki chooses to fall out of love.

---

Most things come naturally to Katsuki; learning the drums, letting explosions explode from his palm, and falling in love with Izuku.

Falling in love with Izuku feels like the most natural thing he’s ever done.

Falling out of love with Izuku, in a way, came just as easy.

---

Katsuki returns home, they say he’ll make a full recovery.

Well, home is a bit of an overstatement for it. It’s just an apartment that he rented some years ago. The price agreeable and the location convenient.

But he thinks that he has, somewhat, made it his home at the nudging of his friends and families. Photos are framed and placed on countertops, only two. Hero memorabilia placed atop shelves, limited edition All Might merchandise from his childhood home now propped up in their proper place. Most of the fridge is empty now, but there used to be more in there. There’s a small todo list stuck to the fridge. It’s one of those magnetic ones that’s bought as souvenir from another country, Katsuki recalls. The one that his mother gave to him after returning home from a work trip. Whatever words written on the todo list have long been erased, and it just now sits there, gathering dust.

Katsuki takes a step into his home, shoes off and tucked neatly away. He takes a moment to reorganize himself. He takes a moment to look around, and thinks, briefly, It’s dusty.

He locks eyes with one of the two photos framed on his countertop. It’s a class photograph, he locks eyes with a familiar man, then just a teenager- a habit from long, long ago. Green eyes meet his through the glass. Suddenly, that person that he’s been thinking about on the walk home had a concrete face, no longer something blurry. Seeing Midoriya Izuku like this, it brings a flash of familiarity, but in a way that brings no emotions at all other than a brief, contemplative:

I think I loved you.

He thinks he really once did. He thinks that there’s supposed to be a small warmth upon his chest and a private smile allowed to be had. He thinks that this was once a private secret for one but now he knows, too. It feels like he’s intruding on something and yet he’s also not because the secret was for himself to know, too, just not this Katsuki.

It’s a strange thought. It’s a strange everything as a whole. Because Katsuki’s mind is running and all he can think now is that he would’ve once died for those eyes.

He thinks that he’s supposed to be sad, but there’s nothing in his chest other than a brief, ‘huh, is that all?’

It’s a strange thought. He thinks there’s supposed to be more. He thinks that he’s supposed to become angry at this point, maybe scowl, or cry, or-

Or something.

But he’s not.

He just is. Breathing in and breathing out, feeling like it’s another day where he comes home and he’s just strangely tired despite not coming back from patrol or a morning run. The class photograph on his countertop is now just a part of his coming home rather than anything of substance. Just another thing that decorates his home and nothing more.

He thinks he feels worse at not feeling worse.

He’s not sure what to make of it.

He calls his mother.

She picks up immediately, almost like she’s been waiting. Probably was.

There’s a brief moment of silence on the phone, it rings loudly between the two of them. Katsuki thinks his tongue is somewhat tied and his throat itches.

There exists a state of limbo where his mother doesn’t speak and Katsuki can’t speak because there’s a thousand things he wants to say and he can’t say them all at the same time so he just hangs in there and the silence almost dips into oppressive before Katsuki breaks it.

“The fucking class photograph,” Katsuki says. He’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean. But he thinks he can taste laughter on the back of his tongue and a wry grin wrapping at his lips, like he’s telling a secret joke that’s been decades in the making. “I looked at it- at him- and it’s just a photograph now.”

There’s a relieved exhale from the other side of the call. It’s small and croaky but it peels back the curtain and releases the tension that Katsuki has been feeling tight in his chest.

“You did it,” his mother says, her voice a bit hoarse. Voice still thick with relief, it’s the kind of relief that runs a bit wet and trails a bit shaky and just a tiny bit tired. But Katsuki thinks his mother is happy and it makes him smile a bit in return. “Glad to see you’re alive.”

Her voice is a bit teasing, chiding. Like how she normally is. So far off from how she sounded when he told her the news that it feels like a distant memory now, almost like a dream. He can’t imagine her sounding like that now. “Oh, Katsuki.” Voice brokering on weak, almost like she’s about to shatter.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, you old hag,” Katsuki goads, looking over what’s left in his fridge. He thinks he’ll need to stock up soon. “Still has to make number one some day.”

“Fix your attitude first,” his mother replies easily, her voice still a shaky thing but there’s such a potent relief there that can’t be denied. It touches the depth of Katsuki’s heart, frail and weak. It makes him smile, all soggy and weird and it’s a smile Katsuki will vehemently deny making when talking to the old hag of all people. Especially when the woman is saying shit like this to him, her only son.

Katsuki clicks his tongue, going for outraged and instead ending up somewhere between apathy and mild annoyance. That can happen, they’d reassured him, it takes a while for his emotions to come back just right.

“Fuck you, you’re starting to sound like my PR team.”

“Someone has to rein you in, you little hellion,” his mother chides, and Katsuki can just hear the finger wagging from behind the phone. It makes him want to transcend space to roll his eyes at her just to piss her off. “I want to see you home by this weekend.”

That’s not a question. Not even a request. Bakugou Mitsuki doesn’t make those requests. She demands you call her and you better do it or face her wrath. Normally he’d haggle, or even argue. But, just this once, he thinks he can concede to her- for making her go through that.

“Fine, if you miss me so much,” Katsuki replies, not without a bit of scorn injected into his voice. That’s just how it works between them. Familiar. He’s glad he can still feel this- this fondness, this gentleness. He’s glad that he still has time to be her son.

“I do,” she says, after a beat of silence. “I- God, Katsuki, you-” Her voice grows a bit shakier, wetter. “You better come home and see us, you hear?”

“I’ll be over on Friday night,” Katsuki says, promises. “Might as well stay the whole weekend, it’s more convenient that way.”

Convenient, a better word to encapsulate: Until you’re reassured that I’m really alive.

“Fine, you better not be late,” his mother lectures, exhausted, voice still wet and hoarse.

And yet.

She sounds so incredibly happy that Katsuki can’t ever imagine that there’d be any choice other than this.

Maybe in another world- another life-

But this is not that world, and this is not that life, and he is not that Katsuki.

He is an Katsuki standing in the shoes of another Katsuki, and it should feel strange- and it does feel strange- but he thinks he feels better than ever.

He wonders just why he had even contemplated giving up this and his career and his life and about a thousand other things just to see Midoriya Izuku’s smile in his dreams.

---

I’m back, morons, Katsuki announces in the class group chat.

Oh, he lives! Kaminari types. The group chat explodes in activity. He’s scrolled back just a few moments before to what they were texting about. Surmising it all as just the usual idle chatter. Mixed with some curiosity about where he’s been.

Official statement is that Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight is taking a break for one reason or another, his past self had let his team handle the rest. He just needed the time to recover. This type of surgery, at his stage, at least, tends to be somewhat demanding on one’s body. And with his heart going through what it did, there was concerns about how long it’d take him to recuperate, whether there’d be strain or whatnot for his body.

His friends hasn’t probed much. He’d given them the same answer as he did the public.

It was his business alone. They didn’t need to know that he was going into surgery for Hanahaki.

There was still some speculation about where he went, nothing too invasive. Just the curiosity of friends.

Why the hell would I be dead? Katsuki asks, as though that were preposterous.

As though that weren’t a very real possibility that he had confronted just a few weeks ago.

(A very low chance, he’d been reassured. This type of surgery has a high chance of success, and for someone of your health and fitness level, the only issue is your heart, and we’ll be sure to proceed cautiously.

Didn’t particularly reassure his mother, though. Didn’t reassure his father either when he relayed the news to them. He still remembers his mother’s expression, the way her face had crumbled. Not as much as it did the time when he told them about the flowers. But almost just quite. His father had laid a hand on hers and had gripped it tight, his face was just as pale, just as weak. Probably coming to terms that this was really happening, that Katsuki was really doing this, that he’s heading into a battle that they can’t go with. The chances are low, but it isn’t impossible, and they always worry.

But they’d both comforted him just a bit later, as though he was the one that needed reassurance. Like he was still a kid and not twenty-five turning twenty-six. They’d held his hand, like he was a child again.

“It’ll be alright, Katsuki,” his father had said, smiling. Carrying that expression that he’s being brave for Katsuki. His shoulders were straight then, his spine, too. He’s always been steady when he needs to be. And in that moment, he was.

“You better call me when you get home,” his mother replied, gripping his hand tightly in hers. She hasn’t done her nails lately. Neglected them. There are few rare times when Katsuki had ever seen it, one time was when he’d returned home after being kidnapped, another was when she’d visited him in the hospital after he’d been impaled by Shigaraki four times, and the most memorable was another hospital visit- this time when he died and came back to life on the battlefield.

“I will,” he’d said, his throat choked up. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the flowers or them. But he knew that he didn’t want to make them grieve him, didn’t want his parents to have to attend their son’s funeral.)

The messages continue to pop up, ‘welcome back’s and ‘where have you been’s and just general news that they think he might’ve missed. He scrolls through it all. Replying here and there when he feels like it. The return to normalcy almost feels comforting, but he feels nothing now. Just a quiet in his chest where his heart beats.

Welcome back, Kacchan! Hope you’re doing well, Midoriya Izuku texts, one of the many messages welcoming him back from his impromptu vacation. There’s Midoriya Izuku's stupid profile picture right next to the message, a blurry profile picture that Katsuki had stared at sometimes in the dark of night in the past. Spending that time wondering whether to text Midoriya Izuku, and what excuse he can make to see him again.

He waits for the swell in his chest, for a feeling of love so potent it feels like small explosions going off in his bloodstream.

Nothing happens. He breathes in and out, and it’s just the same as every other message.

His heart still pounds: thump, thump, thump. His throat itches. But that’s all physical reactions, a remnant of the past. There’s no feeling to attach to the reaction. It’ll most likely go away one day, he’d been reassured.

But there’s a dullness where that feeling once laid, now having been put to rest by a surgeon’s careful hand.

He imagines that it went quietly, sometime between one heavy blink and the next. Leaving him behind as Bakugou Katsuki, but not the Bakugou Katsuki that had existed prior.

Doing good, he replies. Casual, simple, all there is to it.

They were right, it feels just like normal, like how everything should be.

A part of him hadn’t believed them back then. How could anything ever feel normal again? How could there not be traces, remnants of something so strong that it manifested into poison? How could he fall out of love so easily? That can’t be it. Not like that.

But they were right, it felt normal now, there were no traces of anything at all- affection, fondness, warmth- all erased, gone.

And he had fallen out of love with Midoriya Izuku within one heavy blink and the next.

He sets his phone to the side, finishing composing an email to his team. He’ll be cleared to go back to work as a hero in a few days. Just has to do a few checkups afterwards, that’s all.

In a way, it all feels so remarkably simple. So easy, efficient. He even wonders why he took so long to schedule an appointment to begin with. Love, perhaps, but he’s forgotten how that feels, so he can’t understand his past self’s decision. There’s an inconsistency between the him now and the him in the past, a bridge that can’t be crossed. A bridge named Midoriya Izuku. It was a bridge burnt when he went to sleep, and now all he can see is the ashes of what was left behind. It’s strange, how quickly that bridge burnt, how quickly everything has been erased, how strange it is, to know that you were once in love with someone so much that you almost died for it and now you’ve almost forgotten how they look.

It’s within the expected side effects of the surgery. Take out the flowers, take out the emotions, take out the memories.

Some memories might become blurred, others are temporary forgotten, and some- gone forever.

Katsuki had signed his name on the form, he made up his mind. He doesn’t regret it, not now, at least.

There’s gaps in his memories that he can no longer fill, but he doesn’t remember what was there to begin with.

How do you miss something that you’ve never known?

You don’t.

He thinks he should feel some kind of way about it, about how easy it was to remove a love that was so potent that it almost killed him. To remove a memory so strong it helped to grow flowers inside him. There are pieces of himself that he’ll never get back, a clean separation between the him now, and the him in the past.

But in the end, he feels nothing. Just a sort of quiet, contemplative, So that’s all.

---

The coughing began a few days after the class gathering, a few days after the dream of their hero partnerships officially died, and a few days after Izuku’s confession to Uraraka.

At first, Katsuki dismissed it as just a mild case of sickness and nothing more. It began slow, like many things involving Hanahaki. His throat would just feel mildly scratchy, like he hadn’t drank enough water. That happens sometimes, though not as frequent as in the past as Katsuki has gotten better that managing his hydration levels ever since he began seriously contemplating becoming a hero. He blamed it on working more cases, the rising heat making him sweat more than normal.

Then, he began coughing. It snuck into his daily life; one day it was there and eventually, Katsuki can’t remember a day when he didn’t cough at least once. It began sparsely, barely noticeable. But then it got worse, invading his life more and more. Interrupting his words, bursting out of him when he was fighting, and even during the more peaceful moments of his life where there used to be quiet- now there was the sound of his own coughs.

A part of him had known that he should’ve went to get a check-up.

Another part of him refused to, perhaps already knowing the outcome.

It’s not hard to guess.

The symptoms were obvious, and so was the cause. There’s movies about this, books, comics, any kind of media starred it at one point. It’s a sensational topic, got the masses wistfully sighing when thinking about it.

(He’d even watched a movie with Class A at one point about it. Forcefully dragged there to watch it in whole. A boring, classic movie. A hit during the year it released in. Starring a woman and a man, both famous actors. It’s the same plotline as most plots involving Hanahaki goes.

It begins all the same: a secret love blossoming within one’s chest.

It develops all the same: love that only grows with time, can’t be contained, something has to give eventually.

It ends the all same way, too: a confession. ‘I love you’s and ‘I love you, too’s.

Katsuki remembers watching it in the dim light. Remembered his gaze studying Izuku sitting across the way, eyes locked onto the screen. Izuku was always a sentimental one. He looked sad when she was coughing, and had wet eyes when the credits rolled. He remembered studying Izuku’s lashes, the way his eyes had reflected the light of the screen.

“I’m glad that had a happy ending.” He remembered hearing Izuku remark to his group of close friends as the movie ended and the chatter commenced.

“Ah, you cried, Deku-kun.”

Izuku had laughed. “You did, too.”

Uraraka had.

Katsuki hadn’t cried. Couldn’t really place himself in that role, in that spot.

He never thought he’d be in the starring role one day, just like that woman.

The beginning was the same, he supposed. And so was the middle.

But there’s no happy ending here. Just an ending.

He wonders what Izuku would think of this type of ending. It’s the typical type of ending for Hanahaki. And the endings depicted in media are usually the outliers.

In reality, less than a fifth of those with Hanahaki has a happy ending. Most opt for surgery, a peaceful ending. Neither sweet, nor bitter. He was told this after being given his diagnosis, an attempt to reassure.

It’s unrequited love at the end of the day. There’s a reason why patients of Hanahaki develop them in the first place, and those reasons don’t exactly spell great odds for a happy ending.)

A part of him had already known why he was coughing, only waiting for the other shoe to drop, for it to finally show itself.

And it did.

Just another class dinner. Some missing members who were too busy with their hero work. But Katsuki was there, Kirishima was also there, Izuku was, too, and so was Uraraka. About ten members of their class showed up. A good number, basically half.

Kirishima sat next to him. Izuku was on the other end of the table. There was once a time when the seat next to Katsuki would’ve been Izuku as well. But he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he just ate and listened to Kirishima talk. He focused on Kirishima’s chatter of the latest gossip, on the mindless business of the crowd in the restaurant, on Todoroki showing off a trick to Sero, Izuku’s hand intertwined with Uraraka’s- a gentle hold, on the taste of alcohol on his tongue, burning down his throat.

The alcohol had perhaps dulled his mind. In that moment, as the ambiance of the restaurant surrounded him, all he could think about was a river, and a boy. He wondered how Izuku’s hand would feel against his, whether it’d be warm.

He coughed, and a petal followed.

Reality came down on him, it felt less shocking than it should. A part of him had prepared for this outcome ever since he began coughing.

It was a yellow petal.

He thought it’d be something green.

“You alright?” Kirishima asked, studying Katsuki. “I think I’ve been hearing you cough more lately.”

Katsuki hides half of his face beneath the brim of the cup. “Just feeling a bit under the weather.”

He crumbled the petal in his hand, stuffed into his pocket.

“You sure?”

He scowled, wanted Kirishima to shut up before Izuku looked over here, wondering what the commotion would be about.

“Why wouldn’t I be sure of my own health?” he stated, rolling his eyes and pretended like Kirishima was a mother-hen. Trying to not give anything beneath Kirishima’s eyes. “Also remember that you’re the one who has to decide where we’re going hiking next week.”

“Oh, shoot, you’re right,” Kirishima replied, easily falling to Katsuki’s attempt at distraction. Pulled out his phone and began to search. Katsuki goes for an exasperated expression.

Izuku didn’t look over. He once would’ve. Too nosy for his own good about anything that’s Katsuki’s business. Was probably once a time when he would’ve fussed about Katsuki’s cough, would’ve noticed it sooner than Katsuki had.

That was good. Katsuki wanted to stay under the radar, and getting Izuku’s eyes on him was not what he wanted. Not now.

Not even if it made Katsuki’s throat itch.

He swallowed down the cough with the next gulp of sake. Pretended that the burn was from the alcohol.

There’s the sound of rushing currents in his ears, the sound of a river, passing him by.

---

For some reason, he remembered that old, boring movie again the night he coughed up his first petal.

“These flowers bloomed for you,” the female lead had said, holding up those macabre flowers in the climax of the movie, nearing the end. “This is what I feel about you.”

Her face was reflected in Izuku’s wet green eyes that night. Izuku blinked, and her image was gone.

For some reason, perhaps sensing Katsuki’s gaze, Izuku had looked back at Katsuki that night, too.

And in that moment, he was the one in the reflection of Izuku’s wet green eyes. A blurry, dim visage.

“These flowers bloomed for you.” He imagined saying, like she did, standing in front of Izuku. “This is what I feel about you.”

What a joke.

It’d be nothing but a burden to Izuku.

Because Katsuki was not the female lead of a boring, classic movie and Izuku was not his male lead.

They didn’t have a cliché love story.

This wasn’t a story that Izuku could say that he’d be glad that it had a happy ending. It was a story that he’d never know at all. Because Katsuki wasn’t going to tell him about it.

---

It was a story that had eventually an ending. All on Katsuki’s own terms, just like how he’d like it.

The ending came when Katsuki closed his eyes and woke up only remembering Midoriya Izuku’s name.

He even forgot what Midoriya Izuku looked like, he only remembered that he loved him, once. And now he no longer did.

“You must’ve loved him a whole lot,” the nurse remarked. “To forget so much.”

You think? A part of him thought dryly, but in the end, he didn’t correct her that he wouldn’t have gotten Hanahaki if he didn’t ‘love a whole lot’, but he supposes that even in this sample he’s abnormal. Whatever, it’s best to stay on a nurse’s good side. Besides, he’s grown up a bit.

“Maybe,” Katsuki replied. It’s not like he knows now. He wondered if that meant he loved everything about Midoriya Izuku to forget everything about him, even how he looks like.

Probably so.

“It’s alright,” she reassured, maybe she thought he was sad or something. But he wasn’t sad, what’s there to be sad about? “Some memories will come back later. They’d just feel a bit odd, that’s all.”

She was right.

The memories did come, but they were diluted, strange.

He didn’t feel anything when he relived them.

It was the past, that's all.

It felt almost like he was watching an old, boring movie that starred him and someone that he once loved.

The credits rolled, and he didn’t cry. Because he couldn’t place himself in that spot.

It was normal, they say. Expected.

His throat itched.

That was normal, too, they reassured, a remnant of the past. It’ll go away one day.

---

Another dinner with some members of the class, twelve this time. A ‘get together celebration’ for Katsuki returning to work or whatever.

A whole lot less emotional than dinner with parents, that’s for certain.

He gets a lot of questions, answers them with half-truths.

“Kacchan, welcome back,” Midoriya Izuku says, repeating what he texted in the group chat, smiling. “You look healthier.”

Of course he does. There’s no longer flowers blooming within him, suffocating him slowly but surely, draining him of his life. There’s no longer restless nights spent away coughing away, etching dark circles beneath his eyes. There’s no longer frantic days spent worrying about the future, trying to plan it all out and then walk it back again because it just felt wrong to not love Izuku. But he’d gone through with it in the end. Will make a full recovery.

He doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, he just says:

“Thanks.” He pauses for a moment. “Izuku.” He remembers that, that’s what he used to call the man, so that’s what he’ll call him now. Something nags at the back of his mind, another name- but it’s on the tip of his tongue and gone the next.

- isn’t going to always mean-

He shakes his head, grimacing as he clears away his thoughts. It’s not good to force it, they told him.

He doesn’t remember, but it was probably something important once upon a time.

He cuts his words short. That’s all that needs to be said. Casual, polite.

The name ‘Izuku’ sounds strange on his tongue, doesn’t quite ending up as casual and friendly, just something distant to his ears.

He drinks again. No alcohol, just water. But somehow his throat stings anyways.

He wonders when it’ll go away. Hopefully soon.

“Oh- okay, Kacchan,” Midoriya Izuku says quickly, blinking at Katsuki.

He blinks back, furrowing his brows a bit. It feels like a natural reaction.

“Are you really doing okay?” Midoriya Izuku asks, quieter, like he’s somehow trying to keep Katsuki’s privacy or something.

Katsuki’s brain may be fuzzy with memory, but he can work it out pretty fast that the grimace earlier might’ve led to this.

“Just remembered the old hag nagging me about taking care of myself,” Katsuki explains, half-truth. “A whole lot of lecturing.”

Midoriya Izuku blinks again, then laughs lightly. “Oh, I’m glad you went to see her, she was talking to my mom about wanting to see you more.”

Katsuki just hums, a bit rough.

The conversation fades out from there, losing to the rest of the chatter.

This feels right, he thinks. Just the right amount of friendly. Nothing’s changed at all. It’s just that he’s no longer posturing, trying to hide affection behind platonic bantering. They can be friends for the rest of eternity and it would be fine now, Katsuki wouldn’t mind.

He thinks he’s supposed to be happy.

But he doesn’t feel much happiness.

He feels almost nothing at all.

He wonders when his emotions will be right again, an idle curiosity. They say there’s a chance it might never be.

He had cared about it once, but those days seem so far away now. He’s fine, he’s alive, and he’ll be back to working tomorrow.

Everything is as it should be now.

He’s fallen out of love with Midoriya Izuku, they can be just friends now. It’s as it should be from the start.

No more flowers, no more coughing, no more wanting to lean over and press his lips against Midoriya Izuku’s.

Thump, thump, thump, his heart goes anyways at seeing the way Midoriya Izuku’s eyes catches the light just right.

But that’ll probably fade with time, too.

Chapter 2: let's blame it on the wind

Summary:

Katsuki stared at the black screen. The credits were rolling, far too many names for him to remember.

“At least I can say it ended,” he said with a scowl. “It lasted for way too long.”

Kirishima stared at him, aghast.

He couldn’t have imagined, back then, that he would one day star in a movie that lasted for eight boring, long years.

The ending song played, Katsuki was bored out of his damn mind.

Kirishima asked him what he thought of the film, the ending. Kirishima had cried, ‘manly tears’- as he claimed. He rambled a bit earlier about how touching it was, how manly the female lead was to work up the guts to confess.

“I’m glad that had a happy ending.” He heard Izuku say in the background.

Katsuki stared at the black screen. The credits were rolling, far too many names for him to remember.

“At least I can say it ended,” he said with a scowl. “It lasted for way too long.”

Kirishima stared at him, aghast.

He couldn’t have imagined, back then, that he would one day star in a movie that lasted for eight boring, long years.

---

On his way to his parent’s home for Friday night, he encounters Midoriya Inko. She’s carrying some groceries, plenty to feed for the whole neighborhood, maybe.

“Hey,” he greets gruffly as he pulls up next to Midoriya Inko, stopping in front of the many houses of their neighborhood. Car window rolled down. “Auntie Inko.”

The woman blinks at him, her eyes going wide before breaking into a smile. She really does look like her son, at least from what Katsuki observes of her and the man he sees in the class photograph. Cut from the same cloth, like Katsuki and his own mother. There was a time when he was more familiar with her. Maybe when he was a kid.

He wouldn’t know anymore. Right now, he just remembers her in parts and fragments. The idea of her, but not who she really is. Not anymore. Those major parts of her were perhaps too intertwined to the memory of Midoriya Izuku to him, and so they were gone, too.

He doesn’t really miss it. He can’t miss something he’s never known.

“Katsuki-kun!” she greets. Still calling him that even as he’s grown. But he supposes that’s what all adults do, he’s still the same rowdy neighborhood kid in her eyes, probably. Not that he can recall much of childhood now. It’s all kind of splotchy, these days. He and Midoriya Izuku were childhood friends, so some pieces of those memories are now missing, temporarily or not. “You’re here- oh! Are you here to see your parents?”

Katsuki grunts, an affirmative.

“Mitsuki will be happy about that, she misses you, you know,” Midoriya Inko states, smiling gently.

Katsuki would bet. He supposes he misses her, too. Though he’d die before he’d admit that.

“More like she wants another pair of hands for the dishes,” Katsuki gripes, lips tilting upwards into a lopsided smirk. A touch softer than what he normally gives to civilians. But it feels slightly wrong on his face, like a new pair of shoes that hasn’t been cracked in yet.

The woman laughs, waving away his words.

“Anyways, get in, I can drive you the rest of the way back,” Katsuki says, gesturing to the passenger seat. A touch too rough, he tries to restrain his voice, get it used to talking in the tone he wants again- like oiling a rusty machine. “The old hag would kill me if I didn’t.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Midoriya Inko teases with a small, amused smile, ducking her head and soon sitting in the passenger seat, fastening her seat belt. “Thank you, Katsuki-kun.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies, pulling away from the curb and back onto the road.

The drive is peaceful. Midoriya Izuku’s mother makes short, light chatter. The sound drifting up from her lips and float between them like soft, hazy bubbles.

It’s not a long drive at all, within the walk of the neighborhood. The sight stirs something in him, a nostalgia for a time that he can barely remember. Soft memories made even blurrier by the surgery, taking away even more pieces of what he was already struggling to contain. He remembers making trouble for his parents, he remembers pushing off the swings so high that he felt he was flying, he remembers building sandcastles in the sand pit- always the best one at doing so.

Always better than-

A dull buzz rings in his ears. It leaves him disorientated, but not as much as the first time he experienced it.

“This brings back memories, though I supposed I’m the one being driven around now,” Midoriya Inko reminisces, bringing his attention back to her. “I remember when you were younger, you two went everywhere together. If I or your parents weren’t driving you two around, you’d be running around the neighborhood, pretending to be heroes.”

He hums, a gesture for her to continue.

“You’d both play until the sun would set, we often had to separate the two of you by coming out and reminding that you two had to go home.” She laughs. “One time, you both tried running away to play a bit longer.”

He blinks, staring at the dim light of the streetlamps above him. The car steadily moving forward.

“Ah, but that was such a long time ago,” she says, speaking up in the quiet moment of silence. “I’d be surprised if you remembered it at all, Katsuki-kun.”

Katsuki stares ahead. A soft sound ring in his ears, someone calling his name- but the voice is distorted, jumbled- turning into a buzzing in his ears. He turns towards them anyways within that memory, and finds blurry, vague shapes that makes up a young boy standing right in front of him. The gentle light of the evening’s sun making him want to squint. Then lens of the camera turned back to face forward, and he was staring at the view of the setting sun. There was sand beneath his hands, he glances back over to the boy.

Hey- a distant buzz, the cicadas calling. Just follow me!

He can’t hear the answer to what was said.

There’s just a slight palpation within his chest- a child’s happiness, just the sun shining in his eyes and blurring everything else. There’s a strange lightness to view, the world dyed with a gentle, warm shade.

There’s a brief, small glimpse of something in that small moment, of something once beautiful and overpowering. Captured within a millisecond of a moment in a past that he can now no longer recall.

“If it’s any consolation, Izuku probably doesn’t remember it either, I mean, you were both so young,” Midoriya Inko confides, laughter trailing her words. Taking his silence as him having forgotten.

She wouldn’t be wrong, not right now, at least.

The light of the sun fades away, leaving behind the soft blur of the streetlamps and the cold night sky before his eyes.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says at last with a dismissive shrug, pulling up to her home. “Can’t remember much of it.” Not anymore. “Sounds like we were trouble.”

She laughs, her eyes twinkling with the light of the streetlamp. It makes her eyes look bright, gentle, warm.

His throat feels scratchy.

“In the moment, a bit stressful,” she states with a smile. “But now, it makes for a good memory.”

Midoriya Izuku has his mother’s smile and her laughter, he pieces together, even before he’d seen the man smile or heard him laugh.

He was in love with Midoriya Izuku’s smile and laugh, once, too.

It isn’t hard to guess.

He understood it when he saw her smile and heard her laughter, then thought about comparing her and her son.

Because he soon realized he has no idea how Midoriya Izuku’s smile looked like, he’s forgotten it.

He has no idea how Midoriya Izuku’s laughter sounded like either, he’s forgotten that, too.

---

The process of Hanahaki starts slowly, but not all patients proceed at the same pace. Some flowers stagnates, some bloom vivaciously.

Some will die faster than others.

Some had months, others had years. One outlier of a case lived for decades, a chronic case of Hanahaki that was never seen prior and never seen again.

Katsuki had five months.

It can be delayed with medication, he was told. But that’ll only buy an additional few weeks at most.

Five months and a few weeks, almost six months if he’s lucky, almost half of a year.

His throat itched.

“I understand this is a difficult time,” the doctor said. “But I must emphasize that if you want to opt for the surgery, it is best to do it as soon as possible.”

Almost six months, almost half of a year- and, now, even less than that.

“When?” he asked, his voice sounding raw, scraped.

“At your stage, two months from now,” the doctor replied. “That’s how long we can stretch it before it starts to leave permanent effects.”

Almost six months to just two.

“Two months,” he repeated. Rolling the words around in his head, it brings a distance sense of numbness, trying to think about just having two months left before his life would be altered forever. It’s hard to fathom, he almost can’t comprehend it because of the sheer idea of it, of what it’ll mean, of how quickly it’s approaching. Or maybe that’s the sleep deprivation causing his mind to go numb. That, too.

He can feel the grains of sand slipping through his fingers, swept away by the ocean’s currents. And all he can do is watch.

“Considering the stage you’re on and the career that you have, yes,” the doctor confirmed. Eyes sympathetic and expression gentle. “We know that you want to keep this feeling for as long as you can.”

And two months is already the most we can push it back to, stayed unspoken, but heard all the same.

He supposed he’s not special in feeling this way either.

He’s just the one of many, many patients who have walked through these halls. One of the many who coughed up flowers, one of the many who loved and wanted to still love. One of the many who wanted to cling onto it for it as long as they can.

He’d been coughing up full flowers, almost going into batches of them.

A part of him is surprised that he even got two more months.

---

“Welcome back, Dynamight,” a member of his team greets as he enters his agency. She’s one that’s been with him the longest. A sharp, businesslike woman with a no-nonsense attitude.

She’s also one of the few aware of his prior condition. He’d told her the day after he signed the forms and set the date. Had a meeting with her in his office. A debrief of the situation.

It was all professional. He wasn’t there to tell her his love woes and she wasn’t there to listen to it. He was there to inform her of important developments pertaining her work and she was there to do her job. She could be trusted to not talk, she’s been with him for five years- nearly half a decade. He knows she does a good job, probably the reason why he manages to break top ten on occasions. So he told her, there was nothing sentimental about it, just the facts.

She didn’t ask him who or how. She just asked: “When will you return?”

That’s all there was to that meeting.

“Nakamura, my office,” he states, beckoning her in. She probably already knows what for, she didn’t look particularly surprised. Instead, she picks up a folder that was resting in one of her cabinets, following his steps into his office. Some of the others give them a curious glance, but nothing more. They’re all a professional bunch, he’d only hired those types. The impersonal, professional ones that knows how to do their work without flinching back at his abrasive attitude.

He sits down in his desk and promptly, some newspaper are laid in front of him, spread across the wood.

“These are from the last month,” she informs him, adjusting her glasses. She leans back up, retracting her hands from the newspapers. “All news pertaining to you, Dynamight.”

He picks up one piece of paper.

Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight on Break, is there Trouble Brewing in Our Explosive Hero’s Life?

Meaningless speculation about why, it even says that he’s ‘rethinking his career’ because he dropped from top ten again. Most other articles are mainly the same, speculation about his break, but he’s out of the headlines for the most part. The headlines are mainly dominated by other just as meaningless drivel. He recognizes some names: Shouto, Chargebolt, Earphone Jack, Creati. All classmates that he recognizes.

“We’ve tried to keep Hanahaki and your name out of the headlines like you wanted,” she states. “We’ve been successful at it with the media currently being focused on a possible hero partnership between Chargebolt and Earphone Jack as well as some possibility of retirement from older pro-heroes that fought in the last war.” He glances at the relevant articles, taking in the information. “Best Jeanist also played a large role, he gave a statement just after your break and helped direct the public’s attention away from your health and more towards who you are as a hero.”

He picks up the relevant article. Best Jeanist’s face is on the front page, an exclusive interview with the man. And indeed, in one segment there was a question about him- as Best Jeanist’s past intern and a pro-hero that he often worked with. Best Jeanist had given a professional statement, stating that he was taking some time off to spend time with his family and think about the course of his future, but that he was still dedicated to being a hero with no serious concerns to his health. Overall, a good statement.

Best Jeanist is always reliable. Probably one of the reason why he’s one of the few to know of the Hanahaki.

He still remembers his days as the man’s intern. They were good days, Best Jeanist tried to teach him how to present a better public image. Katsuki learned some tricks, never managed to pick up others. It’s a process.

Best Jeanist was always there for him, still is.

He makes a note to himself to call the man later.

“Of course, there was still speculation, but they should be relegated to less important pieces,” Nakamura states.

He nods, seeing some articles here and there with that sensational title. But they’re on the smaller columns, placed in lesser importance than the breaking news. Just what he wanted.

“Good work,” he states, glancing away from all the gossip and rumors. His voice sounded listless to his own ears, subdued and distant. It’s been only a few days. It’s normal. “My cough has cleared, so that might cause more pointless speculation.”

He doesn’t say anything more. She’s a smart woman, she knows how to do her job without him telling her to.

She nods, quick on the uptake. Exactly why he likes her.

“Is there anything else?” Nakamura asks.

He grunts, shaking his head. “Nothing, keep up the good work.”

He picks up another article idly. Studying what he’s been missing since his break as she turns to leave.

More article about his classmates, and other pro-heroes he knows. His eye catches on one headline.

Shouto and Deku Collaborates Once More, is there a Possible Hero Partnership in the Future?

Just news about Todoroki.

But something is on the tip of his tongue. He has no idea what he’s missing; he knows exactly what he’s missing.

He turns on his computer as the door closes behind Nakamura.

When he opens the browser, he’s greeted with an already opened page, one that has probably been there since before his break. Opened and never quite closed before he had shut down his computer.

It’s opened to an article. One from months ago, close to a year by now, old news at this point.

Hero Deku’s Debut!

Below the headline, there’s a picture of a man smiling. Wearing a green hero costume, eyes bright and smile wide. He looked handsome, Katsuki thinks. Probably got his heart racing, once- still is, in a strange way. Thump, thump, thump, goes Katsuki’s heart, but he feels none of it. Just a physical reaction, will go away one day.

So that’s Deku, he thinks, having guessed correctly. Midoriya Izuku.

He wonders why he had remembered Midoriya Izuku but not Deku.

He wonders what was so significant about this article that he had it opened right up until the date of his break, kept on his computer. Probably the last thing he saw on this monitor before he left.

The answer was probably important once. But he’s forgotten about it now.

He doesn’t think it’s right to search for something he had willingly given up.

It’s not good to force it, they told him.

He closes the article.

---

At some point, he got used to the coughing. It followed him around like a second shadow, haunting his every step, and he’s gotten used to its companionship.

His voice has long grown hoarse. He knew the time was nearing, ticking down steadily.

He knew that soon, he’d have to get these flowers removed.

A part of him has always known, ever since he began coughing.

The media speculation laid low for now, much better matters to preoccupied themselves with.

But his friends were starting to ask questions.

This act can’t go on for much longer.

It was starting to impact aspects of his life that were starting to make things obvious. The sickness was engraving itself onto him the longer it stayed unchecked. Painting dark circles beneath his eyes; hollowing out his face, making it gaunt and pale; dyeing his sheets with red and a permanent floral scent as he began coughing out full flowers, stem and all; laboring his every breath, making it difficult to breathe when he was sleeping, let alone fly in the air.

It can’t continue for much longer than this.

But a part of him still thought he had more time. Just a bit more than this.

How long? another part of him asked. How much longer do you even want?

He stared at the letters in front of him until they became meaningless. The blue light from the screen hurting his eyes opened to an article he kept forgetting to close, he kept staring at the form. The content he’d long memorized but had kept reading through, again and again and again like it held an answer in between the lines that he just hadn’t discovered yet.

He kept waiting, staying in place, had been for the past few weeks.

Waiting for an answer that he wasn’t sure he was ever going to get.

He had been waiting for weeks now, all for the other shoe to drop. To something to finally compel him to take that final step. Because he knew his timeline, he knew roughly how much time he had left before he had to act, before he would be pushed into it.

He’d been waiting. Pushing it back for as long as he can. Waiting for something that he knew was impossible. But he waited anyways, because waiting was better than finally taking the plunge. Finally walking away from what he’s been running towards his entire life.

He can’t push it back for much longer than this.

He didn’t want an unfinished story. But this story felt as finished as any could get. Like searching for a final puzzle piece to what seemed like a finished puzzle. A futile search. A puzzle piece that never existed, but one that he can’t stop thinking about.

He didn’t know what he was waiting for, only that he was.

But finally, his wait ended.

Because on that night, his phone rang, disrupting the monotony. A familiar ringtone. He picked up almost immediately.

“What,” he stated dryly.

“Hi, good evening, Kacchan,” Izuku greeted, voice carrying over the device. “How have you been?”

“Good,” Katsuki replied, setting down the form he was looking at. Had been sitting on his desk for weeks, waiting for Katsuki to do finally something about it. “You?” He paused, glanced at the time and date on the screen monitor. Tuesday night. “Calling me on a school night? Don’t you have to sleep at nine or something?”

“Kacchan!” Izuku protested with a laugh. It rang pleasantly in Katsuki’s ears, warming his chest. It lifted his own lips upwards without his own input. “I don’t have to go to sleep that early- besides, that was you!”

“Maybe you could learn a thing or two from me,” Katsuki stated.

“I have a solid sleeping schedule these days, you know- sort of,” Izuku replied. “But there’s no way that I can go to sleep as early as you do, Kacchan.”

Katsuki glanced at the time, fifteen past nine.

They weren’t kids anymore. And there was once a time when Izuku would hound on Katsuki about his cough. But that time had long passed. And Izuku now doesn’t even know when he went to sleep, he wondered if Izuku even noticed the time they’re talking at right now.

Katsuki didn’t go to sleep that early. Not anymore. Not since he’d had to work more to make the funds for Izuku’s hero suit. Always more hours to put onto the clock, to put towards their dream.

He glanced at the article opened on his computer: Hero Deku’s Debut!

It was just his dream now, though, he supposed. The thought sat bitter on his tongue. Tasted like the stem of a flower, like iron and acidity.

A part of him knew that he probably didn’t have to go through so much effort to pretend to be normal in front of Izuku. Izuku wasn’t that perceptive towards Katsuki, not anymore.

Another part of him still played up the act. Acted even more in front of Izuku, because he still wanted to think that Izuku could’ve noticed- if only Katsuki would let him.

Because a part of him didn’t want to confirm the reality that Izuku’s eyes were no longer on him, not like before. Will never be like before, not ever again.

He already knew the truth.

He just didn’t want to accept it. And so he acted, and pretended like Izuku would even notice if he let it slip. Pretended like this was a tightrope act for a riveted crowd rather than what it really was: the pathetic closing act for an empty auditorium.

“Whatever,” he said, tapped his fingers against the wood of his desk. “So what do you want?”

He waited, then, for the reply. Expected many things: work, another dinner with a few of their classmates, attending Izuku’s class as a guest lecturer.

“Ah, nothing much, Kacchan,” Izuku stated, laughing slightly. “Can we meet in person sometime? I have something to tell you- we never had the time to talk about it until now and, um, it’s kind of important.” Izuku paused for a moment. “Whenever you’re free, I guess.”

He paused. The light of the screen burning the words on the monitor into his eyes. Hero Deku’s Debut! The form in his hand, the words having long blurred together. The waiting, the curtain call.

“I can meet you tonight,” he said. “I’m free, don’t have anything to do. Do you?”

“Oh- um, no, but that’s- Kacchan-”

“Then there’s no problem,” he stated. “Where are you?”

Twenty minutes past nine. He leaves his agency. His heart hammering in his chest.

---

The first day back on patrol is nice. He’d almost forgotten how it feels to fly without flowers obstructing his airway. The first breath of air as he soars through the sky is almost magical. It fills his lungs, and for the first time since waking up, he feels almost alive.

It’s a boring patrol, but Katsuki feels a small twinge of joy at being able to live without coughing again. Being able to move without labored breath. Being able to fly without flowers pushing against his lungs.

He beats up some stray villains and it’s the same as it always is. It’s almost like he never left. In a way, he’s performing better than he was prior to the break. Faster reaction time, sharper instincts, and meaner explosions. It feels like returning, not home, but something close to it.

He thinks he’s happy. He thinks this is what happiness is. A small speck of light in an empty void.

It’s enough.

He thinks he can live like this, with just small bursts of warmth admist an endless winter.

He hated the cold once, but now it’s all he knows.

“You look better, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight,” Todoroki states. Katsuki turns his head over. A spontaneous joint operation, nothing more to it.

“That better not be an insult,” he replies, observing idly as the villains they apprehended are being carted away.

“It’s not,” Todoroki states bluntly. “The break has done you good, I see.”

“No shit,” he states dryly. He glances over at some civilians. “The fuck are you idiots doing?”

Todoroki glances over at them at the exact same time. Midoriya Izuku’s there help managing the crowd, holding back some of them, but a few have escaped and are trying to take pictures- probably of Todoroki.

He thinks he’s supposed to be annoyed, extremely so. He thinks he’s supposed to shout.

They seem to expect the same from him, and so is Midoriya Izuku, if the way the man is bounding over- expression helpless and placating, is anything to go by.

He thinks there’s supposed to be a ‘boom’ here, something that’d burst from his chest all the way up to his lips. A familiar type of annoyance and anger that came so easily to him that it was just second nature. Something that made up Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight’s infamous temper, much to the dismay of his PR team. A temperament that once ran parallel to his mother and indicative of his quirk: explosive.

His lips part to do exactly that, formed from years and years of habit.

But in the end, nothing leaves his lips.

There’s nothing in chest other than a small pang of something that could almost be negligible. It’s only right, he supposes. It’s been hard for him to muster anything to his friends and family, let alone for random civilians. The anger once felt familiar, but now there’s nothing left to spark a fire. There’s no fuel to add to the fire, no fire at all to begin with.

He remembers what he’d told civilians in the past: Do you have a death wish? Stay the fuck back or else I’ll kill you myself! Passionate, explosive, just who he was. He can’t muster half of that now. Maybe not even a quarter.

He just stares at them now, pointing at the tape that’s been placed across the scene.

“Don’t cross here, what part of ‘keep out’ don’t you get?” he states. He tries for firm and angry, he ends up somewhere between mildly irate and cold. He has a feeling this would be exactly what’d happen if he tried to say anything that his past self did- just a dissonant mess. Explosive words and plain tone, a disjointed message that he’d rather not fumble through. “Leave unless you have a death wish.”

They, thankfully, oblige without him having to toss them far away from the scene.

“That break has really impacted you for the better,” Shouto comments idly. Katsuki meets his eyes. “No actual death threats or shouting at civilians this time, that’s impressive, Bakugou.”

“It’s Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight while we’re working, moron,” Katsuki replies.

“It’s Shouto while we’re working, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight,” Shouto responds.

Katsuki just scoffs slightly. When did that bastard become so fucking cheeky?

“Kacchan-” Katsuki turns to look at Midoriya Izuku, who’s approaching them at a slower speed than before. He thinks he gets the initial urgency, considering his PR’s team despair whenever he opens his mouth to civilians. “That was really good! I was worried for a second there, but I guess that you got it handled.”

“Not really,” he says with a shrug, and that’s the truth.

It wasn’t any part of his own effort. Just who he is now. He’s not someone to take credit for something that he isn’t even responsible for. If there’s anyone responsible for this, then it’d be the surgeon and medical team that took the flowers and the emotions and memory and the everything out of his chest. Katsuki didn’t do anything but sign his name and show up as scheduled.

You might never feel the same again, they’d said. He feared that, once.

There’s no victory there, Katsuki hadn’t won anything.

Perhaps he’d actually lost something instead.

“And it’s Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight while we’re working, again,” Katsuki states, meeting Midoriya Izuku’s eyes. The same thing he’d said to Todoroki. Don’t these morons ever listen to him? “Deku.”

The word sits on his tongue more unfamiliar than ‘Izuku’ did. He thinks he sounds like a stranger to his own ears. A distant, cold voice sound, it takes a moment to realize that it’s him- that’s his voice. He knew, then, that there was a time when he’d said it differently. He doesn’t know how, though, because he can’t remember a time like that. But he knows he had. He must’ve. That’s why it feels so strange on his tongue now. Like pieces of petals he hadn’t quite managed to spit out.

But he can’t remember, his past self had taken the memory with him.

In there end, there’s no petals on his tongue, it’s just a name that he spat out wrong. It’s no big deal, he thinks.

But Midoriya Izuku pauses, between one step and the next. His expression is inscrutable, maybe there was a time when Katsuki would’ve been able to discern it. But that time has came and went the moment Katsuki fell asleep and woke up having fallen out of love.

A flash of something strikes through him at Midoriya Izuku’s eyes. Katsuki does not have many memories about Midoriya Izuku, but what he does have are instincts. And they’re telling him it’s time to abort, time to go. This is not good. Something is wrong here. He doesn’t know what he’s done, but he knows that it’s probably wrong.

Katsuki has always listened to his instincts.

It’s probably the only thing he has left now, regarding Midoriya Izuku.

So this might be a slightly medium deal. He doesn’t know why exactly, but he’s smart enough to know it is.

“Nevermind,” he states gruffly, breaking the small silence. “Forget it.”

Midoriya Izuku lets out a light laugh, brows furrowed together. “Ah- oh, okay.”

For some strange reason, Katsuki’s hand twitch. Almost like his hand had wanted to raise and press the furrow out from between Midoriya Izuku’s eyes.

All physical reactions, will go away one day. So he just lets his arm stay where it is.

“See you around, Deku.”

The words tasted like ash on his tongue, like burnt petals and charred blood, he wonders why for a second, before he lets that go, too.

Todoroki doesn’t follow him, instead staying back with Midoriya Izuku. He doesn’t care what they get up to. Can’t.

He walks away from Midoriya Izuku. His body tell him to turn back, to look back just once.

He doesn’t.

All physical reactions, it’ll go away one day.

---

He knocked on Izuku’s sliding glass balcony door twenty minutes later, nitroglycerin still lingering on his hands. The night air was chilling, but he felt none of the cold in the moment. Only the pulse of his own heart, running tandem to the explosions that were popping off his palms earlier.

“Kacchan!” Izuku opened the door quickly. Eyes wide and jaw slack. “You- you flew here!”

Katsuki grunted. Feeling a remnant of warmth flutter through him at seeing the way Izuku looked. Hair tousled and in disarray. Shitty shirt hanging off his form- no longer as loose as it were years ago. Fitting him more like a glove, now, as he grew into it. Still a shitty sense of fashion, though. Matched with comfortable, athletic shorts. He looked none too prepared for a guest, or, in another word: domestic. Katsuki had imagined seeing Izuku just like this, welcoming him home. Had imagined waking up next to Izuku just like this, living with him and getting to see him like this for more than a few minutes. Katsuki imagined it, and he wanted to be alongside Izuku just like this. Except not dressed in his hero’s costume. But just as he was, just in as much disarray. In his favorite shirt and sweats, hair left a mess not because of the wind, but because of tossing about in the sheets of a bed he’d share with Izuku.

He imagined it, being Izuku’s.

“‘Course I did,” he replied. “You said it was important.”

“Oh- I guess I did.” Izuku’s lips lifted into a small smile. “Didn’t think you were going to be here tonight though so I wasn’t prepared, but I should’ve known that’s just how Kacchan is.”

“That an insult?” Katsuki snapped, raising a brow. Izuku just laughed.

“No, no.” Izuku shook his head. Lips still in a fond smile. No longer as skittish as before. Long learned that Katsuki was more bark than bite these days. “You’re just very- uh, you, Kacchan.”

“That better be a good thing,” Katsuki warned with a only slight amount of heat.

“It is,” Izuku reassured. “You’re the type to want to settle things fast.”

“I just don’t like wasting my time waiting when I don’t need to,” Katsuki replied. As though he hasn’t wasted so much of it just waiting. Just staring at a copy of a medical form until the words on it lost meaning. As if he hadn’t been waiting for this for weeks. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, and now it has.

Important, Izuku had said. Something to tell you.

In that moment, Katsuki knew that whatever this was, he’d been waiting for it.

Forty-three past nine. The stars shining overhead. A Tuesday night, the moon not yet full.

Izuku dressed in his nightclothes standing in front of him. He’s standing on Izuku’s balcony, nitroglycerin dripping from his palms from the sweat. There are small explosions going off in his bloodstream, the desperate pounding of his heart. He can smell the scent of flowers mixed with iron.

Katsuki had dreams that started like this.

‘I love you’ and ‘I love you, too’ and kissing as the clock struck midnight, with the taste of flowers on both their lips, sweet and no longer bitter.

A large part of him knew that this meeting wasn’t going to end like his dreams.

Didn’t stop a small part of him from wanting it to be.

A happy ever after, a cliché world where he’d stop coughing on a Tuesday night, just near one week away from the deadline to his surgery. The perfect date, the perfect climax. There are movies about this. A last minute confession, the surgery wasn’t needed after all.

Katsuki wasn’t living in a romance movie, but a part of him desperately wished he was.

“What is it?” Katsuki asked, and waited. Waited like he had for the past few weeks. Waited for an answer to drop in his lap. And now it finally will.

The curtain call has come, and now it is time to answer.

“All Might said that you were at the heart of the project for my hero suit, a few months ago, when he handed the suit to me,” Izuku stated.

Katsuki stared at Izuku. “I wasn’t the only one contributing to it.”

“Don’t downplay your role, Kacchan,” Izuku pointed out, a furrow to his brows. A helpless smile on his face. Katsuki just shrugged. “And I’ve already said this to everyone else, you’re the only left.”

Katsuki stayed silent.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Izuku continued. “I never really got the chance to thank you for the suit, helping me live my dream even as I’ve lost One for All. It was really fun getting to be a hero again, even if it’s not the same as when we were kids. And don’t get me wrong, I still am a teacher, but it was really fun getting to be a hero again. You even asked me to be your hero partner, it felt like a dream come true. But I’m a teacher now and I’ve got new goals, sorry that I couldn’t accept your offe-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Katsuki stated, frowning.

Izuku just laughed. “Alright. But that still really made me happy, Kacchan.”

Katsuki didn’t say anything.

“So- thank you, Kacchan. For everything.”

Katsuki tapped his fingers against the cold railing. He let the cold air fill his lungs, looked at the stars, the night, Izuku.

“So you’re happy?”

Izuku blinked. “Um-”

“After-sale satisfaction survey, just shut up and answer.”

Izuku blinked again, but obliging with a helpless look to his eyes. “Yeah- I just said that, Kacchan.”

“So you’ve fulfilled your nerdy childhood dreams?”

“Yeah, I’d think so.” Izuku laughed, relaxing.

“And you’re satisfied with that?”

“Yes?”

“What’s your dream now?”

“I guess to be a good teacher?” Izuku stated, pondering. Now too caught up in his mind to be confused at Katsuki’s questions. “Make Aizawa-san proud of me as a teacher, I guess. And Toshinori-san, too. Did you know that Ochako is planning on implementing a new program with U.A? I’m going to help her with that, Kacchan. I think that’ll be good for the students. Oh, and of course I want to be a proper hero and work hard with you all, that’s important, too.”

So that’s it, he thought.

Katsuki wondered what he’s been chasing after all these years was this: to be a part of ‘you all.’

For the rest of our lives.

He tapped against the railing. He thought about many things in that moment. The future that he’d ran desperately after. The dream that he was still holding onto, even now. The flowers within his chest. All that running, and it leads to here. To a world where Izuku has grown up and apart from the dream they’ve had as kids. A present where Izuku has left, and he’d stayed. A story that began two decades prior and was finally ending in about a week from now.

He thought about many things, and in the end, he just looked at Izuku, bathed in the light of the night, stars reflected in his eyes and the moon encapsulated in his smile. Izuku looked happy.

Katsuki drew in a breath, and then exhaled. It condensed in the cold night air, leaving a trail of fog.

Well, it’s not half bad, he thought.

For these eight years, he’s been running, and he’s finally arrived at his destination.

Standing here in front of Izuku, getting to see him smile like this, getting to hear him say: Thank you, Kacchan. This wasn’t the destination he was envisioning eight years ago, but it’s where he finally ended up.

Now that he’s here, he found that it’s not bad at all. These past eight years, not half bad. He looked back, and found that there wasn’t a single moment that he regretted if all of it had led to here: Izuku smiling and being happy.

It’s an ending, isn’t it?

Katsuki even got a ‘thank you’ and a smile out of it.

Izuku’s happy, Katsuki helped made him happy. That’s enough.

It’ll have to be.

The flowers in his chest were bursting, there’s explosions going off in his bloodstreams. He held it back, and in the end, he just met Izuku’s eyes. He met it as he was, treasured the sight of it, for one of the final times that he could.

There are a thousand things he wanted to say in that moment: Take care of Uraraka, she’s a good, lovely woman, she’ll love you right and you’ll make her happy. Teach those students of yours well, don’t be too soft on them or else they’ll run right over you. Have dinner more with your mom, she always misses you, no, this isn’t related to the old hag. Stop calling me over to be a guest lecturer for your communications class, I know I’m a negative example and one day I’ll strangle one of your brats, I swear. Keep smiling like that, you look good- somewhat, I guess. Keep laughing like that, it also sounds kinda good, I guess. Take care of yourself from now on. I know that you still sleep late and skip breakfast, you’re only getting a pass for now because you’re young, moron.

You better keep staying happy, or else I’ll really kill you.

These flowers bloomed for you. This is what I feel about you.

I fell for you, Izuku.

He didn’t say any of that.

“That’s a good dream, I guess, fitting for a nerd like you,” he said instead. “Anyways I gotta head back now, things to do. Take care of yourself or else I’ll kill you myself.”

He held Izuku’s eyes. He saw his own smile reflected in Izuku’s bright eyes: a small lopsided thing. It’s crooked.

His lips parted. In that moment he became a boy shouting at his friend, waving his hands above his head, a farewell to the day’s end but a greeting to the day that’ll come after that; he became a teenager struggling with all his emotions and unable to really untangle anything at all until the very end when his heart gave out and he woke up with Izuku’s eyes on his mind and the world below him, saying goodbye in preparation for meeting again the next day when school came and they’d meet again; he became an adult, having thought he figured it out only to realize now that he hadn’t known a damn thing at all, waving to his friend after a class dinner a promise to see each other again at the next.

And now here he is, all of them, saying goodbye for the first and last time. Because there is no more halcyon days playing in the sandpit, no more daily meetings in a familiar classroom, no more seeing each other over casual dinners where Katsuki will be the same person he is tonight.

Katsuki lifted the curtains for one final time.

He parted his lips, and said:

“See you around, Deku.”

His voice was hoarse, his throat dry. A cough trailed after his words, he stopped as much of it as he could.

Izuku just smiled back, a bemused note to his expression. Izuku studied Katsuki for a moment, and in that moment, he just waited for Izuku’s reply, waited for the curtain to fall.

And finally, it does.

“Yeah, see you around, Kacchan.” Izuku smiled, a soft, gentle thing, and the curtain has fallen.

A part of him- a small, quiet thing- finally lets go.

Izuku hadn’t noticed anything, and there is no last minute confession.

Katsuki was right. A part of him had already known.

It still hurt more than it should.

His chest felt like it’d burst. He tasted flowers at the back of his throat.

It’s for the best this way.

It’s finally time for the pathetic closing act to a performance to an empty audience to end.

So Katsuki just waved, and left the same way he came.

His vision grew blurry during his flight, his eyes stung. His chest ached, he felt breathless.

He blamed it all on the cold night wind.

---

At exactly ten, on a normal Tuesday night. Beneath the watching stars and crescent moon and in front of Izuku’s bright eyes, Katsuki finally chose to fall out of love.

It’ll be on his own terms, he decided. Just like that.

---

Thirty past ten.

He returned to his office.

He coughed and coughed and coughed.

Yellow petals spilled out of his lips, a dam bursting. He coughed it into his hands, before eventually that wasn’t enough space anymore and the petals overflowed onto the floor, dyed with red.

He’d gotten his answer, the answer that he’s been waiting for this whole time. All those nights, all that waiting, and now, he finally has his answer. The curtain has finally fallen, and it was time to bow.

He gathered up the flowers, and erased their existence with explosions popping in his palms. Burned away the petals and blood. He wiped away the traces, and it was as if it never existed at all.

That night, he read over the copy of the consent form for the surgery in his office.

The next morning, he went back to the hospital. Nine in the morning, on the dot.

He gripped the pen in his hands, requested from the doctor seeing to him. The form was in front of him. A space left blank for his name.

He thought about many things in that moment.

Those memories with Izuku. Those days spent in childhood, unknowing of the world and terribly naive; those days spent in young adolescence, filled with tears and mistakes; those days of teenage-hood, filled with so much that he knew that by the end of this- he’ll hardly remember what happened in his first year of U.A.

He thought about it.

And he thought about a dull romance movie that’s lasted for eight boring, long years without an ending.

All started because of one sentence, one person.

It’s a pretty damn boring movie, isn’t it.

He imagined himself, the one in the future, having to go back and watch this shitty movie- cut and fragmented in all the wrong parts- and he almost feels bad for the poor bastard.

He wondered what kind of rating his future self would give to these boring, long eight years. A bland, boring one-sided romance that doesn’t even have much romance at all. Just running towards a dream and not realizing that you’re the only left to care for it.

For the rest of our lives.

He thought about it.

Thank you, Kacchan.

Thought about how the rest of our lives became just eight years. Thought about the ending that was soon coming, one way or another. Thought about how ‘the rest of our lives’ sounded like such a long time when it was said back then, but now that he was here at the ending, it felt remarkably short.

He placed the tip of the pen down, finally writing the conclusion to a movie that’s ran for eight long, boring years with his signature scrawled across the blank space.

The ending is written in the blank ink of a borrowed black ballpoint pen; it’s spelled with just four characters, his name.

All those years, and it ends like this. Right here, right now. This is the moment when for the rest of our lives became just one more week. All of it, everything, all the fighting, all the running, all the tears, all the smiles, all of everything- all it just came down to this: a shoddy mass-produced pen and printer paper, with his name signed in cheap black ink.

When he handed the form to the doctor, the man looked at him strangely. He wondered why for a second before he glanced in the reflection of the man’s glasses and saw his own expression.

So that’s why, he thought.

“At least I can say it ended,” Katsuki said.

His reflection mirrored his small lopsided smile. It’s crooked.

The surgery was scheduled for a week later.

Notes:

i bring you some Emotional Hurt. hope you all enjoyed it anyways haha. there will be comfort one day! (one far off day...)

i appreciate all of y'all who left kudos and comments on the fic, it really helped to motivate me :D

Notes:

the mha 431 chapter hurt me. so i will hurt bkdk (/jk)

hope you all enjoyed. leave a comment if you do!