A Promise to Keep

by inkkitty22

Summary:

Childhood friends Deku and Kacchan are going to be super heroes one day.
They're going to get married, and beat up bad guys, and save the world.
It doesn't matter that superpowers aren't real.
It doesn't matter that they stopped talking after middle school, after that day on the roof.
It doesn't matter that Katsuki had an accident in the science lab, and it doesn't matter that Izuku was bitten by a radioactive spider.

Or maybe it matters a lot, actually.

Notes:

This is my very first fic I have ever made public.
I used to write a lot, but I am an artist by trade! I will begin to upload my artwork embedded in the chapers and will announce when those are available. I have a plot outline finished and most of it written out, so uploads should be fairly frequent and consistent. Currently the brain rot is real, so I have been updating every other day or so! I will try to warn you if I'm delayed.

Please leave feedback and comments, I am nervous! I also have a Fantasy AU KiriBakuDeku partially written if anyone would be interested in that???

Thank you!

Chapter 1: A Promise Made

Summary:

The First Promise is made between Deku and Kacchan <3

They're sprawled out on the floor, side by side as Katsuki explains the plan to Deku.

 

“And once we're officially superheros, then we’ll get married, so we can live together. It makes sense to have our secret base at our house where we can keep an eye on things.” Katsuki finished, proud of his plan as he sketches out the super secret hidden door that would hide their lair. He can't wait to see the look on the nerd's face when he puts on the finishing details.

 

“You promise, Kacchan?” Katsuki takes his eyes off the page, capping the marker with a snap as he looks over.

Deku is sitting on his hands and band-aid covered knees, markers and crayons and construction paper littering the floor around them. His big green eyes are fixed solely on Katsuki, exactly where they should be. His big baby cheeks are ruddy red, interrupted only by a smattering of freckles and sticky grape juice stains from snack time.

 

Gross.

 

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, stupid Deku. Of course, I promise. You have to promise too!” Katsuki points at him with the marker in his fist, a furrow in his brow at the idea of Deku not keeping up his end of the bargain. Of course they would get married and be hero partners. They already decided this, why did stupid Deku keep asking? The four year old rolls his eyes once he realizes the other child has started crying.

Again.

 

“I-I p-promise, Ka-Kachan, we’ll b-be superheroes together for sure!” Deku’s crocodile tears spill over, despite the huge smile missing a few teeth here and there.
He’s almost cute for a second, and then he immediately begins snotting into his own nasty sleeve.

 

Gross.

What an idiot.

He’s lucky Katsuki tolerates him.

Life as Katsuki knew it hasn’t been the same since he met Deku.

It was just another boring day.

Nothing special about it at all.

 

---

 

Katsuki was playing by himself, like usual, when his mom knocked on his door, and introduced him to her old school friend and her brat.

 

“Hey Kats, there’s someone I would like you to meet. This is my friend from school, Inko, and her son, Izuku.”

 

“So?” He didn’t look up from his blocks, intent on building a suitable size city to demolish in a villain attack later.

 

“Oi, don’t be a brat! That last babysitter took off like a bat out of hell after one day. You’ve terrorized the neighborhood, so I'm out of options. Inko, the angel she is, has volunteered to keep an eye on you when your father and I are held up at the office. Maybe with another kid around you'll be less of a handful!” She nagged, her voice shrill. 

 

His mother was just a bigger, bossier version of himself, really. The same ash blonde hair, carmine eyes, and sour expression he saw in the mirror was reflected back at him now, obviously older and more feminine, but it was annoying that he couldn't even make fun of her face without essentially making fun of himself.

She must have done it on purpose.

His mother stands tall, with her arms crossed. Her posture was domineering, brokering no argument, as if already prepared for the tantrum she was expecting.
He met her gaze, so like his own, pointed his chin up indignantly and scowled as meanly as he could muster.

The stand-off is rather short. 

 

“I don’t need a babysitter, I’m old enough to watch myself!” He snapped, baring his teeth at her like that one nature documentary showed him.

 

He has to establish dominance, you see, show her that Katsuki Bakugou is not to be messed with! After all, he was going to be the boss of this house one day, why not now?

 

“Try telling that to a judge.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes and clearly not taking him seriously.

Katsuki doen’t reply to his mother's comment. After failing to intimidate her, he chose a new target.

The woman beside her, 'Inko' or whatever, giggled a bit behind her hand, clearly finding his snarl funny for some reason, but doing her best to be polite.

She was... okay. Her hair was green, and pulled halfway up and halfway down. She was shorter than his mother, a little rounder too. Looked like any other lady to him, but the thing hugging her leg was different.

 

The boy, “Izuku” apparently, was hardly impressive. He was small, skinny, with knobby knees and wild green hair. It was all tangly, like he'd never brushed his hair a day in his life. He had dirt on his face, like he had gone digging in the garden - wait no, those were freckles on his cheeks, not dirt.

 

How ugly.

 

His trembling hands clutched his mom’s skirt, partially hidden by it and the door. He was peeking around like he was worried Katsuki was going to bite his head off.

 

So maybe not a complete idiot, after all.

Katsuki glared at the other boy in challenge. Izuku squeaked and hid a little more, teary eyed and hiding from Katsuki's gaze until his eyes finally shifted enough to see the hero posters on the walls of his bedroom. With a wet gasp, and the biggest sparkliest eyes that Katsuki had ever seen, he dropped his mother’s skirt and took two small steps into the room.

 

“H-hi, I’m Zuku, and I like superheroes too! Do you like A-All Might? All Might is my f-favorite superhero and not just because he’s big and strong and smart! Sometimes I like to...” The kid just kept going, sometimes speaking too fast to understand, mumbling and listing off different characters and their quirks, stuttering all the while, muttering about his favorite episodes. It took a while for him to realize Katsuki hadn’t actually answered the first question, and when he did notice, his face turned bright red, reminding Katsuki of a strawberry.

 

Something about that was funny, he thought. Different.
Different from what, he wasn't sure, but he knew it was, all the same.

 

---

 

Katsuki couldn’t care less about having a playmate at first, of course, he just pretended the other kid wasn’t there.

He'd figure it out eventually and stop showing up if Katsuki just ignored him long enough.

That was the plan, anyway.

The first few afternoons they came to visit, Katsuki just continued to play by himself, like usual. The boy didn’t seem to notice the cold shoulder though, always following him around, yapping about something or another. He's not sure when he started answering back, when he started caring what this random kid thought of him.

 

Some things become obvious quickly.

 

1. Izuku is a total dork.

He's obsessed with heroes. Especially All Might. Katsuki’s favorite hero is also All Might, of course, but Izuku likes all the boring stuff. The cats stuck in trees, all the saving people and carrying them around, even the episodes with no villains at all!

How lame!

He likes writing notes and collecting useless bits of information, (who cares what Crimson Riot’s favorite food is, really?)

Katsuki prefers the punching and the super powers, thank you very much.

 

2. Izuku is also an idiot.

He can’t even say Katsuki’s name correctly. The kid blames his missing front tooth for his lisp, but Katsuki knows better. After the hundredth time of listening to Izuku butcher his name, he blew up at the other, and ended up stuck with ‘Kacchan’.

Another day, when they were scrawling their names on some coloring pages, Katsuki realized ‘Izuku’ could be read like Deku.

There, now they both have a dumb nickname.

 

Deku and Kacchan.

The “Wonder Duo” according to the Old Hag and Aunty. He thinks they mean it in a sarcastic way, but he doesn’t care, because it sounds cool.

 

Where was he?

Oh right.

 

3. Deku is a crybaby.

He's always sniveling about something. About ladybugs being squished in the grass, about loud noises, about the weather, about episodes of All Might he’d already seen a hundred times, about his sandwich being cut into rectangles instead of triangles. If it happened, the kid probably cried about it.

He also cries because of Katsuki.

Even though the other boy is a crybaby, he isn't a tattle-tale. Not when Katsuki chooses all their games and names himself the winner, and not when he yells at Deku or calls him names. Not when he accidentally pushes Deku down on the playground or when he tags him too hard.

 

4. Deku always forgives him.

Sure, he might whine about it for a little while but no more than five minutes later he'll no doubt come crawling back, ready to do whatever Katsuki tells him to, and following behind him all the while. He never complains to their parents, and he comes over all the time, no matter how much he cries when he visits, or how loudly Katsuki tells him to go back to his own house.

Like some sort of disease, or like a barnacle attached to Katsuki's ship.

 

His parents are busy often, so it's sort of lucky that Deku’s mom showed up when she did, because those days with all those annoying babysitters were boring.

Plus, he has to admit that the food is way better with Aunty around. His old hag can't cook to save her life, and while his dad isn't too awful at it, he's normally too busy to spend hours in the kitchen.
They both are, honestly. It's not like they have serious jobs or anything, they just drew clothes and played dress up, nothing dangerous; but whenever there's some big show his parents are gone before he wakes up and are back late, way past his bedtime.

Whatever, he doesn't care.

They're boring, anyway.

Aunty Inko makes all her food from scratch. Nothing like the lukewarm takeout his folks bring him on their way home, or the boring baby food the babysitters would microwave for him. Aunty bakes cookies shaped like little All Might’s, and lets him lick the spoon after she’s finished with it. She cooks with real spices that burn his nose and tongue, and he loves it. She even makes bentos for his ungrateful parents and extra portions of dinner for them to enjoy long after he and Deku have fallen asleep.

 

That's another thing that's different now.

Before, he always slept by himself, like a big kid. But Deku, the crybaby, always ends up wiggling his way into Katsuki’s bed when he's supposed to be sleeping on the futon. The first few times, he was upset about having ugly Deku’s drool on his pillow, grossed out and convinced the nerd would wet the bed or something...

But on the nights Katsuki has to sleep alone though, he finds himself... almost sorta missing the warmth of the clingy boy. The bed feels more uncomfortable on those nights: too large, too cold, and empty. The shadows seem darker, more insidious without small snores and grabby hands to hold onto his in the dark.

Now he has a… well, his old hag calls Deku his “friend” but Katsuki knows better.

The word ‘Friend’ wasn’t really applicable here, but the adults aren't very good listeners.

Deku is his partner, his sidekick, his wife. Deku raised a stink about being the 'wife' at first, but everybody knows that the husband marries the wife, and Katsuki is obviously the husband, which means dumb Deku has to be the wife.

Between sleepovers watching All Might cartoons, playing super heroes in the park, drawing and coloring their costumes, not a day goes by where Deku isn’t right there by his side. They share snacks and juice boxes (though you can bet Katsuki complains about Deku's germs the whole time) and on camping trips, and they spend sunny afternoons at the playground. They pretty much do everything together. There are balmy summers where they clamber through tall grass to find cool looking bugs. Fireworks burst over their heads at the beach, squished together on a blanket with Aunty, shoving their feet in the fine sand to feel it between their toes. The smell of sunscreen and popsicles melting onto the concrete beside their chalk drawings. Birthdays are spent side by side with Deku, blowing out their candles and making wishes on stars. They carve pumpkins to look like All Might (Katsuki's is clearly better, of course) and Katsuki tells scaredy-cat Deku all kinds of ghost stories under a blanket with a flash light.

Their first festival was fun, and the ones that followed after were too. Watching the fish swim in their bowls, playing with sparklers and competing in carnival games for stupid prizes. Aunty cooks mountains of food for Christmas, with perfectly wrapped gifts in special color-coordinated wrapping paper.

Green for Deku, Orange for Kacchan.

Their families bundle themselves up in coats and mittens, and hold hands as they walk to the shrine on New Years Day. Katsuki will be big enough to not have to hold anybody's hand one day, but maybe if Deku gets scared, he'll let the little leech hang on until he's big enough too. 

Because through everything, Deku is never far behind him, always one hand buried in his shirt and big watery eyes on his back.

It’s a good thing, too. Deku is useless on his own. Always lets the bigger kids push him around, and lets the adults talk down to him. He’s a whiny crybaby, and normally Katsuki refuses to play with crybabies, but Deku is different.

Katsuki isn’t sure how yet, but he’s for sure he’s going to figure it out.

Chapter 2: A Promise Broken

Summary:

Deku loves his Kacchan, no matter what, but he wishes he was nicer sometimes.

"What kind of hero do you want to be, Kacchan?" Izuku asked quietly, tugging gently at his friend's sleeve to get his attention. He looks over at his best friend, curiosity burning in his eyes.

Kacchan is so pretty, he's smart and strong and brave and determined and...

"That's a dumb question, Deku. I'm going to be the best, obviously." Kacchan says rolling his eyes, but not looking up from his work. His tongue is poking out of his mouth in concentration, as he tries to get a block to balance on the tower he is constructing. His blonde hair is like an explosion, spiky and bright in the light of the room,

"Of course, Kacchan is amazing." Izuku agrees easily, but that wasn't what he was asking. Silly Kacchan. "What name will you be called? Villains will find you if you use your actual name. You have to have a different name, Mom said so." He clarifies earnestly, before Kacchan can say anything else.

He watches Kacchan's face as he thinks. There's a pucker between his eyebrows, like Aunty Mitsuki's, but he doesn't mention it. Izuku watches Kacchan's ruby red eyes as they narrow at him.

"You idiot, my name is Kacchan, you just said it." He looks at Izuku like he's being silly, and Izuku can't help but smile brightly in return.

"Kacchan is the name of a hero? I like that! Oh, but it won't be special if everyone calls Kacchan that way..." Izuku's smile fades into a pout, thinking about anyone else using his special name for his friend. Kacchan doesn't even let his parents call him that, and he likes being the only one allowed to. When he notices Kacchan is still looking at him, he sits up straight, not expecting to have the other boy's eyes still on him and not on the precarious tower of blocks.

The blonde boy looks at him like he's trying to figure out a difficult puzzle, like that really hard one they did a few months ago of All Might's Bronze Age cover. It probably wouldn't have been as difficult if Kacchan hadn't thrown the pieces around and they lost one for a few days, but the look is familiar still. His eyes are narrowed, there's a pout on his lips, and the furrow in his brow looks pinched and angry.

"I didn't think about it like that." Kacchan says with a frown, still looking at Izuku with critical eyes. "I don't want any extras to call you Deku, either, but I guess for now it can't be helped. When we are older we can decide on new names for when we become a duo." He finishes the thought with a decisive nod, as if he's figured it all out. Kacchan is so smart!

"Oh, that's a good idea! I was thinking about our costumes last night, and I thought maybe..." Izuku pulls out his notebook, excited to show the fruits of his labor. His fingers point to a figure on the page, wearing an orange mask with a big X over its face and angry eyebrows.

"Since Kacchan's so tough I thought he might want his mask to be more scary! To scare off the bad guys!" He starts bouncing in place as he explains his plans, before dragging his finger to the corresponding page, where a green figure with a smile is drawn. "Since you don't like talking to people, I thought mine could be friendlier so you can beat up the bad guys and I can save the people and you won't have to talk to anybody. I can be nice for Kacchan!" He smiles at the Kacchan in question, who is clearly inspecting his work thoroughly, his eyes pensive and maybe a little bit impressed.

"I don't hate it." He smirks, looking every bit the mischievous devil leaning over Izuku's shoulder. "Yours looks like you're crying, it suits you, crybaby." His grin is wicked, but not mean and he tosses his head back to look down at Izuku, a teasing lilt to his voice. It does sort of look like tear tracks, actually, now that he's looking at it again. Aw man.

"Kacchaaaaan, that's mean..." Izuku whines theatrically, but he's smiling too. He loves when Kacchan smiles, even if it's to make fun of him. Some people don't like the way Kacchan behaves or speaks to people, but Izuku knows better. He's not being mean, he's just playing around, its not Kacchan's fault that he's so smart he doesn't understand how sensitive some other kids and adults can be.

"Yeah, yeah." Kacchan waves him off before grabbing his bag off the table, and shoving a pudgy hand into a zippered pouch, only to return with two candies in his outstretched palm. One green, one orange. "Do you forgive me now, nerd?" He asks sardonically, smirk never leaving his impish face.

With a giggle, Izuku grabs the green one, the one he always chooses, the one that belongs to him. Just as every green toy or blanket or cup or snack has always been his, anything orange is Kacchan's. "Thank you, Kacchan!" Izuku smiles gratefully as he unwraps the candy, smile only growing when Kacchan ruffles his hair, maybe a bit too roughly but that's okay.

"Whatever, Deku. What would you do without me?" The question is clearly rhetorical, evident by Kacchan's languid body language and easy smile pointed at the ceiling.
Izuku answers anyways. "Probably die, Kacchan!" It's a joke, silly and hyperbolic, but sometimes he feels its true.

Izuku likes being the only person Kacchan lets close.

Kacchan is amazing, after all.

He's a leader, strong and confident and so very bright. His smiles are full of sharp canine teeth, (the first ones he lost) and intense red eyes that glow almost pink in the sunlight. He can handle the spiciest curry that makes even Uncle Masaru tear up. He's not scared of anything, not adults or bigger kids, not the dark, or bugs, or scary movies, not even the dentist! He's never seen Kacchan scared, ever. Izuku is a scaredy-cat by comparison, but as long as Kacchan is there, with that outstretched hand to lead him through the fear, he feels invincible.

It's not hard at all to love Kacchan.

Izuku had never known what it was like to have a friend until Aunty Mitsuki invited he and his mom over for tea one day to catch up. That was his first time seeing the beautiful boy that would become his best friend. He treated everything seriously, from brushing his teeth to reading a bedtime story, everything Kacchan did was purposeful, intentional, and every problem was a challenge to be overcome. That day changed the course of his entire life.

Nothing was ever as interesting or as special as Kacchan was (except maybe All Might - but don't tell Kacchan that).

To imagine a world without his Kacchan? Izuku pales at the thought.

"Better keep your promise, Deku." Kacchan says seriously, surprising Izuku into looking back at him. Kacchan's crimson eyes are slightly narrowed, and the smile that lit up his face before has fallen into a slight frown, a hair past neutral.

He looks... troubled or worried, like he's considering a problem for the first time.

A few seconds go by until he's holding his fist out sideways for Izuku to bump against.

"Of course, Kacchan, I promise!" Izuku would do anything for his Kacchan.

He's the coolest!

 

---

 

Things are... different, now. He's not sure how, or why, but things are different.

Not bad, necessarily, but... different.

"Deku, what the fuck?!" The shout echoes down the hallway, and Izuku turns quickly to see Kacchan stomping towards him. Kacchan has grown taller in the last couple months since they've started middle school, now a good three or four inches taller than Izuku, even without the blonde's spiky hair giving an advantage. Now he's glaring impetuously down his thin nose at Izuku, poking him hard in the chest. It hurts a bit, but he knows Kacchan doesn't mean it. He's just strong, he doesn't do things halfway, and it's not like he knows that he's hurting Izuku when he does it... or at least he hopes he doesn't? The thought makes a weird heavy feeling appear in his stomach that he doesn't like.

Izuku gives a wobbly smile in return, "Hi, Kacchan, what's up?" He's not sure what he's done wrong this time, but he's certainly about to find out if Kacchan's breathing is any indication.

"You're a skinny shitty little twig. Did you fucking shrink over the break? Have you been skipping meals again, Deku? How are you supposed to catch up to me enough to be my sidekick if you're so tiny and weak and useless?" His voice is sharp and loud, and he punctuates the last words with jabs of his finger still in Izuku's chest. Ow.

"Nn, I'm not skipping meals, Kacchan." He winces a bit, and can't help but agree with the points made. Kacchan has been growing faster than him, more so than other classmates, but where Izuku is gangly and thin, with baby fat not enough to fill him out properly, Kacchan is gaining muscle tone and height in spades. His shoulders are broad, especially compared to his thin waist. He wears his uniform open partly, with his pants riding low on his hips. He looks every bit the part of a growing teenager, even a hint of stubble on his chin, always the first to reach a milestone.

Part of Kacchan's success is likely the dietician and gym membership his family pays for to help him gain muscle for his karate and judo classes. His drum lessons don't hurt either, especially with how passionately Kacchan plays. He hasn't been allowed to hear Kacchan play the drums in a year or so, but he's sure he's just as intense as he is in everything. He remembers asking his mom to join one or two of these activities, back when they first started middle school, but unfortunately, his mom had teared up and apologized, saying that they couldn't afford it.

He never wants to make his mom cry over something silly like that again, so he hasn't asked since then.

Izuku shakes his head, there's no point in giving excuses, he's falling behind, or rather Kacchan is just naturally amazing and outpacing everyone. It's not his fault he's talented, or that his genetics from Aunty Mitsuki and Uncle Masaru were incredible.

Don't be a loser, Izuku.

Man up.

Kacchan does not look assuaged by his response, if anything he looks more annoyed than when he first arrived, only now his lips curve in what is only a smile by technicality.
These are not the confident smirks or boastful grins that Izuku is so fond of, and it definitely isn't the soft smile he used to receive in childhood, this is a smile that does not reach his eyes, and it promises violence.

"Oh really? And what did you eat for lunch, shithead?" One pale blonde eyebrow arches, just as the other eye twitches in abject rage. Izuku isn't sure Kacchan is even aware of it.
Izuku bites his lip and cringes away from Kacchan's finger, still pressing a bruise into his solar plexus.

"I had onigiri, Kacchan, and a Pocari." He answers dutifully, even though he knows this will not please his friend in the slightest.

"Shitty convenience store onigiri and a goddamn sports drink are NOT a fucking meal!" Kacchan's voice cracks when he yells, and when he hears it, his eyes somehow fill with even more rage. His cheeks grow red with anger and the poking intensifies until Kacchan's fist is curled into Izuku's gakuran and he shakes him around. "Are you fucking stupid?!" Izuku can hear Kacchan's teeth grinding and winces at the sound, concerned for Kacchan's teeth, since according to Mom, Aunty Mitsuki mentioned that the blonde just got his braces tightened.

He kind of wishes he was close enough to know that from Kacchan himself, instead of through their parents, but it's none of his business anyways.

Izuku had just been worried when the other didn't come to class on Monday, that's all.

"I-I'm sorry, Kacchan..." He whines, not wanting to explain it's all he has money for and that his mom hasn't gone grocery shopping this week, waiting for her check on Thursday before such an expenditure. He knows the Bakugou family doesn't have the same financial limitations as he does, and he doesn't want to make Kacchan feel guilty for not realizing that fact.

"If you spent half as much time training as you do shoving your nose in your shitty little notebooks, you wouldn't look like a pathetic little kid!" Another rough shake. "Daydreams are going to get you killed, you moron!" He roars in Izuku's ears. This isn't an uncommon topic of conversation, but sometimes Izuku wishes Kacchan would talk to him a little more kindly, or about anything else. Lately the only things Kacchan says to him are insults or pointing out his shortcomings in their shared dream. He's happy he has someone amazing like Kacchan to point him in the right direction, but he's frustrated at himself too, and the lack of progress.

It feels like it's been ages since they just spent time together.

Just Deku and Kacchan.

Last week he asked if Kacchan wanted to come over to watch the most recent All Might movie together, but the other boy had just rolled his eyes and kept walking as if he hadn't spoken.
He almost asks if Kacchan had plans over the weekend. Maybe they can go by the mall or maybe they could go to the arcade, but Izuku knows better.
Out in public, Kacchan is much more likely to hang out with his other friends, not that Kacchan calls them that.

Actually when is the last time they hung out? His birthday?
No, that means its been...

Oh.

They haven't been alone together in what Izuku is realizing is an embarrassingly long time to be expecting it so casually.

"I'll t-try harder, Kacchan." He murmurs, eyes on the floor to hide the brimming tears in his vision. He doesn't raise his eyes back to Kacchan's and the heat and pressure of his hands on Izuku are gone in an instant.

"You fucking better."

Then Kacchan is gone, leaving burning shame and the dull ache of a bruise in his wake.

 

---

 

The notebook in his hands is torn from his fingers before he realizes he isn't alone. He had hoped the roof would offer some respite, but he should have known Kacchan would find him. Kacchan has some kind of internal Izuku-GPS, or something because he always knows where to find him. Where that ability served him well as a child, lost in the woods or distracted by hero merchandise in a shopping center, it has a unique pain to it now, as Kacchan is never happy to see him.

With a flinch, Izuku raises his eyes from the ground just enough to find none other than Kacchan glaring at him, flanked by his usual cronies. He's not sure Kacchan even remembers their names, but they have a reputation for shadowing the blonde, whether for notoriety or because they find Kacchan as beautiful and awe-inspiring as Izuku does, he'll never know for sure. It's hard to meet Kacchan's eyes nowadays. They are always cold and angry, beautiful and harsh as a supernova.

Every time Izuku lets himself look Kacchan in the eyes, he feels his heart break a little more, knowing those cherry red eyes used to hold affection, or at the least fondness.

They haven't reflected back more than anger and disappointment in years now.
Not that Izuku necessarily blames Kacchan, he is awfully disappointing in comparison.

Izuku is a lot of things, but stupid is thankfully not one of them. He figured it out, eventually, that he and Kacchan were no longer friends, and why. It actually took a pathetic amount of time for Izuku to come to terms with it, once he realized. When Kacchan stopped coming to family holidays, and he lost the last opportunity outside of school he had? All that was left was to accept that their previous relationship to one another was gone. Kacchan outgrew him, as he did his interest in comic books, in playing the drums, and in the matching pajamas they used to have. Kacchan was bright and fierce and amazing, and Izuku was just a barnacle on his ship.

It's almost funny. He'd been toying with the idea of confessing today. As a way to get closure, yknow? He's not immune to the excitement and trepidation in the air. Farewells and nostalgia cling to every surface, this is the last chance. The last stop on the line. He knew Kacchan was going to a prestigious high school, one he certainly couldn't afford to tag along to. Izuku had already secured his place with Aldera High School, he had done very well in the examinations, he even got a scholarship for the additional tuition he was originally planning on getting a job to pay.

It all worked out, everything tied up in a nice little bow... except of course, the undying, cloying love that has been festering in Izuku's chest since that first day at Kacchan's house all those years ago.
A love fanned by soft sweaty hands tugging him through crowds, by watchful eyes keeping him safe, by conspiratorial glances and stolen cookies from the cookie jar. He lost his nerve, of course, decided that it was pathetic to bother Kacchan with his decade's worth of unrequited love.

It definitely had nothing to do with knowing that Kacchan would likely beat the shit out of him for looking at him like that, ever. He had given up a long time ago on ever being with Kacchan, but to hear that revulsion from the source? Izuku really is pathetic, he doesn't think he could stomach that without vomiting. So, a confession was out of the question.

Ridiculous to still be so upset about it.

Grow up, Izuku.

"I thought you were done with this stupid bullshit." Kacchan growls, holding up the stolen notebook like it personally pissed in his breakfast cereal. Izuku can read the cover from here, but he doesn't need to. This is Hero Analysis for the Future, volume 13, focusing mainly on his ideas for some sort of mobility support item. Hundreds of concept designs, a few transcribed interviews from popular tech companies on their new product lines, including a promising new filament that was light but incredibly durable. He had just been finishing up transcribing the annotated notes about the comings and goings of the man Izuku is pretty sure is the wanted pickpocket the police have been investigating for the last couple weeks.

He doesn't respond. He doesn't have anything to say to Kacchan about it. While the blonde may have forgotten their promise, Izuku has no intentions of giving up his dream, as childish and unrealistic as it might be. He's not going to lie to Kacchan's face, though, as he tried that once and telling his mom he fell had barely worked on the first black eye, and he's pretty sure if he tries that one again she might have a heart attack.

"Cat got your fucking tongue?" Kacchan's voice is acidic, and he's looming over Izuku in a way he wasn't a moment ago. Izuku does not raise his eyes though, instead he cuts them to the side, towards where the sun is lowering in the sky to the West. If he doesn't leave soon, he won't make it back before it's dark, and his mom will worry. His shoulders hunch in, an attempt to make himself smaller, a less interesting target.

"Oh I see, little Deku hasn't given up on the idea of being a fucking superhero." His lackeys snicker, but there is nothing humorous in Kacchan's tone. He heard Izuku's silence for the confirmation it was.
"I know just what to fucking do. You want to fly, Deku?" The words are gravel in Kacchan's throat, quiet and strangled, like he garbled glass before saying them.

The grit in the tone makes Izuku peek at Kacchan from the corner of his eye, still facing the roof edge where the setting sun has the clouds bleeding brilliant beautiful red and orange. The colors of the sunset make his fine blonde hair glow gold, and his eyes are tumultuous bloody seas.

For a second, Izuku lets himself look at how pretty Kacchan is.

It's been awhile since he looked, always afraid of what he'll see when he does, but in the sunset on the last day of school before losing him for good?

Izuku lets himself look one last time.

He sees the flash of surprise when their eyes actually meet, instead of the sidelong glances and active avoidance Izuku has been committed to for quite some time.

From this perspective, he can see the hate boil into resolve in Kacchan's liquid ruby eyes. He sees the faint shake of his shoulders in unbridled rage, and he sees the barely-there tremble of Kacchan's hand as he snatches Izuku's wrist and yanks him closer to the roof's edge. Before Izuku can find his footing to pull away, he finds himself dangerously close to the edge, the toe of his left sneaker unmoored in the air. He feels the firm grip of Kacchan's warm hand on his wrist, bone crushingly tight, not a chance of releasing him to what would have to be his untimely death.

"Is this what you fucking want? Is this good enough? Enough fucking excitement for you, Deku? Dangerous enough? Like following around a grown ass man in the dark to get proof he's shoplifting?! That's a normal fucking thing for you to do, apparently, that's safe enough for Deku, so this must be a normal fucking Tuesday, right?" Izuku doesn't speak, doesn't make a single sound. He's distracted by the lengthening shadows around him, as the sun sinks further and further from the sky. "ANSWER ME, DEKU!" The words are hissed through clenched teeth, the volume startling birds from the electric wire a few buildings over.

The molten copper of the sun is harsh and glaring under lavender and maroon clouds. The breeze up here tousles Izuku's curls, almost lovingly, and tears drip unbidden from his cheeks and fall. He stutters a shocked gasp when they don't plop onto the concrete below him, but fall the two stories over the edge to disappear in the encroaching shadows below.

"I - I don't u-understand..." Izuku whimpers. This is by far the furthest Kacchan has ever gone to prove his point, and it isn't even necessary!

He was safe when tailing that guy. He disguised himself (obviously not well enough if Kacchan knew about it, he amends internally), he stayed 50 feet away at all times, he was home before his mom even knew he was gone (thankfully her waitressing job has her sleeping deeply these days). He wasn't going to confront the man, but gather evidence out of sight until he had something substantial enough to forward on to the police.

Izuku was being responsible, he thought. A Good Samaritan, at least.

Certainly a useless Deku could take his nerdy notes and hand them off to someone stronger to actually do something about it, right?
He thought Kacchan would have been proud, maybe.

Delusional.

He feels Kacchan yank him away from the edge, and the sob that wrenches out of him when that happens is pathetic even to his own ears. He's still only a step or two from the edge, but he doesn't look at Kacchan, his wrist still held tightly in Kacchan's strong grip.

"Get this through your thick fucking skull," Kacchan's words are hard and sharp, but quieter than his usual speaking voice. "Stop. Trying. To. Play. Hero."

As the last word hangs in the air, Kacchan let's his punishingly tight hold on Izuku's wrist finally go lax, feeling almost tender as he lets the weight of the extremity slide from his grasp, the echo of every fingerprint throbbing with exposure to circulation once more. Izuku winces at the feeling of pins and needles, and feels his notebook crash into his chest a second later.

There were a lot of things that were unfortunate about that last meeting on the roof of Aldera Middle School.

It was unfortunate that Kacchan followed him up here.
It was unfortunate that this would be their last interaction before moving on to high school.
It was unfortunate that Izuku had no intentions of confessing his love for his childhood friend.
It was unfortunate that Izuku was so clumsy, and unfortunate that Kacchan was so strong.
It was unfortunate that the weight of a simple notebook was enough to knock Izuku off kilter.

It was so incredibly unfortunate that he hadn't taken another half step away from the edge, because when he hears his sneaker scuff the concrete instead of finding purchase, when he feels his center of gravity tipping him back, with nothing substantial to hang on to, he sees with perfect, horrible clarity the pure terror that floods Kacchan's face.

He sees the mask of hate drop away, and the vulnerability of seeing brave, confident Kacchan scared for the very first time in his life is distracting enough not to see the hand reaching out to yank him back.

He misses the hand he's been daydreaming about for years by mere centimeters.

"DEKU!!!"

It's lucky that two stories isn't all that high, when you think about it.

If it had been intentional he probably wouldn't have had his dominant side be the side that hit the ground first, not that he's complaining. When the paramedics are called, when the surgeries on his shoulder are finished, when the scars settle ugly and mottled into his skin, when he has to go through mandatory counseling for his apparent suicide attempt, and when he comforts his mother in their tiny apartment, with only the glow from the TV to illuminate her tears, the thing that upsets him most is that he never saw Kacchan after that.

Not once.

Not even a passing glance of blonde hair or red eyes.
The last memory he has of Kacchan is that look of fear, and missing the hand that reached out for him for the very first time.

It's closure, in its own way.

Chapter 3: A Promise Remembered

Summary:

Katsuki ruminates on the events that happened on he and Deku's last meeting, and the squad pressure him to hang up the lab coat for once.

Every single night, Katsuki dreams of wide, tear filled, emerald eyes, and the hand of his favorite person slipping out of his reach before disappearing into the inky blackness.

Every time, he wakes with that panic fresh in his mind. Sweat beads on his brow, his shoulders shake with the gasping breaths he's taking, and traitorous, pathetic tears burn in his eyes.

If you asked him what he'd been thinking that day, he could tell you but it wouldn't make a difference.

He had just felt so fucking helpless.

Watching Deku, sweet, naive, waifish Deku, in what had to be one of his deadbeat dad's old coats from storage, follow a sleazy, grown ass man around like the world's shittiest spy could have been funny if it weren't so fucking scary. Izuku was maybe a hundred pounds soaked to the bone, five foot fucking nothing, with the self defense skills of a skittish bunny.

What was he thinking?

What was he going to do?

Throw his backpack at the guy and hope it somehow contained enough foolhardy audacity and nerd anthologies to knock the asshole out cold?

He wasn't even supposed to be out this late!

It was passed curfew, for him and damn sure for Deku. Katsuki himself had been shooting the shit with some random idiots, not wanting to go home and get nagged at by the Old Hag or listen to his father's well-meaning rambling speeches, as a matter of fact he could practically hear it now: "

You know who I haven't seen in awhile? Izuku! Why don't you invite him over for a sleepover one of these days? You'll be in high school before you know it, you don't want to lose the kind of bond you kids have!"

You're obvious, old man.

Very obvious.
You know who else was obvious?

This fucking idiot, hiding behind a tree that wasn't wider than a cereal bowl. Admittedly, his hair did blend in to the leaves a bit, but it was still a piss poor disguise.

Even worse than that, Katsuki was just standing on the sidewalk, struck dumb by how useless Deku actually was.
He hadn't even noticed Katsuki standing there, not ten feet away!

Minutes crawled by, and still he did not notice.

Katsuki followed the other boy slowly, quietly for over an hour. Watched him duck behind trash cans, slip into alleys, and trip over thin fucking air in his pursuit of some random jackass. He was so fucking focused on watching this petty thief, jotting down little notes in that stupid fucking notebook, that he couldn't feel Katsuki's eyes on him.

He can admit, in the right setting, that Deku not looking at him was one of Katsuki's least favorite things about their middle school dynamic.
Second only to watching the nerd become more anxious, more frail, more unsure of himself. Further and further from the starry eyed crybaby he used to take care of so ardently, and further from the hero he kept trying to be.

For years the nerd had followed him with those eyes. Deku was perceptive, analytical, and he was especially talented when it came to Katsuki. Deku saw every twitch, every tell, every breath, every emotion pass through him like he was reading his own shitty handwriting on the wall. Katsuki felt raw, vulnerable, almost naked under the weight of those olivine eyes.

Then one day Deku stopped looking at him at all.
Somehow that was worse.

No longer did he have a tenacious little shadow waxing poetic about Katsuki under his breath.

It hurt, for some reason.

At first it just pissed him off. If the nerd wanted to avoid his eyes that was his own goddamn problem. Katsuki was getting stronger, faster, he was going to do great things. Hell, he had top grades, he was athletic, there was no hobby he picked up that he didn't immediately excel at. He was the king of that shitty middle school, and he didn't need Deku.

That's what he tried to tell himself anyways.

As weeks turned to months, and the months into years? He came to realize he did need Deku.

He needed that adoration, like he needed air to breathe, and the longer he went without it, the worse he acted out to try and get it. He lost all sense of decency, he was just an addict in withdrawal jonesing for a hit of his favorite drug: Deku's attention.

Having some random extra blow smoke up his ass was not the same. Hearing spineless wannabes kiss his ass had no effect besides revulsion. He got a few confessions from girls, cute ones if his entourage were to be believed, but all he could think about were green eyes and freckles. The thrill, the fluttery feeling he got in his stomach when faced with the genuine awe that Deku had showered him with since the day they first met, was suddenly gone and Katsuki felt its absence like an amputated limb.

At first he was worried that Deku would make new friends, leave him behind, outgrow him.

But it was somehow worse than that, because instead, he saw Deku snap shut like a bear trap, hunch in on himself, eyes shifting perpetually anywhere Katuski wasn't. The ground, the table, the board, the ceiling, out the window, an eraser across the room, a piece of literal garbage a few inches from the waste basket in the corner... that's where Deku's eyes were.

Worse, Deku had perfectly valid reasons to stop fawning all over Katsuki. Katsuki was an irrationally jealous, possessive, angry, mean, vicious, and selfish person, it only took a decade for the nerd to see it. Didn't stop him from harassing Deku. Any kind of attention is better than the gnawing black hole of nothing. It wasn't as if Katsuki had nothing to say, either.

Worry and concern were not comfortable emotions for Katsuki to deal with. Look, he spent a lot of time thinking about it. Deku was vulnerable, weak, small. What if that petty thief had noticed he had a fan club? What if Katsuki had gone home like he was supposed to, and that sick fuck snatched Deku? Kidnapped him or worse?

Nobody would have known.

Katsuki would have gone to school and seen Deku's empty desk and worried himself sick over it. It would have taken a few days for him to ask Aunty about it, if she didn't call his own mother first.
By that time Deku would have been dead, trafficked, or... he feels ill. The bottom line is that the nerd was reckless.

He scared the shit out of Katsuki and he never listened to reason.

Deku was fourteen, for fuck's sake. Someone had to get it through that thick skull that he was not All Might.

He didn't have super powers. He wasn't invulnerable, he wasn't even a challenge.

He was going to die if he kept doing this reckless shit.

So clearly, he was used to Deku not paying him attention anymore. He was painfully, painstakingly aware that Deku's eyes avoided him.

If his therapist asks, that's not what incensed him enough to pull that stupid stunt on the roof, he swears its not.

The fact that Deku did look at him, actually looked at him, for the first time in what felt like forever.
The shock of seeing those sparkling green eyes finally look at him?

To meet his gaze, for the first time in what felt like years?

That broke him.

It felt so final, the way Deku looked at him then. Like he was committing every shadow to memory to subsist on for the rest of his life.

He looked so sad, so resigned, like it was inevitable that they would be there that day. Like he fully planned on taking one last look, and then disappearing forever.

That fucking face, those eyes, those freckles, that fucking idiot, it just fried his brain. He was exhausted from tailing Deku the previous night.
He had no time, no other opportunity. If Katsuki didn't scare him straight right fucking now, he was going to read about his death in the paper or overhear the old hag get the call from Aunty.

That wasn't an option.

So he reacted.

He only wanted to scare Deku. Set him on the right path. Just enough to make him realize how ridiculous he was being. How reckless! Confront his own mortality, realize how vulnerable he really was.

That was all.

Katsuki would never actually hurt him, he swears.

He would never hurt Deku.

Not on purpose.

He would have sworn it to All Might until he watched his own careless, petty actions cause the very thing he was so fucking scared of.

It was Katsuki's fault.

Katsuki was the one to blame.

After the ambulances scraped his friend off the sidewalk, after the sirens finally faded into the distance, and after that sun had finally set, Katsuki made a few decisions.

1. Deku would never have to see him again, he'd make sure of it.
2. Katsuki would become a hero, the kind who would watch out for self sacrificial, idealistic, reckless nerds out past curfew.

Just in case.

 

---

 

Katsuki wasn't looking for friends in high school.

In fact, he was looking to be left the fuck alone, actually, but through some kind of universal fuck up, Katsuki ended up with a group of idiots he just couldn't shake.
Unfortunately they really were idiots. Shitty Hair, Pinky, Soy Sauce Face, and Pikachu were colossal pains in his ass, and they were constantly badgering him to open up, to hang out outside of classes, to be friendly. He told them to fuck off, of course, but they were persistent. It reminded him too much of a certain green-haired, freckled, nameless figment of his imagination, if he's honest.

So when he had informed the idiot squad that NO, he was not going to that Airhead's dumbass party, losing brain cells to cheap liquor she swiped from her parents. He was going to be in the chemistry laboratory working late, because he actually cared about his future, and he had a top tier University to get into - he did not expect them to show up to "keep him company".

"Not a chance in hell. Get the fuck out of my lab." Katsuki's tone offered no argument, but instead of fleeing (the safe option), his... ugh... friends, pointedly ignored him.

"It's not YOUR lab, you know. It belongs to the school." Pinky pointed out, inspecting her nails, gaudy acrylic things with turquoise and magenta polka dots.

"Yeah, come on, you bailed on Camie's party to do homework? That's so lame." Dunce Face whined, spinning around in the teacher's stool at the front of the lab.

"I think what Mina and Denks are getting at is that it's a Friday night! We're Juniors, Prom is coming up," Katsuki pointedly ignored the eyebrow waggles from seemingly every idiot in the room, "and you're holed up in the chem lab like a nerd." Shitty Hair grinned when Katsuki choked on a laugh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"And I told you I don't give a fuck. I'm busy. Get the fuck out. I do not care about getting my dick wet at Airhead's party, I do not care about Prom, and I do not care how you think I should be spending my time!" Katsuki barked, and it was enough to make Soy Sauce Face roll his eyes and move towards the door.

"Fine, fine, work yourself to death in here on your Super Top Secret Project, Agent Bitchboy, see if I care, but I'm going to this party. The Sero train is officially leaving the station if anyone wants a ride to Camie's." Soy Sauce Face sent a mocking salute to Katsuki, and then loped to the door, smacking the top of the door jam easily with his freakish height and long limbs.

Creepy motherfucker.

Pinky whined but stood up and tugged her big dumb boyfriend by his jacket to come with her.

"If Kats is going to be a stick in the mud, I'm content leaving him to his... whatever the hell he's doing." She made a dismissive hand motion and then blew him a kiss. "Text us if you change your mind, babes!"

"Ha, don't hold your breath, Raccoon Eyes. Actually, better yet DO, I bet you could survive with all that hot air in your head!" He crowed at her retreating back, only to see her manicured hand lean back through the door frame to flip him off, before grabbing her boyfriend's hand and pulling him to follow. Shitty Hair gave Katsuki a look, but shook his head nonetheless and smiled as he followed his girlfriend out the door.

"Hey Kats, what does this do?" Pikachu was holding the solution he'd been working on up to see it better, with no protective equipment in sight, before Katsuki could start yelling the idiot took a whiff of the substance.

"Jesus fucking Christ, get the hell out of the lab before poison yourself or blow something up, Dunce Face!" Katsuki yelled, quickly taking the flask in his (gloved) hand, shoving the cork back in and putting it back under the gravity well where it belonged.

Dunce Face made an affronted noise and fake fainted on a lab table, thankfully clear from glass, equipment, and chemicals, not that he fucking checked before he did it.

"You know, I'm not the one who blew up that bottle of soda, dude, that was Sero. He added the mentos too soon." Let it be known that Katsuki has made great strides working through his anger. He only threw four items at Kaminari before he finally ran away, complaining about his accuracy after every hit.

Left in blessed silence, Katsuki took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and boundless fury about the lack of adherence to lab protocol.
Laboratories weren't playgrounds, they were dangerous if you weren't careful.

Full of expensive equipment, volatile compounds, not to mention his own little pet project percolating on the rack.

He's just glad they left without anything going wrong.

Let the record show that later that night when the lab exploded, it was somehow fucking Pikachu's fault.

 

---

 

It could have gone worse.

Way, way worse, actually.

He could have burnt the skin off his face, like a Barbie under a blow torch, or choked to death on noxious fumes.

As luck would have it, he simply fucked his hearing up and the shattered glass had embedded itself in his exposed skin, mainly his face (though not his eyes thanks to the protective goggles, fuck you Dunce Face, he's lucky he hadn't blinded himself), his arms, and his hands were the worst case. They were bloody, lumps of raw flesh as he rinsed them in the sink, too shaky for tweezers to remove the glass piece by piece.

Weirdly enough though, the longer he sat there, the less everything hurt. At first he assumed he was going into shock when he watched the abrasions that he was just examining on his palms begin closing up one by one.

Maybe he was hallucinating, or he had accidentally gotten contact high from something in the lab.

Then he watched the nicks and cuts from the glass embedded in his arms also begin to seal themselves as if nothing had happened.

By the time the ambulance and fire fighters had shown up to his school, he'd already cleaned the blast zone, scrubbed his blood off the various surfaces, and besides some suspicious scorching on the ceiling and the financial impact of losing half the lab's glassware, everything was mostly back to normal.

He actually hadn't noticed the first responders were even there until one of them touched his shoulder. He definitely did not scream, or if he did he didn't hear it.

According to Shitty Hair, the school alarms had to have been going off the entire time, but Katsuki couldn't hear them. They took him to the hospital, where he was informed that Yes, he had blown out his own hearing in the blast, and he'd likely need hearing aids for the rest of his life.

He wondered if his handy new regeneration might skew that prognosis, but he wasn't stupid enough to open his mouth to ask about the effects he had seen in the lab before the first responders had arrived. It took months of testing to feel confident in the results of the lab explosion, and if he hadn't been there himself, he wouldn't have believed a fucking word of it.

Despite the surface of his skin regenerating incredibly quickly, his hearing was still affected.

As far as Katsuki could surmise, it seemed like when the initial flask exploded, a fine mist of solution had covered his exposed skin. His face, neck, parts of his torso, and arms were all exposed and possessed unnaturally fast regeneration. Additionally, if he built up enough of a sweat, he could ignite it, and make explosions with his hands. It was extremely cool, and once the shock faded, he was left with the understanding that, yes. Katsuki Bakugou, through a lab accident, had somehow given himself fucking superpowers.

It was laughable at first, some sort of badly written TV show plot.

A rich, asshole pretty boy working in a high school chemistry lab after hours manages to give himself super powers in a freak accident, and with these new powers he decides to use them to protect vulnerable people, as penance for a person he didn't save.

He can hear the jazzy intro and everything.

How dramatic, and preachy.

He'd never watch that shit.

Deku totally would though, and that thought is enough to make him smile.

Chapter 4: A Promise to Call Next Time

Summary:

Izuku's high school career has been eventful.

Notes:

Edited to remove some typo's and make things a little clearer, but no major plot changes! :3

Update 9/21/2025: Sorry to everyone who has read this chapter before, I decided to rework this chapter.

High school is sort of eye-opening for Izuku Midoriya.

A lot of his preconceived notions about the world are addressed and corrected in that time.

First, he learns that he isn't incapable of making friends.

In fact, by sophomore year, he has more friends than he had ever dreamed of (and one less than he expected).

The first of which is a kind and bubbly girl with pink cheeks and chestnut brown hair. She's the very first person he speaks to on his first day of high school. Embarrassingly, he almost trips, clumsy as ever, when her quick reflexes grabbed his shoulder before he can make a fool out of himself.

Unfortunately she grabs his bad shoulder, which is unpleasant.

It's still healing, still bandaged underneath his uniform after the surgeries following his last day of middle school. Some minor mobility concerns were hoping to be addressed in physical therapy, but he has to wait another week to remove the last sutures on the back of his bicep. Izuku really shouldn't complain, though, his doctors and nurses were incredibly skilled and patient with him throughout this whole ordeal, but the healing was going... slowly.

More so when he tried to do too much too soon, and continued to make the damage worse. Nurse Chiyo was always fussing at him to relax and let nature work her magic but things just sort of kept happening to him.

Reaching out to stop a runaway stroller at the park? Another surgery.

A particularly rough morning on the train? Another surgery.

Trying to stop a purse snatcher from stealing Old Lady Shizuki's bag? ... Okay, maybe that one was his fault, but he did get the bag back!

Off topic, Izuku.

He hisses at the contact, and the girl drops her hand as if he'd burned her.

A few explanations and stuttered apologies later, he now has a standing invitation to join her and a few of her friends from her own middle school for lunch.

It's weirdly easy to fall in with them.

Tsuyu ("Call me Tsu!") Asui, Tenya Iida, and Ochako Uraraka become his first real friends aside from Kacchan.

At first he was a little nervous, unused to having such pleasant company actually seem happy to see him. But they seem to enjoy his company just as much as he enjoys theirs!

They grow close quickly, starting from group projects in their shared classes, wherein the first time Izuku was chosen to be a lab partner voluntarily instead of just being paired up by the teacher... he actually cries. Study groups turn into watch parties for various movies and television shows. Something as simple as going to the mall with friends was never really a part of his life before, as he always used to have to beg to be included or take the hint that he wasn't welcome on his own.

Not with Uraraka-san, Tsu-chan, and Iida-san.

Trips to the arcade where Uraraka gets way too competitive, amusement park visits where Iida hurls after riding a rollercoaster , shopping dates with photobooth pictures and crepes, and even a quite frankly awful camping trip shape the landscape of their friendship. 

Before meeting the others, Izuku never would've been able to afford all these activities, much to his mother's dismay. She spends most of her time working, trying to get ahead on their bills, often working late at one of her many jobs to save for his future. He could never ask his already exhausted mother for the pocket money to do those sorts of things, so for awhile, Iida, the only one of them with a well-off family, ends up footing the bill on most of their adventures.

Something about "enriching the memories of adolescence" and "the coffers of the Iida family will not go empty over bubble tea" but Uraraka posits that Gift Giving was Iida's way of showing affection, since he was generally more reserved and uptight about things like that. Uraraka herself didn't come from money, and while Tsu's family was comfortable and stable, she had two younger siblings to be mindful of.

The Iida family certainly didn't have concerns like that.

It was actually a pretty big deal that Iida even went to their school in the first place. He certainly could have tested high enough to get into a nicer institution, since his family owned a major corporation in Tokyo, and he was a legacy kid. Apparently, he chose to go to this high school specifically because his brother had also gone here. Even though their family had wanted to send him to a far more prestigious school more befitting of his social standing, Iida refused, citing the same reason his brother Tensei had: he didn't want to be treated differently because of his name. He didn't want friends that hung around him because of who his family was, or because they thought he'd eventually become a Diet member and wanted to gain political favor.

Iida idolized his older brother, and for good reason.

Every story Iida told about his older brother was like reading a story about a knight in shining armor. The elder Iida is kind, responsible, daring, smart, and Iida wants to be just like him.

If you asked Izuku, he already was.

Iida was certainly responsible, almost aggressively so. He's certainly smart, always leading their study sessions with a passion and drive that Izuku could never hope to emulate. He's definitely kind, Izuku knows that intimately. Iida was also particularly good at math, and a little prodding proves he's very mechanically inclined, which makes sense considering his family's business ventures. He and Tensei have rebuilt engines together since he was a little kid, and then built racing bikes when the younger Iida was old enough to ride with him.

In those moments, recalling the time he's spent with Tensei, the strict, responsible Iida, who chastises Uraraka for eating too much junk food or harps on Izuku for his nonexistent sleep schedule, just melts away. In his place, is a wild teenager desperate to go a little further, a little faster. Over time, Iida confides to their group how much he and his brother love racing. Iida's eyes glow when he recounts the thrill of it, the exhiliration of it, the pride and respect he has for his brother's racing accolades. The elder Iida son was a frequent participant in illegal drag racing in the city, even winning quite a few of them! Ingenium was a well-known racer before he hung up his helmet.

"Of course, he stopped doing all of that years ago. Now he's a respectable police officer in Tokyo! My brother's past is something of an inside joke within the department, you know. Tensei was one bad race away from being on the other side of the bars." Iida chuckles, his glasses flashing in the fluorescent lights of the city.

"There's something about it, though, the purr of the engine, the feeling of the wind through your hair, the rush! It is quite exhilarating." Izuku marvels at the look in Iida's eyes and finds himself asking to tag along the next time he goes out.

He regrets it a bit when he nearly vomits the second the bike squeals to a stop. 

For as calm and practical as Iida presents himself to be, he's quite the speed demon.

Izuku finds it in himself to forgive his friend for that though, once he sees the wide smile Iida flashes him once he takes his helmet off. Iida is nothing short of exuberant, like he could never possibly be happier than when those tires leave burnt rubber on the pavement behind him.

He teaches Izuku a few things, especially when he mentions his own interests in building machinery.

It's with Iida's help that Izuku finds his passion for engineering, and with access to his connections and wealth, Izuku finally starts building the gear he's been sketching in his notebook for practically his whole life. Practice is certainly different than imagination, but Iida is as steadfast as he is knowledgeable. They strip a car down to its most basic parts only for Iida to hand him the drill and tell him to put it all back together. Izuku spends several days a week at the Iida family garage, and is lucky enough to meet the big brother Iida, himself.

Sort of put things into perspective, a little, since Izuku couldn't help but compare himself to the brothers.

After all, Izuku, while no longer the thin latchkey kid he used to be, now more toned and several inches taller than he had been at fourteen, is still just a kid. Bumming around his friend's garage, in his grease covered plain t-shirt and basketball shorts, he's hardly impressive.

Tenya, on the other hand, is significantly taller than him, with an athletic build and large wide shoulders. As part of the track and field club, specifically a decorated long-distance runner, he certainly isn't a slouch.

But then even he is awkwardly gangly in comparison with the elder Iida brother.

Tensei was easily six feet tall, muscular, and in his officer's uniform with his own shiny silver motorcycle helmet, he was intimidating to say the least!

If it wasn't for that easy going smile, revealed when the helmet was chucked to the other side of the garage, Izuku might have been frightened.

Instead, Tensei shows genuine interest in their projects. Rain or shine, Izuku finds himself in the Iida family garage learning about the emerging crime rates in Tokyo, specific neighborhoods that get less police attention, areas to be on guard in, tips and tricks on dealing with certain makes and models of cars, and which tools were superior in quality. Tensei is simultaneously kind and charming, and when Tenya wasn't looking, the pride in the elder's eyes was downright heartwarming.

This dynamic and time spent with the brothers leads to many misunderstandings in the first few weeks. Calling them both by their family name causes mix ups pretty frequently.

So, out of necessity, Izuku and Tenya started referring to each other by their first names. They were both a little awkward about it, and it takes longer than it should before Izuku is genuinely comfortable enough to call him so without second guessing.

Even though a large part of his time is spent honing his mechanical skills, the Iida garage isn't the only place he could be found when he's outside of school.

Tsu is a bit of an odd duck, though calm, collected, and peaceful in her demeanor. They're often a voice of reason for their group, able to de-escalate the impulsivity of a gaggle of hormonal and impulsive teenagers. Their plant-based diet and campaigns for animal rights organizations set them a part from most other social groups, and not always in positive ways.

Unfortunately Tsu was used to people saying they were creepy or calling them names, but Tsu never seemed to take any of it to heart, even laughing at some jokes good naturedly.

That easy, light hearted acceptance is inspiring for Izuku, so used to worrying about other people's opinion of him.

He asked them how they could just let it all roll off their back so easily? How did they manage to be so confident when everyone else told them they were weird?

But the answer surprised him.

"I'd rather accept myself for who I am, than become someone else."

Tsu apparently tried hard to fit in, at first, and was confused when that just seemed to make them stand out more. They tried dressing the way the other girls did, mimicking their speech and habits, but the performance didn't seem to make much difference. Kids just found new things to dislike about them as soon as they tried to change them. A social chameleon that never quite felt like they belonged in any group, forever on the outskirts.

So if changing didn't make them happy, if it didn't gain them friends, felt unnatural, and provided no incentive to continue, then it simply wasn't worth it. In the end, they were just putting on a mask, trying to anticipate what others expected them to be like. Instead of a person, they related more to the little frogs in the creek behind their house.

It was an active decision to let themselves be who they were, and once that was out of the way, they just never looked back. 

Izuku and Tsu bond over science, over the fascinating oddities that exist in nature. Between freeing frogs from the biology lab and making agar cultures for slime molds, their time together is both exciting and strange. Tsu teaches him to be curious, to ask why, and to stand up for his beliefs.  

Uraraka too was firmly herself in everything she did. She was energetic and passionate, always pulling their group to new places, a fervor in her step and a fire in her spirit that reminded Izuku a bit of... Nevermind.

Her infectious joy and competitive spirit lead her to join the Student Council. She motivates the others around her to be better, to cooperate, and to reach out to others. Their culture festivals are large events, showcasing talents big and small because of her relentless drive. She even convinces the teachers to let her attend events for all sorts of clubs, like chess, debate team, and judo to support them, bringing a dedication and fighting spirit with her everywhere she goes. Uraraka's fundraising efforts and genuine support for their classmates make her friend to all. Her energy is infectious, like just being around Uraraka for a few minutes is enough to lift the load a bit.

Her hard work isn't for nothing though. Despite her family's financial situation, or maybe because of it, she sets her sights on becoming a doctor. Her relentless care and nurturing spirit lend her to care for others, to make them smile. Even though her family owns a construction company, they aren't well off, and money has been a real consideration for most of her life, worried for her parents, anxious to lighten their tensions. Becoming a doctor and making lots of money to support her parents was not the only thing Ochako Uraraka was fixated on, however.

Himiko Toga is Uraraka's childhood friend. They became friends on the playground one day and just never stopped.

Izuku can understand that sort of bond.

They've been through a lot together, apparently. Even though they went to separate schools, there was an incident when they were in primary. A boy had been mean to Uraraka and Toga had stepped in to cause some serious bodily harm in return.  Unfortunately, when Uraraka tried to intervene, she ended up needing stiches. This wasn't the first time Toga had gotten in trouble, and things weren't going well for her at home, either.

That ended up being the final straw for her parents, who relinquished her into the system, which meant Toga was moving around a lot. The two kept in contact in the form of notes and letters mostly until they managed to save up enough money to buy flip phones for the two of them, with matching phone charms.

They were night and day, and yet somehow harmonious.

Where Uraraka was soft, Toga was sharp.

They kinda smoothed each other out.

 

Meeting her for the first time was terrifying, to be honest.

"Himi-chan!" Uraraka called, waving her arm wildly, sporting a grin so huge he's worried her cheeks would be sore later.

From across the food court, Izuku spots the girl he recognizes from Uraraka's phone wallpaper. Her smile was just as wide, and just a bit unhinged as she immediately runs straight for them, uncaring about the milling passersby or the looks she gets from the crowd around her.

"Chako, baby!" The blonde girl practically scoops up the brunette and spins her in a circle, obviously much stronger than she looked.

"What are we doing first, hm? Jin said I don't have to be back until six, so we've got all day together this time!" Not a glance in his direction, Toga looks enraptured with the brunette, like she hung the very stars in the sky.

That look feels familiar, somehow.

"I wanted to introduce you to someone!" Uraraka says brightly, turning her head to look over at Izuku. He gives a wobbly smile and an awkward wave, tempted to bow at her but not wanting to be too formal.

Toga's smile didn't really fall, but it certainly looks less genuine somehow.

"You two sure are cute." Toga says with a pointed look towards Uraraka that clearly has some subtext behind it.

"Oh be nice, Himi-chan." His friend rolls her eyes before playfully shouldering Toga, "This is Izuku, the boy I was telling you about!"

Toga's eyes sharpen with recognition, and her smile becomes wide again, enough to show off all her teeth, her canines a little longer than the average person. Izuku is briefly reminded of a shark who smells blood in the water, or a vampire.

Either way, he feels like prey.

"Zuzu, then! I've heard lots about you, we're going to be excellent friends!"

With no more preamble, Toga snatches his hand, her other arm still wrapped around Uraraka's, elbow to elbow, and off they go, Izuku just along for the ride.

At first, Izuku struggles to see what Uraraka likes so much about Toga.

She's a bit scary, intense about things in a way that's off-putting. Her zeal is intimidating, and especially after hearing about Toga's past, Izuku worries for Uraraka.

He definitely didn't want Uraraka to get hurt again. Toga feels dangerous, someone to handle carefully or to avoid at all costs. Being observant, recording patterns and analyzing people is something Izuku thinks he's decently good at, but Toga is something else entirely.  

She watches everything with predatory eyes, flicking from one thing to the next, assessing, evaluating, like everything was a target. Her eyes were such a light brown they almost looked gold, and in that perceptive, unblinking gaze, Izuku finally understands. It took awhile, but eventually Izuku starts to see what Toga has been doing all along.

The care and concern Toga showed was all for Uraraka, and based on the way their eyes lit up around each other, the blonde wasn't the only one who felt it. A strange magnetism they had, like Uraraka and Toga were just two halves of a whole. Their physical affection is consistent, but in an easy natural way, like they just so happened to fit together so comfortably.

Toga's fingers in Uraraka's hair, or a hand at her hip when standing. Ochako walking close to the other girl, linking their pinkies together. Tugging clothes to get the other's attention, sharing a parfait at the cafe. 

When Uraraka's gaze lingers on a store window for a beat too long, Toga begins steering them through the door, insisting on watching Uraraka try on as many outfits as possible. All it takes is a look, a small subconscious shift in the air and all of a sudden there's a drink from the vending machine being pressed into Uraraka's hands. Uraraka let her hands brush across a sweater for half a second, reverent, and Toga is already pulling out the correct size. Before Uraraka even has a chance to want something, Toga instinctively knows and is adamant about providing it.

Unquestioning, undeterred. 

Izuku is puzzled when out of nowhere the blonde points out a bathroom, announcing its location happily.

He wonders why she does so until Uraraka makes a beeline right for it without a second thought, leaving them behind with the bags.

"Oh, I'll be right back, thanks Himi-chan!"

Uncanny.

Toga was certainly energetic but not quite the way Uraraka was.

No, Toga was more impulsive, like she acted on the very first plan she thought of, all day and every day.

As they spent more time together, and as Izuku got to know them both as friends, he learns more about their dynamic, and the circumstances he didn't understand upon that first meaning.

At first he's just glad to see Uraraka had a friend she cares for so much, but the more Izuku sees them together, the more he misses Kacchan.

They're not supposed to see each other very often because the brunette's parents think Toga is violent and unstable. Toga has a tendency to take things, ingrained habits of self preservation earned through a lifetime of neglect. She often gets in trouble for shoplifting, or running away from her social workers, and occasional violent episodes like that incident with Uraraka in grade school. She's distrustful of most everyone, hyper vigilant around everyone except Uraraka and her adoptive guardian, Jin.

It was his unconditional support that helped give her some kind of stability. It wasn't smooth sailing at first, apparently, but over time they've become more like family than anyone could have expected. 

Jin is a scary looking man with a prominent surgical scar on his forehead. He often behaves somewhat erratically, and his reactions passionate. He doesn't have much of a verbal filter, but he's kind and patient as an older brother can be. Jin accepts Toga, just as she is and more than that, he finds her delightful. Jin understands her behaviors and her moods, validates her experience, and now Toga was actually enjoying her life, maybe for the first time ever.

Izuku comforts them both and assures them he doesn't mind serving as Uraraka's alibi for her parents and covering for them.

He's happy to help his friends.

Uraraka becomes Ochako, and their relationship gets more complicated. 

Toga starts joining their shopping trips, and brings odd bits and bobs she finds to Tsu. 

As far as Izuku's friends go, those two are the most physically affectionate with him. It's startling at first, suddenly feeling a hand ruffling his hair, or a hand in his to catch the train but he finds he begrudgingly likes it. Toga often ruffles his hair when he does something she considers "cute". Tenya lectures her for her manners while Tsu politely agrees.

Tenya often chastises Ochako about her lack of etiquette and public displays of affection. He doesn't touch people often, preferring a respectful distance. He gestures with his hands a lot, punctuating his thoughts or gesticulating wildly to show anxiety or excitement though. He's a polite, responsible kind of guy, and Izuku considers them very close friends. 

So when they first hear the news in the paper, of all places, he's shocked.

' POLICE OFFICER TENSEI IIDA, SON OF THE CEO OF IIDA AUTOMOTIVE, WAS INJURED FRIDAY WHILE PURSUING A WANTED CRIMINAL KNOWN IN THE HOSU CRIMINAL UNDERGROUND AS 'STAIN'.

Tenya Iida might be less affectionate than they are, but they are all still friends, aren't they?

Yet the warm Tenya he'd come to know in the garage is nowhere to be found. Instead, Tenya is distant, robotic. He formally accepts their concern but remains dismissive when they try to reach out to him. They didn't talk for a few days, Ochako desperate to check in, to ask questions and support her friend, and concerned by his coldness. 

He didn't eat lunch with them during that time either, and he skips study group on Wednesday even though he was the one who built the schedule and sent email confirmation reminders for each one, still. Tenya brushes off all questions about his well-being and while Ochako certainly came on pretty strong, she definitely isn't the only person concerned.

It was one thing to hear secondhand stories about the amazing elder Iida son, but it was another to actually know Tensei: to feel his calloused hand pat you on the back after a job well done, to listen to his perspective of his late night races across Tokyo, to watch him do tricks on a motorcycle that would probably give his mom a heart attack.

It was because of the Iida brothers that Izuku wasn't left in an empty apartment eating instant ramen every evening while his mother worked. 

Izuku is worried about Tensei, and even more worried about Tenya. So much of Iida's personality, his values, his essence, and morals are all tied to his brother; to the idea of living up to his big brother's legacy, to make him proud.

Izuku fears his friend might do something irrational without that boundary in place.

 

---

 

It sucks to be right, sometimes.

Izuku isn't sure if it was fate or sheer coincidence that he's the one who found the younger Iida brother that night.

He's patrolling Hosu, following the rumors about crime in this area being higher and some forum posts about the guy who targeted Tensei. People were agitated, twitchy with the serial killer on the loose, and the news has been weirdly quiet about it. He's not expecting to find anything, really, but something in the back of his mind tells him to go out and see for himself.

See, this wasn't something he did often, maybe just once in awhile. He's using the gear he and Tenya have been tinkering with, and while Izuku hadn't exactly told him what he was going to do with the technology, the other boy technically hadn't asked.

It was thanks to the Iida's help, that he's managed to scrape together his current costume. With his own inventions belted to his arms over a dark pair of rubber gloves and a clearly homemade mask - that definitely did not look like the one he has doodled in a notebook somewhere - he looks somewhat the part of a hero.

Misguided and clearly early in his career, but a hero nonetheless.

And a hero wouldn't ignore the sounds of a scuffle from the alley he just passed.

He stops, his heartbeat galloping away as he strains to hear past it. With deliberate and careful movements, Izuku backs up a few steps and peers into the darkness.
At first he doesn't see much of anything, but a passing car illuminates an all too familiar silver motorcycle helmet. 

Tenya's there, wearing it, the side emblazoned with INGENIUM, Tensei's old racing name. Tenya is splayout out on his stomach, face pressed into the filthy pavement below him, damp from the earlier rain. Izuku knows it's him because he's wearing the same leather racing jacket that Izuku knew originally belonged to Tensei, before he had handed it off to his younger brother.

Since the accident, Tenya has been wearing it a lot.

A hero wouldn't abandon his friend, especially when they are prone beneath the hulking figure of a man brandishing a syringe in his hand.

Izuku tears his mask off and shoves it into his pocket, cursing that he brought it in the first place. He didn't want to scare his friend, and he didn't want him to think he was a threat when tensions were this high.

The man burying his foot in Tenya's back matches the description of the man who attacked Tensei, and Izuku's stomach lurches with the knowledge. 

Izuku doesn't have time to think before his legs are already moving.

"Tenya!" Izuku sends a flying kick at the assailant, making contact, but not nearly as impactful as he had hoped it would have been. It is enough to make the man stagger away several feet from Tenya, but he definitely wasn't going down easy.

"Midoriya? Is that you?" Tenya slurs from the ground, his eyes unfocused and squinting up at him after his own clumsy hands paw the helmet off.  Izuku sees him suck in several quick breaths of air before slumping to the side, his eyelids sliding shut again. He isn't sure if his friend is okay, but the steady rise and fall of his chest indicates he was at least still alive.

"I'm here. Don't worry, Tenya. I'm gonna save you." He confirms though he's mainly focused on ducking to avoid the knife aiming to bury itself in his bad shoulder.

Most of the fight is a high adrenaline blur, and he isn't able to avoid damage completely. One good swipe of that blade has torn into the fabric at his chest, and the hot wetness pouring down his front has him panicking momentarily before pushing that fear down deep.

Now was not the time to freak out, he could do plenty of that later, but right now?

Izuku has a mission.

Get Tenya to safety.

He holds his own against the man for a few more minutes, but it's obvious how much more work he needs to do to pull this off in the future. Part of him assumed combat was somewhat natural, reflex, instinct, and it was. Kind of.

He knew when he should move, and he narrowed in on openings in the other man's guard, but his body isn't quick enough to keep up with his head, like there's a delay. He struggles, thinking too far ahead and getting distracted in the moment, taking a heavy hit to his thigh, and stumbling a bit. Izuku's hits are well placed, he thinks, but they aren't nearly strong enough to do the kind of damage he needs them to.

He activates the tech in one of his gloves, a gauntlet that crackles over his skin and leaves shocks tingling up his arm. It's built in shock absorption layer will build up a kinetic discharge of excess stored energy, but he isn't fast enough to land another punch before the man's left hand, the one with the syringe, is suddenly too close to avoid.

He curses aloud after he feels the stab of the needle, and the dull ache of its contents throbbing through his veins. 

"Y'know sharing needles is like super unsanitary." Izuku groans, ripping it out and tossing it away, trying to shake it off.

The man chuckles a bit at that, despite himself and continues to trade jabs with him.

Wow, he's getting woozy.

Okay, Plan B.

He fumbles to mash the button on the side of his wrist to activate Black Whip, a prototype capture weapon that he'd been working on.

But just as it did in the lab, the mechanism locks up, a misfire, and the safety wouldn't release again for another several minutes.

That wasn't good.
Gotta buy some time, figure out a way to force the other man backwards in an attempt to avoid the knives, while keeping himself positioned between the nearly unconscious Tenya groaning into the concrete and the stab-happy Stain, wanted murderer.

He felt his body slow down, but his heart rate only thundered on.

Gotta distract him.

Tenya begins to stir, whatever sedative or paralytic that was in that syringe is obviously wearing off. Izuku hadn't been hit with a full dose, more than likely, just enough to have him off balance, off kilter. He just needs to buy some time, so he starts talking.

"So, do you come here often?" He asks, narrowly avoiding the knife slashing where his face had been just a moment prior.

"You looking for the bad guy to monologue, kid?" The man's eyes are crazed, but razor focused, like he's been drinking nothing but energy drinks for days. His smile is unsettling, wide to show off a long tongue sliding around his teeth, visible through thin cracked lips. He makes another lunge towards Izuku, but misses by a mile.

"I just figured, you're an older guy right? Maybe you could use a breather from all this dancing!" Izuku channels a confidence he doesn't feel as he sasses the villain in front of him, but to his surprise it seems to work.

The man chuckles again, suddenly leaning back out of Izuku's personal space with an almost half hearted swipe of his knife.

"You know, I really could. Glad to see the youth of today respect their elders. These knees aren't what they used to be, you know." Stain chuckles, and taps the hilt of his knife against one of his knees. Izuku is momentarily surprised at the retreat, but isn't going to let his guard down until his friend is back up on his feet.

"Why are you doing this then? I doubt this counts as traditional cardio. Ever heard of a gym membership?" Izuku follows the wall closer to the mouth of the alley, just in case the guy tries to flee, but he's not sure why he's trying to stop him if it would let them escape.

The man stands still for a moment, before pointing his knife at Tenya, still laying on the ground several feet away, though he's fighting the heaviness of his own muscles.

"Ask him, I was just going for a stroll."

Izuku doesn't take his eyes from the man, but Tenya speaks up anyway.

"Tell that to the guy you mugged." Well, that explains the other body further into the alley, passed out cold next to the dumpster. Izuku hadn't seen him before in the dim light, but there he was.
"This is the man responsible for putting my brother in a wheelchair. He can't ride anymore because of what this monster did to him!"

Recognition flashes in the man's eyes as he regards Tenya with a scrutinizing and then pitying expression.

"I thought you looked familiar, kid. That cop, that was your brother? Bad luck there. The police in this country are just watch dogs, corrupt as they come. Bribes, exploitation, they're the real villains in all this. It's community service to get those lowlifes off the streets." Stain looks at Iida with sympathy before his eyes turn hard and his words drip with venom.

"Not my brother! He's a good person, the best! He SAVES people! Not trash like you!" Tenya shakily pushes himself up off the ground, still struggling to get his body to respond, but clearly fueled by anger.

It makes Stain laugh, but it doesn't sound as genuine as when he was reacting to Izuku, now it's almost mocking.

"Your brother is just another cog in the machine, kid. You'll find that out soon enough." In his fury, Tenya suddenly dives up from his place on the ground and tackles the man to the ground, hard enough that Izuku hears Stain's head smack against the pavement with a dull thud.

The brief surprise - and likely concussion - apparently isn't enough to get the better of Stain, though as he quickly pushes the drugged teen off him; but not before Tenya wrestles a knife out of his belt and knocks the new syringe in his hand away, causing it to clatter to the ground and roll under the dumpster by Stain's previous victim.

"You little shit." Stain growls, preparing for another slash of his sword.

"Hold it right there!"

From the mouth of the alley comes a shout Izuku doesn't recognize immediately. His eyes flick back to see if they're friend or foe when a boy he doesn't recognize approaches cautiously, brandishing a phone.

"I've already called the police, and they'll be here any second, so give up now, Stain." The newcomer has red and white hair and a large birthmark, or maybe it was a scar, over his right eye. It didn't take much away from his handsome face, but it was shocking.

"T-Todoroki? How did you..." Tenya gasps out, still not completely recovered from the drug it seems, but his grip on the knife in his hand is desperate. He keeps the stolen weapon pointed at the villain.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Izuku finally unclogs the mechanism, and activates Black Whip.

Sticky black tendrils erupt from the nozzles on his wrists in wild sprays, wrapping around and immobilizing the villain. The viscous black webs cling to each other, forming larger threads as they merge with one another and stick, ensuring Stain wouldn't be able to brute force his way out of them. The man is enraged, bucking and thrashing, clearly trying to fight his way through the muck, but Izuku was confident he's as good as captured.

It takes a special solvent to break those bindings, and he's accidentally glued his drill to the Iida's work table using the stuff twice.

In the distance, sirens wail, getting closer with every passing second.

"Go, Midoriya. I'll find you later." Tenya hisses, leaning back against the filthy brick of the alley's walls. "Vigilantes don't get special treatment."

Izuku frowns, but nods once, his eyes flicking back to the figure at the mouth of the alley, unsure if he'll let him go willingly.

"Take the fire escape." The boy, apparently named Todoroki, instructs quietly with almost no inflection in his tone at all.

 

So that's what Izuku does.

 

With one last look at Tenya, who nods, he turns his attention to the man currently bound on the ground. He has stopped moving around, and in fact he could have been meditating or praying for how still he was. Stain meets his gaze with a lackadaisical smile, a strangely genuine looking one.

"Nice one, hero."

He isn't sure how he feels about receiving that kind of praise from a deranged lunatic, but he nods in thanks either way.

The sirens are even louder now, and before the others could urge him to hurry, he's already running up the stairs.
By the time he makes it to the roof, it's started sprinkling.

He jumps from one building to another, thankful for the similarly sized apartment buildings giving him a pretty easy time. He only trips once, nowhere near the edge of a building, thankfully,  when his sneaker catches on a vent. He shakes off the brief delay, before taking another fire escape back down, almost slipping on the wet metal before stumbling into the crowd close to the train station. Izuku blends in, yanking his hood up and stripping off his gloves. He shoves them roughly in the pocket of his jacket. His other hand pats at his other pocket, where he had shoved his mask before entering the alley, but it's gone.

Shit.

 

---

 

After that night in Hosu, Izuku is happy to say that he collected more friends.

One of which was the stranger from the alley: Shouto Todoroki, the youngest son of the police chief Enji "Endeavor" Todoroki, notorious jerk.

He and Tenya have known each other for years, since they both came from influential and affluent families, but on a more personal level, they bumped into each other more often once Tensei joined the police department. Captain Todoroki brought his youngest son in often to train in the station dojo since he was homeschooled, so whenever Tenya would visit the precinct the two would speak and even shared meals occasionally.

Todoroki had received an SOS text from Tenya when he initially crossed paths with The Hero Killer that night and realized the offender had been drugging his victims. The arrest wasn't publicized, which both Todoroki and Tenya were infuriated by.

Stain was apparently a fanatical purist, who trusted law enforcement even less than the Yakuza did. He had a penchant for homicide, and for years he'd been specifically targeting people he feared were false idols, like politicians, corrupt community leaders, and police officers like Tensei. It was random chance that led Tensei into the grasp of the Hero Killer. He'd been on his way home from work when he saw Stain mug a passerby.

Tensei immediately engaged and called for back up, recognizing the man from his description. Drugged just like Izuku and Tenya were, Tensei managed to fight him off until back up arrived.

Unfortunately, whether by design or just sheer bad luck, it took much longer than it should have for back up to arrive on the scene, and by that time the damage to Tensei's legs was too severe to be salvaged. His amputations are healing nicely, but he's taken a leave of absence from the Department during his recovery, and with the arrest kept quiet, the city remains in the dark anything happened at all.

 

"Do you think Stain was right? That there are dirty cops in Tensei's department?" Izuku asks a few weeks later, sipping his juice pensively.

"I can't know for certain, but we've been noticing some strange behavior around the bullpen lately. That's why I reached out to Todoroki. I knew he at least would be on my side, even if the department was somehow compromised. But it just doesn't make sense, Midoriya. Tensei's unit was only five minutes from the area, and he's a beloved member of the Department, he's got friends everywhere. But the dispatch didn't mobilize until ten minutes later? It's suspicious, and given what we heard that night..." Tenya doesn't finish his thought, but he doesn't need to.

He was right, it was suspicious that back up was delayed so long.

According to Todoroki, who specifically did not mention who the assailant was, nor describe him in his tip call to the station, the response time was perfectly normal.

But what if he had mentioned the killer by name like Tensei had?

Would they have hung back just like they did before?

What were they waiting for?

 

"Did you go after him on purpose?" Izuku asks quietly, setting his juice down and looking at his friend solemnly. Tenya makes a tight face before nodding stiffly.

 

"Yes, I did. I anticipated he was still in Hosu. I looked at the documents at the precinct. It follows his M.O. to linger for a few days and commit random muggings until he has enough liquid funds to move on to the next city and start the hunt again. Tensei was lucky, Midoriya, most of his victims die. He'll still never ride again, but he's lucky to even still be breathing. I couldn't let that monster get away with something like that. I'm sorry I worried you. I should have been smarter about it, reached out for support. I know Uraraka was trying to help but I couldn't... it seemed so..." He cut himself off, as if the words weren't coming across the way he wanted them to. He took a deep breath. "Can you forgive me?" Tenya asks with a small voice, wistful and heavy with guilt.

"Of course, I can. You just have to promise me something though. Never ever do something like that again without telling me. While we're at it, if I have to call you by your first name, you have to, as well. It's strange to be Midoriya when I'm supposed to be using your first name!" Izuku points out with a smile, and Tenya looks up, shocked and grateful, like he hadn't expected it to be that easy.

"What, something like building weapons and taking out knife-wielding serial killers in a homemade superhero costume? Sure, Izuku, you know what, the next time I decide to take the law into my own hands, I promise to run it by you first." Tenya's voice is chiding but his amused smile shows his relief.

"Yeah." Izuku agrees easily, "leave that kind of thing to the professionals. " Tenya barks out a laugh and Izuku can't help chuckling back. He tips his head back, resting it against the cabinets in the Iida's family garage. The hanging fluorescent lights flicker and hum above him.

It takes a few more minutes before either speak again.

"You were incredible, you know." Izuku turns to look at his friend, who considers him with a much less amused face, now. 

"No, I really wasn't. I wasn't fast enough, or strong enough. Black Whip got locked up again, and I couldn't get the shock absorbers in the gloves to work either. If you and Todoroki hadn't been there..." Izuku trails off, staring at his hands in disappointment. If he's going to do this, really actually do this, then he had to improve. He had to train.

Get stronger, get faster, get smarter, push harder.

"Don't give me that, I was there. Yeah, I saw the blueprints and I helped with some of the assembly, that's true. But you really did look like a superhero out there, Midoriya. How long have you been doing that?" Tenya's voice is low now, reverent and imploring.

So Izuku let the younger Iida brother in on his 'project', on the dream.

Of late nights doing hand eye coordination training in his tiny bedroom, or working on designs, his records and analysis tailing suspicious figures and patrolling neighborhoods based on that, trying to round up as many criminals as he could.

But he doesn't tell Tenya about Kacchan, about the promise they made as children to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.

To win and to save. 

He doesn't tell him about how they grew apart, or that final conversation on the roof.

Izuku keeps that close to his chest, like a secret just for him.

"You know, it might be prudent for you to consider hiding your identity. It could be dangerous." Tenya suggests with a concerned dip of his head. 

Izuku shrinks with a reluctant nod and shrugs.

"Actually, I usually do. You didn't happen to see a mask in the alley after I left? I checked my pockets when I got on the train but it was gone." 

Tenya shakes his head slowly, "I didn't see you wearing one? Though I admit, my memory of your arrival is hazy."

"No, I took it off once I saw it was you. I didn't want you to be scared." Izuku admits quietly. "Do you think the police picked it up?"

Tenya shakes his head again, slower this time. "No, Todoroki or I would have seen that, and according to our official statements you were never there. Explaining Black Whip was tough, but I said it was a science fair project and since I knew enough about it, I informed them how to dissolve it. Stain didn't mention that you were there either, in fact he didn't say a single word after you left."

Izuku frowns, wondering where it could've gone.

 

Oh well, he's sure it'll turn up eventually.

 

Chapter 5: A Promise to Yourself

Summary:

Katsuki makes a discovery, and isn't sure how he feels about it.
Updated with small fixes and grammatical edits <3

Fun Fact: KFC chicken is a common Christmas treat in Japan and the reservations tend to fill up a few months in advance!

Notes:

Hi everyone!
Thank you guys for being so receptive to this idea, I have most of the plot worked out already, but not sure how long it will take to actually get to where I want this story to end up, so bare with me. <3

I'm going to update the rating, and include a few more tags, so mind the updated tags, folks!

So, it turns out superpowers aren't the only thing that makes a hero.

Well a real hero, at least.

Katsuki hadn't expected it to be easy, necessarily, and he wasn't afraid of putting in the work.
Every facet of his life since he was twelve was in pursuit of this dream, and by seventeen, he was fine tuned for hero work. His diet, his extra curriculars, his sleep schedule, his fitness, hell even his masturbation was included in his extremely strict weekly schedule. He had it down to a science by this point, he knew down to the minute every aspect of his day, and that's how he liked it. He was tall, muscular, his stamina was nothing to sneeze at, he was intelligent, he was driven.

What more could he need?

Much to the horror of his band of idiots, he ate only pre-prepared meals by his dietician: no sugar, low sodium, no soda, not even pizza on the weekends or KFC on Christmas. Mina had lost her mind when he refused cake at her birthday party, insisting some bullshit about how he needed to "let loose" or some similar prattle. Fat chance, Pinky.
"You're gonna go grey by thirty!" She insisted, almost desperately pushing fatty foods into his vicinity lunch. So what if he'd never had a Twinkie, that shit looked disgusting.
No, Katsuki's meals consisted of healthy shit like vegetables, rice, and varied proteins that would give him the energy required for his militant training regimen. Dunce Face regularly mimed vomiting whenever he took out his perfectly separated bento, complaining it "harshed his vibe", whatever the fuck THAT meant.

His favorite part of the day was his morning runs, no competition.

Every morning he was up at 5am to go for a run, and while he was lucky to have equipment in home for this purpose, he often found himself outside, running an alternating circuit around his neighborhood, watching the sun rise. On nights he wasn't patrolling or working in the lab, he was in bed by 8:30pm sharp, no exceptions besides any previously scheduled personal time.

Dedication was par for the course, this was his goal in life, he obviously wasn't going to half ass anything. If you asked his parents, he was training for the police academy, but of course they were wrong.

He was going to be a hero, and he wasn't delusional about it. He knew vigilantism was illegal, but he wasn't about to let some stick-up-his-ass rent-a-cop put rules and restrictions and fucking paperwork on his shoulders like any other extra. No, he was going to actually do something.

Kick ass, save people, old fashioned justice.

But it was... harder than he thought it would be. Even with the added bonus of scientifically acquired superpowers, it was rough.

The first night he went out, after the lab incident, he was too cocky. That was a good way to describe Katsuki on a good day, but come on.

Here he was, all 5'10 of him, dense and compact with muscle, with the power to regenerate on most of his upper body to some degree, and he could make fucking explosions with his hands. Some panty thief was gonna fuck up his night? Unlikely.

So unlikely.

Maybe he jinxed himself, or maybe he would think that if he didn't think that was all superstitious bullshit.

Either way, his first "patrol" went poorly.

It was a Saturday night, Katsuki knew some poor motherfucker was going to make a bad decision that night, and damn it, he was going to be there to put their head through a wall when they did.

What he actually ended up seeing was a nightclub in Roppongi.

He wasn't exactly a frequent flier in the area, being only seventeen (not that he was even carded, what a joke) and not remotely interested in the nightlife scene, but he was somehow even less interested in the girls (some who looked even younger than Katsuki, barf) whose manicured fingers dragged purposefully against his shoulders, his hips, looping into beltloops to tug him this way and that. One incredibly bold dude, with a stupid little goatee and smarmy face, had sidled up to him, all smiles, and carded his fingers through his hair like they'd known each other their whole lives.

He didn't even let people who had known him his whole life do that, asshole.

Not screaming in his face or breaking his wrist was more challenging than Katsuki had thought, but if he blew his lid too early it would only scare off the actual fuckers he was here to keep an eye on.

He hung around the club, watching for dumbasses slipping something in a drink, or a drug deal, or... something.

This was a nightclub, weren't there supposed to be shady happenings in places like this? Where was the den of sin he was promised? These just looked like blasted twenty-somethings looking to destroy their livers or get their respective genitalia fondled. Fucking disgusting.

As it was, he just felt exposed. The longer he stayed, leaning against the cinderblock wall with a mean expression he hoped read 'stay the fuck away from me', the more eyes trailed his body.
The leering! It was incredibly rude and more than a little frustrating.

Was he not intimidating? He was a foreboding fucking presence, he had thought.

Did his resting bitch face not express his disdain well enough?

What exactly was everyone seeing so obviously that they thought he would be receptive to this kind of attention?

He almost wanted to ask someone if he was somehow advertising he was down to fuck so he could fix it. He knew he was attractive, but was that really it?
They just saw someone kind of pretty and they were queuing up to suck his dick? Not even a conversation? Was that how this was supposed to go? It's not like he was here with that purpose in mind, but was his mere presence an indicator of that? Was everyone here looking for that, and he had just picked a shitty night?
Katsuki could not imagine being that cavalier about who he took to bed, no matter how inebriated he was.

Not that he'd ever gotten drunk before, do you know how many calories were in alcohol? Too many. It was all carbs and sugar, fuck that noise.

Oh, and he was underage. That was more of a technicality though, as he knew the dumbasses got trashed semi-regularly at some rager or even just playing Mario Party in Soy Sauce Face's weirdly eclectic basement.

Some extremely oblivious clubgoers tried to make conversation, or worse, just recited slurred pick up lines in his general direction, but he told them all to get lost.

The worst was when a girl tripped, clearly intoxicated, and fell directly into him, soaking his front in whatever sugary pink monstrosity she was drinking. If she wasn't so plastered, Katsuki might have assumed she'd done it on purpose to make him catch her, that seemed par for the course at this point, but a quick look down at the absolute death traps that were her stilettos confirmed it was most likely accidental.

Who decided to wear shoes with heels that tall and be this wasted?

Seemed like a common sense issue, unless her drink was tampered with and she hadn't actually consumed much at all?

He ran through a couple questions, just to be safe. He asked if she knew where her friends were, how much had she had to drink, if she left her drink unattended at all, did she know how to get home? No he did not want to go home WITH her, Yes he was 100% fucking positive.

The interrogation took the better part of 10 minutes because the girl was so out of it, she kept giggling and dancing along to the music, not a care in the world for Katsuki practically babysitting her dumb ass.Once he located her friends and shoved her into the least hammered girl in the group, he merged back into the crowd.

He was sticky from that girls drink, and he was jostled none too gently by wild elbows and the limbs of unperturbed dancers. It took an actual concentrated effort to remain civil (and not throw a punch) when a guy wearing fishnets and tiny shorts wrapped his arms around Katsuki's neck out of nowhere and pressed his body flush against Katsuki's. He screeched at the guy to get the fuck off him as best he could in the throbbing beat of the bass and the hollering from the crowd, only for the guy to back off an inch and roll his eyes, saying something that Katsuki couldn't hear. He didn't care about what it was, and he couldn't read lips, though with his hearing he probably should add that to the list of skills he needed to actually work on.

He roughly extricated himself from the extra, and began purposefully shoving his way through in the general direction of the exit. By the time he finally made it to the edge of the crowd, he was practically nauseous, violently overstimulated, and desperate to fucking leave. Every song sounded the same, thumping and loud and annoying in his chest, agitated by his own thundering heart beats in his ears, the lights disorienting and pulsing as the beat stuttered and merged into what sounded like the same fucking song again.

This was actual hell.

How did people fucking stand this? Just packed into this dank, muggy room like sardines, smelling like body odor, skunky weed, artificially sweet vape juice, and cheap perfume. Wiggly, sweaty bodies thrummed in his vicinity, coating him in both sweat and discomfort.

With a gasp, he finally sucked in a much needed gulp of fresh air when he finally pushed through the doors and into the night.

It tasted like stale cigarettes, the petrichor of a coming storm, something metallic, and pungent likely due to the garbage from the nearby dumpster. Even so, it was still a relief compared to the heady, sickeningly sweet stench that still clung to his clothes.

Feeling properly objectified and his personal bubble thoroughly violated, he decided to approach things differently next time. He was too rash, too excited at the prospect of crime in general, that he chose the wrong location, that was all.

He'd recalibrate and try again.

 

---

 

Okay, so maybe the next few patrols weren't so great either.

Not for lack of crime, admittedly, and there was a gross feeling present that night in the club that was unique to that particular experience.

No, Katsuki's second night of patrolling was shitty because Nothing. Fucking. Happened.

He walked up and down a pre-determined stretch of city, known for being a bad part of town, occasionally moving to rooftops or settling in alleyways to avoid suspicion but no signs of trouble at all. Not even a parking ticket. Maybe media sensationalism had more of an effect than he thought. Here he was, wasting another six fucking hours lurking in what was supposed to be crime-fucking-central, and yet there was nothing.

He supposes being disappointed there was no crime was selfish, but he was anxious to actually DO something. Especially since after the accident Katsuki felt... keyed up. Like there was a buzzing under his skin, a burning ache to... he didn't know how to finish the sentence, and that was annoying on its own.

He was always hyperaware of everything, like he just couldn't relax. Lying in his bed at night, he felt it. Staring blearily at the showerhead, cold on full blast, he felt it. Eating lunch with the idiot squad, he felt it. In class, in the lab, and now even here, out on the streets?
What was it going to take to scratch this fucking itch?

He got his answer on the fourth trip out into the city.

Katsuki was on the roof of an office building in Ikebukuro, already long closed for the day, when he saw them.

At first, he thought they were just choosing an ill-advised location for some action, another sex-crazed couple high on hormones or each other that just couldn't wait until they were in private. He had heard some quite frankly disgusting stories of his parents in college, who were famous in their friend group for necking around every corner, no matter the occasion.

Unable to rely on his hearing at this distance (or potentially at all for something like this) he stalked closer until he was just above the alley, a birds eye view as he watched some gross ass pervert pawing at a girls skirt behind a dumper, she was crying, trembling and pushing at the man's shoulders in an attempt to get him away from her. Katsuki heard her saying no, pleading, her mascara smearing in tear streaks down her cheeks. Her eyes were large and wet, looking up to the sky until they met with Katsuki's, still on the roof opposite her. She stilled for a second when they held his, and he saw the man put his hand over her mouth to quiet her... and then all he saw was red.

Red like his own eyes.
Red like the sun on that day on the roof at Aldera.
Red like blood.

By the time he came back to himself, he was back home in his bathroom, and that same red, staining the porcelain sink was the first thing he noticed.

Second thing he noticed was that itch, that uncomfortable buzz under his skin was gone, or actually, maybe not gone... not completely. Soothed like aloe over a burn, he felt where it should be, but a syrupy relaxation dulled its texture. The only thing he could compare it to was when he had to have his braces removed after cracking a tooth in freshman year, the Novocaine had layered over the pain, not removing it entirely but hiding it from view, like a curtain drawn over the light of day.

Then he registered the blood on his hands, some of it cracked and drying already. Katsuki looked at himself in the mirror, and the face that stared back was vacant, a completely neutral expression stared back, none of the horror he felt internally was visible on that face. There were arcs of blood droplets up his cheeks, a nearly horizontal sprinkle of them over his nose, like freckles almost. A horrible, sick imitation of the freckles he imagined every so often.

At first Katsuki hoped the blood was his own, that maybe his regeneration had just kept him alive, but a quick glance down to his completely unruffled clothing showed it likely did not belong to him.
His hands were covered in it, up to the wrist and then splatters up his forearms. His knuckles were split, but were already closing up, bruises underneath turning back into his own tanned skin instead of the receding shades of purple and black.

That was the first time he lost time, and something deep in his bones told him that he had taken a life that night.

He returned to the alley the next day, anxious to find some piece to the puzzle, but there was nothing.

No blood on the pavement, no crying girl, no body.

Nothing.

He had apparently cleaned up after whatever he had done, at least, but his thoughts were stuck on the girl. He hoped she made it home okay, hoped he had not been yet another monster in the dark for her to fear.

Coming home that afternoon was rough, too.

"Hey, champ!" Masaru Bakugou was not home often, always handling the business affairs of his parent's collective fashion brand with a calm and ease that his mother could never, in a million years, imitate. Yet here he was, in the Bakugou family kitchen, a warm smile on his face as he mixed batter in a bowl, clearly having been at it awhile based on the muffins cooling on a rack beside him.

"I heard you in the backyard last night, messing around in the garden shed. Did you find whatever you were looking for? Made quite a racket!" Masaru chuckled, turning to his son with a soft encouragement that did not match the terror his words had evoked in Katsuki.

"Oh. Sorry if I woke you." Masaru blanched for a second, his hands stopping their work as he looked at Katsuki with poorly disguised alarm.

"It-It's okay! You can... you know you can talk to me? If you... if you're going through something?" Katsuki internally kicked himself, he was a bad son if a half hearted apology for banging around in the backyard in the middle of the fucking night was a red flag for his mental well-being.

"No, I just hadn't realized it was so late. The big show is next weekend, right? You need all the rest you can get." The concern did not leave Masaru's face, in fact his eyebrows drew together the more Katsuki spoke. "You look like shit, old man." He added, hoping the jab would feel more genuine.

It worked, and Katsuki wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

"Haha, I guess I have been stretched a little thin, lately! Here, these are non-dairy, and I cut the sugar in half, take a few for your friends too if you'd like." Masaru gestured vaguely at the muffins on the counter, returning to stirring with a smile, seemingly over his brief shock.

Katsuki hesitated for only a moment, looking over his shoulder and taking in his father's sloping shoulders, clad in a cream colored sweater, with the collar of a pressed white dress shirt popping up from underneath. His glasses were slid low on his nose almost in danger of slipping off completely. He watched as his father did a dorky shimmy with his shoulders, mouth soundlessly mouthing along to whatever radio was humming in the corner. He hadn't noticed music playing before, but he wasn't the best with identifying background noise since the explosion.

Watching his father, he was surprised at the ache in his own rib cage.

Masaru Bakugou was one of Katsuki's favorite people.
Didn't mean he understood what went through his head though.

Endlessly patient, shockingly kind, and more than anything, so full of love- not just for his emotionally constipated teenage son, but the banshee he'd been traipsing after for years.
While Masaru saw Mitsuki as strong, unflinchingly brave, as a warrior in every breath she took, the rest of the world saw a pretty face and an ugly personality.

Not too far off from Katsuki.

Not far off at all.

Masaru wasn't blind to his wife's faults, and while he was often the first to gently nudge her back into civility, he wasn't a pushover. But instead of seeing her as the burden she was, he looked at her with an unfathomable adoration that made Katsuki uncomfortable. Like no matter how she howled, or if she threw things, or said something cruel, it was just the price to pay for being so close.
Masaru had once told Katsuki that his mother was a firecracker, loud and bright, and yes sometimes a little dangerous, but he loved her spark, her vitality.
Katsuki didn't understand then, and honestly he still didn't now. His mother was insufferable, always yelling and complaining, a one woman stick of dynamite ready to go off at any moment.

He shook his head, Katsuki had more important things to do than wax poetic about his fucking parents, like whatever he had been doing in the shed last night.
Without another word, he pushed through the back door and into the backyard.

It wasn't massive, but it was a far cry from the small patches of terrace he knew were more common in this area.

Personally, he thought it was a bit of a waste.

This overly manicured thatch of grass was next to useless to his family, who much preferred to go hiking out in nature, untamed and wild. This suburban imitation of the outdoors, with its manicured landscaping was hardly "outdoors" at all. The well landscaped shrubs and perennials lined the yard in perfectly neat and tidy rows, planted in red mulch with bordering light ivory stones, like bones sticking out of congealed blood.

Fuck, he was turning into that emo birdbrain.

Get a grip, Katsuki. It's just fucking rocks and mulch.

His gaze caught on the garden shed in the back left of the yard, the door slightly ajar and... there was a red smear on the handle.
He did not tremble, he did not trip on his way over, but he was definitely breathing harder now.

Images flashed in his mind of the previous night, of washing blood off his own hands in the bathroom upstairs.

He pushed the door open with a creak, it's pitch making him wince as it squealed against rusty hinges, his hearing aid crackling with feedback from the noise.
There, inside, was a bloodied hand saw, a shovel whose handle was stained red, and the certainty that he was well and truly fucked.

It didn't take long to clean up his mess: an enzyme cleaner, some elbow grease, and a few scrubs with a rag and it was like nothing had even happened.

Well, if you ignored the clusterfuck of emotions currently poisoning Katsuki with incessant questions.

What the fuck did I do?
Was it self defense?
Did I kill that guy? (He answered that almost immediately with a "Fucking obviously", so there's one crossed off the list, fucking yay.)
Where is the body?
Did anyone see me?
Am I going to jail?
What happened to the girl?
Is she okay?
Did I hurt her too?

Okay these questions were not helping.

He didn't have too many answers on his own, and no feasible way to get any without confessing to someone about his Swiss cheese memory and clearly psychotic tendencies. He paid attention to the news that night, and the next several nights after, hoping for an answer, a blurb about the guy anywhere, but none came.
A rapist going missing wasn't exactly news, and that's if he was even known for being one, with the report rates as low as they were, he could have just been an average piece of shit letting his predation never see the light of day, not that it would exonerate Katsuki either way.

Whether that guy was a prolific offender or some salaryman with a mean streak did not matter.

Katsuki still fucking ended his life.

'But is that such a bad thing?' A voice whispered in the back of his mind. 'He was a piece of shit. You saw her face, she was terrified. She was not consenting and he tried to shut her up, so you took him out. Is this really such a bad thing? The cops aren't busting down your door, nobody seems to have even noticed. This was what you wanted, no rules, no paperwork. Just justice. You doled it out just like you planned. What were you going to do if you found a criminal? You weren't planning on just dragging them to the police station. What was your plan, Katsuki?'

He... didn't have one, he realized. He didn't have handcuffs or rope, no way to restrain someone.

Every night he went out with nothing on his person but a small folding knife he used to open stubborn packages.

How pathetic.

Shit, he was such an idiot. So focused on the idea of being a hero, of physically overpowering his opponents who were clearly moustache-twistingly evil, that he never considered what he'd actually do when he caught someone.

Is it really that easy? Taking a life?
Apparently it was.

Was he okay with that?
The buzz under his skin seemed to writhe in response.

Chapter 6: A Promise to Not Let You Down

Summary:

Prom! Exposition! Plot! Hormones!
Some side pairings are emerging, but remember the endgame will always be BakuDeku, I'm just a multishipper at heart. <3

Edited for clarity and formatting <3

Notes:

Update: 9/24/2025:
Okay, guys, I'm gonna be honest. I hated the way this chapter came out the first time. I had so much I had written in my head and just kind of assumed nobody would care about the details, since I was already establishing so much lore and backstory.

And then I updated / rewrote chapter 28, and then reread everything thus far.

I was unhappy when I saw the word count, and realized I had already unleashed the monster. A Universe that I had completely lost myself in, but wasn't giving the readers a chance to appreciate. The chapters in the first chunk, lots of establishing conversations, were "told" to you, instead of shown.

I'm sorry if for whatever reason someone prefers the old chapters, but I decided to just give all the context and worldbuilding organically. If you're still here reading this absolute behemoth, then I greatly appreciate you and hope that you think this chapter is more fleshed out and consistent with the personalities and events that have already happened in the future!

The night that Izuku has his very first kiss is also the same night that Ochako and Toga confess to one another.

 

It was just after midterms in sophomore year, and everyone is stressed and exhausted after the exams are finally over.

 

The Iida family, generous and proud of their son's top marks, invite them out to their beach house to celebrate their collective accomplishments. Tensei chaperones, of course, but he's clearly quietly disappointed in their little group, much more interested in playing board games and eating copious amounts of sugar than actually partying. The craziest thing they did was play spin-the-bottle, which was just as awkward as it sounded. 

Izuku is nervously excited when the bottle clatters to a stop pointing towards Ochako. They blush and face each other with flustered embarrassment before slowly, carefully, letting their lips meet in the middle... but both had broken apart laughing after only a second.

 

It was a fine first kiss, soft, not too wet, and Ochako's lips tasted like the mochi she'd been eating, but it solidified their connection as purely platonic.

By the end of that night Ochako and Toga are finally officially a couple, caught making out in a closet by a startled Tsu who was just trying to mop up a spilled soda.

 

Once they finally admitted that they had feelings for each other, things just sort of fell into place. Toga and Ochako were two halves of a whole, hopelessly in love and dedicated to one another.

Izuku was so happy and proud for his friends, but his heart aches with a petty kind of jealousy he feels guilty about.

It's not like they have it easy.

After all, the greatest love story of all time and they have to keep it somewhat hidden.

 

Jin, Toga's guardian, isn't the issue thankfully. In fact, nobody is more supportive of their relationship than he is, though that wasn't much of a surprise given his job at the League, a gay bar in out in Tokyo.

No, the issue is with Ochako's parents... still. 

Things never really improve on that front, no matter how many times Ochako tries to convince them. The Uraraka family haven't quite given up the hope that Ochako will someday grow up, settle down with a nice man who could provide for her or maybe even take over the family construction business, give them grandchildren, and let go of her childhood obsession with a troubled girl they've done their best to avoid.

 

They only knew Toga as that lonely little girl from the park, the one who hurt their daughter and that little boy, the one that their daughter seems so attached to. 

It's hard for them to see past her childhood behavioral issues, and they often try to limit the amount of time the two spent together. 

 

If only they knew how good for each other they are. 

How ride or die. 

 

Though he guesses he's lucky that applies to him too. 

He's lucky to have friends like Ochako and Toga.

 

---

 

If you were to ask Izuku to describe Shouto Todoroki when they first begin talking, it's that he's cold. 

Awkward and unsure, but soon enough the ice melts and a warm center is exposed.

Shouto turns out to be much softer than Izuku realized. His calm demeanor, his graceful poise, his elegant beauty, all felt so alien and strange to Izuku, like Shouto was more living doll than person. That was intimidating in its own way - like the prince in a romance novel, or the lead in a drama. His features are so delicate and impassive, and not impacted in the slightest by the huge scar across his right eye. If anything, it added to is mystery, to his mystique. 

He knows the story behind that mark now, a testament to the hardship his friend had endured and survived. Their late night meetings were brief respites for them both, for Shouto to have a friend and be himself without being watched by his father, and for Izuku to have a friend who truly knew him, knew his passions and goals in life. The unfettered and unobscured parts of his devotion to heroism. Shouto kept him company as he studied and analyzed chemical bonds and polymers, as he learned new techniques and exercised in his bedroom, as he dragged in junkyard scraps and improved his suit right there in the floor. 

 

There's a certain intimacy in having someone see you at your most passionate, your most unhinged. While Hitoshi knows all about the emotional garbage Izuku has steeped himself in, Shouto was one of the only people who knew his secret.

 

It was hard to keep in contact with Shouto at first, especially with the dear old captain reading his messages and policing his every thought. The man was critical of his son’s every move, every breath, measured against some impossible standard for perfection.

At first their friendship was brokered mainly by Tenya, and the frequency of their communication only increased when Tensei returned from his leave of absence, though his paralysis meant he was stuck behind a desk instead of out investigating in the field. 

 

Then one night, Shouto snuck out of his father's traditional home, and decided to pay Izuku a visit. 

 

Izuku is struggling with Black Whip again, the feed lines coming loose and leaking. He eyes the bottle of solvent cautiously, hoping he has enough.

A sudden tap on his window jolts him out of his thoughts. There's a figure outside of it, leaning forward and crouched on the small ledge. It's not exactly made for a person, though Izuku's used it plenty of times to sneak in and out so he knows it's solid. 

 

He isn't expecting red and white hair to greet him when he opens the window, but he's pleasantly surprised and accommodating to the development.

His lack of social skills prove no real barrier to Izuku, who struggles to perform them anyway.

 

"Shouto?! Oh, come in, what's wrong, are you okay? How did you even get here? Is the Captain-" Shouto crawls through the small window, finding it a bit more awkward due to his proportions, and Izuku only stops talking when he falls the rest of the way into Izuku's messy bedroom. 

 

"I'm fine." Comes a curt reply, as Shouto slowly stands and dusts himself off.

 

"What are you doing here? Is everything okay, I mean-" Shouto raises a hand to ask him to pause, and casts a look around the room. Izuku can't read his expression, just a mask of cold indifference, as he surveys the tiny messy room.

 

"It looks like you in here."

 

Izuku is flummoxed by the statement, knocked off kilter by Shouto's sudden arrival and the polite approval for his living conditions. His concern spikes a bit more. He considers calling Tenya, or maybe checking online to see if the Captain has already reported Shouto missing or was scrambling half the Commission to locate him as they speak, but Shouto seems to notice his anxieties.

 

"My Father does not know that I am gone. My older sister is amenable to allowing me some privacy and personal agency, so long as Father doesn't find out. I'm sorry to intrude, yours was the first place I thought of." It's somewhat of a shock, seeing as Izuku didn't even know Shouto knew where he lived? But it's sweet too, that Shouto trusts him so much, that he was a safe place for his friend in his time of need. 

 

"No, no. You're welcome here any time, Todoroki-san." Shouto's eyes tighten a bit, but the rest of his face remains blank and smooth. 

 

"Thank you, Midoriya, but I'd prefer if you called me by my first name, if it's not too much trouble. I don't want to be associated with my Father or his 'legacy' when it's just the two of us." 

 

"F-Fair enough. Have you ever, um, played video games, S-Shouto?" There's the faintest ghost of a smile on his perfect face when he shakes his head slowly, and Izuku grins. "Then I have lots to teach you! So first-" Izuku rambles on about the games he's collected over the years, dragging out a dusty console he's not touched in ages. Playing by himself isn't nearly as much fun, and a lot of his games are co-operative, including several fighting games that Kacchan had once brought over, demanding that 'shitty Deku' play with him. 

 

It's nice to have someone to play with, and Izuku's never been Player 1, before. 

 

After that, the visits slowly become more frequent, and their friendship deepens bit by bit. 

 

Since that first night, it's not uncommon at all to find Shouto sneaking out of his lessons to crawl through Izuku's window and listen to Izuku talk for hours, working on his inventions and building his supersuit. If they're lucky and his mom is off work, they have dinner like a family.

 

There's one large, gaping wound in their relationship though, one that festers and burns.

 

Shouto doesn't think Izuku can be a hero, either.

 

Their disagreements range from polite eye rolls and heavy sighs to crying, begging, shouting matches. Izuku loses count of the number of times he’s comforted Shouto, damp from the rain or tears, normally so blank faced and unaffected, shaking and sobbing in his arms.

Worried that Izuku is being too reckless, too conspicuous. That he was going to get hurt, hurt the way the Captain had hurt Shouto, and worse. That he’s going to be ‘next’. Apologizing that he couldn’t protect his friend if the police, if his father, manage to capture him one day.

Izuku learns more about the Todoroki family than he ever expected to, namely, about the abuse the police captain inflicts on his family to this day.

 

Shouto has always been kept socially isolated, locked away in an ivory tower of propaganda and right wing nationalism. Enji Todoroki's greatest dream is to ingratiate himself, his legacy, into the very fabric of Japanese government. He bought his wife, the second daughter of a wealthy politician, in order to give him children that would grow his empire and ensure his power. According to the public, Rei Todoroki is a dedicated, traditional wife with unfortunate health issues, causing her to be frail and often ill. 

 

Shouto’s mother actually remains in a psychiatric institution to this day, due to the treatment of her husband, which also resulted in the massive scar covering half of Shouto's face.

Of course, the papers linger halfheartedly on the rare appearances Rei Todoroki has made in the nearly two decades she's been married to their police chief, but conjecture around her absence is often tepid at best or nonexistent at worst.

 

No member of the Todoroki family is without scars from Enji Todoroki’s treatment; though none so profound as the death of the eldest Todoroki son, Touya. 

 

Rumors circulated when he went missing at fifteen, though none were all that surprised. Despite his polite, if not distant, demeanor at galas and public events, in the year prior to his disappearance he was documented by the media engaging in 'delinquent behavior': a rebellion to the Todoroki name having been seen at the political protests against police occupation, and seen cavorting with LGBTQ community leaders.

About seven years ago, The League, a well known queer nightclub, the same one Jin works for now, burnt to the ground.

Trapped inside had been Touya Todoroki himself, though no additional details on the case were made public.

 

Captain Todoroki, in a tirade that was shamefully in character, publicly blamed the club itself, its organizers, and their 'wickedness' for corrupting his son.  Conservative politics latched onto the story, spinning something about LGBT elders grooming him into their cause as a minor. Articles cited their 'predatory behavior' and named the social movement as the cause of this particular youth's death. The story was eventually pulled due to Touya's minor status, and likely the Captain's involvement.

Since then there's hardly been a word about the Todoroki family, like they had been scrubbed clean from the public eye. Shouto attends key events where he networks with other affluent families, and the photo-ops are always shared with media publication outlets, plastering page after page. 

It turns Izuku's stomach every time he sees one on a newsstand, after that. Shouto finds one of Touya’s diaries mid-way through Izuku's sophomore year, squirreled away in a Hotwings lunchbox, buried under the cherry blossom tree in the estate's back garden. He keeps it hidden from his father’s watchful eyes, and through it has learned that the official story is little more than lies.

 

In fact, while Touya had been sneaking off to the League much the same way Shouto had been sneaking off to see Izuku. Touya had fallen in love with a kid he’d met at a police benefit, and the two continued to see each other secretly in the time before his 'disappearance'.

That turns out to be another justification to say that Touya Todoroki had intended to escape his father's clutches, only the night he and his lover intended to run... he ended up dead, and the story manipulated by the same man he was running away from, Captain Todoroki himself.

Since then, Shouto has gathered all the information he can on his older brother, on the real events that transpired that night, and the suspicious circumstances surrounding Touya's death.

 

With such horrific circumstances, the cover up of Touya's life, the sustained abuse at the hands of the Captain, and the vitriol Shouto harbors for his father, Izuku is even more convinced that Shouto would never understand the complex feelings of love and disappointment that inform his life choices.

Shouto's first impression of Izuku will always be in that alley with Stain, outfitted as a hero, saving a friend, disappearing into the night... not the weak nerd getting shoulder checked between classes, hopelessly in love with his childhood bully and fixated on a promise a couple of five year old's made in crayon and glue. The Izuku that Shouto knows is not the same kid crying through panic attacks with Hitoshi, lamenting his own incompetence. 

 

It's hard to explain to Shouto why this is so important to him without talking about Kacchan, without letting him know what he's doing all of this for. 

But Shouto wouldn't understand even if Izuku told him, and the idea of showing that kind of weakness to Shouto, knowing now how his life had been up to this point?

Izuku felt like a traitor, pathetic not just for letting that wriggling worm of Kacchan's ethos bury deep into his soul and rot there, but Izuku has no intentions of ridding himself of it, either. In fact, he's defensively protective of their shared promise.

 

Sure, Kacchan and he certainly wouldn't be getting married, they wouldn't be friends forever, they wouldn't be super heroes together... but Izuku could carry that torch for them both.

Selfish? Unfortunately. Obsessive? Certainly. Dangerous? Absolutely. 

 

But wrong? 

Well, Izuku just can't believe that. This is what he's for, this is his purpose.

Shouto vehemently disagrees with that decision.

 

Knowing that one of his best friends runs around clad in spandex and sneakers, intent on fighting crime by moonlight - always running the risk of arousing the suspicion of his father - was more than enough stress for Shouto to deal with. 

 

Izuku doesn't want to burden his friend with anything more than that.

This compartmentalization has strong ripple effects in the strangest of ways. 

 

For one, his two best friends loathe each other.

 

Hitoshi, angry and judgmental of Shouto's apathetic affluence, does his damndest to besmirch the Todoroki name to all who'll hear it. 

Shouto blames Hitoshi's influence, doing his best to dissuade Izuku away from crime fighting, from Hitoshi's calls for violence and justice, and away from the underbelly of the city's political echelons. 

 

Of course, Izuku remains at the middle, knowing that neither is right and neither is wrong but unable to defend his position without revealing something at his own expense. So, frustrated but unwilling to compromise, Izuku listens to Hitoshi's rants about Shouto's social class, and to Shouto urging him away from the perilous path he's chosen. 

 

A rash of unexplained homicides in Tokyo is currently diverting the attention away from Izuku's efforts for now, but whether it's today or tomorrow, his choice in profession will ultimately lead to clashing with Captain Enji 'Endeavor' Todoroki one day, and when that day comes, Shouto cannot (and should not, in Izuku's opinion) protect him. 

 

It's a source of contention between them, Shouto motivated by fear and Izuku by sheer stubbornness.

Secretly, Izuku worries his friend doesn't think he's strong enough. A fear Izuku shares, he might add, but would never own up to. Shouto might not know about weak useless Deku, but even in his current state, he's far from a pillar of peace and hope like the superhero All Might.

 

He's nothing impressive.

Just a kid with a dream.

 

A dream and a promise to fulfill.

 

---

 

 

Rumors abound at their school, about how much time Izuku and Ochako spend together. 

 

It's true, Ochako and Izuku are often together, sometimes even holding hands and laughing. 

It's all too easy to sell the lie that they're together when the opportunity presents itself. 

 

The Uraraka's are pleased, now allowing their daughter more freedom and less restriction, mollified that it looked like Ochako was finally letting go of her childhood friend. Izuku becomes her “boyfriend” for all intents and purposes, often escorting her on dates to see Toga at the League, now that Jin has gotten her a job waitressing there. Having her own income will be important, since Toga is working hard to save every penny she can to secure an apartment for them to share when Ochako goes into a nursing program next semester.

 

Luckily Izuku is often patrolling in the evenings, so he uses the same excuse with his own mother. 

He has to receive 'The Talk' approximately twenty times in the first six months of their “relationship”. It's hard to keep secrets from his mom, at first, but she works so much that she isn't around enough to catch the inconsistencies in his stories. The less he has to lie, and the less she knows about his extracurriculars, the better.

It isn't perfect, and sometimes Izuku wishes he could be more honest with the people he cares about... but for now, it's okay.

 

As long as everyone else is safe. 

 

---

 

Izuku is preoccupied, worrying about something stupid, when a crook gets the jump on him. 

 

It's not a deep cut, barely even bleeds, but he's faint and nauseous to a strange degree.

He swears it doesn't even hurt, but he feels numb. 

 

Cold, a bit.

His skull knocks into the wall he's walking beside, and he's losing his balance.

Maybe he's in shock? 

 

Panicking, he texts Toga an SOS.

She responds immediately, despite the late hour, and he is given instructions to the closest love hotel.

 

Luckily it's not far.

He grabs the key under a random name, this one says 'Saotome Kanase', and blearily stumbles to their hastily set up first aid station. 

It'll be much easier when they get an apartment, he always feels so sketchy doing it this way.

But he supposes this is pretty sketchy behavior.

 

He stumbles into the room and collapses on the bed.

 

The only way Izuku knows time passes is because he's in a different position, it's bright and loud, and suddenly his other senses wake up when cold wetness scrubs at  his face, He feels Ochako's sure hands on him, instructing him to breathe, he feels her poking and prodding at his neck while speaking over to someone else, but he can't see them or recognize their presence. 

 

Wide chocolate brown eyes fill his vision, and there's cotton in his ears.

Ochako has pretty eyes. 

 

"Come on Izuku, stay with me, okay, you're okay, you're gonna be fine, do you hear me? Izuku, I swear there's no way you're dying before you've even told me what the hell is going on with you! You're telling me one of these days, okay? So you gotta stay right here. That's it. Good boy. - Toga, not now!" 

 

Izuku frowns, confused and unclear exactly what she's talking about. 

His brain feels like sand.  

There's a ringing sound and sudden searing pain in his neck before he blacks out. 

 

He wakes up hours later, alone in the rented room. 

He's sutured, all traces of blood gone, clean and bandaged up. As he sits up, he notes that miraculously he's not too worse for wear, he could probably patrol tonight if he took it easy. 

 

On the nightstand, there's a pill bottle containing medication of various colors and sizes and a folded note.

 

 

You are so lucky I have a conference this morning or I would stay here and kick your behind!

Take the blue ones once a day, take the others once every eight hours, no sooner. Take them with some kind of actual food, or you won't be able to keep anything down. You've got a nasty  concussion, and honestly, you are incredibly lucky to be alive, Izuku, that stab wound was a close call. 

Next time it's that serious I want you in the Emergency Room, mister, you scared the hell out of me! 

This doctor's orders are mandatory bedrest, and I mean it this time. 

 

You owe me one. 

With love and the fury of a thousand suns,

Ochako

 

----

Zuzu, you are in the DOGHOUSE with Chako-baby. 

Check out is at eleven, so get out. 

 

Love you!!! xoxo Toga <3

 

---

 

It's a few months later when Ochako stealthily drags his neckline down to inspect the wound from that night with scrutiny.

She doesn't address it, but she throws her arms around him and goes deadweight, causing him to hold her up weaponizing gravity on him.

She's awfully heavy handed for someone who worries over every little bump and bruise he gets, and even though she's been stubbornly doctoring his wounds for longer than he'd care to admit, she still doesn't know his secret. 

Often Ochako casually inspects him for hidden injuries, or checks on the healing of a few pesky injuries she already knows about. Occasionally he still crawls to her in dingy hotel rooms Toga rents out under different names, but thankfully it's been months since he was that reckless. She's never directly asked why he's hurt so often and severely. Sometimes her chocolate eyes narrow onto his while she works, a few heavy silent moments of eye contact before she looks back at what she's doing and puffs out her cheeks. 

 

But still she doesn't ask, just berates him for the level of damage and threatens to tattle to his mother half-heartedly. 

 

She's a saint, really. 

 

He's not sure what conclusions she's drawn, what her theories are,but as far as he knows she's thankfully unaware of his activities as a vigilante. He likes to think that she understands that knowing would be dangerous. That she knows he would have already told her if he could and that it has nothing to do with how much he trusts her, really, it's about what would be safest for her.

 

And yet some reason, that explanation tastes sour on his tongue.

 

Sometimes he wonders-

 

“But it's a rite of passage!” Ochako whines, shaking at his arm like a little kid demanding candy at the store. He watches with good humor as she nearly stomps her foot in agitation, before her eyes catch his and he sees how truly upset she actually is about him bailing on her. 

 

His medic, ladies and gentlemen.

There’s a deep pout on her face, and he's certain if she got worked up enough he might see actual tears, which makes Izuku feel guilty immediately.

 

“I just don’t think prom is for me, 'Chako…” Izuku hedges, leaning away from her earnest stare.

 

“Please! You bailed on us last year too, and this is our last chance!” Her big chocolate brown eyes bore into him, and he fights the urge to look away.

 

“I can’t afford to be distracted right now, ‘Chako, you know how big of a deal this mentorship is for me. I can’t let Tenya bankroll me forever, so I’ve got to work hard and prove myself.” Izuku reminds her gently with a shake of his head, patting her shoulder gently to comfort her.

 

“I’m not giving up on this, you know. You'll cave eventually. Better for you give up now.” She warns him with a squint, crossing her arms petulantly against her chest.

 

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks, subconsciously mimicking her pose, suspicious at her certainty.

 

"I have ways of getting you to do what I want," Ochako says simply turning around with a huff. She only makes it a few steps away before she turns again to face him, the ire replaced with a mischievous smile and a comically exaggerated wink, "but if you'd rather be stubborn, then I'll use my secret weapon."

 

Izuku has a bad feeling about this.

 

---

 

Izuku is sitting beside Hitoshi, anxiously editing his portfolio submission for the twelfth time, while the other works on his essay submission for a radio internship. 

It's late, the moon high in the sky, but looming deadlines and procrastinating students mean that the graduating seniors are all hands on deck to submit their work on time for graduation. 

 

Izuku has already submitted the main bulk of his application for Tokyo University already, but every day without a confirmation or rejection was driving him crazy. 

 

Thankfully Hitoshi wasn't giving him too much of a hassle for his unhinged number of drafts, though if the tapping of Hitoshi's foot on the carpet is any indication, he's got his own nervous jitters. The program he's aiming for counts towards his Journalism degree, gives him air space on their station, and would pay decently for his living expenses too.

Izuku hopes he gets it, he really does deserve it.

 

“So a little birdie told me you’re trying to skip out on prom.” Hitoshi teases, keeping his voice low enough so as not to disturb the other library patrons.

Izuku groans, deflating over the table in a dramatic fashion.

 

“Chako told you, didn’t she?” Hitoshi's mischievous side always brings out the worst in Ochako. They constantly complain about Izuku's fashion sense and conspire against him. He should have known Ochako would tattle to Hitoshi.

 

"I don't reveal my sources." Hitoshi merely shrugs, a small tick of his lips betraying his amusement.

Izuku rolls his eyes but doesn't push. 

 

“Look, Toshi, I just don’t see it going well. I'm busy, I don't dance, and I've got a lot riding on my submission portfolio, so I really can't take a break right now. You know that. Everybody knows that. I'm surprised you're even bringing it up. Aren't you the one who's practically allergic to other people? I don’t want to ruin the night for Chako and Toga-chan, but I'm not going just so I can embarrass myself.” Izuku grumbles into the pages below his chin, turning his head to look up from his textbook pillow. 

 

If anybody can sympathize with Izuku's social anxiety, it would be Hitoshi. Nobody understands being a social outcast more than him, except maybe Shouto, and he doesn't even really notice most of the time. Normally Hitoshi is all about keeping people at a distance, and Izuku is suspicious as to what suddenly changed. 

While the two are certainly close now, it wasn't always like this. Back when Izuku first met Hitoshi Shinsou, the guy was very publicly critical of making friends, and of Izuku in general.

 

They had kind of a rocky start. 

 

Hitoshi accused Izuku of cheating in the placement exams, which of course sent Izuku into a panic spiral to prove his own innocence. As if enduring the public shaming and rumor mill wasn't enough, because Izuku was a scholarship student, an accusation of academic dishonesty was actually a huge deal. More than that, plagiarism in general could derail his whole professional career too, and ruin his chances of getting in to Tokyo U.

 

Thankfully, things worked out fine. 

 

Turns out Hitoshi was a bit of a lurker, paying him more attention than he'd thought. During a study hall in freshman year, he'd seen Izuku's notebooks with all their detailed annotations and schematics, and assumed he was running a sophisticated cheating ring or copying answers to redistribute. Of course it took awhile for Hitoshi to believe him, and they ended up in a fight behind the gym. 

It was highly dramatic at the time, but eventually his friend formally apologized and since Izuku's record remains untarnished, all is well that ends well, he thinks.

Shortly after the Plagiarism Incident, Hitoshi was transferred into Izuku's homeroom. When Izuku saw him leave holding a skateboard, he asked about it. Still feeling guilty about the whole situation with almost getting Izuku kicked out, Hitoshi offered to teach him how to skateboard as an apology.

 

The first time was awkward, mainly due to Izuku's poor balance and the stilted conversation between them. After a few awkward tumbles, they began to tease and joke with one another, and soon enough they were meeting regularly to hang out, or go on walks in the surrounding neighborhoods. 

 

At first, he was just happy to be goofing off with Hitoshi while skateboarding, and was grateful for the chance to improve his parkour as well. After the fight with Stain, Izuku made it a point to practice whenever possible, and Hitoshi was always good company. Now he's much more agile when traversing the city, and more careful not to be seen. A fun hobby with a new friend ended up being invaluable to his late night patrols. Izuku was still getting the hang of parkour and thanks to the skills he picked up while skateboarding with a certain moody teen, he realized how useful the skill really was. No longer was Izuku regularly breaking bones, misjudging distances or getting into scrapes. Truthfully by this time in his senior year, he's gotten pretty good and he really only has the other boy to thank for it.

 

Integrating Hitoshi into their friend group wasn't as easy, though. 

Ochako was welcoming pretty much immediately, finding their dynamic together as the devils on Izuku's shoulders. They rib him often, trying to push him out of his comfort zone and distract him from his work so he doesn't 'die from starvation in the Iida family garage'. 

Toga and Hitoshi have a weird mutual respect for each other and often get up to mischief, though their schedules rarely align. 

Hitoshi's dry and sardonic humor compliments Tsu’s cadence well, and they often fall into conversation on obscure and morbid topics, so that was fine, once Tsu became confident that Hitoshi wasn't trying to get Izuku expelled anymore. 

 

It was Tenya and Shouto where things got a little complicated. 

 

For the former, Tenya, normally so respectful and polite, was harsh with Hitoshi, and judgmental in a way that left the rest of the group uncomfortable and confused. Hitoshi's lackadaisical approach to the rules and general disregard for etiquette were antithetical to everything Tenya stood for. There were tense moments of Tenya lecturing about the Student Handbook and Hitoshi's attire, which only pushed Hitoshi into rebelling that much harder. 

Things came to a head during a study session when Tenya refused to allow Hitoshi to leave their booth to go smoke outside. Not one to be told what to do, Hitoshi reacted spitefully, and the two nearly came to blows. Tsu thankfully de-escalated the situation, allowing Ochako to scold Tenya and Izuku to accompany Hitoshi outside to do the same. 

 

It took that tense afternoon for Tenya to confront why he was so bothered by Hitoshi's presence, and sadly, the answer was Tenya's privilege.

 

Being well-off, from a high profile family means Tenya had never struggled like Hitoshi had, and never had to make any hard choices in order to survive. He grew up closely involved with the Commission and due to this, Tenya believed wholeheartedly that crime was crime, no matter what, and that law enforcement had a duty to protect the peace. Hitoshi's delinquent attire, his brief time in juvenile detention, the stigma of being a foster kid, and his attempt to get Izuku into trouble back when they first met all painted a nasty image of Hitoshi for the younger Iida brother. 

 

Izuku had actually been quite angry with Tenya after that, pointing out how hypocritical he was being, hiding behind his moral judgments and concept of the law, despite his own violent reaction to Tensei's injury and his respect for Izuku, which was certainly more illegal than anything Hitoshi has been up to.  

Which begs the question why Tenya was so fixated on it.

Hitoshi was unphased, already used to being treated like that by people.

In fact, that was the main reason Hitoshi was so passionate about his future career in journalism and broadcasting, showing perspectives from marginalized groups and giving voices to those that often go unheard from. The two often get into spirited debates, and Izuku makes it a point to reign Hitoshi in when he gets into bad faith arguments, but somehow they've settled into a comfortable friendship. Tenya has made a lot of progress, worked to confront some of his own biases, and while he still lectures the purple haired teen, they do get along much better now.

Izuku hopes the same could be true for Shouto one of these days.

 

“How would you embarrass yourself? Even you can't possibly be that bad at dancing.” Hitoshi raises an eyebrow, the stud pierced through it glinting in the light. The hollows under his eyes are deep set and almost bruise purple, but somehow they suited him.

 

Izuku chuckles mirthlessly, “I distinctly recall you telling me once that I had the worst coordination of anyone you had ever met. So which is it, Toshi?" 

 

"You're not as bad as you used to be," Hitoshi amends with a rueful grin, "thanks to me. You just need someone who knows how to lead."

The words make something hot and gooey ripple in Izuku's stomach, and it makes him frown. 

 

"I'll pass. I have more important things to worry about. My mentorship, my applications, my schematics, rent…” Plus scraping together whatever funds he can to build the hero suit he's designing.

 

Izuku often wonders what Hitoshi would say, if he knew what Izuku was really up to. 

But a secret identity is a secret for a reason. 

It's bad enough that Shouto and Tenya know, and Ochako clearly suspects something, even if she's kind enough not to demand answers. The Doctor-to-be has sewn up all his worst injuries over the last year, with nothing more than a few disappointed looks and a frown on her face.  

 

“Don't give me that, I know you've been done with your submission materials for weeks. Sure, you'll make a thousand tiny edits until the deadline, panic, and then submit the original file.” Hitoshi accuses, accurately calling his bluff. 

Izuku, knowing he's caught, bites at his lip and refocuses on the screen in front of him. 

 

"Come on, Zuku." Hitoshi whispers dangerously, much closer now than he had been before. "What are you so scared of?"

His heart thumps unevenly in his chest, betraying him.

He knows that Ochako is probably being so insistent on his attending prom because if Izuku is in attendance, as her "date", then it'll give the perfect cover for Toga and Ochako to get some quality time together, get the normal high school couple experience for once. Slow dance under mood lights in fancy dresses, practice for their wedding - it might be nice to take pictures for them to coo over when they're old ladies...

 

The guilt from earlier comes back ten-fold.

Shit, now he feels even worse about bailing on this stupid dance.

 

Izuku huffs a laugh, shuffling his papers around awkwardly, trying to look anywhere except at Hitoshi. Determined not to be ignored, he feels a pen poke him in the cheek. Izuku can't help but smile.

 

Message Received.

 

Hitoshi's a good friend, knows how to defuse a lot of his tensions. 

 

He's had to do this a few hundred times, play off Izuku's avoidant behavior with some intimate gesture. It came in handy during a few sudden panic attacks after some nasty falls early into their practices that were more triggering than he thought.

Turns out he had some lingering fears about falling off a roof.

 

Who knew.

 

It was humiliating the first time it happened.

It was one thing to freak out with Shouto about actual real threats, about villains in the night attacking the people he knew and loved, or the looming threat of institutional evil on the horizon, but with Hitoshi… there were things he couldn't explain to his other friends.

Izuku tells him about the bullying, a concept with which Hitoshi was intimately familiar. He tells him about Kacchan, the good, the bad, the pathetic, the shameful. Hitoshi doesn't judge him for it, but he does tease him mercilessly.

 

"I don't even have a date." Izuku says, only to be surprised by his own words.

 

Hitoshi grins, slow and cat-like, like that was exactly what he was hoping Izuku would say. 

Lilac purple hair is falls in front of Hitoshi's eyeline windswept from skating earlier. At this distance, Hitoshi's cologne curls into his nostrils. It's dark and woody, something Izuku could get lost in. 

His mouth feels dry and wet all at the same time.

 

“Who did you have in mind?" When Izuku just presses his lips together instead of answering, he continues. "What about that nepo baby, is there something going on there?” Hitoshi’s voice is hypnotic, resonating low and languid. Izuku peeks His tank top was tight, pulled up against his stomach to see a sliver of a pale abdomen and his underwear band. 

 

"Shouto is a very good... friend." 

 

Hitoshi doesn't reply, and Izuku almost manages to convince himself that he'll let this conversation die.

As if to mock his foolish hopes, Hitoshi cranes his neck down and to the side, as if to tell Izuku something in confidence.

 

Cool lips brush against his ear, and Hitoshi's nose brushes against Izuku's curls.

 

Izuku catches himself imagining blonde hairs instead of the purple ones tickling his cheeks.

Of red eyes and sharp cheekbones. 

Why was he thinking about Kacchan, now?

 

The guilt blankets the pleasant fluttering feelings, but instead of silencing them, the two sensations just tangle in his gut like coiling snakes.

 

"What about me, then?" There's something melodic in Hitoshi’s cadence, like every word was dipped in ambrosia. Goosebumps crop up on Izuku’s arms, suddenly far too aware of their closeness.

 

"You're... a good friend too, Toshi." Izuku says carefully, turning his head slightly and pulling away a couple of inches.

 

Hitoshi's eyes darken a bit but he too leans back.

Izuku appreciates it immensely - and yet disappointment and guilt weigh heavily in his stomach.

 

"Good."

 

Izuku should be happy. He should be glad that Hitoshi is firmly out of his personal space, already focusing on his essay submission.

 

The fact that he's not...

 

Izuku would give anything to go back to before this conversation started and if he could, he'd do anything in his power to avoid it.

Because Izuku wants to pretend he doesn't see what's happening here, doesn't understand what Toshi's asking for, doesn't want to say yes... 

It's not even that Hitoshi isn't handsome or funny or witty or charming or-

 

It just feels like he's doing something wrong.

This feels too much like a decision, a choice.

 

But why?

 

Why can't Izuku just go to prom with a date he enjoys spending time with?

A handsome guy who deep down, is just as insecure and anxious as he is?

 

It's not like Ochaco and Toga aren't going to disappear halfway through the night, anyway.

It's quiet, just the tapping of long fingers on stiff laptop keys to fill the silence. 

 

Izuku looks back up to Toshi and lets himself look past the butterflies, the cologne, the piercings. 

To the person Izuku knows underneath.

 

"I, uh..."

 

"Don't worry about it, Zuku." Hitoshi smiles, a tiny brittle thing, but it doesn't come close to reaching his eyes.

 

He hates how phony it looks.

 

"O-Officially, I'm, uh, taking Ochako to Prom." Izuku murmurs, looking at his hands. "But, um, I'll save you a dance."

 

He lets out a shaky breath when he feels Hitoshi do the same.

 

"I'll be waiting, then." 

 

Izuku hears Hitoshi's hopeful smile in his voice, but it doesn't settle any of the weight in his chest.

 

 

---

 

 

"Thanks again for letting me borrow this, Sho. I'm not exactly a suit kind of guy." Izuku grumbles, fighting with his tie in the mirror. 

The suit is a dark grey with embossed detailing, contrasted by the crisp white button down underneath. It's way fancier than he's comfortable with, honestly, but Tenya is far too tall (plus there's no doubt his suit are just as high quality) and well, Izuju doesn't really have a lot of other options so close to the date. 

 

Still... he's absolutely terrified of ruining it by getting it dirty or somehow losing a button or-

 

"My pleasure. Glad I was able to help." Comes a tepid voice behind him, only for slender fingers to brush his own clumsy digits away and replace them. 

 

"Oh! Thanks." Izuku meets the heterochromatic eyes in the mirror, as the fabric tightens against his throat. Shouto seemingly has no issues getting it tied, and it's probably the straightest necktie he's ever worn. There's the faintest smile on Shouto's blank face.

 

"So. H-How do I look?" Izuku asks nervously, eyes narrowing in on all the flaws he can find. His freckles are, well, there, the suit is a bit too big in the shoulders despite how outrageously expensive it probably is, and his lips are cracked and bleeding, oh, and the bags under his eyes-

 

"You look nice, Izuku. Calm down." Shouto's voice is flat, but soft. The same hand that fixed his tie rests gently on his shoulder in a polite gesture of comfort.

 

In the reflection of the mirror, Shouto stands behind him, looking like he just stepped out of a magazine spread with his cream colored suit and soft red and white hair. It's longer than Izuku's ever seen it, and he hopes the Captain doesn't make Shouto chop it all off again. 

 

Shouto looks lovely with longer hair, a much nicer picture at than Izuku does at the moment.

 

"You look nice, too, Sho. The blue of your shirt matches your eye." 

 

A year or two ago, that sort of comment would have caused Shouto pensive and distant for the rest of the evening, but lucky for Izuku, he just nods once.

 

"Yes, Fuyumi picked it out. I believe it was intentional. She said I needed to 'coordinate'." Fuyumi is Shouto's older sister, an elementary teacher, and she's one of the only family members Shouto doesn't actively avoid, and even that took time. He imagines she was probably very excited to get the chance to dress her younger brother for prom, even if the Captain hadn't been too happy to let Shouto attend at first.

 

Thankfully, Fuyumi can be quite persuasive.

The official invitation from the Iida family to transport them via armored car certainly didn't hurt, either.

 

"She did a good job. You look nice! I'm sure Tsu will think so too." Izuku tries to inject some excitement into his tone, even if he knows his false cheer isn't going to win him any points with this particular crowd. As if in answer to his thoughts, Shouto raises one thin eyebrow a bit. 

 

"You're nervous." Shouto points out, moving away from his spot behind Izuku in the mirror to level him with an impassive stare.

 

Izuku groans, running shaky, ugly hands through his gelled curls, before recoiling from the texture. 

 

"Is it, uh, that obvious?" 

 

Shouto's face doesn't really change, but that's somehow worse. "Yes. That's why I said it."

 

Well Izuku can't fault that logic.

 

"I'm just... uh. Well, this is my first dance and I- well, um, don't know how to dance, and-" Shouto nods, stepping in close and grabbing his hands, to place them properly, and then sliding his own to bracket Izuku's hips. "S-Shouto, what are y-you doing?"

 

"My father had me take lessons. It's simple. Just watch what I do." Izuku stumbles after Shouto's sure steps, awkwardly off beat with no music to follow. He tries desperately to replicate the other's movements, but his success is debatable. 

 

"We should have prepared in advance if you were this concerned about it." Shouto's hands are light and steady, and his voice mellow and smooth, if not a bit reproachful. He's polished silver, a shiny, glossy surface of inordinate value and Izuku feels dull and blemished beside him. 

 

"J-just don't want to make a fool out of myself, is all." Izuku admits, averting his gaze to watch their feet. He winces a little when repositioning his arm, tugging at scar tissue and leaving a faint burning sensation behind.

 

"You're a crime-fighting vigilante, Izuku. You go out looking for danger every night. A high school dance should be no problem for you." 

 

It's meant to be comforting, but really, Izuku would rather be out on the streets than here, stewing in his own nausea. 

He wishes he could approach this situation with half as much confidence as he does patrolling. It would be nice to feel in control, because What he's wearing right now feels more like a costume than his mask ever has.

 

His scoff must not be a response Shouto appreciates very much, because a cold hand lifts Izuku's chin up to look him in the eye.

 

"You've got nothing to worry about. There's nothing you could do that would change how we think of you. Just be yourself and have a good time. That's your only responsibility tonight." 

 

As sweet a sentiment as that is...

It isn't exactly true, though. 

Izuku has several obligations this evening. He's expected to play the role of smitten boyfriend for 'Chako's parents, has to dress in this uncomfortably expensive suit, has to dance and socialize with people and act like he's enjoying it, and more than that, if he doesn't perform 'fun' correctly his friends will be disappointed and he'll end up ruining their special night.

 

It's a lot of pressure.

He's trying to find a way to thank Shouto for being such a good friend, explain why he's unfortunately wrong, and apologize in advance - all at once - and it stalls his brain a few seconds. 

 

But to Izuku's relief, he ends up not having to give a verbal answer. 

 

"Boys, if you don't hurry you're going to be late to pick up your dates!" Izuku's mother calls from the kitchen, worried and excited all at once, and he resists the urge to wince. Shouto doesn't seem to notice, thankfully, or if he does he's kind enough not to mention it. 

 

"Coming, Mom!" Izuku yells back, only to breathe deeply and bow his forehead until it rests on Shouto's chest.

 

"I'm here for you, Izuku. It will all work out fine." Shouto reminds him gently, setting his chin down on the top of his head.

He really hopes Shouto's right about that. 

 

---

 

The limousine is outrageously ostentatious, and Izuku admits Hitoshi might've had a point about refusing to participate in this part of the evening. 

 

Izuku knows from Shouto that this car is reinforced with bulletproof windows, reinforced plating, the works. This thing can survive a tank, but even knowing that, he grimaces at the ornate luxury. It's hard to see the coloration of the interior thanks to the pulsing, color changing underlighting, reflected on the glittering of the metallic accents, and the plush comfort of what have to be criminally expensive leather seats; everything in this thing felt delicate and expensive.

 

Hitoshi would've vomited on sight, and probably hurt Tenya's feelings afterwards, and Shouto would've gotten angry.

This is much better.

 

Izuku is glad not to have asked to borrow a suit from Tenya when he enters the vehicle in a proper English suit, with a waistcoat and tails and vest. He doesn't understand how Tenya isn't boiling alive in all those layers. Tenya ends up sitting up front with the driver for now, arranging the series of destinations and the routes to each address where they'd pick up their remaining friends. 

 

So here they are, squished in the back of the armored vehicle that had been rented (or perhaps bought, he considers with horror) for the occasion. 

Shouto isn't a very social person. He doesn't spend his time chatting or talking all that much. 

Whether that's because his father is incredibly controlling and isolated Shouto even from his own family, or if it's just a part of who he is, remains to be seen. 

 

Silence isn't at all uncomfortable for Shouto, and he can sit in it for inordinate amounts of time. 

It makes Izuku sad to think about how much time a younger Shouto had sat in the loneliness of silence to be so utterly used to it by now.

 

And Izuku, while not necessarily a social person by nature, also cannot stand the quiet.

So he fills it by talking, by muttering, by rambling. 

 

Whether that's due to incredibly painful past experiences or just some kind of generalized social anxiety is also impossible to determine. 

Yet he just cannot stop talking.

 

Which would be embarrassing even if he wasn't also someone with a secret identity!

One he's kind of awful at hiding, though it hasn't necessarily been a hinderance yet.

Still, he's worried he's going to blab to the first person who looks at him funny. 

Being at a social event like this and doing it correctly and picking up social cues were things Izuku was historically terrible at, and the concept in general has his heart palpitating in his chest.

 

Izuku tries not to ruin - or to really even touch - anything and Shouto sits silent beside him, cool as a cucumber. 

 

Izuku is anxious about what has been, what currently is, what will be, and what might be, all the time, and consistently.

The not-knowing, the apprehension, the emptiness, it all just gives his brain time and space to devolve in on itself, collapse under its own strain.

It's exhausting.

 

The current apprehension blooming in his gut is one that would be more appropriate for approaching the gallows. 

Maybe Shouto has a point, his wires must be crossed, because the idea of taking another knife to the back and almost bleeding out on the way home was so much less frightening than this. Between facing death or embarrassment, Izuku undoubtedly has a preference, and he's sure Ochako would give him unnecessary stitches just to punish him if she could hear him admit it.

 

Wouldn't be the first time. 

 

Izuku Midoriya and Shouto Todoroki have become closer than either had ever really expected them to be, so when Shouto pulls Izuku's hand into his and squeezes once, he lets himself relax a bit into the seat with a grateful smile.

 

Angel that he is, Shouto listens placidly as Izuku recounts an entire segment of How It's Made, and how it gave him a good idea on how to produce a better nozzle set up to fix the misfire issue on Black whip, and then mentioning a forum he'd been reading on welding techniques, and how expensive it turn out forges are, and that maybe smelting and blacksmithing should make a comeback as professional careers, if only to make them more commercially available, though obviously DIYing one was practically impossible in his mother's apartment or in the dorms, but hey, maybe one day-  

 

He can do this.

He can have fun.

He can enjoy himself.

 

He hopes.

 

---

 

Prom ends up being one of those nights Izuku would undoubtedly remember for the rest of his life.

 

First, they go to pick up Ochako.

As her "date" for the evening, Izuku's boutonniere is a companion to Ochako's corsage, however, they aren't identical. 

 

As a subtle nod to their actual relationship, his is larger than traditional, a collection of green carnations and single daisy, similarly surrounded by baby's breath, and wrapped in a ribbon pink like her dress. Ochako's corsage is manly daisies and pink carnations, also accented by baby's breath, the arrangement soft and unobtrusive against the same rose color of her dress.

 

He's excited to show them to her when he's struck dumb by her appearance.

 

Ochako's warm brown hair is piled up on top of her head, set with sparkling pins. Her rosy cheeks only pinken with the genuine delight in her smile. She's giggling and nervous, which makes her bubbly and light, maneuvering effortless in her scary looking heels. Ochako practically floats, barely even touches the floor once as she twirls around in her living room. With every spin, her dress floats in the air, a graceful cloud of soft tulle and taffeta layers.

He's not pretending or exaggerating for the cameras at all when he cries at the sight of her, she looks beautiful! 

Toga is going to go feral.

 

Ochako's mother takes many, many pictures.  

In fact, it takes longer than is comfortable for Ochako's parents to let them leave, as adamant as they are on taking as many pictures of them together. 

Izuku hopes this level of excitement will rightfully transfer onto Toga one day.  

 

Tsu's parents are far less expectant, simply wishing them well, Tsu's siblings hugging at their knees. They're told to have a good evening and to be home before curfew. The jumpsuit they're wearing is unique, likely made by hand, with a matching suit jacket lain overtop. Izuku makes it a point to look at it more closely in better lighting. 

 

It's probably stunning. Too bad these flashing lights distort the colors.

 

They're meeting Toga and Hitoshi at the venue, and Izuku wishes the logistics had worked out for them all to be together. 

But he supposes the dramatic reveal is more fun.

 

Izuku is sort of glad he caved if only to facilitate this for the two of them. 

That's one more down, and only one more member of the group left to find. 

Izuku can't quite bring himself to admit he's excited about the prospect of Hitoshi all cleaned up and formal.

Maybe it's just curiosity, lingering just at the edges of his thoughts.

 

That's all.

 

The car pulls up to the curb where Toga waits on the steps to the school, practically vibrating with excitement. Her smile stretches wide, almost painfully tight across her impish face.

Himiko Toga is an absolute vision in red. Her dress is sleek silk, much more body conforming than Ochako's soft sweetheart gown is. The fabric warps with every motion, and Izuku thinks of blood, just as he notices little tear drops of red visible under her ears. Toga's pristine white gloves go up to her elbows, and her loose hair practically glows gold in the fuzzy white light of the venue spilling onto her back. For once, her bangs are held back by a blood red rose and daisy flowers secured with a pin. 

 

Those are the pictures the Uraraka's should've gotten. 

The floating of Ochako's dress and the metallic sheen of Toga's would've looked great together in that lighting.

He's irrationally disappointed.

 

Focus, Izuku.

 

Tenya gets into his performance as chaperone, all posh and respectful. He bows first to Toga who giggles, and then bends down to offer his hand to Ochako waiting within the car. She takes his hand gingerly, and he escorts her out like a butler waiting on a princess. It takes a few extra seconds to extricate the dress from the car, but it survives with no damage after a quick tug. 

Toga's gasp of surprise turns into the most elated (and quite frankly hysterical) giggle Izuku has ever heard when she finally sees Ochako, all dolled up just for her.

 

Ochako grins, before pursing her glossy pink lips. "What do we think? Do I clean up nice?" She asks with faux innocence, one hand on her hip and the other outstretched, beckoning towards her girlfriend who was already sprinting towards her.

The group does its best to pretend they don't hear the lip smacking noises until Tenya loses his patience and ushers them inside, punctual as ever.

They brush past him with conspiratorial grins and promises to be on their best behavior, but Izuku notes with amusement that they've crossed their fingers behind their backs, leading the group through the wide double doors. 

 

One last member before their group was assembled and the fun could really begin.

 

The dance is a veritable whirlwind of sound, color, and smells as mingling classmates linger strewn from the refreshments to the dancefloor, with many hovering in between.

Balloon arches and modest drapery decorate the venue, accented in the colors of their school. Twinkle lights are stretched over the makeshift dancefloor, with the food tables pushed to the back wall to make room for floating islands of round white tables and their assorted finery.

 

Waiting at a table near the entrance, was Hitoshi, and Izuku is definitely not disappointed anymore.

It shouldn't be such a surprise. He knows his friend is handsome, waxes poetic about it in his head even, it was an objective fact that he has already accepted by this point. 

 

But... he cleans up nice.

 

The suit makes him look even taller, not that Hitoshi needed any help with that. The cut of the suit is sharp, exaggerating the ratio of his shoulders to his waist, all sharp edges and danger. His lithe body is leaning against the wall, the picture of brooding nonchalance as his eyes pan over their group appreciatively. His hair is slicked back, leaving just a few stubborn strands to resist the product. His piercings are all matching dark metal, glittering silver in the light of the disco ball overhead. The dark shadows under his eyes look moodier than normal, with liner and shadow to deepen them. 

Finally those dark eyes settle on Izuku, and roam up and down, this time with purpose.

Izuku's breath catches in his throat at the predatory smile that stretches Hitoshi's face, and his cheeks burn in response.

 

The food is both lackluster and lukewarm but nobody seems to care as they share questionable punch and laugh together. Izuku is distantly aware of Hitoshi's arm draped artfully over the back of his chair. A pinched expression crosses Shouto's face for no more than a second before it's wiped away by Ochako and Toga insisting everyone dance to at least one song together. Any concerns Izuku had are lost in the pull of his friends into a haze of sensations that confuse and intrigue him. 

 

Izuku doesn't do much dancing. 

 

Of course Shouto showed him a bit earlier in the evening, and he's obviously spun around and twirled along with his mom in the kitchen a few times, he's shimmied along to songs in the privacy of his own bedroom, and in the back of his mind, in a locked box that rattles from time to time, there's a memory of Izuku belting his little heart out into Auntie Mitsuki's hairbrush, Uncle Masaru putting records on and air guitar, and Kacchan on his first set of drums, giving a concert to a sea of stuffed animals and action figures.

 

This is nothing like that, but it's still fun.

 

He watches with amusement as the happy couple twerk to various songs, Tenya doing such classics as The Robot and The Windmill, though he certainly seems much more interested in the girl with the pink dreads tinkering with something at her table across the room. Izuku may or may not have asked Tenya to go say hi for him and shoved him in her general direction. To Tenya's elation, Mei seems to brighten a bit when she sees him, already talking about her newest invention, an electronic stabilizer she'd invented after watching Tenya ride his bike and getting inspired.

 

Ah young nerdy love.

 

Good night, sweet prince.

There was absolutely no way they were going to be seeing Tenya for the rest of the night.

 

Toga and Ochako are lightning across the dancefloor, a flurry of dips and spins, and complicated choreography. They must've practiced for this, they're so in sync, Toga tossing Ochako into the air like she weighed nothing at all.  

They look good together.

Happy.

 

Tsu is content to guard their table, only joining the fray when Toga and Chako come along to snag them for a group dance, much more interested in observing.

Shouto also hangs around the table, and the entire time he seems to be in some sort of staring contest with Hitoshi. Shouto isn't one for dancing, it seems, despite his competency. He awkwardly bobs his head to the beat, and lets the others puppet his limbs around like a marionette, but he isn't making much of an effort to actually dance. 

 

Izuku isn't either, really.

 

That was made clear when a strong hand catches his wrist and tugs him into a waiting chest, perfectly on the beat of some jazzy song Izuku's never heard before.

Hitoshi's smile is infectious, and Izuku finds himself grinning back, letting himself be led through movements that were nothing like the ones Shouto had shown him earlier, ways that better matched the tempo of the song. While unfamiliar to him, the song was definitely catchy. The rhythm was repetitive and he could generally fumble along, aided by Hitoshi's teasing but gentle instructions in his ear.

 

It was so hot in this room Izuku felt dizzy.

 

"That's it, now you're getting it." Something about that tone of voice, that praise... it sings through Izuku's veins. Hitoshi smells so good, the thick woodsy cologne wafting up at him in waves. It was like he was hypnotized by the man above him.

 

"Thanks, Toshi." Izuku replies breathlessly, just as the beat mellowed out into a far less upbeat song. Hitoshi holds him a little bit closer, their chests pressing against each other when they take in a full breath.

 

The shallow breaths of mouth watering cologne certainly don't help the dizziness.

 

Hitoshi used to be a skinny, weird little goth delinquent. A petty kid. A friend. He's rude and spiteful, always teasing and meddling in other people's business. He's snarky and sarcastic, and funny and honest. He's attractive and he's smart, patient in his own way, and kinder than he seems. He's grown up somewhere in between all of that.

 

Yeah he's a nihilist and kind of a jerk, but he's also going to be the voice of a generation, reclaiming radio for the digital age. He's going to crack conspiracies, he's going to be big, and if he does his job right, it'll be like he never existed at all. A voice in the crowd, a thought in your head. 

 

He's turning eighteen soon, just two weeks before Izuku would be. For Izuku, that means the first days of the rest of his life, the next chapter on his road to becoming a hero. 

Any other kid might be jubilant at the taste of freedom just on the horizon, but being a legal adult means something different to Hitoshi. 

 

Hitoshi was not gaining freedom, as much as he was being abandoned by the system he'd grown up in his whole life. Turning eighteen meant aging out of the foster care system, losing those resources and that routine, and it meant, in Hitoshi's eyes, that he's officially lost the chance to have a family. He would never have the family he'd been promised as a young child; the covenant that if he behaved and waited patiently, someone would come along and choose him and love him unconditionally.

 

It didn't happen that way, and now it never would. 

Because that's not how that works in the real world.

Now Hitoshi is going to be entering the next phase of his life as an adult, all alone.

 

That thought is painful to think about right now, so he wills himself to fall back into the hypnotic way Hitoshi sways their hips in time with the music.

 

"Wow, you really are bad at this." Hitoshi sighs, his smile hungry. 

 

Izuku rolls his eyes, his cheeks feeling like they were about to catch fire. "Stop messing with me, Toshi, it's not nice." He grumbles, sliding his arms behind Toshi's neck, mimicking what the partners around them did as the music changed yet again.

 

"Where's the fun in that?" 

 

Izuku tries to shake off the buzzing feeling in his fingertips, the dizziness in his head, the sweat dripping down the nape of his neck, and the pulse of heat in his abdomen at the purr of Hitoshi's voice. That punch was probably alcoholic now that he thinks about it.

 

Yeah, that would make sense. 

 

"'Sides, you like me best when I'm a little mean. You have a type, y'know." Izuku blinks rapidly, caught off guard with the assessment and realizing now why this felt so familiar and yet so wrong all at the same time. 

 

Why blonde hair and red eyes popped up in his head all the time.

At first he thought it was because Hitoshi knew, he understood, the only person to know about Kacchan at all, they talked about him, it made sense. 

 

But now it really sinks in. 

The real reason Why it felt like Izuku shouldn't be here, doing this, with the person he was doing it with, no matter how much he genuinely enjoyed his company.

It's like a shot of electricity to the heart, the pang of sudden grief Izuku feels as he looks up at Hitoshi Shinsou with eyes blown wide. 

 

Because he's just looking for a dynamic his nervous system apparently craves like a drug, a fix in the form of a substitute for the same kid who accidentally tossed him off a roof to prove a point.

Even Izuku thinks that's a little pathetic, and that's saying something.

 

"You okay?" Hitoshi's eyes are intent and serious, all the humor wiped from his face. It almost felt like they were totally alone, not swaying quietly in a throng of other teenagers having their own intimate moments and revelations, no doubt.

 

"F-fine, just... um, realizing some things." Izuku doesn't elaborate, and Hitoshi doesn't press him to even as he bites his lip and his eyebrows pinch together in a pained expression.

Hitoshi opens his mouth to speak before he hesitates. He slides the ball of his tongue bar forward to fidget with it, catching and releasing it between his white teeth as he thinks about what he wants to say.

 

It's a nervous habit of his, Izuku recognizes distantly, and the dread consumes him.

 

"I know." He let those words hang in the air for a second before he pushes the rest out in a single breath. "I know that I'm not who you want. I know that you don't-, that it's not the same. But... I am here. Now. At prom. For you." The intensity of his stare and the earnest gleam in his gaze are enough to make Izuku freeze completely still, letting the words register, one by one.

 

He can't pretend to misunderstand, or brush this off as a joke.

He can't avoid it any longer, can't rationalize it away or outrun this situation any more.

 

This is it. 

 

The bubble has burst, the chips have fallen, it's the final curtain call.

 

It's time to make a choice.

 

"But... that's n-not fair... " The words are so shallow for the feeling he's trying to convey. 

 

It's not fair that he can't do this. 

It's not fair to Hitoshi for Izuku to accept.

It's not fair that Hitoshi is offering at all.

 

He's not ready,

 

Hitoshi tugs Izuku's head into his shoulder, his chin resting atop Izuku's curls, almost as gently as Shouto had earlier. This time he feels Hitoshi bury his nose into his hair and inhale. Izuku closes his eyes, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and does the same to the soft lapel of Hitoshi's jacket, soft and worn. It's old, he realizes, probably something he got from the thrift store in Yokohama they found and there's something so Hitoshi about it that it hurts.

 

"Life isn't fair, you know." Comes the murmured reply into his hair, his tone dismissive and bitter. There's a faint tremble to his shoulders now, and gravel in his voice.

 

"You aren't just a placeholder, Toshi." Izuku whispers against his neck, burying his nose into the hollow of the other boy's throat with a muffled whine.

 

The crowd jostles around them, but in this moment, nothing else matters. Izuku feels the flutter of Hitoshi's heart under his cheek, and the arms around him tighten ever so slightly, curling around him almost protectively.

 

"I could be. For tonight. For now. For as long as it takes. I could be... whatever you wanted, say whatever it takes. I don't w-want to l-lose you." Hitoshi's reply is uttered so quietly it's almost swallowed up, lost in the din of the crowd.

 

This sucked.

This was unfair.

If this was the right thing to do, then why?

Why did this hurt so badly?

 

Couldn't it all last just a little bit longer?

Can't they hang on this precipice just one more minute?

Even if its just so things didn't have to change?

 

Izuku wishes he could just say yes. 

Wishes he could just tug those pretty lavender strands around his mangled fingers and drag that wicked mouth down and give him exactly what he wants. 

Make Hitoshi happy. 

Give him everything he wants, everything he couldn't bring himself to ask for. 

Gentle touches and soothing words, harsh treatment when harsh is required, both so insecure at their core.

A physical comfort to the eighteen years of loneliness and suspicion Hitoshi had been dragged through, angry and distrustful and abandoned. 

He's willing to do anything and everything to reach his goals, to uncover corruption, to use his voice. 

 

There's nothing he wants more than to see Toshi happy and thriving and safe.

 

He can imagine cat print pajama pants and binging true crime documentaries together, eating cereal for dinner in a crappy apartment with more pets than the landlords know about, and a completely nocturnal schedule, as Hitoshi chases down stories and croons about it on the radio as Izuku protects the city. Izuku could bring him leads and he could listen to the show no matter where he was, keeping tabs on the goings on in Tokyo in live feed.

It would be such a wonderful life.

 

If he hadn't already fallen in love, he'd be totally sure that's what this felt like.

In a world where he hadn't fallen asleep hand in hand with Kacchan, didn't miss the smell of caramel shampoo, didn't look for all the sharpest edges to cling to, he could make Hitoshi happy and this could be a brand new start, a new beginning for them both.

 

But that isn't this world.

Izuku knows better.

 

Hitoshi deserves someone guaranteed stay, someone to crave him when he was gone. 

A safe harbor for him to moor in.

 

Oh, that's why. 

 

Look at Ochako. Or Shouto. Or Tenya. 

He loves them all so much.

Love comes in many forms. 

Hitoshi isn't any different. 

And that's the problem. 

 

This was always going to hurt, he realizes, because Hitoshi is...

- simply just not Kacchan and that's all there is to it.

 

Nothing to be done, nothing to consider. 

He simply could not give Hitoshi his everything because he's already dedicated to giving it to someone else.

It's pathetic and Izuku hates himself a little for hurting his friend like this on something so pointless. 

 

Izuku pulls back with a sad smile, letting the tears that have been gathering in his lashes finally fall and Hitoshi's face pinches up in hurt, knowing what's about to come.

 

"You could never get rid of me, Toshi, I'd never let that happen. But you deserve more than a maybe. You deserve devotion. I love you too much to ever do that to you, and... I think you know that." For the first time tonight he's not hiding from Hitoshi's gaze, but looking deep into dark, fathomless eyes, seeking them out again when they pull away to look up at the ceiling instead. "Hey, look at me." 

 

Izuku arches up on the tips of his toes and tugs Hitoshi's face back down to look at him. There's tears in the corners of his eyes, unshed. With shaky, crooked fingers Izuku rubs his thumbs under those shadowed eyes to wipe the tears away, smearing the black liner.

 

It somehow looked even more beautiful that way, messy and imperfect, and real.

 

"Oh, Toshi, I'm so sorry." Izuku's voice cracks on the last word. "I want to, I really, really want to... but I promised." 

 

Speaking those words out loud is like swallowing glass. He's never really let himself vocalize that, not to his mom, not to Ochako, not to Toshi, not Sho, not even to himself. "You'll always be my best friend, Toshi. No matter where we end up, I've got your back." Izuku pulls Hitoshi's head down to his, nudging their foreheads together forcefully, more of a headbutt than anything.

 

An apology.

 

The tears that fall down his cheeks are heavy and wet, and they stain Hitoshi's lilac dress shirt underneath their torrent. Hitoshi gives a strangled chuckle that doesn't sound amused in the slightest, and grinds his forehead down into Izuku's.

 

An acceptance.

 

"He'd better be worth it, Zuku." Hitoshi growls, his voice rough and wet, and presses one soft, gentle kiss to Izuku's trembling upper lip.

 

A first and a last.

 

"He is. I promise."

 

Once he and Hitoshi eventually disentangle from each other on the dance floor, Shouto suddenly appears out of nowhere, already tugging Izuku's hand away from the last points of contact he has with Hitoshi. He must notice the tears in Izuku's eyes and the tremor of Hitoshi's shoulders and makes the decision to remove Izuku from the situation. 

 

"If you're finished here, I'd like to ask you for the next dance." It's definitely not a question, and his physicality with Izuku doesn't help. Emotions are still high off the rejection, off the acknowledged attraction, the mutual feelings, and the ones missing. 

And then add whatever he feels about Shouto. 

 

Hitoshi doesn't really like being vulnerable, and being himself, immediately goes for the throat. 

 

"You've got your work cut out with this one. Can't buy him like you do everything else in your life. Bet on it, Ice Prince." The words are venom, and the smile on his face is mocking, and it doesn't reach his eyes.

 

Shouto just nods as if he understands any of it. Without a word, he's leading Izuku back into the fray.

Eventually Izuku loses sight of Hitoshi somewhere between their table where Tsu waited and the exit.

 

Then he's gone.

 

 

---

 

 

The days get longer, hotter, and Izuku does... nothing.

 

No school to go to, no work to do, his mother keeps everything so tidy there aren't any chores to do. 

No friends, all busy starting the rest of their lives. 

 

Shouto has already gotten his acceptance to Tokyo University's Law department as a legacy student about two weeks before, and as a "celebration" his father was going to be dragging him off to some sort of wilderness training camp in the mountains. 

 

He is not pleased. 

 

Izuku is only a little (okay - fine - maybe a lot) but jealous that he'd already herd back and Izuku's mailbox remained empty.

The days have dragged by since, and still nothing has come for him.

 

That doesn't bode well.

 

Ochako and Toga are off apartment hunting together in some of the cheaper neighborhoods surrounding Tokyo, close enough for Toga to get to the League for her shifts, but close enough for 'Chako to take the train to her medical prep program too. They're having difficulties finding something in their budget, unfortunately.

 

Tenya had gotten into his father's alma mater, and had received his letter the day after Shouto had. At the behest of his parents Tenya was going for business management degree before pursuing a more technical automotive training. Izuku wonders how quickly the Iida family could potentially plan a wedding. When they meet Mei, and see her mechanical skills? 

 

Hello, Iidaten-Hatsume Inc. merger?

What a power couple. 

 

Tsu receives their acceptance the same day as Tenya had. Tsu has snagged a very competitive program sponsor for a Marine Institute. They met a graduate student at a seal and marine life conservation rally who put in a good word for them with the team. Apparently, the marine biology department at Tokyo University was collaborating on a project with her school, and offered Tsu to split their time between the campus and the research vessel. They'd sail part of the year with a famous mentor and his elite research team. 

Tsu will be credited as the youngest research student included in the project and, according to the Captain, who calls to congratulate her on her acceptance, during their party that night. Tsu croaks that they're excited to work with the Captain, and the group recognizes their little budding scientist with cheers and hugs.

 

Everyone celebrates their respective acceptances with karaoke, which goes as well as it usually does. Toga and Ochako art all over each other, and every song is sung to each other. Tenya counsels everyone on lubricating their throats to preserve their voices. Tsu munches happily on some celery, and Shouto sings a deadpan song that he's clearly just reading the lyrics out loud. 

 

"Boo, party foul, you didn't even try!" Toga jeers. 

 

"I have never heard the song before. I didn't know how it went." Shouto points out, sitting back down in the booth with an almost bored expression. 

 

"It's Ochako's turn next, I think..."

 

"Do we want to order some food or wait?"

 

"I have to insist we get consent from all parties before ordering-"

 

It's the first in person hang-out with all the members of their little gang since prom. 

 

Well, minus one, though Izuku wonders if anyone else has even noticed. 

Izuku hasn't really seen Hitoshi since the dance, and he probably needs some time to cool off.

 

That's what he's hoping for anyways.

 

---

 

A few weeks of awkwardness is all Hitoshi can stomach apparently, because it's the middle of the night when Izuku wakes to the wailing of his phone ringing. 

 

"H'lo." He groans into the receiver, not even checking the caller ID. He's only been asleep about an hour, after a late night patrolling and stopping a few muggings and one guy trying to jack a car. A convenience store in Zushi got robbed, and by the time he got over there the guy was long gone. He hates to reduce his patrols to any one area, but he can't be everywhere at once-

 

"Zuku, I got it."

 

"Toshi? Got what?" Izuku yawns, smacking his mouth.

 

"My dream job, c'mon Sleeping Beauty, work with me here." Izuku's suddenly more awake than he thought was possible, all dregs of sleep cast off like a blanket.

 

"TOSHI! Oh my goodness, you got the radio job! I'm so glad. I knew you'd get it, I'm so proud of you! Have you heard any specifics yet? Oh, read me the letter! Better yet just take a picture, oh Toshi, you're going to be so incredible, and -"  

 

The dam breaks. 

They talk all night about their futures, about their fears and insecurities. Izuku promises, again, that even though they won't be at the same university, that didn't change anything between them.

 

If Hitoshi needs him, he'll come running.

He's ride or die for all his friends.

 

---

 

On Toshi's birthday, the day he's officially released from the care of the prefecture, he comes over to stay the night on Izuku's floor until he can officially move into his dorms.

Izuku isn't sure if Hitoshi is relieved or upset by Shouto sneaking in around eleven that evening, casual as anything.

They have to take turns since there's only two controllers, so of course they bicker and argue about who gets to go first. After that they play bracket style, which mainly turns into Shouto and Hitoshi sharing a controller while Izuku plays against one or the other almost exclusively. 

Hitoshi makes fun of Shouto's shoes and it catches Izuku so off guard that he snorts chu hai out of his nose.

 

"Harken, dear subjects!" Hitoshi declares, his voice full of pomp. "It is I, the funniest person to ever exist, taken by right of making Izuku snort alcohol and, by this decree, do declare that henceforth, and from forever onward, this day shall forever mark, not just the day of my birth, but the day on which I assume my rightful throne as the King of Comedy. You may applaud if you wish."

 

Izuku is currently fighting for breath on the floor, making seal noises and clapping. 

 

"Bow before me, peasants." Hitoshi exalts, standing with great purpose. 

 

"I reject the monarchy." Shouto intones, eating his popcorn with chopsticks.

 

Izuku laughs so hard he cries. 

Then forgets to stop.

 

Things are changing, and it's hard not to be a bit sad about it, especially since everyone else has received their confirmations, has a clear next step, a hope for the future. 

 

But Izuku is still waiting around. 

He feels like he's running late, dragging behind everyone else, stuck in waiting mode. 

There's this cold, gnawing feeling in his stomach that told him that he failed, that he didn't have everything as under control as he'd tricked himself into believing, that everything he has done until now has just been a huge waste of time.

 

That he just isn't good enough.

 

Until he steps into the living room of their small apartment the next morning, and his mother spinning around with a shriek that he barely understands as words at first.

 

"Open it, baby, I can't take all the suspense!" Inko bustles around the coffee table, already tearing up as she pushes the envelope into Izuku's hands the second he steps a single toe on the area rug.

 

Izuku eyes the envelope warily like it might explode at any moment, handling it gingerly. 

This is everything he's been wanting for - weeks, months even, years potentially, and now that the moment is actually, finally here, he thinks he's going to throw up.

 

"Isn't it a little thin for an acceptance letter?" He mumbles, mainly to himself but his mother hears him by her wide eyes and shrug of her shoulders. It's clear she was a little anxious about that fact too, but not wanting to speak it into existence.

 

"Oh, Izuku just open it, baby!" He jumps when his mom warbles, clearly a few bad breaths from hyperventilating.

 

Urged by the desire to not to watch his mother faint, he doesn't let himself pause again.

He swallows the wad of congealed anxiety currently lodged firmly in his throat, and even though his fingers shake, he tears the seal on the envelope.

 

There are two pages folded into the envelope, the letterhead clearly reading TOKYO UNIVERSITY in grand sweeping kanji.

Every word in that official typeface is a tangible weight in his stomach, and his vision blurs with tears he can really only attribute to stress and mounting anticipation.

 

The first page reads:

 

'Dear Izuku Midoriya,

 

On behalf of the Academic Admissions Office of Tokyo University I am writing this letter, inform you that your admission into Tokyo University, as part of the Mechanical Engineering program has been duly accepted. As you know, our institution enjoys a strong reputation for its high standards and academic excellence and we were pleased to review your application as you have an excellent academic history and list of accomplishments in robotics as well as extracurricular Merit in both student government and Science Olympiad. We hope that you will be delighted to receive this confirmation and to be a part of this prestigious institution's future alumni. Enclosed on the following page you will find the decision for the Yagi Toshinori OFA mentorship program for which you also applied.

 

We hope that your experience here at Tokyo University will be fulfilling and satisfying.

Best of luck for the future.

 

Sincerely, the Tokyo University Admissions team.'

 

No time to have feelings, he has to open the next one. 

Because if he doesn't get this program then the acceptance is null and void.

There's no chance is financial aid will cover a school with tuition costs like theirs, plus room and board?

His mother hadn't had a weekend off in years, and he was tired of seeing her work herself to the bone.

 

It's the OFA Mentorship or nothing.

 

With trembling fingers, he moves onto the next page, not willing to celebrate too soon. 

 

'The Department of Mechanical Engineering is lucky to be chaired by illustrious Tokyo University alumni and famous engineer Dr. Yagi Toshinori. Known for his work in disability support prosthesis and supplemental assistive devices, Dr. Toshinori has received the Nobel Peace Prize for his work.

 

The primary goal of our department at Tokyo University is in the pursuit of "creating things and creating value" from a comprehensive perspective that encompasses technology, people, society, and the environment. This core value is expressed as making a difference in the lives of others and the betterment of mankind- these are the benefits of a career in mechanical engineering. Starting in the 20XX semester, the Department is pleased to announce a unique mentorship opportunity for incoming Tokyo University freshman to be coached by entirely by Department Head Toshinori himself.

This program, open to only the most dedicated students who exemplify academic excellence, engineering merit, and understand the importance of both civic responsibility and community involvement. You were placed in a pool of prospective talents in the field of engineering, and it goes without saying that this selection process was exhaustive and the labor for many interested candidates.

 

While we appreciate all prospective recipients of this mentorship, we were pleased to receive your application, though your application was filtered out in the initial deliberation phase.'

 

His heart stops in his chest and he's fairly confident he's no longer breathing.

The grief is actually crushing, his tears welling over without pause.

 

Still, he keeps reading.

 

 

However, after your personal essay was reviewed directly by Dr. Toshinori, it was expressed to this committee that he has a professional interest in your future success while attending Tokyo University this upcoming semester.

As you know, only one spot is initially available for this program, but by the request of Dr. Toshinori, there are now two final candidates selected for the OFA 20XX program.

You are officially invited to join the ranks of our Mechanical Engineering department under the direct mentorship of Dr. Yagi Toshinori, and we hereby extend an offer of candidacy in the One for All Mechanical Engineering Mentorship.

 

Please report to the USJ Building on September 5th, 20XX

 

Congratulations,

 

The Department of Mechanical Engineering OFA Selection Committee Head

Mirai Sasaki

Tokyo University

 

"I... I got in... and... I got the mentorship, Mom." 

All at once, the weight he's been carrying around for months is totally lifted and he swears he floats for a second, so relieved by the acknowledgement that not only did he get into one of the most elite programs in his field, but that he's been specifically and personally chosen by his idol to stand by his side and learn from him.

His mother cries buckets of tears, alerting a sleeping Shouto and Toshi to stumble down the stairs, concerned.

The news is received with a certain degree of delight and shock, that perhaps a Izuku is petty for noticing. His mother insists on splurging for dinner, where Shouto uses his father's credit card to buy a ton of groceries, only soothed when Shouto explains he's invited Toga and Ochako for dinner, as well. Hitoshi snipes about him 'feeding the poor' and Mom scolds them both while graciously threading their arms together as they carry the groceries home. 

 

Mom makes a home comfort favorite of his: katsudon.

It tastes like home, like love, and care, and attention. He basks in it among some of his favorite people in the world.

 

Mom is eying Toga and Ochako with thinly veiled surprise, as they cuddle and touch like normal, arriving hand in hand and placing quick kisses when attentions are elsewhere. She wisely doesn't say much but she looks at Izuku with concern.

He smiles at her, wide and genuine and gives a thumbs up.

 

Shouto and Hitoshi descend on him like wolves suddenly, complaining that each had to leave. He's trying to unbury himself from two sets of arms around him when he catches his mother's eyes, and her blushing. She gives a wobbly thumbs up and mouths "Sorry, baby".

 

He loves his mother.

He loves his friends.

 

By securing this mentorship, the scholarship costs are fully pay for all of his lab fees and living expenses. His mom can drop back down to one job, instead of the two she's been juggling in an attempt to scrounge up enough tuition funds for Izuku to go to his dream school. 

She won't have to worry about all that now.

Maybe she could go on a vacation, or even take some time off. 

Izuku could never hope to deserve the sweet, gentle sacrifice of his mother, and to see her beaming with pride upon his graduation day and at that moment, well it was worth the late hours studying and all the personal growth he mentions in his essay.

THE Dr, Toshinori, one of the most brilliant minds of the past century.

The essay that manages to get the attention of his hero.

The first person to ever inspire him the way his favorite superhero character, All Might, had.

Both men were larger than life, echelons of strength, heroism, and peace.

A man whose professional (and personal) life were a hyperfixation he's spent countless hours dedicated to.

 

He's the biggest fan.

 

He couldn't, no- wouldn't let Dr. Toshinori down.

He let that promise ring out, into the cool dark night of a fading summer, unaware of what was still yet to come.

Chapter 7: A Promise to Show Up

Summary:

Prom pt. 2! The Bakusquad! Katsuki finds his groove in more ways than one.

The initial fear about his potentially - definitely - committing a murder is suspiciously short lived.

There’s just not a lot of time to waste thinking about it, not that it stops him from doing that obsessively.

There’s just a lot to fuckin' do.

Prom, which he’d been planning to avoid like the plague.
Talking to Aizawa about a recommendation letter.
Submitting his essays and documents for university.
Finding an apartment.
Figuring out what the fuck happened in that alley.
Decide if he’s morally okay with it.
Do it again?

There’s a lot on his mind.

Katsuki wouldn't label himself a reckless person.

Impatient? Definitely, but never reckless.

He never threw caution to the wind, because that was for idiots and Katsuki was not an idiot.

He was calculated and decisive in everything he did, and he didn't do anything half-assed.

Despite going over every possible way his lapse in judgement could fuck him and his entire life up beyond repair, he's not the least bit surprised when the itch comes back within a few weeks.

He tries ignoring it, at first.

There's no telling what he's craving.
Maybe it's psychosomatic.
Maybe he’s just pent up, horny and aggressive.
Maybe he just has low blood sugar or something.

Except he knows damn well that's not it.

He's got the urge to kill again.
He can feel it flexing along his muscles and creeping up the back of his neck, sticking his hairs on end and setting his teeth on edge. Like a wooly caterpillar crawling through his veins, and scraping against his bones.

Ignore it.

Ignore it.

Fucking ignore it.

 

---

 

If Katsuki wasn't such a fucking brat as a kid, and wasn’t likely a murderer, he'd ask what he did to deserve this.

Here he was, back under too bright lights and thumping base coursing through the speakers and vibrating his chest cavity.
Thankfully he wasn't back in that god awful club, but somehow he was somewhere much worse.
Squeezed into a suit that his hag of a mother had entirely too much fun picking out for him, he counted the seconds until he could leave this hellhole.

Katsuki drummed his fingers impatiently on the table draped in cheap fabric to give the illusion of opulence. He sat and watched his friends act like complete dumbasses on the dance floor of their senior prom. He'd managed to skip the one last year, but between the idiots and his parents, apparently nobody was allowing a repeat of that.

It was his 18th fucking birthday and here he was, stuck at a goddamn school event with a bunch of rowdy dumbasses.

It just wasn't fair.

 

"Kats!" Raccoon Eyes was in his arms almost as soon as she was within three feet of him, bodily throwing herself with all the grace of an elephant.

For a dancer, she sure was solid.
Her dress was a gaudy turquoise, with a ruffled neckline that showed off her tits, which were currently shoved in his face as she wrapped him in a too tight hug.

Pinky was definitely top heavy, it wasn't exactly a secret. The only competition as far as chest size seemed to be Katsuki himself, according to Dunce Face, who was lucky to receive a piece of cake to the face for his observation.

Her large dangling jewelry was gold, the metal setting off reflections against the hot pink of her curls. They were more intentional and coiffed than usual, her edges laid in finger waves on her forehead. Her normal gyaru makeup was toned down for the occasion, but she was still heavy handed, especially on the blush, she was more pink than anything.

"Get the hell off me, Pinky." Katsuki grumbled halfheartedly, knowing she was too hopped up on party energy to be rational for at least another day.

"You're ruining the vibe!" She admonished, setting herself back down onto her bare feet, her heels kicked off under the table hours ago. "It's your birthday. Have fun or else." She glared at him, and shoved a cup into his hands before running off in another direction, her attention focused on some other poor bastard for the moment.

He looked at the cup in his hand.
There was no telling what evil lurked here.
After all, he had no experience with alcohol.
But... he could use a distraction, he supposed.

And it was his birthday.

The idiots were doing their best to be there for him, but let's just say there was an intellectual height requirement for this roller coaster, and they were a few inches too short to ride this particular ride with him. As much as he trusted them, this was something he had to deal with on his own.

There were just too many opportunities for something to go wrong.

Kirishima had gotten into a University not too far from their high school, something about being a firefighter or a physical trainer or something? He seemed to change his mind every twenty minutes so Katsuki had stopped paying attention fairly early on in the decision making process.

Dunce Face was going to trade school apparently, to take over his parent's electrician business, but everyone knew his real passion was in music. He wasn't confident enough in himself, and with his parents paying his way through school, he decided to go the safe route while he kept practicing and kept an eye out for the 'perfect sound', whatever the hell that meant.

"But Denks, is being an electrician what you really want?" Mina had asked, head cocked to the side like a confused puppy, apprehension clear on her face.

"Look you guys, music will still be there after I'm done with the family thing, I'm being smart about this." His smile was forced, intentionally lighthearted.

They'd had the conversation a few times since, but each time he had waved them all off, even Katsuki. Not much they could do if their friend didn’t want to talk about it.

Soy Sauce Face was actually going to a sister school near Tokyo University, closest to Katsuki in terms of sheer distance. He was "undecided" and very proud about it for some reason.

Pinky was going to a fashion design school, which Katsuki was morbidly curious to keep an eye on.

Sue him, he wondered if her particular brand of ugly could somehow turn into a high fashion masterpiece with a bit of guidance.

Don't tell her he said that, of course, her head was already too big for her body. She was already under the COMPELTELY FALSE assumption that he had been doing something nice for her when he had set her up on a few modeling gigs for his mother's athleisure brand, but NO it was NOT a favor.

It's just a smart marketing decision.

The Old Hag just fucking forgot that not every model was a hundred pounds, six feet tall, and flat as a board. Raccoon Eyes had been complaining that no brands fit her curves in Asian sizing, and he was tired of hearing her complain. He was also tired of the same boring cookie-cutter advertisements his parents had been putting out for years.

If they - meaning his parents - wanted to be known as a brand that was inclusive they had to actually BE inclusive. It's not fucking rocket science. Just include different body types, different races, different styles, different everything.

Who was more different than Raccoon Eyes? Nobody, that’s who.

So far, that particular spread was received well in print and online, and sold out pretty much the day of the launch. Katsuki was insufferably smug about being right for a whole month after that one.

What we wouldn't give to feel smug right now.

Stupid little distractions aside, there was just nothing he could really do. The dread and nerves were curdling in his gut every day he didn’t get the news.

Part of him wished he could just work out some frustration on another piece of shit criminal, because goddamn was he fucking frustrated. Murder isn’t a healthy way of dealing with stress, but he had to admit it was at least effective. He missed the few weeks of peace that he’d taken for granted.

Anything to get this god awful itch to go away.

So yeah, he was still waiting to hear back about this fucking mentorship. He knew he deserved it, he knew he kicked ass at the personal essay portion and his resume was stacked. His GPA was excellent, his extra curriculars suggested he was well-rounded, whatever the hell that means. 

He just had to wait for the approval letter, that’s all.
They'd be stupid to reject him.
But if they did, he had no fucking clue what he was going to do.

He didn't believe in doing this half assed, so he applied for one school and one program only. 
He wasn't going to settle for second best, so it was Tokyo U and that program with Dr. Toshinori or crippling abject failure and those were the only two options.

Since failure wasn’t something he was willing to accept, to Katsuki that meant he was for sure getting in.
Of course, he was.

Just had to wait.

Wait for his acceptance, wait for his college experience to start, wait for his life to start.

Wait for all of that to go in the fucking trash when he got arrested for his crimes.

Like he said, there’s a lot on his mind at the moment.

 

So, Katsuki Bakugou made a decision, and chugged the contents of the cup without stopping to taste whatever it was until the burn in the back of his throat surprised him into a coughing fit.

Shit, that actually does burn.
He kinda thought that was all hype, or weak ass extra taste buds.
He doesn’t hate it.
It’s too fucking sweet, but it isn’t bad.

Yeah.
Maybe this isn't so bad after all.

 

---

 

He lied.
He was stupid.
This was SO bad.

He can really only receive visual stimuli in strange blurred flashes, like an out of focus camera.

The next coherent memory he has is getting pulled out onto the dance floor, in a sea of shiny beaded dresses and tuxes. The music is still thumping around them, but it's less aggravating than it was before his refreshments. A few more cups of punch and his vision is now both blurred and distorted, and he finds out that his balance is apparently not quite as sturdy and reliable as usual when he eats shit on the shiny gym floor. Katsuki ends up propped against Pinky for a good bit until the room stops spinning.

He hears Soy Sauce Face's donkey laugh when Shitty Hair, seemingly forgetting he was wearing a rental, ripped the sleeves off his suit in a show of "manliness".

"Your moms are gonna be so pissed!" Pinky cackles, and Shitty Hair is immediately sobbing and has to be consoled by the whole group. Katsuki distantly feels himself put a hand on his shoulder in support.

Things only get worse from there.

Flashes of scenes but no real plot to follow.
Every time he almost has an idea of what's going on, he's suddenly somewhere else entirely.

It's disorienting as fuck.

Aizawa makes an announcement he doesn't hear, and then disappears for the rest of the night, and Katsuki is distantly jealous of his ability to just leave.

The girl that reminds him of a mushroom is making out heavily with one of birdbrain's emo entourage.
The Squad sings happy birthday to him, and he doesn't even threaten them about it. He thinks he sees Camie attempting to streak, but then just a few seconds later he's watching her accept the Prom Queen title, fully clothed.

A mirage?

Mina is crying, and Katsuki believes she might have been nominated too, but he isn't sure.
Kirishima is still crying over his ugly ass suit and about his mothers being disappointed in him, again.
Sero takes the weepy couple home in his car, after reciting his alphabet backwards to prove his sobriety.

Katsuki doesn't even remember what the alphabet even is at this moment.

Then suddenly there's a warm body in his arms, thin and pretty. He tells them so, hands sliding from a trim waist to smooth hips. The person is the perfect height for him to set his chin on their hair and tug them closer. There's a snort and a giggle from the person buried in his chest, and just for a second he thinks he sees green when he opens his eyes.

But it isn't green.

No, that was just a trick of the lights roaming the dance floor. Colored strobes of light shine intermittently over the remaining crowd.
It's not starry eyes and freckles. It's not a soft mouth with a chewed up bottom lip like he desperately craves.

Can you crave something you’ve never had?
Katsuki thinks so. If the buzz under skin, the one not from alcohol, has anything to say about it.
Katsuki craves blood, and he craves Deku.
In almost equal measure.

But instead of green curls tickling his nose, it's hair so brassy blonde it's practically yellow with a big black streak dyed into it.

No, it's not Deku in his arms, of course it isn't.
He doesn’t deserve to even dream about him.
He promised after all.

It's just Dunce Face, clearly as out of it as he is, a dopey look on his face with a visible flush to his pale skin.
He's disappointed in a way he never thought he could conceptualize.

"Wow, you look like... like someone kicked yer puppy, or somethin'. ‘M I that ugly?" Kaminari giggles again, trying to smooth the furrow out of Katsuki's brows with an index finger.

It feels kinda nice.

"S'not you. S'just me. Miss'n someone s' all." Katsuki slurs back, he's annoyed that his words feel so heavy and wrong in his mouth, but doesn't make any moves to extricate himself.

"Big bad Blasty misses someone?” The teasing lilt is quickly replaced with shock, and something else, probably mischief. “After all this time, you had a girl and didn't even tell the squad?" Kaminari squawks indignantly, hitting his open palm against Katsuki's chest playfully several times.

An admonishment for these perceived slights.

Of all the nicknames Kaminari had given Katsuki over the years, Blasty was one of his favorites.

Not that he’d ever tell this idiot that.

After all, how often did someone blow up the junior chem labs? He was a fucking legend, a cautionary tale in their school. You’d think he’d feel differently about being teased for it, if the accident hadn't gone down the way it had.

Hard to feel bitter about getting actual fucking super powers, with very few drawbacks.

Plus he had to admit that being able to just turn his hearing aids off to ignore someone was peak comedy.

 

"Nah, you think I could…hic… hide somethin' like that from P-Pink... Mina? She's a fuckin' bloodhound, man." He hiccups mid-sentence but powers through because he’s a fucking gentleman. Katsuki snickers and Kaminari scrunches up his nose to laugh with him.

It’s dorky.
It's cute.

"And! And... I'm not interested in no fucking girls." He adds with a derisive shake of his head, fingers pressed into Kaminari's waist like a lifeline to keep him upright.

"Blasty's been a boy kisser this whole time? Man, that would've been a way better gift than the pencil set!" Kaminari whines, and then the two of them guffaw in the other's arms for a few more seconds until the words sink slowly through his inebriated consciousness. It could have been seconds or hours later, there was no real way for Katsuki to know.

"Really? You'd kiss me?" Katsuki looks down at Kaminari dubiously, an eyebrow raised to show his skepticism. "You don't even fuckin' like me, Sparky."

"I like ya plenty, Blasty. Like ya a lot right now. You're pretty too, y' know, when yer not screaming." Kaminari looks up coquettishly through his long blonde eyelashes that glitter in the lights dancing over them... or at least that's what Katsuki's brain interprets that look to be. Now though, he probably couldn't even tell you what that word even meant.

It kinda felt like his brain was leaking from his ears, but it wasn't necessarily bad.
He just had a feeling his brains were supposed to stay in his head, but maybe he was wrong about that.

Wait, Katsuki’s never wrong.
Yeah, he’s always right.
Even when he’s wrong.

"Do somethin' for me?" Katsuki stage whispers, conspiratorial and shifting his eyes side to side in an effort to check for people listening in. Not that he could see more than six inches in front of his face.

"Mmhmmm. Birthday boy gets whatever he wants." Kaminari hums, nodding once, a wide smile on his lips as he leans his ear closer to Katsuki. He cups a hand around it to hear his drunken rambling better.

"I will kiss you once. ONE time. But you have to... to call me somethin', first." Kaminari's eyes widen and he looks up at Katsuki with more sobriety than he had initially thought the blonde was capable of.

"Like what? Is it Daddy?" Kaminari asks, a shit eating grin flashing neon in the lights above them. His cheeks are even pinker than before.

Katsuki barks out a laugh, shaking his head mulishly. His head is just so heavy, it's hard to keep it up.

"Nothin' like that, jus' a name I haven't heard in awhile, 's no big deal."

Kaminari takes a second to think about it, clearly mulling it over seriously, or maybe he's just too wasted to remember what they were talking about.

Wait.
What were they talking about, again?

"Sure, what the hell. Kissing is fun, I do it with Sero sometimes, so really it isn't that big of a deal when you think about it..." Kaminari zoned out a bit, his muttering dropping off after a few words as his free hand catches his bottom lip in a thinking gesture. The familiarity of it pangs Katsuki's heart enough to know exactly what he was about to ask. The sad and shameful thing he was about to do.
He didn’t deserve a friend like Kaminari, and he certainly didn’t deserve the delusion he was currently forming in his head.

It was pathetic, but at the moment, he didn’t care.
Katsuki just needed to hear it once.

He leaned in close, and watched Kaminari's irises shrink to a thin ring of honey brown, his pupils blown wide. Katsuki's lips found Kaminari's ear, his breath hot and dragging ragged from his lungs all of a sudden.

"Call me Kacchan first."

He feels Kaminari giggle against him again before too soft fingers card through his hair, and suddenly there's lips against his own ear too.

"Kiss me, Kacchan." The voice isn't right, the tone and pitch miles away from the voice he wants to hear. And the fingers are too gentle, too delicate, somehow.

It's not right.

Not right at all, and yet it's as if liquid magma is poured down his spine. He reacts like a man starved, turning his head to steal Kaminari's lips in a bruising kiss.

It hurts.

Katsuki was definitely going in too rough, but that's not what brings him back to his senses.

No, instead it's the static shock that sparks across his lips, leaving them tingling and numb, turning what likely would have been a thoroughly debauched make out session into something chaste and almost sweet. Both of them pull back, startled, before dissolving into squealing laughter and cackles that make them double over and end up in a pile on the floor.

He doesn't remember getting off the floor, or saying goodbye, he doesn't remember getting home, or changing into pajamas, but when he cracks his eyes open in the morning, his alarm blaring for his morning run, Katsuki remembers with an almost painful accuracy everything that happened the previous night.

Instead of facing the light of day, to examine the why and how of his behavior, he simply groans and hits the snooze button for the first time in years.

Shit, he is so fucked.

 

---

 

Luckily, nothing really changes after the events his birthday.

He notices Sparky looking at him more, but nothing like those leering extras at the club. No bedroom eyes or appreciative staring from across the room.
No, he could make fun of him for that.

Instead, he just looks fucking concerned.

That’s almost worse, so Katsuki just ignores him.
Acts the same as always, a return to their usual dynamic through sheer force of will. He’s distant, because he always has been.

The idiot isn’t dissuaded and tries to talk to him about it, to push him into talking but Katsuki pretends he doesn’t remember.
It would be better if he didn’t remember.

Not because he’s embarrassed.
No, that would be his just desserts and he’d swallow the uncomfortable feeling because he did act like an idiot. He'd be evasive and grumpy, but he would give Pikachu an explanation.

But that’s precisely what Katsuki cannot afford.

Opening that jar of worms now? When everything is so shitty? Opening that closet full of skeletons and most likely breaking down in front of Denki fucking Kaminari?

No, Katsuki just cannot do that. Katsuki just cannot handle thinking about Deku right now.

Not with the itch making him jumpier than normal.
Not when the first thing he is conscious of every goddamn morning is that buzzing, thrumming, prickly thing under his skin begging for violence.
He’s becoming paranoid, convinced every day that his actions are going to turn around and bite him square in the ass, because they have to, one of these days.

When the phone in the kitchen rings, Katsuki’s heart rate spikes.
It’s just a friend of his Old Hag asking to come around for tea next month.

When there’s a heavy knock at the door, he almost bolts on sheer instinct, but it’s just a delivery of fabric swatches.
He swears he even catches a glimpse of green curly hair out of the corner of his eyes, several times if he's honest, but every time he double checks, he's wrong.
When the mailman delivers his acceptance letter, he doesn't even register it, he's too freaked out. There it sits on his desk, holding the key to his future, but he doesn't even end up opening it until weeks later.

He's going absolutely batshit insane, isn't he?

It’s the weekend.
He’s avoiding the Squad, making himself scarce so Dunce Face won’t try needling information out of him.
If he were smarter he could leverage the idiot’s future career goals into shutting him the fuck up, but as it is, Katsuki’s worried.

The guilt festers in one of the only quiet corners left in his mind. Not only did he plan on using the other guy as a way to act out some sick fantasy about his previous bullying victim, but he realized he didn’t trust himself.

What if things had actually gone further? If, god forbid, they had fucked, then he might have hurt Kaminari if he got too worked up.
His hands blew shit up, he was lucky he hadn't hurt the idiot by accident on the dance floor.
He obviously couldn’t control himself. His prior iron tight control was now weaker than silly string.

He had killed someone.
He had taken advantage of Kaminari.
Drunk or not, he knew kissing him was wrong and did it anyway.
No, he doesn’t trust himself to be around people right now.

Nobody is home, thankfully, and while his schedule tells him he’s supposed to be studying, none of the words are even registering.
It’s a good thing the exams are already done with, and there’s nothing he needs to turn in because he’s not confident he can write his own name without somehow fucking it up.

He notices that he's been gnawing the skin around his nails, not stopping until the fingers reappear bloody.
It doesn't take long before the shredded skin heals back just a few moments later.
Ready for Katsuki to abuse it between his teeth again.

Handy little trick.

He gives up eventually, because he's a weak little bitch in actuality and he thought he might go actually insane if he didn't get this metaphorical itchy wool sweater off him.

If he's going to do this, he's going to do it right.
Do his research, keep his wits about him, be careful and thorough.

Okay, first things first.
Who is the lucky son of a bitch?

As much as Katsuki claims that he'd kill half his goddamn homeroom class if given the chance, he's not insane enough to actually consider that as an option.

Besides, senseless violence isn't the point, there's no point to murdering any random jackass.
No, what he wants is justice.

He's not killing just to kill, he's doing it to make the world a better place. To get rid of the scum clogging up the court system, and purge the city of villains.

It's noble.
(His stomach rolls at the lie.)

Finding a mark is his first order of business. If he's committing to this course of action then he needs this plan to be bulletproof.

Just sitting around and thinking about it is not helping, in fact he's confident this is making him feel worse.
Unable to stop visualizing the sensory nightmare that lives beneath his skin. He decides to go out, no real destination in mind.

Anywhere is better than here.
Anything is better than thinking about that night.

He walks aimlessly for a while, takes a short stint on the train and goes back to his old neighborhood.
The playground seems so much smaller now.
Those monkey bars used to feel miles above the ground, and now he doesn't even fit underneath them. If he tried to cross them properly he'd have to pick his knees up to have them not drag across the ground. The swings creak in the light breeze, and it's peaceful.

Not particularly helpful, but peaceful nonetheless.

He goes back to the alley, somewhere he'd visited several times since that night, but nothing is different.
There's still the scent of old urine caked into the brick walls.
There's still a dumpster, practically overflowing with garbage, leaking assorted foul smelling liquids.

Still no indication of the crime he committed.
The buzz under his skin reminds him stubbornly of what he did though.

He's hungry, but he doesn't feel like going back home yet, so he walks a little further.

Remember that diet plan?
That schedule set in stone?
The discipline that Katsuki's been keeping a stranglehold of his whole life?

That shit goes right out the window as he passes a hole-in-the-wall izakaya and the smell of hamburger steak suddenly narrows his focus only to the growling in his stomach.

Lucky for him, he ends up wandering into the right person at the right time, because sitting in the large corner booth, are the wide eyes of the girl he saved all those months ago.
The missing piece of his puzzle.

She recognizes him and it's obvious.
It's obvious in the way she coughs on the bite she took, in the way she immediately breaks eye contact to stare at her food.
He knows there's probably a better way to do this, but short of waiting for her outside (which feels stalkerish and gross) he doesn't really have another plan.

"Hey, Ponytail. Can I talk to you a minute?" Surprisingly, she nods and gestures to the unoccupied space in front of her.

'Ponytail', it turns out, is actually Momo Yaoyorozu.
Yes, THAT Momo Yaoyorozu.
The one and only heiress to the largest manufacturing conglomerate in the country.

She's rich enough to buy a country if she wanted.

Rich Bitch insists he order whatever he would like, so he does.
He speaks in clipped, toneless sentences, and only responds when spoken to by the waitress and when directly prompted by his most unlikely of lunch dates.

Holy shit he is so dead.
Or he would be, if she had any intentions on reporting him.

Which apparently, she does not.

From Ponytail's vantage point, she had seen Katsuki kill a man, but she doesn't look scared of him.
Once Katsuki's food arrives, she takes the opportunity while he's eating to give her version of events.

She had been waiting for her girlfriend to get off work, they had a date planned so she sent her protection detail home early for the evening.
A man approached her and asked her for the time, nothing stood out, no discernable features to point him out from a sea of other salarymen on their way to the last train or to sleep it off at the office.

Ponytail had informed him of the time, to be polite, but he didn't stop or leave after that. He kept pressing and asking more and more questions, first about what she was doing out so late, if anyone knew she was alone, who she was waiting for, then more personal and invasive questions she felt were too inappropriate to repeat in front of Katsuki now.

The man had grabbed her, hard enough to bruise, pushed her into the alley and... she began to tremble, and asked if it was okay if she skipped forward.

Katsuki simply nodded. He had no interest in hearing the events he already witnessed be rehashed, or forcing the girl to describe them in the middle of a fucking restaurant.

Ponytail said that she remembered panicking, trying to remember her self defense courses or how to reach the panic button in her bag to alert her family's bodyguards to her location, but as she tried to clear her mind to focus, her gaze had met someone else's.

His.

Katsuki's.

"You looked... really scary. I thought you were, um, just waiting your turn…" Momo whispered the words, but they still stabbed Katsuki like knives.
So he had scared her, worse than he thought.

"But you didn't. Instead, you jumped right into that alley and pulled him off me. You just started... hitting him. There were sparks, I-I didn't see much. It was dark and I was so... but I could hear every point of contact, I think I... I think I heard some of his bones break? There was a popping noise, like firecrackers. He stopped moving eventually. You stood there a second, introduced yourself, and then... asked if I was okay." Momo smiled a tight, painful smile before continuing. "I didn't answer you then. I wasn't sure how to."

"Fair." It was the only word he could think of to reply with. It was about what he figured, but he was glad that even in an apparently bloodthirsty haze of rage, he had asked about how she was.

Made him feel slightly less like a monster.
Just slightly.

"You just picked him up, tossed him over your shoulder like he didn't weigh anything at all and started walking away. Then you stopped, and turned back to me. You told me to go home and stay safe. Said it was dangerous to be out alone in the dark. I said something silly about you being out there too. You said that’s why it was dangerous, and then you just turned and... left. I remember thinking, 'what a hero'."

Katsuki had been staring at the table in front of him, lost in self hate and disappointment until he heard those words and his head jerked up to meet her eyes.

Gone was the scared girl from that night.
Ponytail's eyes were sharp and calculating.

"I shudder to think what might have happened if you hadn't intervened. If... if my girlfriend had come looking for me and seen... or..." She took a shuddering breath in and out, a slender hand covering her mouth until she recovered some before that hand had disappeared back under the table. Her posture was pin straight, and where it wavered before, her voice now came out clearly, resonant and strong as steel. "Thank you. I can't express how grateful I am."

Now he was uncomfortable.

He didn't deserve to be heralded or thanked, he almost traumatized this girl. He committed a murder in front of her very eyes. It was one thing not to report him, but to thank him?

Nah, that was all kinds of fucked up.

Before he could vocalize that, something was bumping his knee from under the table. He looked down with a frown that only deepened by what he saw.
A bank-ready roll of bills, easily several grand, banded around the middle, and a plain envelope on top.

"You don't gotta..." He was shaking his head back and forth, trying to discretely push the wad away from him from under the table.

"I insist." She replied, no argument to be brokered.

"You just walk around with stuff like this? Starting to see why you needed looking after." He raised an eyebrow but took the offering slowly, sliding it into his pocket before any other patrons could see.

"I was hoping I'd run into you somehow. I needed to repay the favor... and... I thought you could use some assistance." She stubbornly avoided looking at him so she missed watching him roll his eyes at her.

"Look Ms. Money Bags, I'm not a charity case and…" She held up her hand to pause him from continuing. The action of being interrupted twice kind of irritated him, but he didn't say anything further.

"Just read the letter and reply at your earliest convenience, my number is on the card. You call it, you get my personal line - any time of day or night. Just think about it. That's all I ask." She looked at him imploringly, and he got the hint. There were things they couldn't discuss here. Honestly it was probably amateur shit to discuss your recent murder in a public restaurant, anyways.

He nodded, and she gave a grateful smile before gathering her things and leaving the booth with all the gravitas of a queen concluding court.

As she passed him she put a delicate, well manicured hand on his shoulder as she passed.

"Thank you, Kacchan." She whispered.

He turned to grab her wrist but suddenly there was a beefy, square jawed behemoth between them, and Katsuki didn't resist the snarl of his lip at the looming troglodyte above him.

"What did you call me?" He said slowly, still staring down the bodyguard, but knowing Ponytail was hidden behind his form.

"That's what you said, that night when I asked you your name. I'm sorry, maybe I heard it incorrectly." Came the hesitant heiress' voice, peeking out from around her hired guard like a child. She looked bashful, wringing her hands softly, afraid to offend Katsuki, he realized.

Not real fear, though, she doesn't look afraid, just... worried, like she’d committed a faux pas.

‘Rich bitches’, he thought exasperatedly. A murder is no problem but using the wrong name? Unacceptable.

"No. It's fine. Just been a long time since someone called me that. That's all. I'll be seeing you, Ponytail."

Without another word he slid from the booth, and shoulder checked the brute's other side, far from Momo Yaoyorozu.

He can't believe he gave her that name.

Until that thing with Dunce Face, he hadn't thought about that nickname applying to him in a long time.
His love for Deku must have been sitting pretty in the driver's seat through both experiences.

Some strenuous connection between being a hero and being himself was hinged on Deku, on their past.

It soothed something though. A heady guilt that had festered in his chest, older than prom, older than that night in the alley.
He was keeping his promise, after all.

Later, in the security of his childhood bedroom, Katsuki opens the letter.
Inside is a business card, with fancy gold-foiled lettering in the kanji of the Yaoyorozou family, and a black handwritten phone number written in neat, delicate penmanship.

Also inside the envelope is a letter addressed to him, to ‘Kacchan’.

---

 

Dear Kacchan,

Once again, I would like to express my most sincere gratitude for your assistance the other night.

I was very impressed by your skill, and wanted to offer you a job, of sorts.

You see, I have noticed a troubling trend in recent criminal activity.
A few weeks ago, there was a fire at a warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo. According to the police report, an unexplained explosion destroyed most of the building and caused a fire to spread. When law enforcement arrived on the scene, there was one single casualty.

She was a friend of a friend. Her name was Magne or Big Sis. She was known for being publicly trans, a mentor in the Big Sister program, and she had absolutely no reason to be in that random warehouse: a forty minute train ride from where she was supposed to be meeting someone later that night.
When her friends and family questioned Tokyo PD, they refused to investigate. They dead-named Magne, and wrote it off as gang activity.

This event is not the first to follow this pattern. A disproportionate number of underrepresented groups have faced the same treatment by Tokyo Police under the current captain.
There are even rumors about his involvement in the fire that burned down a local queer hotspot. It took years to open back up, the permits kept being withheld for seemingly no reason.
LGBT and female targeted crime has only worsened since Enji Todoroki was promoted and it's not hard to see why.
When the crimes were reported to the police, responding officers were combative and disinterested in bringing the culprits to justice.

In some cases they verbally or even physically abused the victims and witnesses. Rape kits sit untested in the Tokyo Police Department's evidence room, no follow ups were made after statements were taken, and several outspoken voices in the community, as well as racial justice and police brutality activists have disappeared, or been found dead, in similar situations as Magne was.

When I brought this up to my father, he dismissed it as me being hysterical, but I'm not so easily convinced. Something is wrong, and I can feel it.
Many vulnerable people can feel it. I am going to continue researching into this trend, and as I do, I will undoubtedly uncover corruption and unsavory individuals that may benefit from your expertise.

I know you may think of me as just a spoiled princess, but I want to make a difference. I want people to be safe. If the justice system is no longer trustworthy, I want to put my faith in someone I believe in. My girlfriend is a waitress at that restaurant where we met. She walks that same path home every night. It just as easily could have been her that night. The thought keeps me up at night.

You had no reason to help me.
I know you didn’t know who I was.
If you had been a little later, or if someone else had come, I don’t think they would have done what you did.

Saving someone without expecting anything in return? That’s a hero, to me, no matter the methods used.
Just knowing you are out there makes me feel safer, and many people aren’t in a position to hire bodyguards like I am.
But a bodyguard isn't what I need.
I would like to hire you as a contracted mercenary under my employ. I will provide you with a list of known criminals, rapists, murderers, child abusers, truly evil people.
For your services, you’ll be paid handsomely.

You said you were what was dangerous in that alley, but I don’t believe that.
Forgive me if this is too much, I wasn't sure where else to turn.

Please burn this letter,

-M

---

He sparks his hands and the letter goes up in smoke in seconds. Katsuki lets the ashes fall into the wastebasket by his desk, already pulling out his phone and dialing the number on the back of the card.

"I'm in."

 

---

 

His first official mark is a dirty piece of work.

Calls himself an information broker, but he should be known as the oiliest, greasiest looking weasel Katsuki has ever seen.

It's clear that his 'business' is selling out others for personal gain. Just looking at this guy made you wanna scrub the last couple minutes from your brain with bleach until nothing remained.
He was confident, that was for sure, a silver-tongue for getting out of trouble. For leaving hints and tiny half-truths in his wake.

Katsuki watches the man for three days- gets a good glimpse of his day to day life, his patterns, his habits, but that evening he sees something that makes up his mind.

He's at The League, that bar Ponytail mentioned in her letter, sipping something nonalcoholic and pretending to be distracted by the awful karaoke. The girl up there is short with long blonde hair, a thick American accent, and she introduces herself and mentions her song choice is apparently common in gay bars in the States. Something about a pink horse? He's barely paying attention, honestly, there's far more interesting things happening elsewhere in this place.

For example, he watches out of the corner of his eye as his mark, clad in the ugliest purple suit, literally dances his way to the kitchen. His snakeskin shoes catch the lowlight of the bar, and Katsuki watches the blonde girl behind the bar, a waitress by her uniform, glare hatefully in his direction as he passes.

A few seconds later he hears yelling and crashing from the kitchen, loud enough to interrupt the girl on stage. His eyes immediately find the waitress, and something passes between them as the commotion continues in the back, but neither moves a muscle. Katsuki can't make out the words of the argument, probably couldn't even without the music or the hearing damage, but its a short disagreement, going quiet as suddenly as it started. The music didn't pause, despite the girl stopping, so she awkwardly picks back up singing a few lines later in the same pop-country song.

Soon, she's singing just as loudly as before and the interruption is quickly forgotten.

A few minutes after the song ends and another has already begun, the man walks back out. He makes a beeline for the blonde waitress, who just raises her head high when he gets close, her arms crossed. The look on her face is not pleasant, like she's smelling something rotten.

Katsuki watches as the man leans out and twirls a piece of her hair around one finger. The rest of it is piled onto two messy buns on either side of her head, the only accessible pieces the ones closest to her face, a part of her bangs. His finger clearly drags her cheek as he plays with it, and she flinches with the contact.

He's saying something, but again Katsuki can't fucking hear it. He sees her stiffen, eyes murderous and sharp, her mouth open to respond before the guy lets go of her hair and moves that finger down to her mouth, indicating her to keep quiet. She glares, and the hate in that stare is so obvious, Katsuki feels it from across the room. He smiles a disgustingly smug smirk, before he says another sentence and pats her head like a dog before leaving with a wave.

He watches the waitress take several deep breaths before wiping her eyes and making eye contact with him again. Her expression is hard to read, Katsuki can't make sense of it before she's already turning around and jogging into the kitchen without another look in his direction.

Yup.
That asshole definitely deserves to die.

Not that he thought Ponytail would toss him an innocent target, especially so soon into their little arrangement.
He's mildly surprised she's so agreeable to homicide, but what does Katsuki know about the uber rich and powerful, really?

His family certainly never hurt for cash, but the Bakugous didn't have 1/8th the kind of fortune the Yaoyorozu's had. For all he knows, this is just how the upper class families handled pesky problems.
Not that he particularly minded.

Either way he was excited to get rid of this god awful feeling under his skin and make that girl at the bar's life a little easier.

That night, after leaving the League, he finalized his plan.
Only, this guy was not difficult to kill. Not at all. Barely took an effort, really.

He was in a bad neighborhood, walking down the sidewalk without a care in the world, his cigarette smoke trailing after him.

Dragging him down an offshoot road wasn't hard, and neither was beating him bloody.
Removing his gloves to blast explosions into the corpse was unnecessary but weirdly satisfying.

He was careful to wear gloves and a mask that first night, while his arrangement with Ponytail was a welcome relief, he didn’t want to make exposing himself to random civilians a habit.
It was just a plain black ski mask, something to hide his identity, but it was uncomfortable. Hot and itchy and annoyingly in the way, he made a mental note to find something else.

Body disposal became a concern though. Unlike last time, he wasn't planning on carrying this fucker anywhere.

There just weren’t enough places to dump a body in this town, and he chuckles at the idea of suggesting that to City Hall.
Eventually he realizes that the act of hiding the bodies he planned on producing was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

All the bastards that Katsuki killed were.
They could stay where they fell, send a message to the other lowlifes to shape the fuck up or else.

The next time a package arrives at his door, another box of fabric samples his mom had ordered, he suddenly has an idea.

Katsuki finds himself thumbing through his old notebooks, filled with shitty little kid drawings and notes, until he finds what he’s been looking for.
The mask design was really good, he had to give it to the nerd. He thought it looked badass as a kid, and his grown up self had to agree.
There was a giddy feeling in his throat as his fingers touched the page.

So he dragged a sewing machine out of storage and got to work. The mask was easy, and it got the job done. He needed more practice, his lines were shaky and unevenly spaced which bothered him, but there was plenty of time for that - he had all summer, after all. Without the risk of being recognized, he was more willing to take on Ponytail's jobs.

He would vet all his targets, get some kind of validation that they deserved the death coming for them, and then he'd follow through on it. His itch was scratched, the streets were safer, his wallet was fat, his sewing skills were improving.

Judge, jury, executioner, craft enthusiast, soon to be college freshman.

He still lost time, not every kill, but that red haze of rage was becoming familiar. The Swiss cheese of his memories were more like puddle jumping now. Immersing himself in the feeling, the rush of hunting them down one by one. Of slitting their throats or putting his gloved hands around their neck and squeezing them till they popped like the oily little pimples they were.

One motherfucker was surprisingly agile and managed to stab him in the stomach. It wasn't enough to lay him out though, so Katsuki made sure that motherfucker paid for it with his life.

Getting stabbed hurt like a son of a bitch.

Definitely not fun.

His regeneration wasn’t nearly as fast on his stomach, and he hypothesizes it's because the chemical exposure had been interrupted by his clothing. He was still healed by the end of the night, not even a scar to show for it, but nursing a stab wound through the accelerated healing process was not something he wanted to do often, it wept for hours.

With the money Ponytail was providing, he slowly began improving the suit he'd slowly put together. Body armor was a good idea. Kevlar on some of his more vulnerable areas would save him from some damage, and the more active he became, the more professional Katsuki looked. 

He became decently close with Ponytail, though the only time they met in person was at the restaurant as she slipped him both payment and details on each target. She still insisted on calling him Kacchan when they discussed work, but thankfully used his full name when introducing him to her girlfriend next time she was working at the izakaya.

Ears was cool. She listened to music a lot, always an earbud hanging out of her ear which Katsuki used for her nickname. She was going to Tokyo University too, some kind of music major, which was a weird bleed over between two very separate parts of his life. He wasn’t sure how much Ears knew about his extra curricular activities running around town putting fuckers in an early grave for her girlfriend’s money.

Not that the money was the only reason of course, but it did make things simpler for him.

He had initially planned on applying for the single occupancy dorms, but just one of his contracts was enough to pay for a decent apartment near the school.

The apartment was decent, nothing spectacular, but certainly better than Tape Face or Shitty Hair's apartments by a wide margin. It was clean and close to campus, a 2 bed, 1 bath. His friends had complained about the extra room, when they helped him move in, asking why he'd get it when he had no intention of having a roommate.

Of course, he told them all to fuck off.

It was none of their business what he did with his space, especially when he was planning on using it as his base of operations. Ponytail was smart, she was seeing patterns he wasn't and it irked him. He needed to be more involved, see the puzzle himself, otherwise he was just a glorified attack dog for a wealthy family. That pissed him off, so he decided that while he would continue on the contracts Ponytail provided, he would do his own research too. He even had a board with red strings, and some pictures he managed to snap on his tails.

He'd put a few things together, some relative to his work, some not. He found out his grumpy high school chemistry teacher was not only gay, but his husband Mic was the DJ at the League. That had been an awkward discovery, especially when Aizawa recognized him. They didn't speak, but Aizawa watched him from the corner of his eye until he left, leaving only a flyer for Mic's podcast for LGBT news on the table.

The bar, that blonde waitress, the police captain were popping up again and again everywhere he looked.

There was something off about all of it, Ponytail was right, and he was going to figure out what it was.

Plus, superhero subterfuge aside, it was nice having his own space. Everything in its proper place, no more yelling from the hag, no more sneaking out. The further he was from other people and their nosiness, the better. He'd hate to have to try and explain his nightly disappearances to a roommate, no matter how hard Shitty Hair had tried to convince him to sublet that extra bedroom.
He was lucky to have the financial cushion Ponytail provided, especially once he actually read that damn acceptance letter.

Along with his acceptance into Tokyo University, he'd received the acceptance into the mentorship program too, but there was a catch.

Despite the fucking clearly listed program criteria, two students were chosen to be mentored by Dr. Toshinori, instead of just one.
Apparently, even though Katsuki was clearly better in every way, there was someone else who had gotten the old man’s attention and he just HAD to have him as a mentee, despite, again, Katsuki’s obvious superiority.

It was only pissing him off a little.

Shut up.

There was only enough financial aid in the program budget to pay for one person's lab and living fees, and apparently the other motherfucker who was butting in on time with his personal hero was also poor as shit.

The financial aid department arranged a meeting with him about it a few weeks before the semester start. It was there that they asked, their voices simpering and annoying, if he would mind deferring the award to the other student, due to the income disparity.

Sure.

Not like saying no would be like taking academic candy from a very poor dumb baby. At the end of the day, he already had an apartment, and definitely wasn't moving in to the dorms, so it didn't really cost anything to say okay.

Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Katsuki wasn't a total dick. He had more than enough money for school between his parents and his job.
He'd completed several contracts this summer, and Ponytail wasn't stingy with his payment, so he definitely didn't have anything to worry about on that front.

So sure, let the other little nerd get a leg up, he clearly needed it.

Chapter 8: A Promise to Try

Summary:

Izuku's first days at University are more emotionally taxing than he initially assumed.

Izuku is incredibly nervous as he paces in front of the laboratory building.

Its smooth marble columns and pristine white steps look too grand, too illustrious for his shabby red high tops to sully. The building looms over him, tall and impassive, with two large sets of metal doors that clang open and shut as students and faculty pass by.

He's caught by an apprehension he'd hoped to have outgrown by this point, but felt that niggling insecurity roost, unperturbed in his chest cavity.
Several passerby give him questioning or aggravated glances as they avoid him, trying to motivate himself into just going in, already.

I definitely don't belong here.

That statement is painfully obvious from the bustling and purposeful students that ebb and flow from the entrance. They look so confident, assured in their direction, while Izuku can't bring himself to take a single step forward. In and out, young and old, smiles and sleepy eyes, some with coffee cups and some with huge water bottles. A man leaving the building holds the door for a lovely woman with red glasses, her bun tight and professional as she smiles at the gesture. He sees a girl wave at another, and hears them talk excitedly about what lectures they will share this semester as they pass him, stuck statue still at the bottom of the stairs.

Izuku should be chomping at the bit, bouncing on the balls of his feet and bursting into jubilant crowing at the very concept of entering this building, let alone seeking out the mentor who'd chosen him specifically, but he isn't.

No, instead he's just here.
In the way.
Blocking the impressive view with his own form, too chickenshit to go inside.
Trying desperately to make sure he doesn't vomit in apprehension.
He'd probably trip on the way up the stairs, cause a scene, and end up with a concussion... again.

His stomach rolling with anxiety, convinced he's going to ruin this opportunity for himself before he even gets the chance to introduce himself to his hero. Kacchan would be so disappointed if he could see him now...

It's just sixteen steps, and a handful of paces to the doors. He knows because he counted, several times.
It's just first day jitters, he reminds himself exasperatedly.

You're reading too much into it, just move!

Yet his feet remain rooted to the spot.

You're gonna blow this if you can't even muster the courage to enter the building.

What kind of coward are you?

You're really going to tank your entire future because you're scared?

Of what?

Of making a fool out of yourself?

Newsflash, Izuku, you already have.

How pathetic.

Useless.

It isn't until a heavy hand claps his shoulder that he's startled out of his anxious muttering.

"Hey, man, that's not very nice to say to yourself! Remember, self image is important. If you see yourself as confident then you WILL be confident as far as anyone else can tell, and if getting inside is what has you so worked up, then I'll go in with you, we can do it together!" The blonde, square jawed senpai, and its clear that's what he is, doesn't wait a second for Izuku to respond before linking their arms like they'd been best friends forever.

He's bodily hauled up the steps before he can either stammer out a refusal or an acceptance, before his brain has a chance to even process what's happening.
He trips a bit over the stairs, just like he thought he would, but his compatriot doesn't let him fall. Instead he just winks with a blinding encouraging smile and tugs him ever faster, until the cool air of the air conditioned building is hitting him hard like a blow to the face.

Izuku sucks in a gasp, and wonders idly if he had breathed at all the last several paces, and Mirio releases his arm causing him to wobble a bit, but continues walking urging Izuku to continue following him. He drags his feet, eyes wide and awestruck, whipping his head from side to side to see it all at once.

The glass atrium above him, shines sunlight through to the main floor, the crisp blue of the sky visible through the panes of glass. The natural light is comforting, making the space look even grander than it had from outside.

It's architecture is classical, but with modern additions such as the recessed lighting under the mezzanines crowned with milling students and greenery draping over the edges between the floors.
Soft cream and brick walls are covered in colorful flyers and posterboards. There are blonde wood chairs everywhere, most occupied by either student or faculty, and a small coffee stand in the corner is absolutely packed with people, a line stretching and disappearing down a corridor to the left.

"So, little freshman, where are you off to? It's a bit overwhelming at first, I remember my first day, I threw up EVERYWHERE. Some of these halls can be tricky, so if you need directions, I'm your guy. I'm a teacher's assistant here, you know! Senior student Mirio Toogata at your service!" Mirio gives him a playful salute and a full belly laugh at Izuku's deer-in-headlights expression. Mirio then pats his back maybe a little too hard to be playful, but his jovial nature is soothing some remnant of that awkward, anxious middle schooler Izuku had once been.

It's embarrassing that he's made a fool out of himself in front of an upperclassman so soon, he had hoped to save that for after lunch, at least.

"A-ah, thank you, M-Mirio senpai, I'm, uh, looking for D-Dr. Toshinori's office, I have a meeting with him?" He says the last bit like it's a question, a wobbly smile and a hand behind his neck to cover the blistering heat of his blush.

"Oh-ho! You must be one of the mentorship students! I was actually part of the review committee for your application!" Mirio's eyes are small and beady but sparkling with excitement as he grabs Izuku's arm again and moves with purpose down an adjacent hallway until arriving at a set of chrome doors, and presses the button to call the elevator.

"O-Oh, really? You work with Dr. Toshinori? Is he as amazing as the papers make him seem? I've been following his career for years, especially the proposals on wearable enhancement tech, I watched that interview with him and that big medical firm when he launched the digital corrective lenses years ago, it was amazing. Of course, his prosthetic support items are revolutionary too, most don't think to account for pediatric prosthetics that age with the wearer, that one girl's leg becoming customizable over time was extraordinary, she can even go scuba diving with it because she was a swimmer as a kid!"

Several students exit the arriving elevator, and a few join Mirio and Izuku as the doors close softly.

"I was obsessed with his tech and I read tons of his research studies, or at least as much as I could get my hands on as a high school student, some are of course confidential or only the English translations were available. I heard he went on sabbatical to take up a fellowship in the States, so I was surprised when they announced his return!" Nerves almost forgotten, he rambles on a bit more about his hero. Izuku is confident in this at least, nobody is a bigger Yagi Toshinori fanboy than he is.

The elevator is slow, and students pretend not to hear his fawning, until they reach their desired floors one by one. They must be headed to the highest level, the Atrium - and Izuku peeks over the shoulder of another student to confirm that is the button Mirio pushed. He can't rely on his upperclassman to escort him every day, after all.

"By the way, thank you for reviewing my application, Mirio senpai, I-I'm grateful to have been selected, though I'm sure there were plenty of other strong candidates for a position like this..." He remembers explicitly that he did not make it through the initial rounds of review, and that only Dr. Toshinori himself was the reason Izuku had gotten the mentorship at all. It takes awhile for Izuku to notice Mirio's bemused expression looking at him until he laughs uproariously loudly, spooking a boy with headphones on into looking their direction. Izuku gives a short dip of his head in apology, but with a chime, the elevator doors opened to a similarly decorated hallway, and Mirio is already walking ahead, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Man, you really are a chatterbox! I don't think I've ever seen someone talk so much so fast, in the middle of the elevator too!" He laughs again and Izuku can't help the blush heating up his cheeks at the call out. Was he ever going to stop being red faced today? "Alright, first of all: no, I'm not that close with Dr. Toshinori, but my boss sure is! Or, was, I guess? You're right though, Dr. Toshinori was overseas for quite awhile and only returned last year." Mirio confirmed, leading Izuku down yet another corridor.

He was definitely going to get lost if he didn't find a map.

"It was the weirdest thing! Suddenly there he was, after years, banging down Sir's door, talking about this mentorship program and finding "the Symbol of Peace" of our time. It was quite a shock when he came back, he didn't say a word about it to anyone until he was already back for good! Sir used to be his TA when he was a student here, and Dr. Toshinori had recommended him as his replacement during his absence. Sir tried to give him his job back but Dr. Toshinori didn't want it. It took the Board forcing his promotion as Department Head for him to finally back down."

"Sir?" Izuku asked politely, not recognizing that name from the faculty list he had studied, but grateful for the information regardless.

Mirio's stride was long, and though Izuku had the stamina to keep up, he had to stumble a bit to match his more frequent steps to the older student's until Mirio paused suddenly. Izuku almost slammed right into his back, before following the finger pointing at a few portraits hung on the walls.

The one he pointed to was of a severe, thin faced man with rectangle glasses. He was all sharp lines, even his mouth was drawn in an unimpressed sort of grimace, unlike some of the other smiling portraits. That wasn't the only thing that set him apart, he was clearly younger than the other faces hung on the wall, by a good decade or two at least. The only other younger face was the lady he saw at the front doors earlier, with red rimmed glasses and an almost mischievous smile.

"Ah, his name is actually Mirai Sasaki, but he goes by Sir to the students. He's over in the Nighteye wing, other side of the building. You'll probably meet him soon too." Mirio continued walking as if he'd never paused. "He was the one in charge of the committee that selected you, actually, I was just reading through and pushing pencils around. He's a bit of a stickler but he's brilliant, always twelve steps ahead. Without him, I'm sure Dr. Toshinori would be holed up in his lab even more than he already is. Never a dull day in academia! Anyways, here we are! Good luck!"

The final word was timed so well that he'd clearly done it on purpose. Mirio had clearly been prepared for this moment, because with a squeeze to his shoulder, he was pushed into an unassuming open office door and disappeared back through it, the door closing behind him with a click.

This left Izuku in an office that was so pristine, he wondered if it was a lab at first. There was a small loveseat and coffee table, to the right, and several bookcases full of meticulously organized volumes to the left. Further in, there was a large mahogany desk, with neatly stacked papers, stationery supplies, a dinosaur of a computer, and... an All Might bobblehead arranged neatly and carefully on its top.

Behind that desk was a man he almost recognized, but was immediately concerned to do so.

Dr. Yagi Toshinori was a tall man, very tall compared to the average person, and Izuku hadn't seen any professional photos of him taken in years. Even his portrait in the hall he'd just seen was not updated.

It was easy to see why.

He was gaunt, almost skeletal in his thinness. His eyes sat in deep dark hollows in his head, though they sparkled with mirth at his arrival. A grin stretched against his papery skin, exaggerating his sharp cheekbones and jawline. He had been a very handsome man in his youth, but the warmth in his expression was the only leftover example of that now.

 

"You must be young Midoriya, right? I'm glad you could make it, my boy. Hope the confusing layout wasn't too much trouble to navigate? I keep telling them to include a floorplan with those letters but they never listen to me." He chuckled, and the wet cough that punctuated the sound almost made Izuku want to rub his own chest in sympathy.

 

"Y-yes, sir! I-I, well Mirio senpai showed me the way, he was very kind! It's an incredible honor to meet you, Dr. Toshinori, sir. " Izuku bowed frantically, several times, hating the nervous stuttering in his speech.

 

"Oh come now, none of that, young Midoriya, you and I will be getting well acquainted this semester. I'm pleased to finally meet you. Your essay was inspiring to me, if not a bit flattering." Izuku felt his face heat again at the idea of Dr. Toshinori reading his essay where Izuku had gushed about him.

Izuku had almost given up on being a hero completely until he saw Dr. Toshinori's web series on adaptable technology and realized that how he was born did not matter. The circumstances of his own body did not matter, only his desire to help others. There were quite a few mentions of him as a personal hero, and comparisons to All Might, the comic book hero. His eyes flicked to the bobblehead again, and he almost felt guilty. It didn't seem fair that he'd accidentally endeared himself to the professor by sharing a hobby.

Especially when by all counts, he shouldn't be here at all.

 

"About that, sir-" Before he could ask the burning question that had been at the forefront of his mind since he received the letter, the door slammed open, signifying a newcomer to their introduction. Izuku turned to see the other selected candidate.

Well, the one who was actually chosen, Izuku thought solemnly.

If you had told Izuku Midoriya that he'd come face to face with Kacchan in that office, on one of the most important days of his professional and academic career, he would have cried.
As it is now though, seeing the man Kacchan had become... he was still probably about to cry, honestly.

Izuku couldn't handle looking at Kacchan as a whole, so he had to start in pieces. Cataloguing him from the largest to smallest details, or else he would start hyperventilating here in Dr. Toshinori's immaculate office.

Kacchan was taller than Izuku by a couple of inches, as he had always been. His wild blonde spikes were a little shorter than he used to wear it, shorn even closer on the sides. He wore simple stud earrings, but that was not nearly as surprising as the dark hearing aids nestled in his ears.

He was more distraught at not knowing what made them necessary than he ought to be given the circumstances.

He and Aunty Mitsuki were certainly always loud with their opinions, but was that just a symptom of an latent hearing problem?

The tension was visible in Kacchan's jaw, like he was gritting his teeth. The cords of his neck twitched with the swallow of his large Adam's apple. He was big, well muscled and built with definition that could be seen through his jeans and black tank top. The jacket he wore was burnt orange and worn leather, the sleeves pushed up to reveal tanned and defined forearms. No scars or imperfections mottled his skin, not like Izuku's.

By the time Izuku managed a look at his face, his eyebrows were settled heavy on his brow, darker now than the ash blonde baby hairs that used to frame his expression. The familiar furrow between them was deeper than it used to be, settled in over time. His nose was still perfectly straight, pointed up in quiet arrogance, and his cheekbones were high and striking.

He was so severely beautiful that it stole the breath from Izuku's lungs.

There was a soft frown much less hostile than he remembered tugging his lips, and then all that was left were his eyes.

Oh, those eyes.

Transported to another time, another place, he imagined a more youthful arch to blonder brows, a softer slope to his cheeks, still rounded with the last dregs of baby fat clinging to them. That furrow was shallower, though no less apparent. And those eyes were the same deep and rusty copper, the light from the window behind Dr. Toshinori's desk flashing them blood red, so similar to the way they had looked in the setting sun of that day on the roof at Aldera.

A chill ran through Izuku as he looked in those eyes now, but there was no indication of Kacchan's inner feelings. Where he once could read the innerworkings of Kacchan's mind as easily as the pages of a book, a veritable stranger stared back now.

No, not a stranger, Izuku decided.

There was still so much of Kacchan that was the same: in the way he held himself, the rigidity of his posture, the faint smell of smokey cedar aftershave and the caramel shampoo Aunty Mitsuki had always used. The recognition made Izuku's lips twitch in a facsimile of a smile.

 

"Ah, young Bakugou! Just in time! I was just introducing myself to young Midoriya here. You two will be my mentees this semester, and I'm looking forward to working with you both." Dr. Toshinori's gravelly voice was light hearted, a juxtaposition to the charged atmosphere between the two students.

Slowly, carefully, with measured heavy foot steps in what looked like very expensive boots, Kacchan approached the desk, his eyes finally dropping Izuku's to slide over to Dr. Toshinori stretching a hand to shake his.

 

"Don't bother introducing us. I'll show you why I was the right choice for this program. I'm going to surpass even you." Kacchan's smile was a war declaration, and his grip clearly tightened around Dr. Toshinori's hand before letting it fall.

The weight of the situation hit Izuku like a truck.
Not only was Kacchan here, because of course he was. He never settled for second best, of course he'd make it into Tokyo University.

But he was also HERE, in this room, this situation, this program, with Izuku.
They would be working together under Dr. Toshinori.

Every day, for the foreseeable future.

Izuku wasn't sure if he was delighted or horrified.

 

“I don't doubt that, young Bakugou. I know you both have been wondering why there are two of you in a program designed for only one." They both stiffen at Dr. Toshinori's words, and Izuku fights the urge to peek over at Kacchan's expression. If he hadn't known before, he certainly knew now.

He knew he was only there by special request, that Kacchan was the one who was actually selected by the committee, the clear victor in their search for Dr. Toshinori's protege. The guilt swam back into his guts again.

Of course Kacchan was the one chosen, he's always been amazing. Izuku had no doubt in his mind that Kacchan was the right choice, the best and brightest for this opportunity, and yet here he was, once again following behind his childhood friend, without even realizing it. Shadowing him into a once-in-a-lifetime career opportunity.

"You two are not just aspiring heroes following in my footsteps, you are both on your own path toward greatness. As your teacher, I must walk beside you. This path is not easy or simple, and the weight of that greatness can sometimes feel crushing. This mentorship is unique, the first of its kind for this institution, and the result of decades of experience and practice on my end. I seek to hand down that knowledge, this experience, to someone who would shape the future into something brighter than it was before." There's a gravitas to the way Dr. Toshinori speaks, a weight in his words that has the empty office feeling so much grander than it was.

"When I first began searching for a successor, I initially intended to hand it down to any one of my esteemed colleagues, all brilliant in their own right. I've made friends across the globe, from many walks of life but something always stopped me. As wonderful as my former students and colleagues are, there is something that they lack. I know you both come from different backgrounds, from different lives, but you hold such similar ideals that I had to have you both here for this program. Young Midoriya." Izuku looks up at Dr. Toshinori and sees a sad smile grace the elder man's face.

"Your essay touched my heart, young man. The earnest drive you possess was stamped into every letter you wrote, especially your trials and tribulations following your accident." Izuku's eyes widened and cut to Kacchan for an instant, and he heard the other student take a deep steadying breath, but remain silent.

"It was inspiring my boy. That my work could aid your recovery was heartwarming. I too have a fondness for cartoons and comic books, of superheroes charging into the night to protect those who need it most. You were initially disqualified from the program due to... how we say, an unintended bias in the system. I am sad to say that I wouldn't have even known such a promising young candidate was removed from my consideration if it weren't for the actions of my former student's own teaching assistant. Your essay was never meant to end up in my hands, and yet somehow it did. Your analysis was certainly impressive. Your interest in my work was evident. Your own schematics and blueprints were remarkable, despite the technology necessary to create some of them not existing yet. I'm not one to believe in fate, scientists rarely are, but it was something of an inevitability that someone who reminded me so much of myself in my younger years, would be discovered just as I had been searching for someone to continue on with my work. While your intellect, your strength of will, your skill were all impressive, it was your heart that stood out to me, dear boy. That is why you are here."

Izuku could not have stopped the flow of tears if he tried. His shaky fingers tried to dry them but they were quickly replaced by another cresting wave.

"Young Bakugou. You know better than most, the slight difference between those who always aim for the top and those who don't… It'll come to matter in a big way once you emerge into Society. Whether you win or lose...You can always come out ahead by learning from the experience. I was looking for a person whose tenacity, skill, intellect, and drive stood above all others, and it was not hard to find that in you. Perfect marks, an excellent recommendation, and a passion that was evident in every single piece of your submission. I must admit, your essay was... quite an interesting declaration of war upon me. You were confident that you could outshine me, to be the next big name in our line of work. Your words were incendiary, bold, arrogant. And yet, you seemed to have learned some humility as well. I believe you said 'If All You Do Is Look Down On People, You Won't Be Able To Recognize Your Own Weaknesses.' Yes, that line above all others endeared me to you. The most inflated egos are often the most fragile, after all, but you endured a traumatic event in that lab. While many would have withdrawn from the field, chosen safer vocations or at least hesitated, you have not only learned from those mistakes but doubled down and come back stronger than before." Dr. Toshinori turned away from them to look out the window behind him.

"Nothing is nobler than self-sacrifice. The risk it takes to put your blood, sweat, and tears into your work, and have that work mean something... that is what people need. People need a symbol... a Symbol of Peace, yes, but also Victory. Perhaps in my haste to find the perfect candidate, I was blind to the dual nature of the work we do. So that is why you are both here. That is what I expect from the pair of you, my Wonder Duo."

Izuku's smile was impossible to suppress, and he felt such pride to stand beside Kacchan, all these years later. He kept his eyes respectfully away from the other when he heard the faintest sniffle. Kacchan certainly would not want him to see such vulnerability, but his hand ached to reach out in comfort anyways.

 

---

 

The first day is tense and awkward, and there's no good time to talk to Kacchan.

After that emotional introduction to the next four months of their lives, and possibly beyond, Dr. Toshinori leads them a few doors down to his personal laboratory, their main workspace for the semester. He seems to pick up on the tension between them, and avoids it entirely by lecturing instead of attempting to make conversation. He walks them through his expectations for their mentorship. There would be scheduled lab times pre-selected around his and Kacchan’s busy first year schedules, and opportunities for them to attend conferences closer to the Winter term.

He learns that Kacchan’s major is in Chemical Engineering, not Mechanical, which turns out to be another reason Dr. Toshinori had been so insistent on having them both become OFA recipients.

“It’s like you fill each other’s gaps! I was admittedly worried about the workload, but with the two of you, well, I'm sure you'll do fine. Where one falls short, the other excels. Couldn't have planned it better if I tried.” Izuku tries to force his face into neutrality.

 

Would Kacchan hate that?

Being compared to a useless Deku?

 

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?” Kacchan’s voice is tight, and his teeth are bared in clear discontent.

Dr. Toshinori’s eyes widen at the familiar speech, the lack of honorifics, but he looks somewhat relieved.

 

“Well you see, one thing I regret in my professional career is that I never took the time for my personal relationships.” Dr. Toshinori’s smile is apologetic, like he knew this would be inappropriate to admit so soon.

“Professional acquaintances, friends, lovers, family... they were always second to my duty to the world. How could I focus on the frivolities of life when a few days of work could help someone walk again? To navigate the world, to dance for the first time? This idea ate at me, boys. My specialty has always been in assistive technology, since I was a young University student like you.”

Izuku is mesmerized at the look into the life behind the man he’s idolized for years, reading his research over and over again and recreating many of the prototypes that would become what they were today?

He was so close to finishing the suit that would enable him to be a full-time hero.

Day by day he had been in that lab with Mei and Tenya tinkering with the tech he had designed himself.
Dr. Toshinori’s research was the only way he’d been able to get this far. Every person he saved was because of this man.

“In fact, in my freshman year my roommate was none other than Dr. Shield, who I would go on to work closely with for many years.”

Dr. David Shield, Dr. Toshinori’s longtime co-author.

Most of their tech had been completed side by side, and co-patented many of their discoveries together, before Dr. Toshinori had returned home to Japan and begun his solitary research with Tokyo University. There were rumors of a romantic relationship between the two that circulated online, but Japan was still behind the times when it comes to public LGBT figures, especially ones responsible for most of the adaptive technology in the country. It was only spoken of in hushed whispers, and Dr. Toshinori was known for his limited social life, almost a recluse when he wasn't actively teaching.

“We were that way too, a perfect synchronicity. A give and take. Where I was messy he was meticulous. Where I was experimental, he was practical. Where my work naturally concluded, his work had a perfect jumping off point. He is the reason I am all that I am now. That bond, the trust we had in one another, allowed us to be an extension of each other in the laboratory. Those late nights tinkering together allowed Dr. Shield and I to make some of the most amazing technology the world has ever seen. But I was young, and desperate to do more, go further. I thought he was holding me back at some point, and decided to return back to Japan to work alone to make a name for myself here.” His voice was soft, and his smile was somehow both sad and genuine, as he looked down at his clasped hands with eyes seeing far away into the past.

Izuku’s mouth runs dry. This was way more than he ever expected to know about Dr. Toshinori. He can tell Kacchan is similarly confused and shellshocked beside him without even having to look. He wouldn’t be surprised if Kacchan started swearing soon.

On Izuku’s part though, he's just itching to write all of this down. It seemed rude to do so in front of him, and these notebooks were for schoolwork, not personal analysis so he does his best to just listen well. So many of his theories made sense now. He had two notebooks on the combined timeline between Dr. Toshinori and Dr. Shield, after all. He’s a fanboy by nature, and of course the online forums have long speculated that there was more than professional respect between the two geniuses.

Unfortunately, Japanese academia was famously conservative.

While there were unsubstantiated rumors, borne of hearsay and conjecture, any confirmation of this type of 'scandal' would destroy Dr. Toshinori’s career. It was a hot topic back when they were in middle school, when there was an announcement that Dr. Toshinori was officially returning to the United States after ten years. The implication was apparent, especially when the news released that he was going specifically to rejoin Dr. Shield, who had recently lost his wife in a car accident and was left to raise his daughter on his own.

“What I’m trying to say is: I’m confident you two will be an excellent team. I see a lot of myself in you both, and my goal is to have you avoid my own failures on your paths to greatness. I'm confident you will push each other to go beyond what you ever thought possible.” His hero smiles at them before clapping, suddenly breaking the tension that bled into the room.

“Let’s talk schedules!”

Thankfully, mercifully, Dr.Toshinori doesn’t seem to mind returning back to more traditional conversation topics as he discussed the academic components of their mentorship.

As if dropping crucial lore like a bomb in their laps was not how he had originally planned to spend their first day.

They receive their paper schedules and a crudely drawn map to certain areas within the building, as well as their login information for the more advanced programs used in the laboratories. There were a few days marked out throughout the semester for field observations or when Dr. Toshinori would be traveling to other institutions or major events.

Both he and Kacchan were expected to shadow Dr. Toshinori through his normal research as well as provide general assistance with grading and research whenever possible, present a semester-long Capstone project, as well as attend a showcase at the end of term for their finished pieces.

By the time they’d made the rounds and were about to begin organizing the upcoming lecture notes for Dr. Toshinori’s upcoming classes, there was a visitor knocking at the door.

 

"Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you would be pausing for lunch soon?" Came a cool, monotone voice lilting through the door to the lab.

 

“Shouto! You're back! Oh, is that for me?” Izuku smiles brightly at his friend, still holding a cutely wrapped bento box aloft.

 

“Hello, Izuku. I thought you might be too distracted to remember meal times, and I had a break now so I thought we could eat together. Fuyumi helped make them, so they should be edible this time.”

That was a relief.

Shouto was atrocious in the kitchen, for both valid and inexplicable reasons.

At first, it was due to sheer inexperience: he was hesitant to set foot in the kitchen after the events that ended up scarring him for life, understandably.

Then, with the help of Tenya and Izuku, they’d slowly introduced the idea of cold bentos and riceballs, easy meals that didn't need boiling water or an oven to prepare, which were experiences in culinary tolerance on the best of days.

Somehow he was more likely to cause disaster than anyone could have anticipated. Once, he mixed up sugar and salt, which resulted in the nastiest onigiri Izuku had ever personally consumed, and Kacchan used to demand some horrifyingly spicy fillings when they were young.
Another time he was responsible for slamming a cabinet door on both Tenya AND Izuku’s hands.

They had jokingly called him The Hand Crusher for weeks afterwards.

Izuku looks hopefully at Dr. Toshinori who nods with a smile at his newest pupil with a surprising amount of fondness.

“Yes, it is getting rather late in the afternoon, a break sounds excellent. It is nice to see that you have such kind and caring friends, young Midoriya. Your colleagues are an invaluable resource!” Dr. Toshinori places his fists on his hips, a perfect imitation of a superhero pose. "Go! Enjoy your break!" Izuku laughs at his teacher's antics and bows quickly before leaving. He gets the feeling that Dr. Toshinori is a bit of a dork, just like him.

Kacchan, for his part, just looks annoyed. This was not all that surprising, but they’d hardly even spoken a word to each other the whole day. Izuku isn't sure if he's more annoyed by the idea of taking a break or of Shouto showing up unannounced.

Regardless, the pair travel to the central courtyard of the University, and Izuku is pleased to note that the September air was reasonably warm for this time of year. As the two sit down for lunch, Izuku is startled out of his musings by a polite cough.

 

“I have a confession to make, Izuku.” Shouto says casually as he separates the bento between them. 

 

“O-okay. Way to trigger a guy’s anxiety, Sho.” Izuku jokes with a shaky laugh, hand twitching towards the outstretched rice ball before taking it gingerly. He suddenly didn’t feel all that hungry anymore.

Izuku can't help but worry that this was somehow a love confession. 

Normally, he wouldn't have even considered it, but Izuku was still raw from rejecting Hitoshi at the dance, and thanks to a certain militant police captain, this was his first time really seeing his friend again since that night.

He feels overwhelmed by the pressure, and yet there's a depersonalization between this conversation and the rest of his day so far. 

For years now, Izuku has felt sort of in flux, just watching things happen to him, but there's something about today that brings everything into sharp relief, like he's finally awake from some long sleep or turning up the resolution on a television screen.

It's embarrassing to think of why that might be.

It's sort of insane to see Kacchan again after all this time.

Between seeing a grown up version of Kacchan - and he'd definitely grown up - and his idol praising him, getting him ready for his spot at one of the most well-respected institutions in the country, AND getting to know that personal hero more intimately than he had ever thought possible, confirming a suspicion he'd had for years, might he add...  you know, this all sounds a little too good to be true.

Maybe he really did trip on those stairs earlier. 

Maybe Izuku has another concussion and is just dreaming all of this?

Maybe he’s isekai'd himself into a world where he was the lead in a shoujo manga?

Wow, conceited much, Izuku? 

So many fantastical things had happened, and the day wasn't even over yet, so it would make sense if he were hallucinating, honestly.

“No, you aren’t hallucinating, but no it isn’t what you think, either.” Shouto murmurs, a wry smile barely twitches his lips. “I wanted to confess that I had an ulterior motive for stealing you away for lunch today. While I am sure you would forget to eat, that wasn’t why I had Fuyumi assist me in providing the food.” His usually impassive face is shadowed as he hang his head.

“Ulterior motive? What’s up, Sho? Is everyone okay, wait, is your mom alright?” Izuku asks, suddenly worried something had happened with the other’s father over the break. Perhaps he had learned something during his wilderness training over the summer.

“No! No, nothing like that, Izuku. Mother is fine, I just… I want to help you.” Shouto said quickly, lowering his voice the more he spoke.

“Help me?” Izuku knew his face was just as confused as he felt, his head tilting to the side. “Help me with what, Shouto?”

“With your dream. With the suit.” Shouto said quietly, before passing him a drink and taking a bite of his own rice ball.

“With… Shouto, you don't have to worry. Now that I have access to the lab, with Tenya and Mei nearby, and Dr. Toshinori’s assistance the suit will be finished much faster. I don’t quite understand what you're talking about.” Izuku put a hand on his friend’s arm, who was still slowly sorting and re-sorting the various lunch items he had brought, avoiding meeting his eyes.

“I know. I know that. I also know that part of this mentorship was a financial aid package to pay for lab fees and your living experiences while on campus. Your suit, to put it gently, is made of scavenged parts. Of you, doing your best with what you had available, scrap metal and whatever junk you and Tenya could scrape together. I know we haven’t always agreed about this path you’re taking, but… I overheard Dr. Toshinori earlier.” He lays a delicate hand over Izuku’s on his arm, his head tilting up to watch the sky overhead. His hair is longer than Izuku has ever seen it, the tresses swaying in the afternoon breeze.

“About having someone to rely on, like I’ve relied on you. I want to be that for you. A support. I may not have experience in your field, I can’t build you machines like Tenya or Mei can, and I can’t be your lab partner like Bakugou is, but I can do... something. I can watch your back. I can pay for you to have access to the best materials for you to build an even better suit, something to keep you safe. To stitch you up when you come home bloody…” It was probably the most he’d ever heard Shouto speak at once, and it was clearly uncomfortable for him.

Izuku is speechless. Shouto seems to sense that and let the words dissipate into the air in front of them. He nudges the soda into Izuku’s eyeline again, where it barely registers in his vision. He stares blankly at it as he tries to make sense of Shouto’s offer.

“So you want… to finance me?” He asks carefully, still confused and tentative.

“If that’s what you need from me, then yes. More than that, though, I want to be more involved. Now that I’m away from my old man, out of that god forsaken house, I have more freedom. I live off campus, and had you not received your mentorship, I would have offered you my spare room.” Izuku opens his mouth to argue that such a thing wasn’t necessary, but Shouto merely raises a hand to silence him and continues.

“I have been… uneasy about not being there for you. What if you got hurt? Who would know where you were? What if I arrived back after those awful weeks in the woods and you were dead in an alleyway somewhere? I don’t want that to happen. Offering the room was an easier way of keeping an eye on you, but I wouldn’t expect you to do that just for my peace of mind.” Shouto takes another bite after that, and chews quietly, allowing Izuku to process.

“So what are you asking then?” Izuku takes the offered drink, grateful to wet his throat when the question comes out raspy.

“Just let me help. That’s it. Call when you need me. Let me do some things for you. Share the burden. You do so much without telling anyone. Imagining you coming back after a rough patrol to an empty dorm? Toughing through whatever injuries you sustain, that's a nightmare for me. If it would help someone else, even someone like me, you would let yourself get hurt. You have already. That is terrifying as your friend, Izuku. I feel helpless.” Shouto’s voice is barely audible and Izuku suddenly feels like such a bad friend. Shouto had clearly thought about this a lot, and while it wasn’t the first time he had brought up Izuku’s reckless behavior, it was the first time he wasn’t outright trying to convince him to give up entirely.

“I can try, Sho. I’ll try be better about keeping you in the loop. You’re still welcome to visit me in my dorm anytime, same as before. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know that sooner. I promise I'll be more careful.” Izuku offers quietly, watching Shouto give a deep sigh in what must be relief.

“Thank you, Izuku. I won’t let you down, you can rely on me.” Shouto says seriously, squeezing the hand between them once more before retreating and focusing more on his food instead of the heavy conversation.

“Now eat your food, you need the calories. Dr. Toshinori will be expecting you back before long.”

 

Izuku is thankful to have a good friend like Shouto.

In fact, he's incredibly grateful that he has so many people looking out for him, making exceptions for him, making him feel special.

But in the back of his mind, he can't help but feel that he doesn't quite deserve it.

 

---

 

“What’s the deal with you and Half n’ Half?” Kacchan asks one afternoon out of the blue.

Their interactions have been stilted, operating almost entirely independent from one another besides the time they spent with Dr. Toshinori, and even that wasn’t a lot of personal conversation.

In fact, this was probably the first time Kacchan had voluntarily spoken to him since they’d first seen each other in that office.

“We’ve been friends since freshman year. Oh but we didn’t go to the same school, he was homeschooled. We hung out with each other often after school though! One of my best friends from high school introduced us and we’ve been friends ever since.” Izuku explains, feeling a bit awkward telling Kacchan about the time they’d spent apart.

He also had no intention of letting the other know he’d actually met Shouto during one of his patrols, more specifically, his run-in with Stain where they saved Tenya. Obviously there was more between them, years of history, late night talks, and inside jokes, but Kacchan certainly wouldn't want to hear about it.

While it didn’t look like Kacchan planned on pushing him off another roof anytime soon, he's pretty sure his childhood friend would not be happy to hear that he's still laboring under the delusion of being a hero, all these years later.

“Still a fucking motormouth, I didn't ask for the bastard's life story.” Kacchan grunts, rolling his eyes. “A friend bringing you a homemade bento on your first day is normal for you two, hah? Don’t lie to me, shitty D-...” Kacchan shuts his mouth with an audible click and doesn’t continue. His gaze refocuses on the spreadsheet in front of him, and his jaw tightens. 

It doesn't look like he intends on speaking again any time soon.

As the silence stretches on, Izuku takes pity on him.

“Y-you can still call me Deku, Kacchan.” Izuku murmurs softly, looking at his deskmate with a sad smile. “If we're going to work together this closely all semester then we've got to at least make an effort to be civil. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, we’ve just been so busy. It’s strange to be together again, after all this time, isn’t it?”

More than a dream come true, for Izuku. 

While he's sure the blond would rather be working with anyone but him for several hours a day, it was nice that he was making an effort, even if it was just for the sake of his professional career.
Plus, he’d be lying if he wasn’t a little bit relieved. Izuku had stayed up the entire night after their first day freaking out about how to act, how he was going to pretend that he and Kacchan were perfect strangers.

“Still using that stupid kiddie nickname after all this time, nerd?” He sees the gleam in Kacchan’s eyes as a smirk pulls across his handsome face. His teasing immediately brings heat to Izuku’s cheeks, and only a little bit of shame. He's made sure over the past few weeks to never refer to him as Kacchan outright, but the feeling of Kacchan's surname on his tongue makes him nauseous.

As unnatural as it feels, he wasn't trying to let Dr. Toshinori know just how close they used to be, so until now, he has opted to just keep quiet.

Despite all of that...

“W-well, why wouldn’t I?” He says defensively, watching the half-smile drop off Kacchan’s face quickly.

“Because we aren’t friends, Deku. Not in a long time.” The words on their own are harsh, but there's no heat behind them. If anything, with the way Kacchan says them… if Izuku didn't know better, he'd almost think he sounded forlorn.

“We’ve always been friends, Kacchan. Even when we weren’t.” Izuku disagrees pointedly. The look he receives in return is complicated, and instead of answering, Kacchan just shakes his head before returning to his work.

It's several minutes later when Kacchan finally speaks up again, saving Izuku from the stressful quiet.

“If we’re supposedly ‘friends’ then we can get lunch together.” Kacchan’s jaw twitches briefly, but he doesn’t elaborate.

Kacchan wants to eat lunch with me?

Izuku’s heart swells with happiness, and he doesn’t consider the consequences of snarking back. “Oh, was there a question in there somewhere?”

Oh no.

Goddammit Izuku, you get an inch and take a mile.

It’s obvious Kacchan is trying to make up for what happened, to have an actual conversation, and you had to go and provoke him?

Kacchan was probably going to explode at him any second now and tell him to get lost for even assuming that Kacchan would willingly spend time with him outside of mandatory lab times.

Stupid.

“I ain’t asking, Deku.” Once again, the average person would think the words were terse, but the redness in Kacchan’s ears is visible out of the corner of his eye.

He really was trying.

“Then I guess I have no choice, right Kacchan?” He keeps his tone light, running his fingers across the cool tabletop idly.

The answering snort soon gives way to raucous laughter before Kacchan looks back at him, amused. He leans in close, closer than they've been in years. The smell of caramel and cedar stop Izuku dead in his tracks, all amusement traded for his rapt attention. Kacchan taps Izuku's laptop with one long finger, and oh, he wears rings now, apparently.

“Focus on those notes, nerd. And make it fast, because we’re going off campus for lunch. Do it properly, I don't want to redo whatever you fuck up.” 

Izuku tries to argue that he's doing his work dutifully, but has apparently been so wrapped up in Kacchan that he hadn't noticed the screen turn black. 

As they walk towards a small sushi shop off campus, Izuku marvels at the ease of their interactions, the sudden respect Kacchan seems to have for his opinion, the lack of ire at his presence.

Just a few weeks ago, he couldn’t have imagined ever reconnecting with Kacchan, let alone being so... civil.

Friendly, even.

Kacchan is always surprising him though, and has grown up considerably from the boy he used to know.
He's still rough, still has the mouth of a sailor, and even in front of Dr. Toshinori, he's always unapologetically himself.

Maybe that's what's so amazing about it.

Izuku tries not to get his hopes up too high that this lunch might become a regular occurrence.

Chapter 9: A Promise of More

Summary:

Katsuki finds himself preoccupied with Deku, and they have dinner.

Man this is a SLOW BURN, amiright?

This was a nightmare.
This was a dream come true.
Was it possible to be both?

Not only did the nerd who crashed his way into Katsuki’s program end up being fucking Deku of all people, but they were expected to spend hours of every day together.

So much for promising to stay away from the idiot.

At first, he was cursing his luck that day in Dr. Toshinori’s office.

Walking in, seeing Deku all hot and grown up?

It had been like a kick to the stomach. He was so fucking pretty. Katsuki had been trying to figure out what he could say. After all, the last time they’d seen each other, Deku had been falling off a goddamn roof because of him. For better or worse, he could barely get a coherent word out between all the fucking monologuing their mentor was doing.

Then he heard his professional hero decide they were a team. A team like him and his not so secret American lover. How fucking embarrassing to be clocked so fast. Was it obvious in the way they’d looked at each other? In the way Katsuki’s breath had caught, in the way his fingers twitched to hold the nerd’s stupid hand when he started blubbering?

If you had asked him in middle school he would have said that the very concept of working so closely with Deku every day was a nightmare.
Middle school him could get fucked. Maybe tossed off a roof for good measure.
Now though?

Katsuki was mortified about how easy it was. How nice it felt to have Deku close. How seamlessly they worked together, how effortless just existing in the same room with him was.

It was like everything about Deku was designed to fuck with him.
Every day was an exercise in patience and restraint, not because he hated it.

No, the exact opposite.

Even in classes, of which they shared several, they sat close by each other. Not right beside, thankfully, Katsuki wasn’t an idiot, but if he sat a row or two behind to watch Deku, that was nobody’s business but his own. The way pens and pencils would get lost in his curls even with the undercut, or the way he rolled his shoulders when he had been stuck in one position for too long.
All little idiosyncrasies that Katsuki couldn’t help but watch with a fascination that made him feel like the biggest fucking creep in the world.

He wasn’t just pretty to look at, Deku was actually decent in the lab. Katsuki watched Deku sketch out innovative tech ideas that Dr. Toshinori had never even considered before. The schematics were detailed, often including highly technical annotations in the margins. Everything that passed his hands was incredibly complex and Katsuki had to admit he was impressed, especially when he saw some of the assembled inventions the other tinkered with.

One of them was some sort of propulsion based ink squirter? The chemical composition was fascinating, a complex chain of amino acids, bonded to methacrylate which resulted in a condensed liquid that solidified on contact with the air into almost gelatinous black strands. He’d been surprised when the substance proved sticky enough to practically weld a stool to the floor when Dr. Toshinori’s shaky hands dropped a sample. They tried not to call attention to their mentor’s clearly degrading physical strength. He hacked wet bloody coughs into wads of tissues, and often needed to rest between class periods, napping on the loveseat in his couch despite being far too tall for it. There was a strict unspoken rule to not mention it.

Deku was already applying a solvent and deactivating the goo before Katsuki could even get the stool to budge.

Chemistry was supposed to be HIS specialty, but that hardly seemed to matter to the nerd.

That was another thing Katsuki wished he minded.

They didn’t butt heads in the lab either. Of course they snarked back and forth after a few days, prodding the other into working harder, to prove they were Number 1, that they deserved this spot.

Deku stuck to his side of the laboratory, mostly, surrounded by welding torches, electric components, gears, cogs, springs, and all manner of power tools, but when they did need to work more closely, Deku was a perfect compliment.

He was still a clumsy piece of shit, of course, but somehow it didn’t follow him into the lab. Walking down the hallway? Guaranteed to trip over his own feet at least once, and most likely cause some kind of disaster, on his way. In the lab though, his movements were practiced and precise. No tremor in his hands as he worked, intent and focused on some hunk of scrap metal on the work table.

Before, he had loathed sharing a workspace with someone else, so used to stuck up whiny extras or god forbid, the idiot squad who wouldn’t know the difference between an Erlenmeyer flask and a Volumetric flask if one was shoved up their asses.

Deku, as always, was different.

He was actually competent, surprisingly. More than competent, he was an even an asset. He challenged Katsuki, pushed him to work harder for longer hours than he would have otherwise.
They moved around each other like they were dancing. No more contact than necessary, but every brush of skin was electricity dancing down his spine.

It was dangerous.

Mainly because it was so hard to be a grumpy asshole when they were alone. He found himself looking forward to their time together, in or out of the lab. He'd never laughed more than with Deku, and years apart had given them so much time to make up for.

All those annoying habits Deku had as a kid were still there, but in a far more confident and attractive package. He watched the nerd stick his tongue out when he was thinking intensely about something. The muttering hadn’t gone anywhere either, though it was much quieter than it used to be, his hearing aids could only ever catch a few words. It was almost a relief, a low hum in his deeper voice, buzzing pleasantly in Katsuki’s ribs when he was close by.

For once, Katsuki even found himself appreciating the background noise, especially when Deku rambled aloud as he worked, like a well loved radio station. When Deku got nervous and couldn’t stop from fidgeting with his fingers, scarred and calloused from work he would drum them on whatever surface was closest, even his own leg, which also bounced restlessly. He was constantly in motion, and his minty shampoo wafted over Katsuki's nose whenever his curls bounced.

It was maddening.

The years did Deku good, he could admit it.

Where he was once skinny and scrawny he was now solid and toned, even under those stupid graphic tees and basketball shorts. His freckles were splashed high on his cheeks, still darkened by the lingering sun of late summer. His curls were wild and untamed like the forest where they used to play as brats.

The sweat that beaded on his forehead when he welded something in the lab for the first time? That had almost been it for Katsuki. Deku had shed his overshirt, and was wearing just a sweat slick white tank top underneath. It was borderline indecent, the ribbed fabric practically see-through and stuck to the toned abdominal muscles underneath. There was a small bump where his navel was. Deku had an innie when they were kids, didn’t he?

Katsuki probably would have salivated if it wasn’t for the absolute horrorshow that was the rest of the nerd.
His muscular arms and chest were crisscrossed with hundreds of scars, some thin, some thick, some arcing like lightning up his forearm. Between the dusty pink and thin silvery scars were clusters of freckles, like the stars poking out behind galaxies of scar tissue, the worst of which was on his right shoulder. The one he’d gotten their last day of middle school.

It was startling to see the proof of his fuck up on Deku’s skin, but somehow, in a sea of similar injuries, it didn’t look out of place. Somehow it was like that puckered, ugly scar was just another stroke of paint on a canvas. It stirred something ugly in Katsuki, a possessiveness that he was quick to push down deep and never let see the light of day.
How could he possibly enjoy seeing proof of their relationship on Deku’s skin, like Katsuki was branded on him?

Disgusting.

Deku saw him staring and just gave an apologetic shrug when Katsuki gestured angrily at his torso. He didn’t volunteer stories about the rest of his injuries, but after watching Deku hop on a skateboard every day, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Reckless idiot.

His body wasn’t the only distraction, either. Deku’s huge sparkling eyes were just as watchful as they used to be, and better yet, they kept following Katsuki. It felt vindicating that he wasn’t the only one preoccupied with the other. Little nerd thought he was being subtle, peeking out of the corner of his eye, or waiting until Katsuki's back was turned, but he could feel them.

Those eyes.
Those stupid, beautiful, fucking awful, eyes.
He was too weak to resist them.
Weak. So very weak.
Katsuki fucking hated being weak.

Just looking at Deku both calmed the fire in Katsuki’s chest and stoked it simultaneously. He was burning alive with every look the nerd returned, and yet he’d never felt more relaxed.
He was soothed and enticed all at once. A dichotomy that only Deku could subject him to.
The only real negative to their current situation was the fucking half and half bastard.

When he had arrived that first day, all domestic with a lunch for the nerd, Katsuki nearly lost his shit. Who was this candy cane fuck and why was he feeding Deku?

That was the first thing Katsuki said out loud to Deku.
Not “hello”, not “I’m sorry”, not “I love you”, no the first words after he said after half a decade apart were: “What’s the deal with you and Half n’ Half?”
He tried not to sound petulant, leaning heavy into irritation instead.

Deku looked floored, like he didn’t quite understand why Katsuki would even care. Not that he did, of course.

“We’ve been friends since freshman year. Oh but we didn’t go to the same school, he was homeschooled. We hung out with each other often after school though! One of my best friends from high school introduced us and we’ve been friends ever since.” Deku scratched his cheek absently, fidgeting like he was embarrassed about having friends.

Well, Katsuki from middle school probably would have made fun of him for thinking he had friends. Katsuki’s mouth tasted bitter all of a sudden.

“Still a fucking motormouth. I didn't ask for the bastard's life story.” He didn’t like the thought of Deku being so close to some random extra. A random extra that brought him special lunches in cutesy wrappings, especially.
“A friend bringing you a homemade bento on your first day is normal for you two, hah? Don’t lie to me, shitty D-...” Katsuki stopped himself before the nickname could leak out of his mouth. It was one thing to be classmates, lab partners, but it was another to speak the name he’d never expected to use out loud again. Deku could hate his guts and be too goddamn polite to say it.

“Y-you can call me Deku, Kacchan.” These stupid butterflies in his stomach were nauseating. Hearing Deku actually call him that again made everything brighter somehow, like the colors were more vibrant or some similar bullshit.

Reading it in Ponytail’s letter, and hearing her polite acknowledgement that 'Kacchan' had saved her felt nothing like this.
Dunce Face, drunk at the prom, whispering that name in his ear like a dirty secret couldn’t compare.

Not to Deku, smiling sadly beside him. Permissive and sweet, like he had always been. Deku said his name like a promise.
A promise of more than Katsuki could handle.

“If we're going to work together this closely all semester then we've got to at least make an effort to be civil. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, we’ve just been so busy. It’s strange to be together again, after all this time, isn’t it?”

Yeah, that was one way to describe it.
Strange.

Not amazing. Not everything he’s ever wanted in his life. Not liquid heat injected into his very veins. Not so fucking good that it made him feel drunk. Not electrifying.
No, Katsuki wasn’t fucking giddy to be so close to the nerd again. To hear him call him ‘Kacchan’ like no time had passed. Like they were still kids in a pillow fort holding hands and skinning their knees together.

He’d never admit any of that, he'd take it to the fucking grave.
So ‘Strange’ was an okay description for now.

“Still using that stupid kiddie nickname after all this time, nerd?” His resolve was breaking. He felt the smile quirk on his mouth, and was rewarded with the nerd looking at him like he’d won the lottery.

“W-well, why wouldn’t I?” There were lots of reasons. Lots of clear, obvious reasons why Deku shouldn’t still be treating him like something special. Shouldn’t be looking at him like that, but for now…

“Because we aren’t friends, Deku. Not in a long time.” God he wanted to be. He wanted to be much more than that, even. But that wasn’t possible. He didn’t deserve it. Especially not now. Even if Deku forgave him for everything he did to him, for the roof, for the bullying… he was too far gone now. He was stained in blood, and he couldn’t wipe his hands on Deku’s pristine soul to clean them.

“We’ve always been friends, Kacchan. Even when we weren’t.” Katsuki thought he was going to start crying if this nerd didn’t shut the fuck up. It was like he could strip Katsuki bare with just a few words. He felt raw, flayed open and vulnerable under that gaze.

He didn’t answer, he couldn’t. The apology was caught in his throat like he’d choked on it. It took several minutes to swallow it down where it belonged.

If Deku wanted to be friends, he could do that. He’d never say no to the nerd. He couldn’t pretend to hate him, it was too painful. Katsuki would crack eventually and have even more to apologize for.
If he was going to make amends he had to prove he deserved it.

“If we’re supposedly ‘friends’ then we can get lunch together then.” He tried his best to sound casual, indifferent. He was just stating a fact, hedging his desire into something more manageable.

“Oh, was there a question in there somewhere?” Deku’s voice was teasing, and his crooked smile made Katsuki’s stomach lurch.

Fuck this nerd and his newly acquired sass.
Why did it thrill Katsuki so much?

He saw the regret flash in his eyes, probably thinking Katsuki would be angry.
He was far from angry.

It took several years of therapy and introspection to understand the cute aggression that plagued their interactions as kids.

Yes, he had worried for Deku.
Yes, he wanted to teach him a lesson on self preservation.
Yes, he had sometimes thought Deku was looking down on him.
Yes, he was a wrathful bastard on the best of days.

But anger was not the feeling curling in his gut at the challenge.

Katsuki was a prowling beast in his cage, biding its time in the dark, just waiting for the opportunity to ruin Deku. To push and be pushed in return. To snap and claw and bite and feel the same in kind, especially when it was obvious his nerd could dish it out now. Somewhere along the way, Deku had come out of his shell and Katsuki wanted to see more. To see everything.

“I ain’t asking, Deku.”

God he was such a selfish bastard. He felt like a brat again, throwing a tantrum and refusing to let Deku out of his sight.
Yeah, let’s just throw out all reason, let’s outright demand Deku spend time with him and give him his undivided attention, yeah, that’ll go well you stupid fucking…

“Then I guess I’m free if you are, Kacchan.”

Katsuki snorted, and it fell into loud brazen laughter not long after. Sassy little fucking nerd. What was he worried about? Deku always understood him, sharp edges and all.

Deku's laptop had fallen asleep, and the idiot still hadn't noticed. Those eyes were focused only on him, as they should be.
Katsuki was going to lose his everloving mind if Deku didn't stop looking at him like that.
He tapped two fingers on Deku's laptop to break the connection.

“I guess Deku grew a backbone after all. Now focus on those notes, nerd. We’re going off campus for lunch.”

That day they had gone to a little ramen place, warm and inviting as the evening slowly grew more chilly. Autumn turned the leaves fiery shades of red, orange, and yellow outside the window.

It didn’t feel like the first time they’d hung out in years. It felt like coming home. Easily they fell into a back-and-forth that was simple as breathing.
Deku rambled about skateboarding and parkour for twenty or so minutes, the hobbies that littered his skin with all those scars. He mentioned another friend, another fucking extra, who taught him to skateboard. Apparently they were close. Katsuki didn’t like that.

“Shouto doesn’t like Hitoshi very much.” Deku admitted after a while. “I’ve never been able to figure out why. All our other friends get along great, even Tenya eventually accepted Hitoshi but… I don’t know. Shouto and Hitoshi have been sniping at each other since the very beginning, like they hold a grudge or something. You should’ve seen them at prom.” Deku sighed, as if the idea of two of his friends not getting along was somehow a great tragedy.

Katsuki had a pretty bulletproof idea what the two were fighting about, but he wasn’t about to tell Deku that. Deku called both of them by their first name, and it made him petty. The idea of “prom” and Deku and these chucklefucks in the same sentence made him feel mildly homicidal.

It’s 75% a joke, he swears.

Half n Half was apparently a student in the Legal department, and despite what Katsuki thought were pretty obvious heart eyes, Deku hadn’t seemed the least bit concerned, or guilty. There was no way he’d gotten this good at lying in the last few years, so Katsuki wasn’t sure if it was relieving or heartbreaking that Deku just… didn’t seem to notice that the asshole was clearly in love with him.
He'd feel bad for the poor bastard if Katsuki didn't hate his guts.

Katsuki took the opportunity to fish for more details about Candy Cane. The fucker came to steal Deku every few days around lunch, and often Deku would talk about them hanging out after school, too. Instead of demanding to know what the deal was, Katsuki griped that he clearly didn’t have much to do if he had time to put together little lunch dates for the two of them, but Deku only smiled and waved him off, talking about the asshole's older sister and "he's really trying to get better at cooking, Kacchan. He's been working so hard." Pathetic.

Katsuki could definitely cook better, just you fucking wait Deku.

Long after he and Deku had separated, his mind kept drifting back to the conversation.
Either Half n Half was firmly relegated to the friend zone or Deku was oblivious to the lust in the heterochromatic teen’s eyes. The first was obviously preferred, that Deku just wasn’t interested but the second… the second could prove to be a problem.

Fuck.
What was he even thinking?
It didn’t matter if Deku liked that prissy little extra, Katsuki wasn’t interested.

No, not interested at all.

Because lest he forget, Katsuki was a fucking cold blooded killer. He was an assassin for god’s sake. The amount of blood on his hands was inordinate, the itch under his skin was a constant reminder that he was a fucking liability to Deku. He wasn't a normal University student, doing homework, and skateboarding to classes. He was prowling the streets for fuckers to murder.
He couldn't pretend that fact away.

Even if somehow the nerd felt the same way, or hell, felt anything but revulsion for Katsuki at all? It wouldn't matter. Katsuki was dangerous. He still lost time occasionally, still lost himself to the bloodlust. He was dangerous.

Deku might not be the wimp he used to be, but that didn’t mean Katsuki wasn’t still a threat to him.
What if he pissed Katsuki off to the point that red leached into his vision?
What if he acted without thinking and hurt the nerd? Would he even remember if he did?
Make him bleed and hurt and cry and licked up his tears like the sick bastard he knew he was inside?

No, that couldn’t be allowed to happen.

He couldn’t let himself get distracted by that toothy grin, those freckles, those curls. He wasn’t some kid with a crush anymore, and he couldn’t get caught up in some stupid fucking university rom-com. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t.

He was fine with things as they were.
Totally fine.
Yep.
Definitely fine.

He wasn’t pissed off at all when the two toned bastard showed up to drag Deku off to god knows where.
He didn’t care.

Okay, fine, maybe he cared a little.

---

 

They’d hit a rhythm in their work this far into the semester. For weeks he and Deku worked side by side nearly every day.

Every morning they met in Dr. Toshinori’s office to go through paperwork and receive updates on various ongoing research projects within the Department.

Then they had Calculus together, then Intro to Engineering.

They took a small break before returning to the lab to help with whatever work Dr. Toshinori had to do that day.

On days the Half n Half Bastard didn’t show up, he and Deku would eat lunch together in the office. Katsuki definitely did not bust his ass nightly on making enough dinner to have leftovers for he and Deku to share at lunch because the idiot ate like a goddamn tanuki. Definitely not.

If Deku moaning around bites of his cooking, showering him with compliments ("This is amazing, Kacchan, it's the best curry I've ever had! ") and giving him those 10,000 watt smiles was the price for a few hours of cooking, then he supposed the trade was even.

When Deku was off busy with his shitty friends or whatever, Katsuki ate his bomb ass food alone in the adjoining office, and it always tasted bland, no matter how much chili oil he slathered on it.

Then Deku would return and they’d work in the lab until their next classes in the evening. Katsuki took a few Chemistry courses required for his degree, and Deku took several online computer processing courses which he completed there in the lab on the Mech Engineering computers. His own laptop wasn’t able to run some of the programs, so after Katsuki’s evening classes were finished he would circle back here. They would finish up whatever they were working on for the day before occasionally getting dinner together or separating until the morning.

Today, however, was an anomaly.

Katsuki was currently preoccupied with trying to synthesize a solution that would act as lubricant for a hand prosthesis that Dr. Toshinori had designed.

The hinges, especially in the fingers, were extremely delicate, and prone to sticking. Straight WD-40 or oil based lubricants would degrade the polymer base. Water based lubricants were sufficient, but unless this kid wanted to apply an eyedropper of lube to all fourteen hinges individually every ten minutes, then they needed another plan.

At first the nerd thought of adding a storage tank of lubricant inside the main body and running PVC tubing directly to the finger joints, “like veins!”, around the titanium skeleton of the arm. It admittedly looked fucking sick, but the practical testing was a total shitshow. The tubing kept getting caught between the metal skeleton and the pins that connected to the wrist socket.

Unfortunately that meant that every time the wrist ball rolled, the tubing was pinched, occasionally causing the tubing to leak or perforate. Since the tubing was fully wired in, the leaking lubricant had the potential to short out the entire electrical panel if they got nicked by the titanium pins in the right place. Big fucking yikes.

So now it was Katsuki’s fucking problem to deal with.

“Boys, you’re still here?” Dr. Toshinori’s voice was equal parts pleasantly surprised and mildly concerned.

“Hah?” He questioned loudly, having turned his hearing aids off to avoid the sound of Deku’s axle grinder earlier. He flicked them back on before he looked up at the nerd, who had been fiddling around with what appeared to be a set of goggles. He looked similarly confused until his eyes caught the clock on the far wall.

“It’s 10 o’clock?!” The nerd squeaked, immediately apologizing for staying so late. Katsuki’s head whipped to the clock as well, before checking his phone to confirm.
The screen lit up and blinked 10:02pm, and he groaned.

“Fuck, I didn’t even notice.” Katsuki rolled his neck, which he suddenly realized was incredibly stiff from the position he’d been holding it in.

Dr. Toshinori just laughed warmly, spreading his arms wide.
“As expected of my two star pupils! Burning the midnight oil without even realizing, it reminds me of my glory days. How about I order some takeout, and you can find a natural stopping point. The doors won’t lock until midnight so we have some time.” Deku started freaking out about not having the old man pay, but their mentor wasn’t having it.

They ordered some shitty takeout, Katsuki complaining about how horrible it was for them, but the other two didn’t seem to mind his tirade against saturated fats.
By the time they finished eating, Dr. Toshinori was had already wished them goodnight and left them to clean their stations with a yawn.

Somehow after he left, the atmosphere became more intimate than it had been earlier.
They had already finished up cleaning, Katsuki was wiping down his table with rubbing alcohol and curling his nose at the smell when it happened.

Deku leaned back to yawn, stretching his well-muscled arms into the air and arching his back from his perch on his own work table. Katsuki watched his t-shirt ride up as a result, and saw a flash of his stomach and what looked like… fuck was that a belly button ring?

“You got a fucking belly button piercing?” Katsuki asked dumbly, not even realizing the words had slipped out of his mouth. Was that what he saw the other day?

The nerd squealed a bit and hurriedly pulled his shirt down like he was embarrassed.

“Sh-shut up, Kacchan! It was a dare! Tsu was scared to get hers done alone, and…” Deku kept flapping his hands around and rambling about his shitty fucking geek squad but Katsuki had already stopped listening. He took a few steps forward, abandoning the task at hand, just looking at Deku’s strawberry pink face. The nerd didn’t seem to realize he was practically between the nerd's thick thighs and distantly he could hear a tiny angry voice inside his head tell him to back the fuck up and get out of there… but instead of listening, he apparently lost all common sense, and pulled the shirt back up to get another look.

They both froze.

Katsuki felt like he was about to burst into flames. His middle and index finger were still holding the shirt up from underneath, and his eyes were transfixed on the little metal bar through Deku’s smooth navel.

“Looks good, Deku.” He croaked, hardly even able to breathe.

“Thank you, Kacchan.” Deku sounded just as breathless as Katsuki felt, and he raised his eyes to check for himself. Deku looked like his entire body’s blood supply was stored in his cheeks.

So there they were.
Breathing the same air, almost raggedly, no more than six inches apart.
Deku’s abdomen exposed to the chill of the air conditioner, Katsuki’s fingers hovering millimeters from bare skin, where goose bumps were breaking out from the chill.
Not that Katsuki saw them, he was lost in the expansive green of Deku’s eyes. There was a buzzing static in the air, a fragile silence stretching between them.

Someone had to move first.
Katsuki was determined it wasn’t going to be him… until Deku’s eyelids drooped into the huskiest, most wanting expression he had ever seen. He sees Deku suck that cracked bottom lip into his mouth and bite it. From this distance he can see the blunt edge of his teeth sink into the pillowy softness of his lip and it is pure sin.
It's lewd and debauched and so, so tempting.

What would it feel like to bite that lip? To feel the give of flesh under his teeth? What would it sound like when he did? What kind of noises Deku would make then?

Katsuki doesn’t even realize he’s leaning down until their noses bump gently. He pauses, trying to find the will to stop. To take several fucking steps backward.
This is exactly what he isn’t supposed to do, what he doesn't deserve to do.

He promised he wouldn't... he shouldn't!
This cannot happen, he cannot let it… but Deku isn’t leaning away. He has plenty of space to move, to leave. To pull away from Katsuki but he doesn’t.

No, even when he should, Deku doesn't run from him.
No, because he's a dumbass with no sense of self preservation, Deku leans ever so slightly closer, bumping their noses together deliberately again.
It's a taunt, a dare, and Katsuki can’t help himself from letting his hands settle onto Deku’s thick thighs, and allowing his lower half to slot perfectly between them.

The whine that leaves the nerd’s lips is a siren song, and Katsuki feels every wall, every last shred of resistance falling to pieces in the silence of the laboratory.

Finally.
Their lips meet.

Deku tastes like the yakisoba he had for dinner. It's salty and savory, the grease from the noodles lets their lips glide across one another. Katsuki is mesmerized by the soft gasp Deku lets out when he lets his tongue drag against the seam of Deku's lips until they part. He takes advantage of it, and snakes his tongue in to the chorus of the angels, and Deku's rumbling moan against his mouth.

It’s everything Katsuki has ever wanted, everything he feared, everything he cried angry frustrated tears about in the middle of the night.
Deku is responsive and gives as good as he gets. Meets every challenge head on, with the determination to win.

Katsuki was ruined, he was saved, and he was terrified.

He was too weak to resist Deku.
Weak. So very weak.
Katsuki fucking hated being weak.

He had to get out of here before he ruined it, before he took this too far, before he looked in those eyes and saw something he didn't deserve.
Before he pushed Deku against this stupid table and kissed those lips bruised and bleeding.
Before he dragged that nickname out of those bitten lips like a curse and a prayer all at once.
Before he dropped to his knees and begged for a forgiveness he hasn't earned.
Before he confessed his possessive, obsessive, pathetic love for Deku.
He could not lose Deku again. He could not hurt him.

So like a coward, the great Katsuki Bakugou ran.

Chapter 10: A Promise to Hide

Summary:

Izuku deals with the aftermath of his kiss with Kacchan, among other things.

Things were going well.
Amazingly well.

Not only have he and Kacchan been actually talking like normal people, but they’ve been eating together two to three times a week too, sometimes more! Kacchan cooks for him, and it’s so much better than even Fuyumi’s cooking, maybe even better than his mom’s. (Not that he'd ever tell her that.)

The mentorship is amazing, Dr. Toshinori is a genius and dotes on Izuku the way he imagined a father might, if he had one. Everything was falling into place, even his work on the suit was almost finished. With Shouto’s generous support, he finally upgraded some of the more janky parts of his suit. In fact tonight he managed to fix the goggle shutter! Black Whip is only getting stuck 20% of the time, and he’s even kissing Kacchan in the lab after hours.

He might as well be floating.

Izuku was pressed up against Kacchan, having the best kiss of his entire life, his heartbeat singing in his ears. The smell of caramel and cedar surrounds him, like he’s drowning in Kacchan.
He's suddenly very thankful that Tsu was scared of needles, or else he’d never have gotten the piercing that seems to have incited Kacchan’s pillage into his ready and waiting mouth.

If he’d known a few weeks ago that all it would take to get Kacchan’s hands on him was to flash his stomach, he’d have been working shirtless, no matter how many people stared at his scars.

This was worth it.

Speaking of Kacchan’s hands, they are hot like branding irons and currently sinking into the meat of his thighs in a way that has to be illegal. Izuku can feel Kacchan grinding into the ‘V’ of his spread legs, and pressing him further into the table. The metal bites at the backs of his knees, but he doesn’t mind at all. The juxtaposition between the cool metal and the inferno that is Kacchan, is so exquisite he could cry.

Kacchan’s tongue is just as wicked as he imagined it would be, dragging against the roof of Izuku’s mouth and coaxing pathetic, needy noises from him.

It’s hot, it’s amazing, it’s perfect, it’s… over.

Izuku feels the absence of Kacchan like a knife to the gut. He shivers with the sudden lack of body heat and when he opens his eyes, he’s just in time to see Kacchan’s retreating back running from the room. His hands are still floating in front of him, where Kacchan's broad chest had been just seconds previous.

The door to the lab slams shut behind him with a loud bang that rattles the glassware cabinets.
Then everything is very still and very quiet.

Izuku is cold and lonely and so very confused.

Did he do it wrong? Did Kacchan not like it? Did he misunderstand? Was he a bad kisser? He’d only ever had that one with Hitoshi at prom, so it's decently likely.
Maybe his breath was bad? Did he taste like the yakisoba he’d eaten before?

Izuku is also heartbroken.

He never thought Kacchan would be such a coward.
Hot, humiliated tears are pouring from his eyes like a faucet and he can’t even bring himself to wipe them away.

Never before has he felt so… unwanted. Abandoned. Not when Kacchan was still being an asshole in middle school. Not when he avoided Izuku after the roof incident. Not even when his dad left.

Never.

The shame courses through his veins.
Maybe this was his punishment for… No.
Shut up, Izuku.

Kacchan wouldn’t do something like this as a joke or a way to mess with him, he’s not like that. You’re being hysterical.

Calm down.

He sucks in a ragged breath that feels like inhaling gasoline. The faint scent of rubbing alcohol still permeates the room from where Kacchan was wiping his station down, and gone is the smell of caramel and cedar.

It’s late, he needs to leave. The overhead lights are motion activated, so they click off above him.
He sits in the dark, empty, silent stillness, unmoving for just a few more minutes.
The antiseptic, impersonal smell is what jars him back into the room.
The bottle of rubbing alcohol is still there, and so are the paper towels from where Kacchan discarded them.

He's never related quite so much to an inanimate object before.

So Izuku puts the bottle back in the cabinet where it belongs and throws the paper towels in the trash on his way out of the lab. He doesn’t let the door slam, and instead pulls it shut behind him with a soft click.

His steps echo out in the darkness of the empty hallway.

He presses the button to call the elevator, and waits.
He sees nothing, feels nothing.

When it arrives with a cheerful chime, Izuku trudges inside with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The elevator lights buzz audibly as he waits the several minutes it takes for the elevator to reach the ground floor.

He’s numb now.
A vacant hollowness in his chest where a fire burned just ten minutes ago. He’s reminded, distantly, of forest fires. The blaze that burns through all the underbrush, felled trees, and dead vegetation until all that remains is the ashy soil and the trees too tall and thick to die.

Some of those trees can only germinate in the heat of the flames, melting the sap covered seeds until the pods burst and take root in the now nutrient dense soil. With the canopy gone, sunlight will finally reach the forest floor.

It will only take days for the animals to return, for the plants who’d previously been strangled out of the light to flourish once more.

He hopes his heart is like that.

That instead of that deep crack he’s been taping together for years, now that it’s finally broken it will heal over entirely. Stronger for it, like all the bones he’s shattered over the years.
He’ll finally be whole again.

What a dramatic thought. He almost wants to roll his eyes at himself but he can’t muster the derision necessary.

When the elevator finally reaches the first floor, the doors open lethargically. Izuku walks to the front doors and pushes the release only for nothing to happen.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

He checks his phone only to see 12:06am blink back at him. He’s tempted to throw his phone on the ground and then immediately feels guilty for it. His mom worked so hard to afford things like this, and he was thinking of damaging it on purpose because what? He was mad? That was childish.

He should’ve checked the time. Dr. Toshinori even warned him and… he warned him that the doors locked automatically at midnight but he’d been too much of a dramatic crybaby to check the time.

He sighs deeply and let his forehead bonk the glass of the door despondently.

He’s slept in worse places, he can always go up to Dr. Toshinori’s office and sleep on the loveseat. Izuku is trying desperately not to think about seeing Kacchan in the morning.
He’s doing an awful job of it.

After several minutes of moping, Izuku decides to explore the rest of the building. He’s been so busy, he hasn’t had the time to see the other science departments.

So he wanders.

First the Physics department, which is as boring as a theoretical science can be.
Then the Astronomy department, which is actually quiet beautiful, but he doesn’t enjoy it as much as he hoped he would. Beautiful things don’t interest him right now.
The arboretum is lovely and reminds him of a forest fire again.

The other side of the building holds the Biology department and the Nighteye wing. He’d seen Mirio a handful of times since their serendipitous first meeting.
He’s also seen Sir, Professor Sakai. He was clearly critical of Izuku, and did a great job pretending he didn’t exist until Izuku happened to trip and fall in front of him. Having a tenured professor ask if his clumsiness and exhaustion was a result of a 'loss of focus' was demoralizing in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Izuku decided to visit the Biology department next.
It was a bit spooky after hours. The marine tanks were backlit in either icy blue or cherry red, casting colorful shadows on the piping that runs along the walls.

Izuku remembers that some algae families are light sensitive, and that many of the fish that live in the Midnight Zone are some shade of red to adapt to the dark conditions of deep ocean life.

He keeps walking.

He hears faint ribbiting and is reminded of Tsu. These frogs are not the same kind she had in her backyard but they are still cute all the same. They hop and croak in their enclosure, and he’s briefly worried they are for dissection. He’d have to ask Tsu about that.

There are skeletal displays on the walls and… OW!

He peers down in the dark of the room and sees some crawling thing scuttle across his skin.
Luckily nobody is around to see the absolute freak out he has in the darkness of the biology department.

He trips on his way out of the room and hits his shin against the lectern hard, it would definitely bruise later.

He crawls his way out of the room and the light from the atrium above illuminates a small red spot on the back of his hand.

It throbs with his heartbeat.

He’s had bones broken, he’s fallen off a roof, he’s had more concussions than kisses (Too soon, Izuku) but the pain in his hand is stabbing, a burning that seems to cut straight through to his very DNA. He stumbles into the bathroom and the lights click on above him. Izuku quickly runs the bite under cold water but nothing seems to be helping, the burning just festers underneath the cool water.

Izuku is sobbing now, both from the pain and the sheer emotional dumpster fire that was this night. He’d almost hoped it was all a terrible nightmare for a moment, but he knew that kiss, and this pain, were excruciatingly real.

He just wants to go back to his dorm and sleep.
That’s all, that’s all he wants, why can’t he just go home? He curls into a ball on the floor of that nasty bathroom and just lets himself cry.

He’s not sure how long he sat there, clutching his hand to his chest and bawling like a baby, but it’s long enough for the automatic lights to click off. For him to whine and fuss at himself for letting a kiss destroy any semblance of the person he thought he was. He knew the second he left this building, he would not shed any more tears for Bakugou Katsuki. If Hitoshi were here, he would call him a liar.

Izuku is surprised when someone opens the door, and is immediately faced with an even more surprised janitor dragging a cleaning cart. When the lights register the movement and illuminate him on the tile, the man jumps and moves to protect himself with the mop before he really sees the state Izuku is in.

“Uh… are you okay, kid?” The man asks hesitantly. Izuku must look like a mess, crying on the floor of the bathroom in the middle of the night, in a building that’s been locked for hours.

“I got locked in.” His voice is so raspy and thrashed the man winces.

“Come on, I’ll let you out.” The janitor slides the rolling cart in front of the trash can with a sigh as he holds the swinging door open for him.

“Thank you.” Speaking is painful so he opts to not do any more of it. His hand feels like a ball of fire is currently embedding itself into his flesh, his eyes are heavy and tired from crying and staying up most of the night. This might actually be the worst night of his life. Stain wasn't nearly this bad.

The janitor swipes a small electronic sensor on his keyring over one of the front doors until a small beep and a rattling clunking noise indicates the lock has disengaged.

This time when Izuku pushes on the bar it swings open easily, despite the heft of the door. Night air whips his curls around and cools his flushed cheeks.

“Be careful not to do this again, kid, you can get in a lot of trouble for being here after hours. If it happens again, I’ll contact your advisor.” The janitor is stern but his voice betrays his concern. Izuku doesn’t plan on ever letting this happen again, so he nods and bows gratefully before the janitor closes the door behind him, leaving Izuku on the white steps of the USJ building.

The moon is high overhead, and illuminates the white steps beneath him like ivory piano keys. His footfalls are heavy and echo through the deserted campus. The light from the moon and the street lamps give him decent visibility, and he can see that the spot on his hand, which had once been the size of a pea, is now a quarter sized mound. It oozes liquid and continues to burn.

The walk back to his dorm is uneventful and yet somehow takes ages. When he finally scans his keycard and enters his dorm room the All Might alarm clock on his bedside blinks 3:42am.

He doesn’t even bother taking his shoes off before star-fishing onto the twin bunk and flopping his head into the pillows.

 

---

 

There’s a cool hand on his forehead, and the room is bright and hot, uncomfortably so. His eyes feel swollen and crusty as he blearily looks up into the worried eyes of Shouto Todoroki.

“Izuku, you’re awake. You have a fever, what happened to your hand?” He sounds worried, like audibly so and that isn’t like him at all. Izuku fights to open his eyes again, not sure when he even closed them.

“Wha?” Is his very intelligent and coherent response.

“Your hand, Izuku, what happened to your hand? You’ve been asleep all day, you missed all your classes and that Bakugou guy practically threw a tantrum when I came to collect you for lunch.”
At the mention of Kacchan it all came rushing back with horrible, nauseating clarity.

Izuku tried to sit up, leaning on his right hand before gasping in pain. He looks down at the hand curled into his blue bed sheets and sees what Shouto is freaking out about. His hand is almost solid bruise-like purple, and the bite has become an open necrotic maw. It looks god awful.

“Spider bite, I was locked in the USJ overnight… I was working late and didn’t get out before the autolock engaged. I was in the biology department, looking at the frogs, and it bit me. A janitor let me out around 3:30am I think?” Izuku still doesn’t look up from his hand. The veins around the bite are swollen and black, standing out starkly from the rest of his flesh, pulsing and angry.

“Izuku, look at me.” He does so, because he has no reason not to, and is momentarily stunned at the expression on his friend’s face. His eyebrows are pinched upwards, and he’s actually frowning. Not a slight dip or a faintly displeased expression, like usual, but actual pain settles on that pretty face. “Are you okay?”

Then Izuku is bawling again. Shouto crawls into his bed, despite it being way too small for the two of them to sit comfortably, and tugs Izuku into his arms and his face against a chest that smells like eucalyptus and jasmine.

Izuku wishes this was the first time he’d ever broken down in someone’s arms like this, but it isn’t.
It isn’t even the first time that someone is Shouto.

“When you’re ready, you can tell me.” Shouto murmurs quietly, carding his long delicate fingers into Izuku’s rat’s nest of curls. They get caught almost immediately, and unperturbed, Shouto begins detangling them with the patience of a saint.

He doesn’t even know where to begin.
If this were Hitoshi, he could talk about Kacchan, he could talk about the kiss.

“I know all about you and Bakugou, Izuku.” Shouto murmurs, not even pausing in his ministrations. 

Damn it, Izuku really needs to address the mumbling.

“H-how?” Izuku wails, burying his nose further into Shouto’s soft sweater.

“Shinsou and I had a long talk this afternoon. He seems to have some sort of Izuku-danger-sensor the rest of us don’t. He called you too, several times, I believe.” Shouto’s voice betrays nothing. No emotions color his voice, and his breathing remains deep and steady. Izuku finds himself matching it slowly, the way he used to with Hitoshi.

“I-I should let him know I’m okay.” Izuku tries to pull away, but lithe arms encircle his shoulders and tug him back.

“ARE you okay, Izuku? You haven’t even stopped crying yet.” Shouto sounds disapproving now, but when Izuku doesn’t attempt to pull back again, his fingers return to his hair.

“I…” Izuku doesn’t know how to answer that. If Shouto really does know everything…
“Why would he tell you about Kacchan? What happened this morning?” He needs to know what he’s missed before he knows how much to reveal.

There’s a deep sigh from beneath his cheek, and the fingers pause for a moment before continuing.

“Like I said, Shinsou was under the impression you were hurt. He called me at an unseemly hour to ask where your dorm was so he could check on you. I didn’t tell him, as that would be an invasion of your privacy.” His voice was almost glib, and Izuku found himself leaning up so Shouto could see his unimpressed face.

“Don’t look at me that way. How was I supposed to know you wanted that zombie to be aware of your address?” Izuku chuckles, and the sound is wet. He lets his head rest on Shouto’s shoulder.

“That was mean of you, Sho.” His voice is more disapproving than he thought it would be clouded by tears.

“Perhaps. I thought he was just being paranoid until I called you at a decent hour and you still didn’t answer. Of course, by then I had classes, so after dismissal, when I came to collect you for lunch, I ran into Bakugou instead.” His voice became frigid, a clear dislike evident in the way he spit the name.

Izuku hid his face in Shouto’s collarbone, the shame and humiliation of last night dragging another round of quiet sobs from his chest.

“He started yelling as soon as he saw me. Demanded to know where you were, why you were hiding from him.” Izuku whined, but Shouto’s fingers only patted his head gently in response.

“I wasn’t hiding.” He grumbled, and Shouto’s quiet chuckle reverberated in his chest, vibrating under Izuku’s chin.

“I know that. I was going to ignore him completely, but then Shinsou called again. I shouldn’t have answered.” Shouto’s voice lowered, as if he were ashamed. “He started yelling, and I lost my cool. Between Shinsou and Bakugou, it was just… a lot of yelling, and I was panicking thinking you’d gotten killed in some seedy neighborhood somewhere or were passed out in a jail cell.”

Izuku, using his non-destroyed hand, pat Shouto’s shoulder sympathetically. “I’m sorry you had to be on the receiving end of that. I know that had to be frustrating.”

Shouto chuckled again, but it was bitter sounding this time. “YOU have nothing to apologize for.”

“Still, I know Kacchan can be intense. Hitoshi too, actually.” Izuku transitioned from patting Shouto’s arm to rubbing comforting circles into his shoulder.

“That’s one way to put it. Anyways, when Shinsou heard Bakugou he got quiet. I had already told them both to stop screaming at me so I could go see that you were alright, but Bakugou didn’t listen. He was about to stomp over here himself until Dr. Toshinori threatened to drop him from the program.” Izuku couldn’t help the gasp that tore from his throat, and lurched back to look into heterochromatic eyes.

“Please tell me Kacchan didn’t tank his career because he was too worked up over me being absent for one day?” Izuku was crying again; it seemed the tears would never stop flowing at this rate.

Shouto was quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering between Izuku’s until his hand slid from the back of his head to his cheek. His cool thumb swiped some of the fresh tears away.

“No, thankfully he saw reason. I informed Dr. Toshinori that I already knew where your dorm was, and promised to inform him when you were found safely. I already sent him an email when I arrived and found you asleep with a dangerously high fever. I tried using cool cloths on your forehead but they didn’t help. I wasn’t able to wake you until just now.” Shouto’s voice was soft and his hand moved to Izuku’s forehead to check his temperature again.
“It’s still too high. You need to visit a hospital.” Izuku shook his head quickly.

“No, the emergency room fees are astronomical, and mom’s deductible is like 80,000 yen. It’s probably just a reaction to the bite and stress. You didn’t answer my question. Why would Hitoshi tell you about Kacchan and when?” Izuku tried to look stern, but Shouto didn’t seem affected in the slightest.

He sighed and pushed Izuku backwards for a moment as he stretched his long arm towards the nightstand where he grabbed a glass of water and two oblong pills. They were sat by his phone, which was plugged into the charger, the exterior light flashing with likely dozens of missed calls and texts.

“Medication first.” Came his no-nonsense reply, holding them up for Izuku to take. When he had successfully taken the medication, he urged Shouto to continue.

“While I was walking to your dorm, Shinsou asked me who had been screaming like a deranged lunatic. I kindly informed him that Bakugou Katsuki was your mentorship fellow, and he filled me in on my best friend’s secret childhood friend and first love that I somehow knew nothing about. Isn’t that strange, Izuku?” His voice was harsh, the betrayal thick and painful on his tongue.

Izuku bit his lip and looked down, the guilt hot and heavy in his throat.

“I… I’m sorry.” Izuku whispered, stray tears gathering in his lashes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shouto whispered back.

“I didn’t want you to think I was weak. You already knew me as a hero, and were already worried I wasn't strong enough. I didn't want to be the bullied middle schooler to you instead. Especially since I was in love with my bully. I thought you'd be disappointed.”

Shouto reacted as if he’d been shot. His whole body jerked, and Izuku was afraid, for a split second, that Shouto would bodily shove him off and leave him here, snot-faced and feverish.

He would deserve it.

So imagine his surprise when lanky arms wrapped tightly around him, Shouto’s sharp chin hooked over his shoulder. He squeezed hard enough to expel the breath he’d been holding.

“Izuku Midoriya. I could never think any of that. I don't think I'm even capable. I will never understand what’s going on in that head of yours.” Their foreheads knocked together, and it was so reminiscent of Hitoshi counseling him through his panic attacks that it took him much longer to stop crying that time.

Luckily it was Friday, so they didn’t have classes the next day. It was hardly their first sleepover, though it was the first in his dorm room.

Izuku did call Hitoshi, though Shouto remained stone faced and rigid as he did so, not even pretending to give them privacy.
Hitoshi answered on the first ring.

“Izuku, what the hell is going on?!” Came the tinny voice of his friend over the receiver.

“It’s a long story… short version…
1. Kacchan kissed me last night and then ran away afterwards.
2. I got locked in the science building overnight.
3. I was bitten by a spider in the biology department which gave me a fever.
4. I only woke up a few hours ago, with Shouto taking care of me. I’m sorry to have worried you, Toshi, but I swear I’m…” Izuku didn’t get the chance to finish.

“Do not say the word ‘fine’, Izuku, or I swear I will visit your mother’s house and break one of your All Might collectibles.” Hitoshi growled through the phone, and Izuku looked worriedly over at Shouto who merely met his eyes impassively, as if to say ‘I'd let him do it too.’

Calming Hitoshi down was a feat. Eventually, though, after many explanations about the previous night, tears and profanity about Kacchan's manhood, Hitoshi mumbled out, “You have horrible taste in men.”

Shouto nodded sagely as if he too, thought this was the main takeaway from the day’s events.
Izuku sputtered at them both, but seeing that he was outnumbered, and very tired, he just apologized again for worrying them and promised to call the next day with an update.

It was late, and quite frankly he was exhausted. Hitoshi whined about it for a moment until Shouto simply leaned over and disconnected the call.

“Sho, that was… so rude…” Izuku yawned, his head resting on Shouto’s thigh as the other sat with his back against the wall, head tipped back. The ceiling must be quite interesting, because Shouto made no move to look elsewhere.

“You can scold me for it later. You need rest.” Those cool fingers came back to pet his head, and Izuku couldn’t help but relax further.

Shouto continued to care for him late into the night. Izuku’s fever thankfully broke at some point, and even his hand started to look less frightening. Shouto was still pushing Izuku to see a doctor, but Izuku was adamant he could sleep it off.

He isn’t sure when sleep claimed him again, but the next time he opened his eyes, something was different.

The colors of his bedroom were more saturated, he could see individual dust motes in the air, he could hear someone singing in the shower… but the baths were on a whole other floor from him? He was certain he could hear his next door neighbor typing on his keyboard and humming along with a song he didn’t recognize.

It was suddenly too much, he put his hands over his ears just to try and block out some of the noise.

Cool hands were on him before he could register that he wasn’t alone, but when he flinched away his back slammed up against the far wall of his bedroom, several feet from where a stunned Shouto gaped at him, hands still outstretched.

 

---

 

That weekend was definitely eventful.

After waking up Saturday morning, it was clear pretty much immediately that something had happened. His senses were all haywire. Every sight, smell, sound, touch were cranked to a hundred.
His spider bite was gone completely, and a strange thrumming energy buzzed under his skin. He accidentally ripped the door of his closet off the hinges when he tried to get dressed.
He went to pick up his phone, but found his fingers stubbornly stuck to the handle, as if Black Whip had leaked onto his palms and fused the knob to his hand.

He was trying really, really hard not to panic when Shouto finally spoke up.

"I think it's clear what's happened here, Izuku. You were bitten by a mysterious spider in a science lab, and now you have vaguely spider-y powers. It's pretty obvious." He said this calmly, matter of factly, like this was just a thing that happened sometimes.

Silly Izuku, that's never happened to you before? Poor sheltered boy.

"Shouto, you know that's crazy right? You know you just said an insane thing?" Izuku was practically hysterical by now, trying to remove his hand from the knob, and subsequently the door, that he was currently dragging through his dorm room as he paced.

"I am mentally stable. Or, at least more so than you are, currently. Take a deep breath, Izuku, you're going to work yourself into a panic attack at this rate." Shouto's quiet, soothing voice was clear and resonant in the stale air of the dorm room. Izuku did his best to calm down, utilizing the grounding techniques that sometimes helped him.

What were five things he could hear?

Two floors down, someone was making breakfast in the communal kitchen. The pots and pans banged around, and he heard the sizzle of meat in a pan, the crack of an egg. Someone was brushing their teeth in their room, somewhere above him, maybe 5th floor. An alarm was going off somewhere to his left, at least three doors down. There was a mail truck backing up in the parking lot outside. Morning sex on the first floor, coming from the RA's room.

Huh.

Okay, still not better, let's try sight.

Let's count five things he could see.

A broken door still hanging from his fingers, a nonchalant Shouto trying to emulate deep breathing for him, a crack in the wall where his back hit it earlier, his favorite Bronze Age All Might figurine on the bookshelf that needed to be dusted, and his curtains billowing gently in the mid-morning air.

This isn't helping.

Shouto stood up from his previous place on the bed and made it clear he intended to touch Izuku this time. His palms were facing Izuku, a placating gesture with both hands visible, before putting cool hands on Izuku's feverish face.

"Shouto I can... I can hear everything. I can hear to the first floor, I can..." Shouto shushed him and Izuku fell silent, and began mimicking Shouto's deep breaths. Slowly the panic ebbed from his chest, and after a second, the door crashed to the ground.

"See, look you did it. Good job." Shouto's voice was gentle and monotone, and it prompted a string of hysterical high pitched giggles to tumble from Izuku's mouth.

"Why the hell are you so calm right now, Sho?!" This was like level 5 bonkers, and Shouto acted like this was just another day. He didn't understand, oh god what would his mother say?

WHAT WOULD KACCHAN SAY?!

"Izuku. Focus." He opened his eyes and looked at Shouto's baleful expression. "I'm not freaking out because I'm relieved. This. Is. A. Good. Thing." His words were careful, measured, like they were chosen with the utmost care.

"B-but-" Shouto covered his mouth with one delicate, vertical hand against his lips. It was gentle, but the gesture was clear. Izuku needed to stop talking.

"You've been out taking down criminals for what, five years now?"

The fact that the hand against his mouth didn't budge implied this question was rhetorical, but Izuku murmured his assent into those fingers regardless.

"You've been doing that with homemade gadgets built in a high school robotics lab and literal scrap metal, with the help of two teenage mechanics and a dream. You apprehended a wanted serial killer as a freshman in high school with tech that barely even worked. What do you think you can do with actual super powers?" Shouto looked somewhat bored, like he was waiting for Izuku's rational brain to get in the driver's seat for awhile. His tone was more exaggerated, like he was explaining something to a very rambunctious child. His hand fell away from Izuku's face.

It worked.

"S-super powers. I have... super powers." Shouto nodded, a small smile on his face.

"Yes, Izuku. You have super powers. Would you like to play with them a bit?" Izuku locked eyes with Shouto and a triumphant grin stretched across his face before he started nodding.

Chapter 11: A Promise to Explain

Summary:

Katsuki runs after kissing Izuku in the lab, and his next 24 hours are hell.

Notes:

Hi, everyone! I'm putting up a general announcement that the rating is Explicit for a reason.
Trigger Warnings for this chapter include Masturbation, Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Discussions of Trauma, and Bakugou Katsuki Being an unreliable narrator fr

In general though I won't be policing or announcing content, so this is your prerogative from here on out <3

I have hidden a few easter eggs through the chapters and hints for the future. Some commentors are doing a great job sniffing out plot points but we haven't even gotten in to the main conflict yet, so stick with me guys. The general plot of this fic has two arcs and we're still in the first <3 The final number of chapters may change if necessary but most are partially written already (thanks to this wicked posting schedule!)

Shit.
Fuck.
God fucking dammit.

These are the thoughts that play in Bakugo Katsuki’s head as he runs out of the lab, down the hall, down five flights of stairs, out the front doors and four blocks to his apartment. He doesn’t stop until he is safely behind the door, sliding against it to the floor in his genkan. He’s a sweaty mess, his chest burning with the strain of running like that.

He feels a little bad, leaving Deku behind, but he knows this is for the best. He’ll explain himself in the morning as much as he can, he just needs to set some boundaries.

They can be lab partners and colleagues, hell they might even be able to be friends again and put all of this behind them, but that’s where it has to end.

What happened tonight cannot happen again.
He knows that if he tells Deku that he’s focusing on his career, that he can’t be distracted by Deku’s muscular thighs and dorky laugh… well, he won’t tell him that exactly.

Deku’s a respectful little shit, if Katsuki told him he wasn’t ready for this, he would respect that and back off. More than anything he wishes he could just be selfish and just take everything Deku is clearly willing to give him, but that’s why Deku deserves better. The fact that Katsuki is tempted at all means this has all gone further than it should have.

Sure, there’s clearly something there between them. Something old and new all at once.
Some returned feelings, whether they be purely physical or something… more, but that doesn’t matter.

It’s for Deku’s own good.

Getting close like that is dangerous for them both.
Yeah.

Even if he could forgive Katsuki for all that shit when they were kids, he couldn’t be expected to overlook his little hobby. Deku’s a forgiving bastard but multiple homicides is not something even he could just gloss over, and he shouldn’t. Seeing as Katsuki’s natural violent tendencies have landed him a steady occupation as a freelance murderer, it’s a wonder he hasn’t hurt him already.

Katsuki is not safe to be around, especially as out of control as he is now. Just being near Deku is like cocaine injected straight into his brain stem, his body just reacts.

Like it’s reacting now, thinking back to that kiss.

The way Deku had whined into his mouth, the way his face had turned that beautiful ruddy red, all spit slick and desperate for him. Katsuki’s hands had pawed and squeezed at the nerd like he owned him… if that heat between them had caused Katsuki’s hands to spark?

The fact that his dick is getting hard thinking about branding his fucking handprints into freckled hips is proof enough that he’s not in his right mind.

He just has to keep his goddamn hands to himself and everything would be fine. They’d get back to normal soon… right?

He tosses and turns in his bed that suddenly feels too large and empty. He’s reminded of the nights he laid awake as a child, too used to Deku’s soft, even breaths beside him to sleep alone. He remembers curling small hands into flannel pajamas and burying his face in the extra pillow, trying to find the faintest trace of mint shampoo.

The lava in his abdomen does not cool. He's stuck thinking about eyes lidded in desire, and encouraging little moans. He doesn't even notice he's palming himself.

What if they hadn't stopped?
What if Katsuki had taken whatever Deku was willing to give?
Would he have tasted him for hours afterwards?

Deku had felt so good, so right in his arms. His weight grounding and solid against him, surging into each other like waves on a shore.
His mouth had been so warm and wet, and he couldn't help imagining his dick between that torn bottom lip instead of his teeth.
Probably blush all the way to his chest, the little vixen, but he wouldn't look away.

No, he'd stare up at Katsuki like some kind of war god, stars shining in his eyes focused only on him. On the feel of him, of the taste. Get him as addicted and desperate as Katsuki was for him.
He can imagine those sparkling eyes overflowing with tears as he begs, so sweet and polite for his Kacchan...

His orgasm is sudden, so sudden it steals the breath from his lungs in a bolt of lightning.
The post nut clarity is almost instantaneous. He doubts the cum had even cooled on his stomach before he was already disgusted with himself.

Hands to himself, indeed.

Katsuki doesn’t get much sleep that night and when his alarm blares early the next morning telling him to go for his run he almost considers skipping it.
But no, he’s not lazy.

Deku was not going to be the reason that he lost focus. He is not going to let that fucking perfect, amazing, life changing kiss fuck up everything and his entire routine, no matter how good it was.

So Katsuki goes on his run, the chill in the morning air is crisp and biting. When he returns later that morning, he’s nauseous, and for the first time since prom, he skips breakfast and decides to drink a rare cup of coffee, black and bitter as his soul, to prepare him for the conversation that is to come.

Katsuki doesn’t get nervous so he isn’t dreading seeing the nerd.

Fuck you.

---

 

He arrives early to Dr. Toshinori’s office and waits… and waits… and waits.

Normally Deku arrives early but he’s nowhere to be found. Soon his mentor arrives but no big green eyes accompany him.

“Son, are you alright? You don’t look too good… I mean, did you sleep last night… at all?” Dr. Toshinori is one to talk, his eyes sunken and tired, hardly the powerhouse he used to be.

“Fuck off, old man, I’m fine. I just… Had a late night, you were there, you saw.” Dr. Toshinori gives him a look like he doesn’t quite know what to say but seems to dismiss the concern with a shrug and continues ambling to his desk.

“...I did. I suppose it was quite late, young Midoriya did mention you have a strict sleep schedule. I trust you both got out before the doors locked?” He’s busying himself with the paperwork on his desk, making light conversation before pausing to look back at Katsuki expectantly.

He nods, but doesn’t say anything further.

Just because Dr. Toshinori was an ancient dinosaur didn’t mean he was stupid. If he figured out Katsuki was in love with the nerd after 45 seconds on their very first day, he wouldn’t put it past the bastard to somehow sniff out the newest development in their partnership. He feigns disinterest and settles further into the loveseat.

“Where is Young Midoriya, anyways? It’s past 8am…” Kastsuki tries to give a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, but his eyes are still watching the door.

“Must’ve overslept.” He’s quick to suggest, but no rambunctious nerd comes barging in with thousands of apologies and vows to set an extra alarm.

No, there was only silence that day in the lab.

Katsuki begins to panic internally, he knew it was late when they were leaving, but there’s no way the nerd stayed an extra 10 or 15 minutes for no reason…
Oh shit, he definitely would do that, wouldn’t he? Especially after Katsuki took off the way he did.

Shit, there’s that guilt again.

Look he really doesn’t have that much of an excuse.

He knows that leaving Deku in the lab alone was a dick move.
He also knows that he’s the biggest coward in Tokyo but at the time… no, there’s no saving this one, he can’t believe he left the nerd all by himself after making out with him like his life depended on it.

He only has himself to blame for Deku not showing up.

There’s not a lot of things in this life that Bakugou Katsuki doesn't regret.

For someone as confident and prideful as he is, it’s a fact that on any given day, he’s likely ruminating about something or other that he’s done wrong in the past.

For better or worse, all of Katsuki’s regrets go hand in hand with freckles and big green eyes.

He’s chomping at the bit and practically vibrating out of his skin by the time lunchtime rolls around, still no sign of the nerd, when the door opens.

Katsuki is immediately on his feet, ready to raise hell and bitch the nerd into next week for wasting hours of their time… But soft curls are not what greets him.

No, it’s the ugliest stupid dye job Katsuki’s ever seen. Shouto Todoroki’s face is blank, a mask of indifference until he takes one sweeping glance of the room and frowns.

“Where is Izuku?” The question is weirdly accusatory. Katsuki seethes.

“I’m not his goddamn keeper, asshole, how am I supposed to know where the nerd is?” Katsuki spits with venom, crossing his arms petulantly.

The half-and-half bastard just looks at him for a moment before seemingly choosing to ignore him entirely.

“Excuse me, Dr. Toshinori, have you heard from Izuku at all today?” His mentor looks sheepish and shakes his head.

“No, I’m sorry, son. We were worried as well.” The scientist’s voice is grave, and it pisses Katsuki off immediately.

“Who the fuck said I’m worried?!” He barks, his fingers digging into the leather of the loveseat.

A pensive look stretches over the smarmy bastard's features, but he says nothing. Instead, his phone rings high and loud in the silence of the room. He answers it with a flick of his wrist (who the fuck still has a flip phone in this day and age?!) and is apparently immediately disappointed with whoever answers.

“No, I have not. No, he’s not where he’s supposed to be.” Katsuki is mildly surprised at how acerbic Half n Half’s voice has become, he doesn’t even sound that pissy when he’s talking to Katsuki.

“I had classes this morning. What?!” He’s hissing into the receiver now, clearly forgetting his audience, and Katsuki turns to look at Dr. Toshinori who seems genuinely concerned.

“How was I supposed to know? You called at four in the morning Shinsou, of course I assumed he was asleep! Oh, that’s rich coming from you, I don’t keep tabs on Izuku every second of every day like some people do.” IcyHot is almost shaking with rage now, and Katsuki has officially decided he’s tired of overhearing this conversation. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that his caller must be Deku’s other friend that he doesn't get along with.

“What the hell are you two dipshits talking about? Where is the nerd?” Katsuki demands, raising his voice so the candy cane looking fuck doesn’t ignore him again.

Heterochromatic eyes watch him for a moment and he listens intently to the other side of the phone conversation instead of answering.

“Quit fucking ignoring me, you bastard, somebody better tell me what the fuck is going on right this second and tell me Where. The. Hell. Is. The. Nerd?” He barks the words angrily, but if he’s honest with himself, he’s becoming more worried by the second.

If even Deku‘s nerd squad didn’t know where he was, then that means nobody had seen him since last night.

When Katsuki left him without even a look back after kissing the daylights out of him.
That was a problem.

Dr. Toshinori is rising slowly from his desk, clearly echoing Katsuki’s question without speaking.

Deku never disappears like this, and their mentor doesn’t seem to know what to do about his absence.

What if something happened?
What if Katsuki being a fucking coward somehow put Deku in danger?
If he had stayed with him, if he had made sure he got home safely, would Deku be here with him now?

The profanities are slipping out of his mouth so quickly he’s not even processing what he’s saying, but still that impassive face just stares at him unblinking, the phone held up to his ear.

Shouto's voice is thick with anger when he finally speaks again, but it isn’t directed towards Katsuki.

“That would be Izuku‘s lab partner, Bakugou Katsuki. Why?”

Katsuki can feel his eyebrow twitch.

“Why does that stupid fuck wanna know my name? What does this have to do with Deku?” His eyes turned hard, but Half n' Half clearly wasn’t listening to him.

“And how would you know that?” The question is spoken quietly, with an icy rage. Katsuki wouldn’t be surprised if icicles themselves didn’t start forming in the office, he was so chilly.

“I see.” The words are clipped and formal, all emotion has bled from his face, leaving only an emotionless mask behind.

Without a word, he removes the phone from his ear and puts it on speaker for the whole office to hear.

“-cause you barely even know him! Someone should have seen him by now, and if he didn’t show up to class then I’m TELLING you, something is wrong! That idiot showed up to classes when he had WALKING PNEUMONIA, if he’s missing time with his ‘precious Kacchan’ and his personal hero then I was RIGHT and he’s HURT!” The voice on the other end of the phone is deep, raspier than Katsuki expected, and full of unbridled rage, the casual use of his nickname has his blood running cold.

“Fine, then I will go check!” The Half n Half hisses.

“Not a chance, Ice Prince. Give me his address, I can be there in twenty.” There is clattering and shuffling across the line, like this guy is hurrying to put his coat and shoes on. He hears the faint jangle of keys.

“No, I will do it.” Half n Half disagrees quickly.

Katsuki growls from his place on the sofa, “Bullshit, you are.”

“Excuse me?! I gave you plenty of opportunity to do that this morning, but clearly that’s too much for your stuck up ass to handle!” Is the yelled reply, loud enough to crackle the connection.

“I’m not giving you his address because it’s a violation of his privacy and you don’t need it. I'm the closest to him, so I will go.” He snipes back.

“You pathetic asshole. You were “too busy” to do the decent thing and check on him when I called you earlier, and now you’re giving me an attitude about it?!” Comes the howl from the phone, loud enough to make his hearing aid whine. Katsuki briefly considers yanking it out of IcyHot’s shaking fingers to make the noise stop.

“BECAUSE! You’d have to catch a train to get here and I don’t think waiting to go check on him just because YOU want to play hero is worth my time, Shinsou.” His eyebrows furrow, and the mask slips a bit when he begins raising his voice to match the yelling Katsuki can still hear from the phone speakers.

“Oh don’t tell me ANYTHING about playing hero, Shouto Todoroki! You are dying to prove you’re some handsome Prince Charming and save Izuku from himself, but NEWSFLASH, asshole, you aren’t even in the running!” The plastic creaked under Candy Cane’s fingers as his eyes burned, staring at the wall in abject fury.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Katsuki says, finding his voice again. He cannot believe these two are practically having a full on screaming match in the middle of Dr. Toshinori’s office. For his part, the old man looks too interested in the content of the argument to scold them for their shameful behavior.

“I don’t have to take this from YOU of all people. You've been following him like a lovesick lap dog since sophomore year. It’s sickening to watch. I’m sure you had plenty of time during your little skateboarding lessons to brainwash him with your pathetic little sob story, but I see what you’re really after. Izuku has a habit of picking up pathetic strays and YOU are no different. You wouldn’t have a single friend if it wasn’t for Izuku, why do you think that is? Because you’re a manipulative orphan reject.” The vitriol he spews is enough to have Dr. Toshinori reach a hand out, whether to comfort the other boy or stop him, Katsuki isn’t sure.

“Fine, you may be right about me, but apparently a few dirty words and some light bullying is all it takes, thanks to Kacchan’s dumb ass, but hey at least I tried! At least I was there for him, gave him what he wanted, wiped his tears, held him through panic attacks, and helped him shoulder all that shit from his past, but where were you, huh? Where were you when he was crying? At some gala? A ribbon cutting? Maybe you were getting backhanded across the dinner table, huh? How is Captain Todoroki, Shouto?” Where Half n Half had been shaking with rage, he suddenly recoiled, drawing shaky uneven breaths, his eyes shut tight.

Fuck, that sounds familiar.

That would be Captain Enji Todoroki, the one Ponytail suspects to be dirty.

Goddammit, Deku how do you get into these situations?

“Oi, who the fuck do you think you are, you shitty extra?! What the fuck are you trying to say?!” Katsuki roars. The voice didn’t stop there though, he just continued as if Katsuki hadn’t said a word.

“You didn’t even know they knew each other, let alone that they were childhood friends or a bully and his victim! Do you know whose fault it is that he fell off that roof in the first place?” Katsuki’s eyes shot wide open.

He knew.
This fucker knew.
Knew about him and Deku.
About their past.
In front of Dr. Yagi Toshinori, who knew about the accident from the personal essay submission that got Deku into his program in the first place, and Shouto Todoroki, the youngest son of the corrupt police captain Ponytail was investigating and having him complete contract kills for.

What a tangled web Deku has woven.

“You’ve been friends for years and you didn’t know jack shit about the two of them, but you have the nerve to say you “know him better”?! Fat chance. You don’t know ANYTHING about Izuku. Face it, you’re just a spoiled, rich, whiny coward too scared to tell him how you feel because you know damn well he would do anything you asked him to if he thought it would help.” Half n’ Half makes a noise like he’s been physically struck, eyes still squeezed shut like he can’t bear to open his eyes.

"Izuku and I are friends. Izuku SAVED me, because that's what he does. He saves everyone who has ever been in contact with him. You are not special. You are just the one who is pathetic enough to take advantage of his kindness. Because you're such a dramatic, pretentious narcissist that you bully him into paying attention to you. So what, you kissed him? A kiss means NOTHING." Half n Half might as well have punched a hole through his chest by the way he seemed to direct those words to Katsuki in that moment.

It was physically painful.
It also dawns on him that IcyHot clearly wasn't talking to Katsuki at all. He'd been addressing the guy on the phone.
He wasn't even looking at Katsuki.

So kisses don't mean anything to Deku?
He just does that with anyone?
Anyone he pities?

His type is dramatic, pretentious narcissist bullies who are pathetic enough to demand his attention and take advantage of his heroism and inability to say no.
Suddenly he misses the idiot middle schooler trailing after that pickpocket, it would be less dangerous than what grown Deku was up to now.

On a personal petty note, it also sounds like he wasn't the only one imagining someone else when he kissed someone.
There's an acid in the back of his throat.

He has to thread his fingers together to stop the shaking.

"Like you don't crawl into his bedroom at night, you fucking freak." Came a hiss through the phone that almost reminded Katsuki of a snake charmer. The guys voice was melodic, even saying something so fucking awful.

Katsuki wasn't in the business of knowing when someone was exaggerating, or saying cruel things to get a reaction but he knew the fucker was telling the truth when Half n Half's entire face went up in flames. Gone was the composed China doll. His face became so pigmented that the port wine stain over his eye almost blended in, and for just a second, he looked like a scared little kid before he was burying his face in his hands. The voice on the phone is sharp, no more drawn out slowness in his speech, the dreamy quality gone completely.

“Always so worried about hurting your delicate little feelings. Your drama and your ego are just more shit for him to deal with. AND YOU COULDN’T EVEN RETURN THE FAVOR! All you had to do was go check on him, all you had to do was not be selfish for five-fucking-minutes and make sure he was okay when I called, but NO, that was too much to expect of his Royal Highness.” The words are sharp and tinged in disgust.

Before Katsuki can react, the mask of Shouto Todoroki is put back on, the pristine pretty boy finally starts shouting back.

“How was I supposed to know you weren’t just delirious from sleep deprivation?! You had no evidence, nothing but a ‘feeling’! That wasn’t worth banging his door down at FOUR IN THE MORNING. I’m sorry but the world does not revolve around your feelings, Shinsou Hitoshi! This is not about you, this is not about me, this is about Izuku and his SAFETY, not about petty romantic drama! How DARE you air his dirty laundry in front of his mentor? In front of me? The others might pity you, but I will tell you now that you are just an asshole. There’s a reason you are all alone in the world and no one other than Izuku can stand to be around you. ”

This situation has gotten out of hand.
Katsuki is suddenly struck with the awful feeling that he's incredibly transparent. Everything seems so much sharper now.
He is sitting in a room with Dr. Toshinori, his lifelong hero, overhearing a conversation about his Deku, and all that entailed, between two guys who were clearly fucking nuts.

And the nerd had vanished.
Unable to confirm or deny any of these statements or accusations, no context to anything, and they were each met with a completely unbelievable personal claim towards the person in question.
Everyone in this room and even the voice on the phone thought they owned him somehow.

All of them have extremely fucked up feelings for Deku, and it seems they all knew absolutely nothing about him.
Despite them each knowing him, some longer than others, thank you very much, they all seemed to know a completely different person.

No overlap.
Neat little boxes.
A childhood friend.
A successor.
A mentor.
A friend.
A lover.
A stalker.
A threat.

There are at least three guys minimum in Deku's life that are so ass-over-mouth obsessed with him that they'd have a screaming match in his boss' office over him. 

A boss who was in charge of his entire academic and professional career.

It seems Deku never stopped playing hero, though the method had changed. He was being very reckless by involving the corrupted police captain's son, and whoever this fuck on the phone was, since he certainly knew how to hit someone where it hurt.
Katsuki was going to need to watch these two very, very carefully from now on. If something HAD happened to Deku, he was going to figure out which of them was at fault.
They were dangerous.
He was too.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!" Dr. Yagi Toshinori speaks up for the very first time in this conversation, and the two in the room flinch.
Half n Half hangs up the phone with a snap and immediately tries to leave the room before Katsuki intervenes.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” Katsuki growls, grabbing Half n' Half’s arm roughly enough to leave bruises.

Doctor Toshinori tries to set a placating hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, but is immediately shaken off. He could feel bad about it later, but for now he’s taking in ragged steadying breaths, looking down his nose into ugly mismatched eyes.

Candy Cane squares his shoulders and raises his fists to fight, his eyes hard as he glares right back at Katsuki.
Katsuki hardly blinks, because this isn’t the first idiot to try and pick a fight with him, and sucker punches the bastard in the gut. The bastard grunts at the impact but has the gall to throw a punch in his direction, glancing off his left cheek.

Immediately Dr. Toshinori is between them, a hand on their chests. He is not a threat, emaciated and gangly as he is, but his aura is one of strength and authority.

“Boys, there is no fighting on school grounds. I know tempers are high, but we must prioritize finding Young Midoriya. His safety is our concern right now, not a pissing contest. There are many troubling things that were said during that phone call, and once young Midoriya is found safe and sound, we can set a meeting to discuss it. I trust you both understand the gravity of the situation.” At that, Candy Cane looks cowed but nods.

Dr. Toshinori’s hand falls, watching the violence seep away from Half n Half like steam.

“You’re right. Shinsou, the one on the phone, has not been able to get a hold of him since early evening last night. I haven’t either, he said he was here working late. At four o'clock this morning I was woken by a call from Shinsou. He had a bad feeling something was wrong, and couldn't get Izuku to answer. They are both insomniacs with insane sleep schedules, it's abnormal for them not to answer regardless of the hour, which is why he knows that I... visit Izuku at night, to avoid my father.” Half n Half met Dr. Toshinori's eyes, and it was somewhat of a relief to have an explanation that should Katsuki follow IcyHot home one night, he might kill two birds with one stone.

Dr. Toshinori's eyes slide to Katsuki’s.
“When was the last time you saw Young Midoriya, my boy?”

Katsuki’s throat is tight; it sounds like he’s being strangled when he grunts out, “Just before midnight.”

Dr. Toshinori nods as if that’s what he expected.
“You saw him leave the building?” Katsuki’s teeth grind audibly and he shakes his head.

“I left first.” ‘like a coward ’, he adds in his mind.

Of course he fucked this up.
He was so worried about hurting the nerd, that he didn’t consider that Katsuki was hardly the only dangerous thing out there.

For just a second he remembers that night with Ponytail, but instead of wide dark eyes looking up at him in fear, they are tear-filled green.

He should have known.
This was all his fault.

There’s disdain in Half n Half’s expression now and it’s obvious that even without understanding the full situation that he agrees with the sentiment. He bodily turns toward Dr. Toshinori instead.

“I will go to his dorm and see if he’s there.”

“If you're going, then I’m going too.” Katsuki says immediately.

“You don’t even know where he lives. You are merely lab partners, that is all. I am going to see if MY friend needs help, seeing as I have my own copy of his key for his dorm and am a listed Emergency Contact.” With that snide comment, IcyHot turns to leave again, before Katsuki’s fist impacts the door beside him.

“You heard that bastard, you know Deku and I are more than just lab partners. I’ve known that reckless little shit since we were brats, if you think I’m letting you go by yourself then you’re fucking crazy.” A thin skeletal hand is placed on Katsuki’s shoulder again but he doesn’t knock it off this time.

“Young Bakugo, I’m afraid I have to insist that you remain here.” His eyes widen in betrayal as he looks at his mentor.

“It seems that young Todoroki here already knows where Young Midoriya lives. Let him go and see if he is simply in his room asleep before we truly panic. I'll expect confirmation, of course, when his whereabouts are determined.” Dr. Toshinori’s voice is authoritative, offering no quarter, but his eyes are still boring into Katsuki’s enraged ones.

“So that’s how this is gonna go. You trust that pretty little bitch more than me? Fuck this, I’m going and you can’t fucking stop me.”

Before he can follow Candy Cane out the door, he hears Dr. Toshinori’s weary sigh.

“I didn’t wanna have to do this Young Bakugou, but if you step out that door, you will forfeit this mentorship. You must be able to remain calm under pressure. You are not the only person concerned for Midoriya, I know you care for him very deeply, but this particular job is best done by those who know him more intimately.”

Intimately.
Ha, what a joke.
If only he knew that Katsuki had his tongue down the nerd’s throat, not even 12 hours ago…

… and now he was gone.

Because of Katsuki.

He’s shaking with rage by the time he sits back down on the couch. He shoots a withering glare at half-and-half still loitering in the doorway, before giving a stiff nod to Dr. Toshinori. “I’ll inform you of whatever I find.”

Katsuki doesn’t stop him from leaving this time, and the silence left behind him is long and frigid when his footsteps finally disappear into the distance.

“You’d really trust that two toned fuck over me?” Katsuki would vehemently deny the hurt dripping from his voice, but Dr. Toshinori just shakes his head sadly.

“It is not a matter of trust, my dear boy, but you are far too upset right now. It would be irresponsible of me as your mentor to let you go in this state. You two would hardly make it there in one piece without coming to blows, and that would just delay us all further from getting answers. He’s been unaccounted for too long already.” The old man’s voice is painfully gentle, and Katsuki refuses to acknowledge the truth in the words.

“Then I’m not leaving until we know for sure that Deku’s fine.” He crosses his arms petulantly, daring Dr. Toshinori to disagree.

He doesn’t.
Instead he smiles comfortingly.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, son.”

 

---

 

It’s twenty excruciating minutes later when Dr. Toshinori’s computer chimes with: “YOUR MAIL IS HERE!”.

Dr. Toshinori rushes to the computer, Katsuki hot on his heels. He leans behind Dr. Toshinori to see his screen, despite the vague disapproval from his mentor at his hovering. They are both clearly disappointed upon receipt of an email that has absolutely nothing to do about Deku.

The further he read, though, the wider his eyes became.

"Dear Faculty and Staff, please be advised that last night on Nov. 16, 20XX a student was locked overnight in the USJ Science Building until a janitorial staff member could arrive early this morning. Make sure to remind students of the auto-lock security protocols and stress that no overnight research is permitted unless approved and scheduled by Committee, due to collections on loan from Otheon's Radioactive Biology Research Department..."

Suddenly a thin and unsettlingly cool hand is in front of his eyes.

"Young Bakugou, it is highly inappropriate for you to see classified emails between the University and Faculty." He grumbles, and when Katsuki looks again the whole window is minimized.

"Do you think it was the nerd?" Katsuki asks, immediately.

"Signs point to that, yes. We'll wait for young Todoroki to update us to make sure." Dr. Toshinori admits with a sheepish grin. "You were right, it was quite silly to be so worried, now that I think of it, I'm not sure why it felt like Young Midoriya was in some villain's clutches or something silly like that! Young people are so dramatic these days, I must have gotten caught up in the drama." Katsuki is not gullible enough to believe the out, but he pretends he is.

Dr. Toshinori isn't being honest, and he can see it.
Somewhere in that smile, is doubt.
A secret.
A lie.

They say to never meet your heroes, but Katsuki hadn't really given it much thought.

Of course if Katsuki saw someone as a hero they had to be incredible. The person he idolized would have be a champion, a hero, a savior. He demanded perfection and by all accounts Dr. Yagi Toshinori was a fucking god. A genius who with the power of his own hands saved so many people just by being the best and building people whole livelihoods and limbs out of tech? The man was a billionaire, a philanthropist, Nobel fucking Prize Winner. His name was synonymous with Strength and Prestige. That was the coolest thing Katsuki had ever heard in his life. His desire to be like the man in front of him was what had him in the lab that night in Junior year. The night of the lab explosion.

This man and his influence very drastically altered Katsuki's life path.
And he didn't trust him one bit.

They might both be OFA recipients, and they might know some intimate details that could cripple the man's career or get him jeered out of academia entirely, but Dr. Toshinori was not the frail old man he appeared to be.

“YOUR MAIL IS HERE!”.

Katsuki did not return to Dr. Toshinori's side when he heard the chime this time.

“It seems Young Midoriya has been found safe and sound in his dorm room. Young Todoroki says he has a high fever, and is unconscious but breathing normally. There is…” Dr. Toshinori’s voice fades out as he continues reading the email.

Katsuki could scream he was so relieved, no villain has him, he's not dead, he just has a fever. He probably worried himself into a panic attack and put himself out of commission. He used to do that a lot in middle school. It doesn't change the suspicions about the other two fucks but this wishy-washy dramatic bullshit is making him reach his limit.

“There is- what?” Katsuki growls, hating the suspense. “Spit it out, old man.”

“Young Todoroki sent an image. It appears that Young Midoriya got injured somehow, his hand is discolored, perhaps a nasty fall. Campus Police have verified Todoroki is a valid Emergency Contact for young Midoriya and confirmed he was in the dorms. Nothing to worry yourself over. I'm just glad it all worked out in the end. How about we pick this up again when young Midoriya feels well enough to return?” Dr. Toshinori’s smile is gentle, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s clearly pushing Katsuki out of his office, despite the several hours of the day they have left.

He knows something he’s not telling, and it pisses Katsuki off.

“Fine.” He spits the word before yanking his bag up on his shoulder and walking out without a word.

He's gonna read that email.

Whatever Dr. Toshinori is hiding? Katsuki is gonna find out.

 

---

 

Deku doesn't come the next day.
The Candy Cane bastard doesn't come back either.
Short of trekking to the Legal Department and screaming for that Tide Pod motherfucker to face him like a man, Katsuki was running out of options to find Deku.

Of course he could potentially call Auntie, but he'd have to get her number from the Old Hag, and Deku might never forgive him for giving her a heart attack unnecessarily.

If the Half n Half bastard really was all over Deku's Emergency Contact form, more might've happened in the years since they were separated than he thought. The woman was a saint, it's highly possible she's been taking care of Candy Cane due to his family situation. At the very least she would feed him.

He hates the thought of that bastard eating Inko Midoriya's cooking on the regular while he wasn't.

If the roles were reversed, and he'd taken a sick day and Deku called the Old Hag over it?
Oh, he'd be furious.
He's becoming impatient though.

There was always the chance that Deku was actively avoiding him, and technically he'd have the right to. According to both Half n Half and Dr. Toshinori, and the University the nerd was fine, recovering from the fever, but fine.
It didn't stop the broiling, churning anxiety in his gut. He hadn't physically seen that the nerd was alright, so his body didn't believe it. Campus Police? Could've been bought off by a rich crooked Captain's hell spawn. Could've paid them off or threatened them into amending paperwork. He's having Ponytail look into it, actually, without telling her why.

Until he saw him with his own two eyes, Deku was as good as dead.

That's how he finds himself screaming at the administrative assistant at the Housing Office.
She's a toad-like old hag with tight brittle roller curls and clumpy mascara, there's too bright lipstick smeared on her front teeth. She's bitching at him about his manners and she's lucky this bullshit little teller window wasn't big enough for him to yank her fat ass through it.

"I already told you, you're not an emergency contact, and I am not at liberty to release another student's dorm information to you! If you bother me anymore I will call Campus Police!" Her voice is nasal and shrill and she gestures at him reproachfully with a pen that has a fake flower taped to it.

It cheapens the effect significantly but still makes him see red.

If it might make things easier, he may actually consider homicide if she doesn't fork up that address right this goddamn minute.

Katsuki is about to receive a disciplinary offense when the alarm warns him he's about to be late for class.

'Count your days, bitch' He thinks angrily, resisting the urge to flip her the bird.

He jogs over to the USJ Building without much thought and it isn't until he's approaching the doors that he sees a sudden flash of green.

He almost didn't see him, buried in the arms of a tall and lanky goth bastard with lavender purple hair.

The dude is handsome, objectively speaking, but also fucking creepy. He looks like some Tim Burton character, his eyes are bruised with deep dark circles and eyebags, like he was recovering from a broken nose, if the tape over his sharp but slightly crooked nose suggested. He has several piercings in his ears, and the hands draped casually over the nerd's shoulders were decorated with rings and dark fingernail polish.

Who the fuck was this Hot Topic reject?

Deku is pressed almost flush against the extra, arms curled underneath to embrace him around his middle. The nerd is forehead to forehead with him, their noses almost touching.
It's so incredibly intimate. He recalls being in a very similar position just a few days ago actually.
His stomach does a weird swishing thing.
He doesn't like it.

They don't even seem cognizant of the crowd of students passing them, lost in their own world, in each other.

He probably just went along with Katsuki to be nice. That's Deku, after all.
Self sacrificial and too trusting.

Nobody who spent long around Deku could resist that charm.

That's why he bullied anyone who got anywhere near him, too afraid of losing that attention.
That special connection.

Maybe it's some sort of karmic joke. Like the universe needed to remind him that the nerd did not belong to him at all, or perhaps he's witnessing his own person hell, suddenly it's not just one extra pressed against Deku, it's two. A red and white haired son of a bitch this time.
It looks so natural for them.

It must have been pure delusion to imagine Deku could ever possibly feel the same way he did.
That kind of behavior was just normal, affectionate Deku.
Katsuki had been the one to come on to him, to approach him, partially undress him even.

He’s glad he ran, honestly, before he vomited feelings and forever and soulmates at someone just gagging for his cock.
He immediately feels guilty.
It's not the nerd's fault that Katsuki misunderstood. Felt entitled to soft touches and kind words when he hadn’t even apologized yet.

In fact, this is exactly what he was hoping for, wasn't it?

He woke up this morning intent to lay down the law with Deku, to forbid them from crossing any more lines. Turns out Katsuki was worried for nothing, Deku probably didn't care about that kiss.
He kissed that guy on the phone. Even his Emergency Contact said kisses meant nothing.

Surely those guys knew better than him at this point? He looks comfortable squished up between them, probably used to being manhandled and spread open and wanting for any smart mouthed bad boy willing to degrade him a little.

Katsuki knew the nerd as a crybaby kid, as a snot nosed punk, as a gangly dork, and as a pain in his ass.
He did not know the Deku who skateboarded and had a belly button piercing and made out with his friends.

Deku is laughing, his cheeks pink and embarrassed but having fun. Peppermint Patty has his arms wrapped around from behind Deku's back, his hands in the nerd's sweatshirt pocket while Deku gestured around the other two, like a fucked up squirming sandwich filling.
The delight on his face is what makes Katsuki irrationally upset.

He's so angry he can barely breathe.
That's what this feeling is, right?
This is anger?
No red haze clouds his vision, but he's having a hard time seeing clearly.
There's something wet on his cheek.
Unrelated.

Clearly the fucker feels fine.
He manages to wiggle out from between the assholes and wrap one arm around each of them and bodily pick them up from the ground like they weigh nothing at all.
He's flabbergasted.
He's never used that word before but it's true.

Short, smiling, incredibly jacked Deku just casually picked up what had to be almost 400 pounds of weight and he's still talking. He hasn't put them down, he doesn't even look bothered.

Here he's been, worried absolutely sick, almost jeopardizing his entire academic and professional career, convinced that Deku had somehow fallen into some kind of conspiracy theory when he was just... sick for a day. And kind of a slut.

Has he always been this way?
This paranoid?

When Shitty Hair pings the group chat later that night he’s instantly annoyed.

Apparently he was inviting the Squad to attend a party. Maybe that is just the sort of excuse he needs to get fucking plastered. Drink until he’s no longer haunted by freckles and messy curls. He’s going to go, and drink, and forget stupid strong Deku and his promiscuous ways for a few hours. If he was lucky maybe he’d take a page out of the nerd’s book and bend some extra over a table to relieve the heat that’s been pooling in his guts for weeks now.

Chapter 12: A Promise to Be Nice

Summary:

Shouto gets revenge, Hitoshi gets mouthy, and they make a promise to Izuku.

Notes:

This chapter ended up being MUCH more plot heavy than I initially planned, but I hope it's still satisfying as the tension ramps up!
Things are gonna start popping off really soon.

“Was that really necessary?!” Izuku admonishes Shouto with a reproachful glare, his hands gingerly holding Hitoshi’s bleeding face to get a better look at the damage.

“Yes, actually.” Shouto says with a small proud smile, not looking the least bit sorry. He shakes his hand out once, but that's the only indication he felt the punch at all.

“I deserved it, I guess.” Hitoshi grumbles, looking like a scolded child in time out. He avoids looking at Izuku or Shouto, his gaze falling on the pavement and grass to the sides only. His nose is clearly broken, the long thin bridge now crooked in the middle.

Thankfully the blood seems to be slowing, and Izuku is only a little miffed that Hitoshi somehow still looks handsome even now, and the rest of him is a little proud that Hitoshi took the hit without attempting to return one to Shouto’s own face.

He isn’t sure what went down between the two of them, but if Hitoshi isn’t throwing a tantrum about it, and actually accepts the consequences… well it definitely wasn’t good. He may be a delinquent with all the defiance and attitude that entails, but he does believe that fair is fair. If a punch was admittedly earned, then he must’ve said something truly awful. It’s not like Shouto was unfamiliar with Hitoshi trying to get a rise out of him, either.

They’ve never gotten along, always trading barbs and insults, intent on keeping their physical distance from one another. The only time they ever sort of got along was in the long quiet nights with Hitoshi on the phone. Shouto would crawl through his window, bringing snacks and homework to complete with him. They’d sit in near silence, relying on Izuku to fill the space with chatter. Hitoshi would joke around with Izuku, and say vaguely inflammatory things to try and get Shouto to break his silence. Shouto would largely ignore Hitoshi, speaking only when prompted by Izuku or to get his attention for a problem in his workbook.

So yeah, if Hitoshi said something that upset Shouto enough to become physically violent and Hitoshi didn’t feel the need to respond in kind, then maybe Izuku was better off not knowing what was said. He definitely didn't enjoy being left out of the loop, though. 

Izuku has the distinct feeling that he’s being kept in the dark purposefully, but neither Hitoshi or Shouto will directly reveal any of what was said while he was out sick.
It’s funny that the sickness that prevented him from witnessing what was clearly a turning point in Shouto and Hitoshi’s relationship was also responsible for the tingly feeling under his skin.
The one that speaks to the strength and speed he suddenly possesses.

“I accept your apology.” Shouto says congenially, a small dip of his head in Hitoshi’s direction. “I even brought first aid supplies.” He’s infuriatingly prepared as he hands the parcel of tape and gauze over to Izuku whose face pinches up in frustration.

“You don’t get praise for being nice after clearly premeditated violence, Shouto.” He says flatly, but takes the supplies before rolling up the gauze to stop the blood flow out of Hitoshi’s left nostril. Deserved or not, he’s unhappy that Shouto resulted to violence, but he knows better than to harp too much on it, so he chooses not to.

He works quietly for a few minutes, trying to set Hitoshi’s nose without doing more damage, taping the bridge with the very tips of his gnarled fingers. Somehow the devil-may-care vibe Hitoshi is so known for is only enhanced with the new addition, and Hitoshi smirks when Izuku’s face heats up.

“Don’t you start, Toshi. I won’t get in the middle if he hits you again.” Izuku lies pointedly when he sees the leering begin to start.

“Oh?” Hitoshi’s lascivious smirk becomes more lackadaisical but apparently he’s smart enough to keep his mouth. Izuku is not above flicking the other’s nose if he pushes his luck.
Shouto would find it funny.

“There, that’s the best I can do for now. We should find somewhere to wash the blood off your face though, Toshi, you’re a biohazard.” He moves back to give Hitoshi space, but when he sees where he’s headed, Izuku is scruffing him before he can contaminate the drinking fountain. The height difference is probably comical, Izuku practically bending Hitoshi in half to scold him on his level.

“Oh, no you don’t, sir. Find a restroom. You are not getting blood in a public drinking fountain, that’s a health risk!” Izuku hisses in the lavender haired teen’s ear, doing his best to lower his voice so as not to cause a scene. It’s getting cold out so there aren’t many visitors to the park, but he’s not immune to the disapproving looks from some of the older visitors.

“Seriously? Come on, Zuku, stop fussing, OW, let me go, you brute, fine, fine!” Hitoshi whines, but when Izuku finally releases the grip on Hitoshi’s hair, there’s a half-hearted sigh before he wanders off. Hitoshi ambles down the street a little further towards the public restrooms by the entrance to the park. He’s mumbling something about Izuku being mean under his breath, but the jerk can whine all he wants, Izuku isn’t gonna dignify it with a response.

Shouto watches the interaction impassively, before Hitoshi is out of sight.

“You know we don’t have to go to this party, right Izuku? Just because he asked you to, doesn’t mean you must.” Shouto says quietly.

“It’s his first gig in college, of course I’m going to go, Sho. It’s important to support your friends' ambitions, right? ” Izuku nudges him gently with an elbow. “Besides, maybe a Halloween party could be fun? We haven’t all hung out since Prom. I miss spending time with everyone.” Izuku smiles thinking about getting a nice big hug from Ochako, or getting to talk with Tsu and Tenya again. Things have been so busy the last few weeks, and admittedly he’s been too focused on Kacchan and his classwork to do much else.

Sure, maybe he goes out with pieces of his suit to keep an eye on things and apprehend any villains he finds, but even that was rare.

Shouto is quiet for a minute before speaking softly under his breath.

“I suppose. I admit I am surprised, though, I thought you’d be more interested in testing out your new skills. Get the hang of things with the new circumstances.” He’s careful not to mention the quiet part out loud, but he looks at Izuku with a meaningful expression.

They both knew he wasn't the skinny, weak little preteen he used to be, and he was proud of that!

Powers or not, he’s toned with muscle.

Sure, he wasn’t built like Kacchan, all broad shoulders and height, with the upper body of a Greek God, but Izuku certainly filled out his suit, if you catch his drift. He lugged around heavy power tools, smeared in grease and oil, daily. It wasn’t that he wasn’t strong, it’s just that until recently a lot of his strength was localized in his legs, probably thanks to all the parkour he does to get around the city.

But now?

Now he was barely human.

After an afternoon in one of Shouto’s private training quarters, they discovered a lot more about Izuku’s new powerset. It seems Shouto’s initial assessment was correct. Izuku’s powers included many that emulated a spider.

He could lift an insane amount of weight compared to his body size, in fact he picked up a whole car!

Izuku was quicker now too, more agile and precise in his movements. Where before he had overthought, tripped, and stumbled his way through the day, now it was almost effortless. His body moved before he even had to tell it to. His hand eye coordination had also improved, like he could orient himself with an ease he hadn’t even comprehended was possible before.

Besides the strength and newfound spatial awareness, his favorite new development was his ability to crawl up walls. It had been scary in the dorm, unable to release his fingers from that door knob, but he quickly got the hang of it. With Shouto’s calm grounding presence, Izuku was walking upside down on the ceiling of the dojo, even doing backflips off the walls.

Shouto had been adamant that he wanted to remain on the floor, but Izuku would likely be able to drag someone much, much heavier up there with him with no problem.
Not that he would without permission of course, but the allure was still there. In fact, he delighted in the startled wheeze Shouto had let out when Izuku dropped from the ceiling and onto him, like a predator going in for the kill.
It was strange, normally a landing from that height would make his shins ache, or sprain his ankle, but it was like he had some kind of built-in shock absorption.

The sensory issues were his least favorite by far. He was sort of at the mercy of his environment, and sensory input was difficult to avoid or control, but it was a lot less panic-inducing when he had the peace of mind to understand exactly what he'd been hearing and seeing with context. It was almost impossible to sleep, of course, but that hadn’t exactly been easy before either.
Hardly fair to blame super-hearing for his own insomnia, after all.

Waking up and hearing a whole dorm’s antics at once was incredibly overstimulating, and the second they stepped into the sun on that first morning, Izuku thought his retinas would never recover. Luckily he was getting the hang of it, and the longer he spent playing around with his newfound powers, the better he was at wielding them.

That was one thing that was sort of bothering him, actually. After so long struggling and fighting to feel even sort of competent, he almost felt he didn’t deserve things to come this easy.

Where was the awkward adjustment period?
Where was the struggle?
Did he really deserve these powers?
Was this something he would regret?
What if he wasn’t good enough?

Shouto had told him to stop overthinking it but obviously that was easier said than done. Just thinking about the concept of having actual super powers is throwing Izuku for a loop.

Izuku would be lying if he said he wasn’t pumped to try out some new moves instead of attending this party and he knows that Shouto knows it too.
He was dying to see what it would be like with the added support items in his suit. He bet it would feel like flying.

Thanks to his impeccable hearing, he knew Hitoshi’s footsteps were approaching despite him still easily two to three hundred feet away, barely starting to walk back towards them. They’d need to keep this between them, so Izuku spoke both quickly and softly to Shouto.

“Look, you know I'm dying to go, but I need to go by the lab first, Sho. It was one thing when I was just a kid running around town past-curfew, but I have to be careful not to be seen by the wrong people now… now that things are different, yknow? I need my mask at least. Plus… just because I have other assets doesn’t mean I’m giving up on my tech.” Izuku chews on the inside of his cheek, dread unfurling in his stomach about the idea of having to brave the lab to snag his suit.

There's a certain someone he's been avoiding.

Shouto makes a thoughtful noise before tilting his head towards him slightly.

“I suppose that makes sense, but I thought you were still being a coward about seeing Bakugou and avoiding the laboratories?” Shouto’s voice is deliberately light, a teasing undercurrent to the monotone delivery. Izuku flashes him a pout but Shouto only meets it with a faint upturn to his lips. It seems he’s doing his best to look both innocent and casual.

Fine.
Maybe he was just a little nervous about seeing Kacchan.
He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss him.
They’ve been spending so much time together, after all, it would be weird if Izuku didn't miss him, right?

It was just so humiliating, seeing Kacchan of all people run away from him.
He doesn’t want to see the disgust or pity in Kacchan’s eyes, especially since even though Kacchan RAN like a jerk, Izuku couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid, amazing kiss.

Izuku isn’t going to take the bait, though, they are not discussing Kacchan, especially when he knows damn well Hitoshi and Shouto would somehow put aside their petty squabbles and join forces to bitch about Kacchan.

It’s odd though, Shouto looks pleased. Despite the autumn chill in the air, enough to make their breaths visible, Shouto looks downright comfortable.
Peaceful, even.
Izuku doesn’t trust it.
Shouto is only ever this calm when he’s plotting something.

“You’re in a good mood.” Izuku says suspiciously, almost accusingly, as he leans back against the bench and surveys his friend’s relaxed position beside him.

“Do I not deserve to be? I’ve been invited to my first college party, home of all sorts of sordid influences. Perhaps I will even consume alcohol whilst underage.” He asks with humor practically dripping off his voice.

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re going to use this party to get back at the Captain.” Izuku laughs, amused, with a slight shake to his head. “If that’s the case, then I’ll be sure to take entirely too many blurry photos of whatever mischief you get up to and post them online.”

Shouto gives a warm, genuine smile at that. “And that’s why you’re my best friend.”

“Ooh, tough news there, Ice Bear, I’m afraid that position is already taken, but maybe you’ll find an opening at the next Boring Bitch convention? I’m sure you’ll find *someone* allergic to personality to whisk you off your feet.” Comes a melodic voice, a healthy dose of both false sympathy and condescension in the tone. Hitoshi has a swagger in the way he walks, his smile is feline and mischievous. When he finally comes to stand beside them, he looms over, goading Shouto with his very punchable face as he shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets.

Shouto’s smile is gone instantly, returning to the blank expression he’s famous for.
“Pot, meet kettle.” Izuku has to fight the snicker, especially since he taught that phrase to Shouto just a few days ago.

“That’s enough, you two. Come on, I need backup if I’m going to brave campus, even if it is the weekend.” Izuku says with a grin, before he stands up.

Shouto hesitates, and when he sighs, the curls of hot breath dissipate slowly into the air, like blowing out smoke.
“Plus, I need something warm to drink or I’ll freeze into an Izu-cicle, and then where would we be?” Izuku shoots Shouto a good natured smile, trying to spur him into movement.

“Perish the thought!” Hitoshi says dramatically, before a warm hand ruffles his hair. "Our Lord and Master desires a bean-based beverage, we must make haste!" Hitoshi says teasingly.
Izuku grabs Shouto’s hand to pull him off the bench as Hitoshi slings an arm over his shoulder when Shouto rises to follow.

Physical affection has never been difficult for him, and it’s lucky he found two friends as touch starved as he was. Dismissing the rumors that the three were a throuple had become so commonplace that he’s convinced there were still members of his graduating class that thought they were dating.
It had been awkward after Prom, a kind of distance he’d hated.

He was glad they were back to normal now.

 

---

 

Campus was only a short distance away, thankfully.

“Hey, Ice Prince, why don’t you go check that the coast is clear before our poor Zuzu faces Kacchan’s wrath?” Hitoshi drawls, rolling his head to level Shouto with a look.

Shouto lifted one eyebrow, but other than that his expression was vacant. “Surely you must be joking.”

“Well I have to go get my equipment set up for the gig, and I have something to warn our little munchkin about beforehand. I’m sure you don’t mind, right?” Hitoshi’s grin is incendiary, and he makes a vague motion to dismiss the two-toned teen.

Shouto doesn’t answer, but his eyes narrow noticeably. Sensing another bout of violence, and this time more spontaneous, Izuku is quick to mediate.

“It would mean a lot if you could just make sure nobody’s in the lab? I don’t want to explain what I’m doing here after hours.” Izuku tries his best to ask earnestly, without weaponizing or guilting his friend, and tries to hint subtly that removing his Capstone Project from the laboratory with an audience was not ideal simultaneously. He's not sure if he's successful.

Shouto sighs deeply, before agreeing. He shoots a final glare at Hitoshi before sliding his hand out of Izuku’s with a gentleness and care that almost makes Izuku change his mind and call him back. Izuku and Hitoshi loiter around the front when he departs, trying their best not to be in the way of the students milling about.

“What’s up?” Izuku asks Hitoshi when the coast is clear. “What’s so top secret that you didn’t want Sho to hear?”

Hitoshi grins wickedly, before snickering.
“Nothing, I just wanted to spend some time alone with you today. We haven’t gotten one-on-one time in a while. Plus it’ll drive him crazy, he owes me for breaking my nose before an event. How am I supposed to get lucky with a set of shiners.” Izuku scoffs at him, unimpressed.

“You guys are so mean to each other. I thought you said you deserved the hit.” Izuku asks with some bitterness, still frustrated that nobody will tell him what exactly was said.
It feels like playing one of those games where the answer is written on your own forehead, where everyone but you knows what’s going on.
Izuku can't say he's a fan.

There’s a faint unsettling feeling in the back of his head, like he’s being watched. It reminds him a bit of Danger Sense, actually… he goes to look around, to determine the origin of the eyes on him, when Toshi’s arms drape languidly over his shoulders, now face to face with him.

“I did. I did deserve to get hit for what I said.” Izuku looks up at Hitoshi, and he’s surprised that the smirk and cockiness is gone. “I have no excuse. I was worried and upset and I took it out on him. He did it to me too, I guess, but I crossed that line first.” He says it with a shrug, but his eyes are stormy.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be such a dick to him, then?” Izuku says, with a finger wag in Hitoshi’s line of sight.

“Tempting, but no.” The smirk is back, thankfully, and Izuku is glad for it so he smiles too.

“Promise you won’t cross the line again, then? I’m used to the normal back-and-forth, but I’ll knock some sense into you if you go too far. Don’t say stuff to him you wouldn’t say in front of me, I don’t like it.” Izuku says softly, knocking their foreheads together.

Hitoshi sighs, and the coppery smell of the blood on his shirt tickles Izuku’s nose.

“Fine, I promise not to hit below the belt. Figuratively and physically. Only because you’re cute.” Hitoshi grumbles with a roll of his eyes, grinding back into Izuku’s head.

“Cute? Screw you.” Izuku laughs, bonking their heads together. It would hurt Toshi more than his now super strong skull, after all.
Speaking of super senses, Izuku listens just in time to hear the front doors of the entrance bang open, and what sounds like Shouto’s expensive dress shoes begin to click in their direction.
It’s not too long when Shouto gets close enough for even non-super hearing.

“So you just wanted me gone so you could flirt with him in the open, I see.” Shouto says blackly, before long thin arms are wrapped around him from behind. “The doors into the office are locked, but from what I could see nobody is inside. Lab's open.” He murmurs into green curls before his chin hooks over Izuku’s shoulder.

“Hitoshi wasn’t f-flirting, Sho, he was promising me that he wouldn’t say anything to you he wouldn’t say in front of me, and I’d like the same from you too, please, if you don’t mind. You’re both important to me, so if it comes down to it I’ll kick both of your asses…” Izuku begins muttering, a hot embarrassed blush flooding his skin.

Shouto hums, and it reverberates through his chest into Izuku’s back.
It’s a strange feeling, it almost tickles.

“Okay. I will agree to your terms, Izuku. I suppose if it's for you, I can behave.” He says the words without intonation, but Izuku can feel the tension in his ribs.

“Thanks, Peppermint Swirl, you’re a doll.” Hitoshi says, his voice like molasses, thick and syrupy sweet.

“Now about this party, it’s going to be at this school not too far from here. Shoot me a text when you get there and I’ll have my buddy Sero meet you at the door. Jirou will kill me if she rushes from her other job and he’s not ready to mic her up as soon as she gets there.” Hitoshi says seriously, looking from Izuku’s face to Shouto’s.
“I’m being serious, no disturbing me in the booth until my relief gets in. Under threat of bodily harm.”

Izuku nods, his mission clear.
Do Not Disturb Hitoshi Until Back Up Arrives.

“Why would we want to talk to you at all?” Shouto asks cheekily.

“Hardy-har, you’re a riot.” Hitoshi rolls his eyes, before switching back to Izuku.

“I’ll see you tonight. Wear that cute little crop top I got you for your birthday, and the ripped jeans. Not the acid wash ones. Have fun with the rest, and you’ll look great.” Izuku nods again.
He’s had horrible fashion sense most of his life, but thankfully Hitoshi and the rest of the Fashion Police had never steered him wrong. If Hitoshi said it looked okay, Izuku would trust him.

“That doesn’t sound toxic at all.” Shouto grumbles, the sound reverberating and tickling him again, until Izuku is a squirming mess, disentangling from them both.

“What sounds toxic?” He breathes when he’s finally free.

“Him dressing you up to his preference like a doll.” Shouto says, clearly genuinely upset about it.

“I’m duly elected by Chako to dress him, remember? If I didn’t he’d wear head-to-toe comic book merch and cargo pants.” Hitoshi says with a sing-songy voice, because he’s right and they all know it.

"Uh, Guys-" He tries to cut in but the two continue over his head.

“You don’t need to tell him how to dress at all. If he wanted to wear Rabbit Ears he could, and it still wouldn’t be any of your business.” Shouto says coldly, a sniff of disdain in Hitoshi’s direction.

“Someone - has - a - fetish!” Hitoshi croons, almost singing the words and its hypnotic sounding, until Izuku registers the words. Shouto's face gets hot, and he opens his mouth to retort when Izuku decides enough is enough.

If they want to act like little kids, he'll treat them like little kids.
He wraps an arm around each of their waists, readily accessible at his height, and picks them both straight up, practically sitting one on each hip. He does not waver, he doesn't shake, he just levels both of them with a disappointed look.

Instantly they are both gob smacked, staring down at him in flustered silence. Izuku is not tall like so many of his friends are.
In fact, he’s more compact than most, carrying most of his weight in a thick lower body. Even if he didn’t have superstrength he doubted this would be too difficult, but with it it’s even easier than he thought it would be.

“Can we stop talking about me as if I am not here, please? This is a gentle reminder I can and will use force if necessary to make sure you get along.” Izuku chides, looking at both his friends, wearing matching blushes.

“F-Fine, you can p-put me down, Izuku.” Shouto breathes, leaning away from him steadily.

“Y-yeah, we get it, you’re built like a brick shithouse, we’ll be good, down boy.” Hitoshi’s voice is weirdly high.

“Nope. You both need to stop acting like I’m made of glass or something. Shouto, I don’t want to look like an idiot at my first social engagement. If Hitoshi didn’t tell me what to wear, I’d be freaking out for hours. Ochako made him a member of the Fashion Police, which is our group chat, but everybody’s busy so nobody would answer in time for tonight. Hitoshi isn’t toxic, so knock it off.” Izuku says with all the care of an elementary teacher.

“Sorry.” Shouto says quietly.

“Hitoshi, stop making innuendos or phrasing things hypersexually to make Shouto uncomfortable. I know when you’re joking and when you’re serious, but other people don’t. Lay off him. Are we all agreed?” Izuku asks patiently. He’s been babysitting the two of them like this for years. Sometimes he has to remind them that he’s a whole ass man, capable of speaking for himself.

Hitoshi agrees quickly and Izuku finally sets them both back down.

That wasn’t so hard, now was it?
Izuku thinks it’s been awhile since he felt so confident.
So capable.

 

---

 

After saying goodbye, Izuku finally gets to sneak up to the lab.

He can’t wait any longer. He has to know how it feels.
He knows it’s ridiculous to store something so valuable here, but he couldn’t leave it in the dorm, and especially not at his Mom’s.

At first it was just pieces.
A section here, a part there.
But this was his life’s work.

Access to the tools and resources at the lab were so amazing.
Long gone was the admittedly well stocked Iidaten Garage, but more scientific instruments. Where he’d been tinkering with coils and wire, the Tokyo University Yuei Lab had laser engravers and microscopic dremels.

So he got a lot of use out of it.

He slid the case out from its hiding space in one of the cabinets on the far side of the wall. The thud of the case on the metal table was louder than he had meant it to be, so he winced. He jammed his thumb against the scanner and disengaged the biometric security lock.

The case hissed open, and there it was.
His suit. It felt silky and luxurious in his hands.
An improvement of the design he’d drawn as a kid.
A realistic one, not like that makeshift one with Stain.
An impressive one, not like the one cobbled together with spare fabric and spare parts.

No, this was a weapon all on its own.
It slid over his muscles like a second skin.

He took a moment to insert the fixed lens into the goggles he’d finished on the night of the kiss.
Izuku was still fiddling with it, still trying to get the eyepiece to latch into the mask properly, when he got a sudden chill down his spine.

It was like earlier.
That weird, danger feeling.

So he listened.
There was labored breathing, shuffling, but it was weirdly shallow.
First came the realization that someone was in Dr. Toshinori’s office.

“Help.” It was incredibly faint.
The ghost of a sound, even with his hearing.

His feet were moving before he could even think about what he was doing.

He tries to open the door to the Office, but it’s locked, just like Shouto had said earlier. Luckily he’s not paying much attention and accidentally rips it off the hinges like he did in his bedroom yesterday.

Izuku feels horribly, terribly guilty about it for about half a second, until he sees Dr. Toshinori on the ground.
The old man has collapsed on the ground at some point, and Izuku immediately is at his side.

“Dr. Toshinori, are you alright?!” Izuku asks frantically, trying to check for any immediate injuries. He’s shaking, he realizes, but that doesn’t make him able to stop.

The professor has a trail of blood at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are wide as he looks up at Izuku weakly, but still at least he's conscious.

“Y-young Midoriya, there you are… we were worried. What are you doing here, my boy?” He croaks, a friendly smile stretching his wan face.

“Sir, what happened? Why are you on the floor? Are you alright?” Izuku asks quickly, gently shaking the old man’s shoulder, which seems to clear some of the fog.

Dr. Toshinori’s eyes seemed to focus then, and he looked around as if realizing where he was for the first time.

“Oh, I’m sorry, kid. This just happens sometimes, sorry to give you a scare.” He sits up then, shaky like a newborn faun on unsteady limbs.

“Dr. Toshinori.” Izuku urges him forward until he's sitting upright instead of laying on the ground, still no less concerned.
Their eyes meet, and a few seconds of staring is all it takes for Dr. Toshinori to relent.

“Okay, but it’s a long story. I had hoped to delay your involvement but…” His eyes flick from the door off the hinges to Izuku again, and then down, to the rest of him, wearing the suit.
“It seems time waits for no man. Let’s get some tea and have a chat. We have much to discuss.”

 

---

 

“There’s a few things you deserve to know.” Dr. Toshinori says quietly when they’ve relocated to the loveseat, green tea steaming on the coffee table.

“It all started many years ago.” He says sagely.

“I had wanted you and Young Bakugou to hear all of this eventually, but… I’m running out of time.” He sucks in a deep breath before slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt beginning with his cufflinks.

“Everything I have ever done, was only ever to save people.” The words were raw, almost a whisper.“ But then I got sick.”

Izuku looked at his mentor with horrified tears welling in his eyes.

Finally the last buttons on the shirt were removed, and Izuku gasped.

“I was lucky I have the skillset I do, you see.” Under Dr. Toshinori’s coat was a swath of mechanical parts buried in his side. They stretched from under his armpit and across his left rib. A large part of his abdomen and side were masses of tubing, wires, and whirring devices.

“In the beginning, it was just a handful of medical problems able to be addressed by modern medicine. It was upsetting, and frustrating, but manageable.” Dr. Toshinori let the shirt hang off his frame limply.

“I got worse steadily, of course. By the time they figured out what was really going on it was far too late. Terminal. Shortly after I was diagnosed, I was informed that my organs would continue to shut down. I hid it. I didn't want to waste my days in a hospital bed. The very next day I was offered an incredible, lifesaving opportunity, one I couldn’t turn down. My mentor was… she was brilliant. Dr. Nana Shimura was a legacy in this institution, you know. Working with her was a dream come true. She chose me as her successor to be let in on another piece of the legacy to be kept secret: a critical asset in every piece of technology produced by this institution since its creation.” Izuku stared dumbfounded at his mentor who crossed over to his desk and beckoned him to follow.

“Every contemporary chooses another to receive access to one of the most complex programs ever made, a compendium of knowledge compiled by masters in their fields. It's an honor that goes back decades. All contributing to one singular project: Project OFA - One For All. A learning database of schematics, probabilities, outcomes, and GIS data that has been refined into its own entity completely. It’s the closest thing to real artificial intelligence the world has ever seen and from the very first day it came online, it was given one singular task.” Dr. Toshinori’s voice was heavy, and a steady hand held up a singular drive for Izuku to see.

“It’s designed to save the world. Everything is in pursuit of that one goal. Everyone who receives access pours their life’s work into it. For me, it was biomechanical engineering. For my mentor, it was advanced aviation and theoretical relativity, and so on. Every recipient leaves their mark on it.” The air seemed to seep away from the room, and Izuku was light headed. Dr. Toshinori’s hand shook.

“I was young, and idealistic. I wanted to save the world before I died, and I was willing to do anything to ensure it. Dave used to say I was nuts, but he never said no to me. I’d get a crazy idea, another piece needed to keep me alive, and I just knew it would work. Even across the world, Dave was there for me. He always had faith in me, but I was so focused on work, on OFA, and he wanted… more. He wanted me to return to the United States. I wanted to go home to him, but not more than I wanted to save people.” Dr. Toshinori looked him in the eye then, the sun setting on the other side of the glass cut his gaunt face in sharp dark shadows and brilliant golden light. His expression was tragic.

“When we separated and he got married, I noticed his absence more than I had noticed his presence. We'd been in different countries for years, I didn't think it would affect me much to lose contact.” Dr. Toshinori’s voice was soft and pensive, and he looked out the window behind his desk with a far off expression.

“With OFA I could build as many pieces for myself as I needed to. As long as I knew what questions to ask, what prompts to give, nothing was unattainable. You had to have the skills to make it come to life, the critical thinking to ask questions it hadn’t considered. Projections, statistics, schematics, it was… like having the secret to life itself. The answer to any question you could ask. You just had to ask the right one.” He closes his eyes, and Izuku tries his best to not hyperventilate beside him, too worried about missing a single detail.

He needed a notebook, dammit.
He had so many questions.

“As long as I had OFA, I didn’t need Dave. I wanted to prove that. I got more experimental, more desperate, and reached out to a fringe scientist in the field of biomechanics known as The Taskmaster.”

Dr. Toshinori’s voice was authoritative and contained a great rumbling base that seemed to echo in the sparsely decorated room.

“His work was unethical, unstable, and incredibly dangerous. He wanted to make monsters, wanted to make himself perfect. He had this terrible uncanny ability to mimic anything he saw. He could recreate any study, any skill, or technique by seeing it only once. After he saw my work, saw what I had done to myself, what OFA could give him, he became obsessed with it. About taking it for himself, and becoming a God. All that knowledge for him alone.”

There was a strange quiet in the air that Izuku was suddenly aware of.
A strange tingle on the back of his neck.

“I needed a research assistant, a successor. Someone I could trust to safeguard the secret. Dr. Sakai was one of my very closest allies then, in the race against time. But he vehemently refused to utilize OFA, and the replacement of my tissue. He posed the question of ethics, that by manufacturing my own organs to replace the ones that failed, I was simultaneously dooming myself. So I continued in secret, and Dr. Sakai pivoted to supporting my public works instead. We saved thousands of people, Young Midoriya. I got cocky, and eventually I made a mistake. One of the vital components I used in my replacement liver began to corrode over time and introduce poison my bloodstream. I'm losing time, consciousness, having sudden seizures, weakness and fatigue... all symptoms of the build up of toxins in my body. That was why I returned to the United States, to Dave, after his wife passed, to bury that hatchet and see what could be done. He helped buy me some more time, but slowly I am being poisoned by the very thing keeping me alive.” Izuku’s face must have been devastated. Dr. Toshinori put a large, bony hand on his shoulder.

“I see myself in you, my boy. In your accident on the roof. In Young Bakugou too, in the lab explosion which cost him his hearing. I chose students like me. Dr. Sakai did not approve. He does not believe either of you deserve to access OFA. He wanted young Mirio to be the recipient, instead. Imagine my surprise, when young Mirio was the one who brought me your essay.” Izuku was blown away.

Why?
Why him?

“As I said on our first day, Young Midoriya, I do not believe in fate, but you admit, the circumstances are remarkable?” Dr. Toshinori asked softly, a smile still stretched across sharp cheek bones.

Izuku didn’t trust himself to speak so he nodded dumbly instead.

‘There was a nearly sentient artificial intelligence capable of keeping Dr. Toshinori alive with its knowledge, and a villain who coveted it.
Dr. Sakai’s dislike of him made a considerable amount of sense now, but Mirio-senpai was a different story. He owed so much to his upperclassman, but he did not understand what the guy saw in Izuku. He would need to speak with him soon, to thank him again. When he and Kacchan were on speaking terms again he needed to ask about his lab accident, too.
Both blondes were mysteries to him at this point.’

“You and Young Bakugou are not on speaking terms?” Dr. Toshinori asked gently, looking at him with all the patience in the world. Izuku flushed. 

“N-no. We… have a complicated past, sir. We’ve been wanting to be heroes our whole lives and that took us in two different directions. We’re trying to figure out how to be around each other again, and it’s… difficult in new ways, lately.” Izuku admits sheepishly. He doesn’t want to say anything to implicate Kacchan, or admit to their kiss in the lab.

Not to Dr. Toshinori, that would be mortifying.

“Does that have something to do with the impressive piece of tech you are wearing, son?” Dr. Toshinori asks, now openly analyzing Izuku's suit appreciatively.

“Y-yes, sir. You see, I've always dreamed of being a hero. Saving others no matter what. It led to some reckless behavior, if my friends are to be believed, and some pretty serious injuries. Kacchan has always believed I was too weak to save anyone, that I was only succeeding in putting myself in danger. And he was right!” Izuku couldn’t help the wetness in his voice as tears collected in his lashes.
He took a steadying breath and continued with a clearer voice after a moment.

“I had to get better, stronger, smarter. Physically, I was nothing special, all I had was my analysis, my mind. So I started designing tech, with you as my inspiration, sir. I eventually built devices that would enable me to be a hero, which brings us to now. And well… since you were honest with me, I want to be honest with you. You’ve entrusted me with a great power, sir, but I may not deserve it. I… there was an accident in the Biology Department the night I was locked in. Since then…” Izuku isn’t sure how to describe this next part so he just walked quietly up to the wall and scaled it easily. He didn’t stop until he was completely upside down on the ceiling.

“I-I see. That explains the door too, I assume.” Izuku nodded shyly with an embarrassed, wobbly smile as he dropped to the floor, no worse for wear.

Dr. Toshinori breathed a painful sounding wheeze. “A-are you alright, my boy?” His voice was strangled, but he still had a hand raised as if to help Izuku down.

“I’m fine, sir. Better than fine, really. I think… I think I can really make a difference.” Dr. Toshinori seemed awestruck for a moment, a smile slowly breaking on his face.

“Young Midoriya, with great power comes great responsibility. I know now more than ever, that you are meant to have OFA. I’m sure you will be its greatest holder yet. But seriously… when did you get so cool?” Dr. Toshinori asked warmly, gesturing at Izuku with an awed shake of his head.

 

---

 

Going from learning the history of OFA in Dr. Toshinori’s office in his hero suit, to just a few hours later being led through throngs of bodies at a house party in a crop top is just one of the many unbelievable whiplashes of the day.

Sero, a beanpole of a guy with a dark mullet, comes to collect them when he and Shouto arrive just minutes apart, just like Hitoshi said he would.

“Hey, you guys must be Shinsou’s special guests. He’s gonna be pretty busy for a while, but you guys can come hang out with me and my squad upstairs until he’s free if you want?” Sero asks, doing his best to speak loudly enough for the pair to hear. They agree, only to see Sero swerving effortlessly through bodies without trouble.

It’s a good thing he’s so tall. When he looks back, he’s able to see Izuku, who is stopping to apologize and awkwardly asking to get by the other partygoers. He’s arm in arm with Shouto, who is refusing to move forward. Sero turns back to them with an encouraging smile.

“Come on, pretty boy, let’s keep it moving!” Sero grabs one of Shouto’s hands and begins to tug him forward, and people part around them, allowing Izuku and Shouto through. He’s lanky and friendly, with a large smile of straight white teeth. Izuku can feel Shouto stiffen beside him and peeks over to see a dusting of blush across pretty porcelain cheeks.

Izuku’s grin is almost diabolical when Shouto finally feels his gaze.

“Don’t say a word, Izuku.” He hears him hiss out of the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t say anything. It’s just kind of hot in here. Your face is flushed.” Izuku says sweetly, with a grin at his friend’s flustered expression.

“I hate you, Izuku.” Shouto says quietly, and if it weren’t for the super hearing Izuku doubts he’d have heard it at all.
His smile gets wider in response.

Sero drags them to a less populated part of the house which looks to be a bedroom. Inside is a gaggle of friendly faces, each more colorful than the last.

On the floor, plopped in a bean bag, is a couple. The girl has flawless dark brown skin, with bold makeup, contrasted by her cotton candy pink hair in puffs on her head. Her outfit is also primarily pink, a cropped satin tracksuit with a teal top visible in the unzipped portion. She looks extremely fashionable, like some sort of model. Izuku wouldn’t be surprised if she was famous.

She’s sitting on the lap of one of the buffest guys Izuku has seen in his life, it's hard to see much from here, with the girl perched in his lap, but he's huge. His hair is gelled back into spikes until the back gets much longer, falling past his shoulders, another mullet in this friend group. He has an eyebrow slit, and oddly sharp teeth behind a welcoming grin.

“I’m Eijirou Kirishima, but you can call me Kiri! This is my girlfriend, Mina Ashido.” Says the sharp toothed guy, jostling the human equivalent to bubblegum in his lap to free a hand enough to wave at them.
She waves too, wiggling her impressively long nails so that they sparkle in the light, with the hand not already preoccupied with a drink.

“Hi! I’m Izuku Midoriya and this is Shouto Todoroki. Sorry for the intrusion.” Izuku chatters awkwardly. He’s nervous to speak to new people but he’s simultaneously glad that they don’t have to just wait downstairs in the thick of those crowds for the rest of their group to arrive.

“Hey, thank goodness, you guys! I hear you know the hottie in the booth. Is he single?” Calls a blonde in a desk chair further in. He’s pretty, with impish features and clear pale skin already flushed with alcohol. There’s a lightning bolt dyed into his hair. He’s practically vibrating with energy, bouncing up and down in the chair.

Shouto makes a disgusted face when he replies: “Yes, but please don’t call him that.”
He volunteers no additional information beyond that. Izuku lets an awkward chuckle bubble out of his lips.

“Denks, come on, at least tell them your name before you hound them about yet another DJ, you remember last time? When you found out Jirou was a lesbian and you made a total ass out of yourself?” Sero reminds him reproachfully, but the grin on his lips suggests he’s entertained by his friend’s antics regardless.

“That’s Denki Kaminari, ignore him, he's just a hot mess express.” Mina laughs at the blonde’s obvious misfortune, who is looking at them both with a scandalized expression.

“That is so rude! I just wanted to know, what’s wrong with the pursuit of knowledge, huh?” Denki says petulantly, spinning around in his desk chair.

Izuku and Shouto join Sero to sit on the bed, and Izuku is mildly entertained at how obvious it is that Shouto is avoiding looking at the taller guy in bed with them. Everyone is a respectful distance apart, even he and Shouto, but the latter is pin straight and not relaxing, all his limbs folded primly by his person.

“Hitoshi isn’t seeing anyone at the moment but just a warning, he’s kind of… intense?” Izuku advises the blonde solemnly, thinking of Hitoshi’s insane sleep schedule. He looks at the door as it opens, hearing the handle turn before the others could have.

“And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, nerd?” Comes the gravelly voice of Bakugou Katsuki, entering the room with a scowl and a handful of liquor bottles wedged in his arms.

Well, shit.
So much for avoiding Kacchan.

Chapter 13: A Promise to Ask No Questions

Summary:

Drunken debauchery, Bakusquad and Dekusquad collide at the party.

Smut ahead <3

Katsuki refused to feel guilty about hiding a recording device in the old man’s office.
He wouldn’t have done it if Dr. Toshinori wasn’t clearly hiding something from him, and the bastard had encrypted all his files so really Katsuki hadn’t had much choice, when you really thought about it.

It worked beautifully, he had to admit. With Deku avoiding him, and Dr. Toshinori never locking his damn office, Katsuki just had to slip the pen-recorder into the old man's overflowing pencil cup.
Took 30 seconds, max.
Easiest shit ever.

However, simultaneously getting ready for this stupid party and listening to the exchange between Deku and Dr. Toshinori was one of the most uncomfortable experiences he'd ever had.

Hearing the nerd burst in, all concerned and terrified for their mentor had him half a step from his own front door until Dr. Toshinori calmed Deku (and by extension himself) down, and instructed him to sit for a talk.

At least Dr. Toshinori had confirmed that he fully intended to have this conversation when Katsuki was also present, but clearly it wouldn't matter if he wasn’t meant to overhear or not.
Katsuki would have found out regardless.
He almost wished he’d thought to plant a camera too, because Deku and Dr. Toshinori were so fucking vague sometimes.
He was able to piece things together through the monologue, but there was just so much context missing. So much to process.

He sat in utter silence, staring at his bedroom wall as he slowly undressed, focused on the voices echoing from his laptop feed.

His mentor was going to die.
Any observant jackass could see Dr. Toshinori was sick, but this?
This was more than that.
More permanent, more eminent.

“I see myself in you, my boy. In your accident on the roof. In Young Bakugou too, in the lab explosion which cost him his hearing. I chose students like me. Dr. Sakai did not approve. He does not believe either of you deserve to access OFA. He wanted young Mirio to be the recipient, instead. Imagine my surprise, when young Mirio was the one who brought me your essay.”

First of all: who the fuck are these people? Let the record show that Katsuki never gave a fuck about some random extras, especially learning their names.
Maybe he regretted that a bit tonight, listening to the recording and trying desperately to remember who was who and feeling completely lost.

Second of all: he’s pissed that anyone thought he didn’t deserve something, especially someone he didn’t even fucking know.
Whoever this asshole was, Katsuki would prove him wrong.

“As I said on our first day, Young Midoriya, I do not believe in fate, but you admit, the circumstances are remarkable?”
Katsuki had to agree, much to his chagrin.

He’s glad he chose a quality microphone for this shit or he would have missed the nerd’s mumbles. Katsuki knew it was worth it to splurge for the expensive shit.
Even with the crystal clear audio, he found himself increasing the sensitivity on his hearing aid and raising the volume.

‘There was a nearly sentient artificial intelligence capable of keeping Dr. Toshinori alive with its knowledge, and a villain who coveted it.’

Thanks for the recap, nerd.

It was actually weirdly helpful to hear it rehashed, SparkNotes for Dr. Toshinori’s rambling ass.

‘Dr. Sakai’s disliking me makes a way more sense now, but Mirio-senpai? I owe so much to him, but I don’t even understand what he saw in me?”

Oh so there’s yet ANOTHER guy jonesing for Deku’s attention? Responsible for snagging this mentorship for him, even. He finds himself bristling enough to slam the drawer of his dresser more roughly than necessary.

'What he saw in you', Katsuki parrots wryly, 'You’re an unobservant little shit, aren’t you, Deku? Don’t you know that just being around you is enough to make people fall all over themselves?'

‘I need to speak with him soon, to thank him again.’
Katsuki grits his teeth, and hopes that doesn’t involve thanking him with his body. It’s not his business if that’s what Deku chooses to do, though, and the thought makes him nauseous.

‘When Kacchan and I are on speaking terms again I need to ask about his lab accident, too. Both blondes are such a mystery to me at this point.’

Fuck this nerd!
Katuski was the confusing one?

Katsuki wasn’t the asshole macking on random motherfuckers all over Tokyo!
Also, he isn’t gonna say shit about that lab accident.

Deku should’ve asked sooner.

See how the nerd likes being kept in the dark.

Plus, how dare the nerd think of talking to some extra first.

Katsuki was here first!
Now he’s just another blonde?!

“You and Young Bakugou are not on speaking terms?” Katsuki winced, feeling called out, and briefly wondered what the nerd would say.
He wasn’t likely to blab about his bedroom activities to his hero, after all.

“N-no. We… have a complicated past, sir. We’ve been wanting to be heroes our whole lives and that took us in two different directions. We’re trying to figure out how to be around each other again, and it’s… difficult in new ways, lately.”

There’s a weird tightness in his chest.
Katsuki didn’t think it had been difficult at all.

He thought it was… like breathing air after years of asphyxiation. Like suddenly the pain and pressure that constricted him had been removed, and the relief was excruciating.
Deku's absence had been strangling him, suffocating him.
Being near Deku again had undoubtedly made him lighter.

He’d taken less contracts from Momo, too busy looking across the lab at a certain greasy nerd. The itch in his skin was almost imperceptible under the burning longing tingling up every nerve and vein he possessed.

It was hard to lose himself in his bloody rage when he felt so soft inside.
When he didn’t feel soft he felt… well, that night in the lab came to mind.

What he felt then had nothing to do with murder, he could say that much, but it was not soft, it was not gentle, it burned and writhed and beat against his ribcage like a wild animal, instead.
The violent urges were still there, but with new focus.
Katsuki wanted to paint violence against Deku’s starry skin. He wanted to chew through him, drink him, bury himself in him until it was impossible to tell them apart.
He wanted bitemarks and bruises and blood and sweat; to burn handprints into soft freckled flesh so the nerd knew who he belonged to.

But Deku didn’t belong to him.

Of course he wouldn’t feel that way… he was the one forced to spend time with his middle school bully.

How much of this tension was made up in Katsuki's own head?
How much had he imagined in those heated glances across the lab?

Sure, they made out, but that was a normal course of action for Deku, apparently.
At least he found something he was confident about, Katsuki thought bitterly, even if it happened to be sucking some poor bastard’s soul out through his tongue.
He was trying not to think about what else Deku’s been sucking on, lately.
Katsuki is startled out of his own nasty thoughts by Dr. Toshinori’s soft voice on the recording.

“Does that have something to do with the impressive piece of tech you are wearing, son?”
Katsuki growls at the empty air of his apartment. He was such a fucking idiot for not planting a camera.

“Y-yes, sir. You see, I've always dreamed of being a hero. Saving others no matter what. It led to some reckless behavior, if my friends are to be believed, and some pretty serious injuries.”

The scars, Katsuki realizes suddenly.
This fucking idiot never learned a goddamn thing, did he?

“Kacchan has always believed I was too weak to save anyone, that I was only succeeding in putting myself in danger. And he was right!”
Katsuki knows better than anyone what Deku sounds like when he’s trying not to cry.

The guilt and shame claw around his throat as if sewage sludge is filling his lungs.

“So I had to get better, stronger, smarter. Physically, I was nothing special, all I had was my analysis, my mind. So I started designing tech, with you as my inspiration, sir. I eventually built devices that would enable me to be a hero, which brings us to now.”

Oh fuck.
So many things made sense, all of a sudden.
Deku suddenly being jacked, building assistive tech like his hero. He took all the lessons Katsuki had tried to beat into him over the years and actually listened for once.
Stopped putting himself in peril to save kittens stuck in trees and put his mind towards worthwhile goals. Attainable with Deku’s admittedly brilliant nerd brain.

“And well… since you were honest with me, I want to be honest with you. You’ve entrusted me with a great power, sir, but I may not deserve it. I… there was an accident in the Biology Department the night I was locked in. Since then…”
He stops speaking and Katsuki almost screams in frustration. All that mumbling and rambling but right when something important is mentioned he shuts the hell up!

Maddening fucking nerd.

What the hell happened that night?

Is it the reason Deku was sick?

The reason Deku was avoiding him?

There’s a weird silence for a few seconds, and whatever Dr. Toshinori sees in the safety of his own office, Katsuki has no fucking clue. His voice is shaky when he continues, no hint as to what Deku showed him.

“I-I see. That explains the door too, I assume.”

"WHAT FUCKING DOOR?!" Katsuki barks out loud to nobody. There is no reply, and Katsuki is about to have an aneurysm in his own goddamn bedroom if this vague bullshit doesn’t end soon.
There’s a muffled thump, like something fell. Dr. Toshinori makes a painful sort of wheeze.

“A-are you alright, my boy?”

What happened?
Was the nerd hurt?
Is he okay?

He definitely should have planted a camera, because he’s about to lose his shit.

Katsuki can hear his thudding heartbeat in his eardrums, and panic gripping his stomach, until Deku answers, sounding almost serene.

“I’m fine, sir. Better than fine, really. I think… I think I can really make a difference.”
The panic that had been swirling in his gut is suddenly replaced with a strange warmth.

Deku sounded confident, he sounded… happy.

“Young Midoriya, with great power comes great responsibility. I know now more than ever, that you are meant to have OFA. I’m sure you will be its greatest holder yet. But seriously… when did you get so cool?”

Katsuki’s been wondering that for awhile now too.

 

---

 

Katsuki hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the conversation between Deku and Dr. Toshinori earlier.
Or about Deku wrapped around not one asshole, but two.

Comfortable with big hands on him.

With lips on his skin.

Smiling and flirting with fuckers who were NOT Katsuki.

He stands stock still beyond the door to Sero’s shitty ass bedroom, hearing Deku’s familiar lilt from just beyond.
Fuck his life.

He's in a god awful mood, intent to drink his sorrows about Deku away for once, and of course that’s when Deku arrives right in the nick of time to torture him.

He was only gone for ten fucking minutes, how the hell did this happen?
Katsuki is juggling probably ten bottles of liquor and genuinely considers just turning around and going the fuck home, until something Deku says something that just rubs him the wrong way.

“Hitoshi isn’t seeing anyone at the moment but just a warning, he’s kind of… intense?” The nerd’s voice is serious, but there’s an undercurrent to it.
A knowing sort of smile hidden in it. Like he knows something he shouldn’t.

Kinky little bastard.

He opens the door, probably a little more roughly than necessary, but he doesn’t give a fuck.
The very person he didn’t want to see (and the one he wanted to see more than anything) is perched on Soy Sauce Face’s bed, just inches away from fucking Half n Half, mingling with Katsuki’s friends.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the nerd looks good.
He’s wearing a black crop top, that infuriating belly button piercing stark against his toned stomach. The jeans he’s wearing might as well be painted on, with rips showing peeks of freckled thighs.

“And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, nerd?” He tries to keep the jealousy out of his voice, deliberately neutral.
Deku goes still, completely silent, and they just stare at each other for a long moment until his squad, with all the delicacy of a herd of elephants in a china shop, start clamoring for the alcohol in his arms.

“Ooh, Blasty, you brought the good stuff!” Pikachu squeals, immediately out of his seat and leaning his lithe body across the bed, making grabby hands at Katsuki.

Mina is also bouncing her way over, her arms jangling with bangles and gaudy jewelry as she tries to pry some flavored vodka from his bicep. She’s quick to twirl back to her spot on the filthy floor when her fingers pry the bottle from Katsuki with a tug.

“Oh, guys, this is our fearless leader, Bakugou Katsuki! We’ve been friends since high school, he goes to Tokyo U!” Crows Shitty Hair, clearly leaning into wingman territory as he hypes Katsuki up. His massive hands are settling back on Raccoon Eye’s exposed sides, as she sits back down. Katsuki glares at the redhead with open hostility, but Shitty Hair just grins back with an exaggerated wink.

“We’ve met.” Candy Cane says icily, his eyes hard and disapproving. “I wasn’t aware you had friends, Bakugou.”

The squad’s eyes all widen, and they look between the newcomers and him like they’re expecting a fight to break out at any moment.

It isn’t unlikely.

“Sho!” Deku turns to the asshole with an embarrassed squeak, scarred hands immediately splay across Half n Half’s khaki covered thigh in a placating gesture.
Katsuki wants to vomit at the casual touch.

“Be nice, please! We’re guests.” The pleading tone in his voice is instantly grating on Katsuki’s nerves, and he doesn’t give them another glance before walking around the bed to the desk, setting the other bottles down with the harsh clatter of glass colliding together.
He opens the Fireball without another word, despite the raised eyebrows from his friends.

The burn is calming, the cinnamon heat coating the back of his tongue, but not soothing in the slightest. It tastes like he’s swallowing fire, just the way he likes. None of that sugary sweet crap in the way of the burn.

After the swig, he sets it down harshly, but keeps his fingers tightly wrapped around the neck of the bottle.

“Hey man, cool it, if you hurl I am not cleaning it up.” Soy Sauce Face says lightly, long knobby fingers delicately extricating a bottle of soju out of the pile before flopping back onto his own bed.

“Piss off, Office Max.” Katsuki says with a roll of his eyes, before stealing the nearby seat Dunce Face had been in previously. The blonde in question makes a theatrical pout before shrugging and perching on one of the arms, practically laying himself over the back of Katsuki’s shoulders. The chair tips back slightly with the added weight.

“Sit on the fucking floor, Sparky.” Katsuki hisses, resisting the urge to immediately toss him off.

“But this carpet is gross!” Dunce Face whines, eyeing the carpet with horror. “Who knows what the frat boys have done to it over the years?”

Tape Face makes an affronted scoff, but doesn’t argue. Katsuki wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t even vacuumed since moving in, the gross ass.
That’s exactly why Katsuki himself hadn’t sat on the ground, and there wasn’t really another place to sit, so while he snarled in response, he didn’t push the other into the floor like he normally would have.

Maybe drinking was a bad idea, after all.
Deku is quiet, and watching them with pinched brows.

“You two seem close.” Half n Half notes, his tone vacant of intonation, but something about it pisses him off.

“None of your business, Peppermint Patty.” Katsuki barks, tipping the bottle back again for another mouthful.

“I didn’t know you were a big drinker, Kacchan.” Deku says softly, his eyes flicking to the idiot plastered against his side intermittently.

Pikachu suddenly gets tense beside him.

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, the bitter anger spiking at the nerd’s pinched-up little face. Deku’s cute little pout is probably a complete accident.
He doesn’t even know how badly Katsuki wants to make him cry big fat alligator tears when he looks like that.

Adorable piece of shit.

Why the fuck is he making that face?

If he opens his mouth to retort he might say something he can't take back, so he takes another pointed sip instead.
He squashes the butterflies down at the realization that Deku is not only speaking to him again, but he still hasn't looked away. He can feel his cheeks begin to flush from the heat of the alcohol.

He still doesn’t answer. If the nerd wanted to ignore him before, he could do it back. He’ll hold those pretty green eyes with his until he caves.
It wouldn’t take long, Deku can’t handle silence to save his life.

It isn’t until someone with a death wish pokes his cheek that he swings his head around to look at Sparky with a glare.

Pikachu’s eyes are wide and staring, his mouth a little ‘o’ of surprise. His finger is still poking into Katsuki’s cheek, like he forgot to remove it. The other idiots are staring now too, like he’s grown a horn all of a sudden.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, hah?!” Katsuki hisses, swatting the offending hand away. It’s slow and less precise than it should be.

Fuck, drinking was a god awful idea.
Maybe he’d swear off it for life after tonight.
After all, last time he got drunk…
It takes him a few seconds to put the pieces together in a way that makes sense.
Last time he drank he kissed this shithead practically lounging in his lap.
Kissed him after asking him to call him ‘Kacchan’.

Not only did Kaminari clearly recognize the name from his drunken memories, but now Deku was here.
Deku had used the nickname, and Katsuki hadn’t blown up about it.

A stupid kiddie nickname like that would have made him blow up if anybody else had said it.
Unless they were the one to give it to him in the first place.

Katsuki fights the urge to groan out loud.

“I don’t have to tell you shit, Deku. In fact, I didn’t realize we were on speaking terms since your little disappearing act. You don’t look sick to me.” His voice is acidic to his own ears, parroting the conversation from earlier unintentionally.

At least Deku has the sense to look embarrassed, wringing his hands in front of him like a scolded kid. Katsuki’s eyes catch Half n Half give him a soft lingering pat on his shoulder. He’s about to blind himself to be free of their touchy-touchy bullshit. He could never touch the nerd so casually.

It isn’t fucking fair.

The other idiots, who thankfully knew nothing about his embarrassing request at Prom, can see he’s finally caught on to why they are all staring like Christmas came early and it's like the floodgates opened.

“Kacchan?” Shitty Hair and Tape Face echo, one in genuine interest, and the other in a mischievous croon.

“So you two know each other?” Shitty Hair asks innocently, turning from Katsuki to Deku like he’s watching a tennis match.

Deku’s face is bright red, but now Katsuki is the one embarrassed here. The nerd can wait his fucking turn.

“I’m going downstairs.” He says quickly, and shoves Dunce Face off him with perhaps a bit too much force. He’s avoiding Deku’s eyes as he sidesteps the bed, and stomps to the door, Pinky and Shitty Hair fast on his tail.

“Yeah, let’s go dance!” Raccoon Eyes says brightly, but her eyes on Katsuki’s face are anything but innocent.

He’s never going to fucking hear the end of this, is he?

 

---

 

Thankfully the nerd gives him space.

Alien Bitch and Shitty Hair don’t get the memo though. They crowd him in the already stifling party environment, and he’s turned his hearing aids off to avoid the jabbering drunkards.
When it's clear he has no intention of entertaining their prodding statements and intrusive questions, they just dance and chat with random extras, occasionally involving them in whatever ill-advised hijinks they find. Shitty Hair loses his shirt about an hour after they leave the bedroom. Pinky does body shots off a curvaceous girl with pillowy lips and sandy blonde hair.

It’s sort of entertaining, watching the antics with all the context of a silent film.

They do their best to involve Katsuki too, but even if he had turned his aids back on, they’d be barely audible in the buzz of the party. The bass reverberates through his chest, and he’s just leaning against the far wall, his bottle of alcohol nearly empty at this point.

It’s a few hours later when he sees green curls by one of the speakers.

The bottle shatters in his sweaty palm when he sees that purple haired fuck from earlier just inches from the nerd’s lips.

Ears is already set up for her own shift in the booth behind them, apparently here to relieve the goth fuck. He'd have to bitch at her later.
He sees Tape Face running cables to prep her microphone, before his eyes search for Deku again. They’re tucked against the speaker, out of the way of thrashing bodies in the center of the room.

Deku and the bastard trade soft nothings to each other, swaying slightly with the music, but only their heads are visible in the crowd. They’re clearly more interested in whatever dirty talk is falling out of Insomniac’s quirked mouth than dancing. His nose was definitely broken recently, the shadowed bruises much more prominent than earlier.

Serves him fucking right.
He’d find the hero that punched the Zombie’s smug ass face and give him a fucking hug.

Shitty Hair’s heavy hand falls on his shoulder, shaking him out of whatever trance he’d been in.
He definitely doesn’t hear what’s being said, but it doesn’t look like he has much choice when the oaf starts dragging him towards the pair with all the tact of a fucking bull.
Katsuki tries to worm his wrist out of strong hands, but he’s foggy and subdued from the alcohol. Pinky’s at his back too, her talons digging lightly into his shoulders, pushing him from behind.

As they get closer, more people become visible in Deku’s orbit.
From afar, he had only seen that clingy fuck looming over Deku, but regularly one of the others nearby clamor for his attention. The nerd is diplomatic in his affections it seems. Besides the close physical proximity, Deku looks just as enamored with everyone he speaks to. Take that, Hot Topic, you aren't special at all.

There’s a round-faced girl giggling and dancing, though she has one of Deku’s scarred hands in hers, occasionally jarring him or tugging him when she moves, though he hardly seems to notice. There’s an awkward looking guy doing the robot with her. He’s wearing a fucking polo and slacks to a party, like a loser. He’s clearly uncomfortable, but doing his best not to bring down the mood of the group. Deku laughs at something he says, and Glasses smiles back.

He sees Half n Half almost hidden behind Deku and the goth, but his attention is on Tape Face of all people, hanging over the booth and chatting animatedly. In the flashing lights, his big ass teeth are practically glowing.

Looks like he isn’t the only one of Katsuki’s friends hanging out with Deku’s geek squad, because Pikachu is talking a mile a minute with Deku and Eyebags, short enough he was partially hidden behind the robot. He’s clearly flirting with the Zombie Bitch, and Deku looks almost delighted despite it. There’s a more reasonable amount of distance between the two now, and he’s glad for it.

On the other side of Deku, Sparky, and the bastard, is a tiny girl with long hair. She’s small enough he almost didn’t realize she was there, wearing a frog hat over a long braid of dark hair. She’s pressed tightly against the wall closest to Deku, her hands folded over close to her chest like a t-rex. Deku leans back to speak in her ear, the line of his throat exposed to the flashing lights. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and pets his hair, moving the sweaty strands off his forehead gently.

What the fuck is up with all these people and putting their nasty hands all over his Deku?
How come he can’t do that?
He’s too far gone now to even chastise himself about how ridiculous it was that he wanted to be one of these clingy fucks.

No.
Not just one of them.
The best.
He’s Bakugou Fucking Katsuki.
He’s ‘Kacchan’.
Nobody knows his nerd like he does.
Nobody knows how to make him cry like he can.
How to make him laugh. How to soothe him.
Yeah, he’d be the best at touching the nerd.
This was just one more thing he would be the best at.

By the time they arrive, Katsuki’s turning some of the ire that made him bolt from the bedroom before into a plan of action.
After all, if these extras can touch him so easily, then why can’t Katsuki?
If kisses mean nothing, if holding hands and trading soft touches are just how Deku is now, then he can do that shit too, right?

Katsuki feels Pinky shove him forward, and Shitty Hair is giving Soy Sauce Face a high five, before tugging his girlfriend towards the other dancing girl.

Pinky and Round Cheeks immediately begin gyrating together, much to Glasses’ clear mortification. They melt against each other like bubbles floating in fizzy drinks, coming together and apart and practically floating through the dance floor.

Now he’s got eyes only for Deku, who spots him past Pikachu’s shoulder once he breaks through the crowd.
He’s so fucking pleased when that scarred hand reaches out to him, past Zombie’s shoulder as if he’s not even there, trying to pull him closer to their group.

Taking that scarred hand and tugging the nerd to Katsuki instead? That's the most natural action in the world to him.

Deku’s saying something, his spit slick lips clearly rambling at him but Katsuki obviously can’t hear it. He points to his hearing aid, demonstrating the point, but the smile doesn’t seem to leave his face. His cheeks twitch with the strain.

Deku’s big sparkly eyes widen in understanding, and he nods exaggeratedly, making his curls bounce with the movement. He’s mildly grateful that Frogger had unstuck them from his forehead.

He looks so fucking cute.
Like a dumb puppy.

He must say it out loud, because Deku looks shocked, his mouth falling open like he’s seeing something incredible. Katsuki absolutely preens, he hasn’t seen the nerd look this obsessed with him in years.

Katsuki can feel himself smirk, and the effect is instantaneous, Deku’s cheeks bloom with that perfect biteable pink. Soft and succulent and juicy like a strawberry.
Oh, what he wouldn’t give to sink his teeth into one of those cheeks. Katsuki is so close to Deku now that he can almost taste him.

And then he’s gone.

The nerd’s falling backward, away from him, away from Katsuki, and there’s a clear reason for it.
That stupid Troll Doll fuck is dragging Deku back towards their group with a clearly pissed off expression, it becomes harder to see his smarmy ass face though, because the red haze starts clouding his vision.

Oh, he hates this fucker.

Deku’s eyebrows are drawn together, he seems just as upset at being separated from Katsuki as he was, but of course he had no idea what they were saying, especially when mid-sentence Deku’s face now turned back toward the sleepy eyed fuck.

He’s never felt more hopelessly frustrated about losing his hearing until this right goddamn minute. It was so hard to have a single coherent thought right now.
It sort of hit him after a second, and he sucked in a frustrated breath.

Katsuki is immediately surprised to see Pikachu get involved in the silent argument between Deku and Purple Bitch. He's whipping his head between the three rapidly, like he's trying to follow the plot, then with wide, desperate eyes he begins to tug on Eye Bags’ other arm. The guy looks back at Sparky with a tense look before the blonde is leaning up to snag him around the neck. Blonde hair is tangled in purple strands as Sparky shoves his lips against the guy’s ear.

Once again.

Katsuki cannot fucking hear what’s happening, though that is apparently intentional and also a rude as fuck.
The clouds seem to clear from the asshole’s face. Now he’s looking past Deku, at him.

In the flashing strobe behind his big ass head, his eyes almost glow purple for a second. He has the most pitying look on his face for just half a second, so fast Katsuki isn’t sure he saw it at all. He lets go of Deku’s arm, and smiles at Deku with a forced, tight smile. It's a sarcastic and knowing sort of smile, and wraps an arm around Pikachu instead.
He’s fumbling with the hearing aid in his ear but even it can’t save him from the thumping music and feedback from the speaker.

He catches the words “sorry”, “jealous”, “blessing”, “kids”?

What the fuck is this guy even talking about?

Then suddenly he doesn’t give a single shit what that guy just said because all of a sudden Deku was back in his arms.

Just the feeling of that.
He gets lost in it for what feels like hours. Moving and sliding and grinding against Deku.
Every push of his hips, the hot dangerous hand running up and down Deku's exposed midriff. Knobby fingers find their way into the short fuzzy hairs at the nape of his neck, and he shivers despite the boiling heat in the room.
Warmth is suddenly flush against him, and Katsuki breathes in heady mint shampoo sweetened in the salty musk of his sweat, a perfect amount of clean and dirty.
And wasn’t that just the perfect way to describe him?

So kind, so gentle, so soft. But so strong, so brave, so determined.
He was just… good. Naturally.
Easy as breathing.

Deku starts talking, and he hears the words “get out of here and talk?” murmured against his ear.
He's already nodding before he even hears Deku finish asking the question.

 

---

 

Somehow they made it back to Katsuki’s apartment.

Truly it is a miracle, because he and the nerd raced all the way here, high on the competition and the liquor.

The nerd dared him. He forgets who won though.

Deku might have carried him at some point when he had stumbled but instead of filling him with shame, he felt strangely thrilled.
He was not a small guy, okay? He prided himself on that. When he and Shitty Hair sparred it still took effort to swing him around and that dude was a tank. They took kick boxing, wrestling, martial arts, and Katsuki was very aware that he was heavy.
The fact that Deku was carrying him at all was impressive.

Short little bastard.
Tiny beefcake asshole.
How dare he?
No, really, fuck this guy for being so hot.
It was unreasonable.

These are the thoughts that ran through his head like bullet trains.
They arrived in a timely manner, but were gone far too fast to follow.

Oh they’re finally at his apartment now. Excellent.
Deku is slammed against the door the second they get inside.

“K-Kacchan!” Deku whines beneath him, and it’s so reminiscent of middle school that it sobers Katsuki completely.
He’s staring shocked at Deku like he’s been electrocuted. Fuck.

Was he really going to do this?
He’d never…
They hadn’t…
Did they have to?
Could they?
Would talking about it shatter it?
Would admitting it make it real for them both?
Maybe this was the best he’d ever get.
This was the closest he would ever be.
Was that so bad?

Just once, to know what it felt like and then he could focus on anything other than Deku for a change.

Focus on the world-ending secret that he’d overheard and not yet processed internally.
Focus on the fuckers who needed to pay. On fuckers like this Taskmaster asshole.
On the blood soaked hands that never should have gotten this far.

Yeah.
Just this once.
He can’t imagine it any other way, actually.

Deku’s big watery eyes are transfixed, pupils blown completely, the prettiest blush on his face.
Katsuki’s hands are on his cheeks like a man possessed.

“K-Kacchan… I…” His lip wobbles, but Katsuki can’t bare to hear how that sentence is going to end. He can’t. There’s too many questions he can’t, won’t answer.
Too many promises and apologies, too many /other/ things he wants to say, but if they do that, if they open that fucking box, they’ll never be the same again.
This wouldn’t even be an option, then.

Let’s face it.

No more bullshit.

He’d kill for Deku.

He’d sneak in his window at night.

He’d raise hell for him.

He would die for him.

If Katsuki’s honest, he can’t bear knowing that at the end of the day, he’s no better than Half n Half or Eyebags.
He was just as messed up, just as hopeless, just as whipped for this nerd, just as fucking dangerous.
He’d beg if he had to, and that was terrifying.
Nobody should be able to make him feel like that.

He was Bakugou Fucking Katsuki.

But Deku would give up everything for him.

No matter what he himself would give, Deku would give him the same in return, out of fairness.
Katsuki could never bring himself to ask for what he wanted, not really. Asking meant the possibility of being told 'no',
So Katsuki would do the most unforgivable thing of all.
He lowered his head to Deku’s level, whispered one broken request.
The only thing that would save him right now.

“Please promise me you won’t ask any questions.” He whispered brokenly, before slamming their lips together just the way he had in the lab.

This time was nothing like last time.
There was something feral about them now. Deku didn’t hesitate for a second, shoving his tongue in Katuski’s mouth like he expected the answers to all his forbidden questions could be discovered by kissing alone.

He could feel frustration in the groan Deku gave against him, and he responded in kind. Like they were fighting with their mouths, nipping, snarling, and suddenly their positions were flipped. Deku’s eyes are brimming with tears when he finally opens his eyes, panting.

Deku was staring at him like he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Like he was the Sun.
A God.
A very cruel god.

“You’re not fair, Kacchan.” Deku whined before dragging their mouths back together with a heartbreaking softness.
Like he could never say no.

Katuski was the worst villain he could imagine, to make Deku sound like that.

Maybe he really was the villain in this story.
And fuck, didn’t that break his heart a little bit?
But it also broke a brittle, ancient lock, one that had rusted over deep in his chest cavity.
The cage where he kept his baser urges.
The ones that wanted to stalk, and prowl, and hunt.
The itch under his skin that sought blood and sweat and justice.
That gnawing all consuming feeling that threatened to eat him alive.

If he was the villain in this story, if he was going to let himself touch what he never could deserve, if he was going to be so unforgivably weak, then he was going to give it everything he had.
Satisfy the craving, fill the need, drink his fill, and earn it.
If one night was all he got? He’d make it one the nerd could never forget.

Make him remember him for days, for weeks, forever. That no matter what extra touched him from now on, it wouldn’t matter, because they could never even hope to be better than Katsuki had been.

Getting into the bedroom had been very easy, all he had to do was slide his hands over thick thighs and scoop the smaller male into his arms. He swallowed the squeal Deku let out with a demanding kiss, prompting Deku’s legs to wrap around his waist. Then just carried the nerd down the hall.
So simple. So easy.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like he’d done it a hundred times.
(Resolutely burying insecurity about his virginity deep, deep, down never to be heard from again)

Deku looked even better in his bed than he thought he would. His curls fanned out against the pillow, messy and wild. Katsuki took his time taking Deku apart piece by piece. They were both hard in their pants, and Katsuki had to pop the button on his jeans to relieve some of the strain.

The kissing and heavy petting were turning the nerd to putty in his hands. Pliant and trusting against the demanding hands that never left Deku’s body for a second.
Stupid, ridiculous clothes kept getting in his way though.
That was gonna change immediately.

First was the sinful little crop top, hardly an obstacle at all. It was barely a shirt, the nerd was practically walking around naked. If the thought made him bite Deku's shoulder a little harder than before, nobody would be the wiser. Kinky shit liked it though, grinding his cock into the hollow of Katsuki’s hip bone insistently.

The friction made the nerd gasp, and suddenly: it was a game. What would a bite here do? A rough squeeze there?
A slow lick to Deku’s left collarbone apparently led to an even higher pitched noise, like a keen.
Katsuki had to see the rest, he backed up, settling himself between widespread thighs.
Deku’s rough, gnarled hands were strangely adept at removing both their jeans in the time it took for his own shirt to go over his head. He looked ruined, teary eyed and flushed, but he did not tremble in Katsuki’s hands. Spread out naked beneath him, the nerd was a vision, a masterpiece. Katsuki was suddenly speechless.

Beautifully fucked up skin was bared just for him.
All cross-hatched and delicious, marred in freckles, scars, bites, hickeys, bruises. The marks were almost painterly. Deku’s skin damn near glowed in the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window. He had to remember every single detail, because this was going to be his jerk off material for the rest of his goddamn life.

The light that fell on Deku’s spread out body beneath him was soft and ethereal.
Deku’s skin was speckled with dark little stars and nebulas across his chest.
He was his own galaxy.
Pale like the moon.
Stars in his eyes.
Swaths of color and scar and muscle.
It was otherworldly. Alien. Terrifying. Beautiful.

Deku wasn’t weak, not with scars like this.
Scars like this mean he just kept getting the hell back up.

What a tenacious little bastard.

He dragged a heavy hand down the exposed flesh, desperate to commit every one to memory, to ask about the story behind every single one.

Where have you been, Deku?
What have you been up to?
What are you hiding?

He opened his mouth to ask one of these thousand questions when Deku was suddenly crushing him back down towards him, gently licking into his mouth.
He stole each gasp of breath in languid, luxurious swipes of tongue. The heat burned in his gut, and his cock throbbed between them, rubbing against Deku’s with a painful grind. When he was nearly light headed with the oxygen deprivation, there was a murmur against his lips.

“Ah, ah, ah. No questions, right Kacchan? Fair is fair.” Deku whispered, sassier than his breathlessness really deserved.

Smart ass.
Fair was, admittedly, fair.
So for the moment, he would keep quiet.

“Fine. I don’t have to ask you a damn thing.” He growled into Deku’s ear, feeling the shudder and moaning into his own skin at just the sound.
“I know exactly what you need. You can’t hide a thing from me, Deku. Because I. Can. See. Right. Through. You.” He said the words with a wild, predatory grin, before thrusting his hips sharply into Deku below him. He wasn’t expecting the throaty moan, but he delighted in it.

So easy, just a little bit of teasing and the nerd looked destroyed.
It brought that same ugly feeling into his chest, the one that wanted to make his nerd cry out for him.
He was going to make the fucker sob for it.

Katsuki started his evil little plan by settling back, dragging his hips away from Deku’s, and removing the lips that had been mouthing at his throat. It was painful dragging his lips away from Deku’s feverish skin, and Deku seemed to agree. He whined, leaning back up to chase him, a hand slipping between them to palm his aching length.

Katsuki’s smile was cruel and vicious when he smacked the hand away and licked one sharp canine with a cocky breathy laugh. The lack of stimulation makes Deku open his eyes and whine again, clearly upset with Katsuki stopping.

“Hands off, nerd. How about I ask questions that I already know the answer to? Does that count?” He said haughtily, settling back on his knees, flexing his defined core to show off for ravenous emerald eyes. Deku glared in response, but nodded, all too desperate to have Katsuki touch him again. To get hands on him, in him.

“You were always going to end up here, weren't you, Deku? Spread out on MY bed. Saying MY name. Taking MY cock.” Katuski says seriously, bumping their noses together and grinding their lower halves together. Deku nods jerkily, but that's not good enough for Katsuki.
The harsh slap to his thigh makes Deku whimper.

"Use your words, Deku." He whispers hotly.
The moan he gets in response is debauched. If there was any doubt in his mind that Deku was just as filthy as he was, its gone now. The hunger in those green eyes is practically feral.

"W-want Kacchan. Always want Kacchan." He sighs out, looking up at Katsuki with an imploring look, like he's terrified Katsuki would stop. It's like the nerd reached into his chest and squeezed his heart.

Lord knows this isn’t Deku’s first rodeo, but it IS Katsuki’s. He’s terrified of fucking this up, but he knows prep has to happen before he can shove his painfully hard dick anywhere.
There's one way to satisfy that and Katsuki's thirst all at once.
He slides his hands down to cup Deku’s thighs before hoisting them up, bending him in half with ease.

Flexible piece of shit.
Katsuki absolutely loved it.

With his thighs practically touching his own ears, Deku makes an embarrassed squeal, only starting to babble and squirm when Katsuki lowers his face down and buries his nose into the crease of his thigh, his breaths ghosting over the nerd's balls and making his dick twitch.

There's a warbling cry when Katsuki finally licks at Deku's exposed hole, tasting salty and heady on his tongue. He couldn't stop the groan that eked out of his mouth if he tried. Something about the taste, the idea of eating Deku's ass until he was a sopping wet mess has him grinding his neglected cock into the bedding like a dog.
Deku is moaning and grinding his hips down into Katsuki's mouth, scarred hands are buried in his hair, tugging and pushing.
His tongue curls and fans, desperate to reach just a little bit further, taste a little more, make the nerd fall apart a little faster.

Beep.

The sound chirps in his ear.
Familiar.
Frustrating.
His fucking hearing aids were dying.
He needs to get moving if he wants to hear the good stuff, and not just the foreplay.

He curses, but doesn't pause his movements until he drags his face up, letting Deku's cock fall heavy against his tongue. With one long upward lick, he presses down on Deku's chest with a heavy hand before leaning up to dig through the nightstand for lube. Deku was watching everything with wide, curious eyes, like he had no idea how they’d gotten to this point.
The squirt of lube into his hand is pornographic, and Deku sucks in a sharp breath that he doesn’t immediately release, suddenly tense under Katsuki’s gentle tapping at his hole.

“Relax, you can take it. Breathe, and don’t you dare hold anything back, Deku.” Katsuki says roughly, his index finger tracing slow, languid circles around the entrance.
Deku lets out that shaky breath and drags their mouths together furiously when Katsuki slides one slick finger into him. It’s difficult to start, resistant to his intrusion.

He’s so fucking tight. Impossibly tight.

"Kacchan!" Deku whimpers, his face contorting, fighting to keep himself from tensing too much. He's trying so fucking hard, it's adorable.

“That’s it, good boy. Doing great, Deku.” He rumbles against the skin of Deku’s throat, letting his nose drag against his earlobe before biting it, and is rewarded with the most lewd moan Katsuki has ever heard.

Beep.

Katuski almost whines, knowing his time is coming. Backing up just enough to reposition his hand and watch the filthy slide of his digit buried in the cutest little hole he’s ever seen.

“So good for me, aren’t you? So good for Kacchan?” He says huskily, desperate to bully his cock inside that dripping heat. It’s incredibly soft inside, like warm satin rippling against his fingertips. He bites back the grunt when that hot, wet, incredibly tight muscle begins to relax under his ministrations.

“Y-yes, good f-for Kacc-AHN!” He cries as Katsuki begins to scissor two fingers inside Deku, and the noises he lets out makes Katsuki grab the base of his cock to stop him from cumming at just the sound alone. He’s slow and methodical, listening to every hum and groan and whine from the body underneath him.

He continues petting Deku’s insides, short little thrusts against Deku’s own cock are clearly getting him closer to the edge. The hole sucking at his fingers pulses when he runs a finger over an errant smooth bump.

“There, there!” Deku shouts, moving his hips back onto Katsuki’s indulgent hand. He couldn’t stop the smile if he tried, stabbing three harsh fingers against the spot rapidly, in time with the staccato breaths puffing against his cheek.

Beep.

"Come on, Deku." He goads, knocking their noses together to get Deku's attention, until they're panting into each other's mouths.
"Break for me, baby. You're already riding my hand like a desperate little slut, go on, cum for Kacchan."

Deku cries when he cums for the first time, a desperate warble punched out of him like it was painful. It looked painful.
The way he arched in Katsuki’s hands like he’d been electrocuted, the smell of salt and ozone heavy in the air, and his hot cum soaked their abdomens. The slide was sticky, hot as he removed his fingers.

Deku whined at the loss, sensitive and gasping for breath. Katsuki wasn’t about to let him relax though, they were just getting started.

“I’ve got something better than fingers, dumbass.” He grumbles, slotting the engorged head of his dick against Deku's entrance slowly. It makes a heavy thwack against the stretched hole, and its impossible to describe the feeling of finally entering Deku. It was too much, not enough, it was everything, and yet it would never be anything at all.
He clenched his jaw, and marinated in the coos of Deku acclimating beneath him.

For his part, Deku takes it like a champ. He tosses his head back, arms back to grip the headboard, knuckles white against the metal like he’s holding on for his life as he’s filled. His throat is taut and vulnerable to Katsuki’s grazing nose. It reminds him of earlier tonight, Deku arching backwards to speak to Frog Girl, so easy and languid; and here it is again.

Only this time, the column of his throat is covered in evidence of Katsuki. In bites and hickeys and bruises, proof that he had been here.
That just for a night, Deku belonged to him, and him alone. There’s a strange flutter of his heart that has him sliding several inches in at once until he’s buried to the hilt.

“Who am I, Deku? Come on, nerd. Say it. Say my name, baby. Tell me.” Katsuki taunts, his face split in a mean smile, grinding his cock deeper without moving in or out.
He’s being mean, he knows, forcing Deku to stay full of him, teasing him with the lack of friction.

“K-Kacchann!” Deku sobs, the name tearing out of him like it was impossible to hold back. Katsuki knows the feeling.

“That’s right, baby, I’m your Kacchan. Good job, you’re doing so well, that’s it.” He breathes, his voice soft and wrecked to his own ears. His strokes are deep and slow, letting Deku feel every inch in and out, the sound sloppy around them.

Deku gets frustrated with the gentle fuck of Katsuki’s hips, just like the needy and desperate little slut he is.

“More, Kacchan, please!” He moans, and it's so pitiful that Katsuki almost listens.
But unfortunately, he's Bakugou Katsuki, and he does not to do what he’s told.
Not without a little coaxing.

“More? What a greedy little thing you are, Deku. Are you saying this isn’t enough?” He says innocently, his tone light and curious despite the fire tingling down his spine. The soft, sweet rocking isn't enough for him either.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Kacchan, or let me do it myself!” Deku growls, wrapping his strong legs around Katsuki’s thin waist and fucking himself onto Katsuki’s cock faster, harder.
He hisses a breath, and one of his hands goes up to tangle in messy curls, making Deku moan and relax in his hold, his returning thrusts abandoned.

So. Fucking. Easy.

“Oh you’ll regret that, Deku. I’ll fucking ruin you. You’ll never be able to forget me, the way I fill you, the way I fuck you.” His tone is loving, adoring, like he’s promising something much softer, kinder. Contrasting his sweet tone, the first thrust into Deku is mean, and the second is downright cruel. Deku’s eyes roll back into his head, and Katsuki laughs at his lewd expression. He’d never be able to look at the nerd again without imagining this fucked out little face. He’s so far gone, and Katsuki is enamored when he starts begging the second the blonde starts fucking him for real.

The sharp punishing thrusts are not gentle, not soft or adoring, but brutal. Deku’s eyes are unfocused and hazy, his features contorted in mindless pleasure, staring up at Katsuki with glassy eyes.
He’s mumbling praises, half-aborted little sighs of his name, pleading and begging for more, for faster, for harder. He squeezes his eyes shut tight when Katsuki aims for the spot he was so rough on earlier. He knows he’s found it when Deku makes a debauched little gasp, almost a chirp, and his legs begin to shake.

“Good boy, that’s it, fucking take it, yeah, such a good little whore aren’t you, Deku? Built to take it - to take me, to cum on my cock and beg for me oh, fuck yessss. Look at me, look at me, baby.” Katsuki croons between thrusts, desperate to see the pleasure in Deku’s eyes.

He isn’t disappointed.

When Deku opens his eyes, his thick dark lashes are wet, and he’s staring straight into Katsuki’s soul.

These are the tears he wanted.
They’re so much better than tears of hurt, so much prettier. They taste so much better when Katsuki runs his tongue from Deku’s chin to his cheek to collect a few strays.

"Fucked you dumb, didn't I, baby? All mindless and babbling on my dick like you belong there. Maybe I should keep you here, live the rest of my life buried in this perfect ass." He can't make the words stop, pouring out of his lips like just seeing Deku crying for him was enough to ruin him too.

More tears fall fat and heavy over red stained cheeks, running into tracks of spit and sweat, just another way Deku drives him insane. Katsuki can’t resist another kiss, and another for good measure, especially when the strands of saliva connect them when they part. His eyes sparkle as they stare up at Katsuki, adoring, worshipping, begging and demanding all at once.

The hiccupping sobs are a symphony in his ears, a litany of “Kacchan” chanted over and over again, just in time to hear nothing at all.

Beep. Beep. 

He’s still thrusting in and out, catching the tears still sparkling on his cheeks, and Deku’s delicious hole continues to clamp down on him like a vice, but the soundtrack is gone.

He’s heartbroken momentarily, suddenly cut off from most of the pleading, whining noises that had been gracing him before. He could distantly hear some of the louder noises Deku was making, but as his lips moved, Katsuki was distraught to find his lips still forming his name, but he could no longer hear it.

He missed that voice like he missed food or air, like not getting it was killing him slowly.

He’s so angry, so forlorn, desperate, it almost brings him to tears. Kiss-bitten lips are moving too fast for him to follow, he can’t understand a word of it, so lost in the glide of his cock inside Deku, that he can’t parse a word. He’s focused on the pulsing need he can feel burning low in his gut, the sweat pouring off him in rivulets that lubricate the slide of their skin.

His hips speed up, the pace punishing enough to slowly push Deku up the headboard, almost banging his head with the intensity. Katsuki can’t have that, so he pulls Deku on top of him, hoisting Deku into the air to have gravity help him lower the nerd onto his cock. He’s seated with one long thrust. Katsuki pants raggedly, his tongue laving over dusky nipples.

Distantly, Katsuki realizes he is speaking, and the vibrations in his throat let him know he is not being quiet. Between groans and grunts, he can barely hear the ghost of his own words, distant and fuzzy. It almost sounds like a mantra, repetitive praise and degradation pouring from his throat without pause. He calls Deku filthy names, spurring him to ride faster, harder. To show him something good.

Deku does. He’s so good, so amazing, that he listens to his Kacchan perfectly.

It’s bliss and torture all rolled into one. Nails bite into his back as Deku scrambles to hang onto him and return his thrusts with equal force. There’s teeth in his shoulder, and more wetness on his stomach when Deku finally comes again.

The sinful flutter of Deku’s insides pulls Katsuki’s orgasm out of him almost instantly. Ropes and ropes of cum are poured into Deku, and he has a sick, possessive thought of filling him up enough that there'd be a noticeably swollen bump rounding that toned stomach.

His hips slow but don’t stop their languid pumps, frothing the cum at the place where they’re connected. It feels amazing, just the right side of painful. and Katsuki is certain he could cum again like this, but he must be the only one. A sweaty hand is hitting weakly against his chest, signifying him to stop, and so he does. Deku’s weight is crushing against him so he lets them fall back against the pillows, still connected. The nerd is asleep before his head can hit the pillow, so Katsuki slides out carefully, and Katsuki is lucky enough to watch his cum dribble out as he withdraws.

He should clean them up. It wouldn’t be comfortable for Deku to sleep like this, and he definitely earned a rest.
Once the nerd is wiped down, Katsuki takes a second to just look at him.
Deku’s eyelids flutter, as if he could tell he was being watched, but he does not stir. His swollen lips are parted slightly, a peaceful expression making him look much younger all of a sudden.
With drying tears and drool collecting beneath him, Katsuki is stunned by the familiarity.

After everything, this was still just Deku.
He’s seen this sleeping face before.
He’s sharing Katsuki’s pillow again, his curled hand outstretched and waiting for Katsuki’s fingers to entangle with his.

In the dark of his room, the moon long since hidden by blankets of clouds, Katsuki slides his shaking hand into Deku’s.
As if sensing him, Deku smiles in his sleep, and squeezes Katsuki’s hand in return.
He could never know what these hands were capable of, what they had done.
Katsuki’s hands were bloodstained, explosive, and undeserving; but just for tonight, in the safety of his room, he could pretend.

 

Hours later, when he wakes up alone, his fingers splayed over cold sheets long since vacated he isn’t even surprised. Deku didn’t belong in his bed, and Katsuki didn’t deserve to expect him to stay.

Chapter 14: A Promise to be Okay

Summary:

Izuku's experience at the party, with Kacchan, and after.

Notes:

I'M SO SORRY!

This took ages, I had major writers block, and nothing felt right. I had an artist market yesterday and somehow caught a stomach bug immediately. :( The curse is real, folks.

Hope this chapter is worth the wait!

Updated for clarity and grammar <3 12/9/2025

After Kacchan and some of his friends left the bedroom, it was awkward and quiet for a long minute.

Shouto looks clearly smug about something, and the touchy blonde, Kaminari, keeps staring at him like Izuku is the most interesting bug in the world, perplexed and almost outrageously guffawing.

 

“Um…” Izuku says quietly, uncomfortable and hoping to break whatever focus the other guy had, but nothing changes. The staring continues, as if well and truly fascinated.

 

It isn’t until Sero, the guy with the nice smile, throws a pillow at his friend that Kaminari finally looks away.

 

“Hey man, what was that for?” Kaminari whines at his friend with an exaggerated pout, crossing his arms haughtily.

 

“You were struck dumb, I was just being a bro and had to force you to reset.” Sero says casually, a grin stretching across his face.

 

Shouto turns to him then, asking seriously, “Does that happen often? Does he need medical attention?”

 

Sero’s smile grows impossibly wider, somehow, practically taking up his entire face, before he answers back just as seriously:

 

“All the time! I think he stuck too many forks in electrical sockets as a kid, it’s a tragedy.”

 

Izuku can't believe his eyes, because Shouto, deadpan, immaculate Shouto actually smiles. It's small and subdued, but for Shouto?

That's practically unheard of, especially with someone he just met! Sero and Shouto continue their strange back and forth, with Izuku distantly aware that this was probably a really big deal for Shouto. He's excited for him, honestly, and Izuku should definitely be playing wingman for his sheltered friend but instead he's too busy being weirdly upset about the blonde in front of him to facilitate Shouto’s social interactions right now.

It was rude! Right? Staring at someone like they’re the weirdest, most disgusting thing they’ve seen in their lives? Curious, like he's some sort of weird bug, completely unperturbed by social conventions? That's the kind of thing you aren’t supposed to do in polite conversation.

So is laying out like a particularly clingy cat over Kacchan’s shoulders, but that’s another thing entirely. Not only did this random blonde guy just start hanging all over Kacchan, but Kacchan was totally fine with it?

Izuku feels nauseous.

Facing Kacchan out of the blue has him feeling particularly vulnerable, especially after the whole kiss fiasco, because even if he did run, Kacchan had been the one to kiss HIM in that lab. Grumpy, antisocial, beautiful, severe Kacchan who didn’t even let his mother hug him, had kissed Izuku.

Kacchan never does things he doesn’t want to, right? Then why did he let this guy drape all over him like a second skin? Maybe skinship wasn’t so much of a problem anymore, as long as it's with people who aren’t Izuku?

No, that doesn't make logical sense. Again, Kacchan was the one to kiss him. Whether he regretted it or not, he had done it. He wasn’t as tactile as Izuku and his friends, but he didn’t avoid touching Izuku. Their hands have brushed, they have casual contact in the lab, and when they have dinner, and lunch too…  so maybe Kacchan simply isn't as touch-averse as he used to be.

Maybe he just didn’t know Kacchan as well as he thought he did.

 

“Sorry guys,” Sero said suddenly, opening a flip phone and frowning as he checks an incoming message. “I gotta go hang around the booth downstairs for Shinsou’s replacement.”

 

“We have the same phone.” Shouto points out quietly, holding up his own archaic flip phone to demonstrate.

 

Sero’s grin returns full force, “I see another person has taste! The Squad is always giving me shit about it, but we’ll see who is laughing when they all have shattered screens and government agencies use facial recognition software to open their phones remotely and leak their browser history.”

 

“Nah, you’re just a weirdo. There's nothing THAT bad in my browser history that the government would care. What kinda porn are you watching, man?” Kaminari said cheekily, shooting Sero a mocking smile, proving this was a decently common topic of conversation for them.

 

Izuku is briefly speechless, but Shouto doesn’t seem particularly phased in the slightest.

 

“Actually, I’m just bad at texting, especially on a screen, and I like the way the buttons feel when I press them. I’d love to hear more about government conspiracies though. I have a few of my own. For example, I’m pretty sure that Godzilla really did attack downtown Tokyo in the 80’s, and they made the movie as a diversion.” Izuku remembers that particular theory, and feels briefly guilty for being the one to introduce Shouto to MeTube in sophomore year. It's surprising how many rabbit holes the other boy had fallen down since that decision.

 

“Oh, 100%.” Sero said seriously, moving off the bed and towards the door. “Wanna hang out with me until I have to run more cables?”

 

“Sure.” Shouto said quickly, standing as well. He seems to remember Izuku exists again, looking back at him and offering a hand to help him up almost sheepishly. “If that’s okay?”

 

It's great that Shouto wants to hang out with someone else. He's very socially awkward, and clearly had the beginnings of a crush on the mulleted guy, so Izuku doesn't mind too much. To think Shouto had a chance of getting lucky at his very first college party! It's enough to melt Izuku's brain out of his ears.

But honestly, he really doesn’t want to be alone... Especially alone with the other blonde who's now staring at him with a devilish smile that promises mischief.

 

“Sure thing, Sho. The others should be here soon, I'll be fine. You go have fun.” Izuku smiles back encouragingly, trying to mask his disappointment and anxieties. Shouto nods minutely, before he and Sero leave the room, already talking about the clear implications of media manipulation on politics.

It is… weirdly cute.

 

“And then there were two!” Kaminari says with a wicked grin that reminds him too much of Kacchan for comfort.

 

“Yeah.” Izuku answers awkwardly, rubbing the sweat off his neck and looking anywhere but the other blonde.

 

“So… Kacchan, huh?” The blonde hedges, clearly faking innocent curiosity. “That’s a really cute nickname, what’s the story behind that, hm? Blasty would murder us if we called him something so... sweet.” Suddenly Kaminari is practically crawling over the bed towards Izuku, all attempt at subtlety abandoned.

 

“Uh… it was a childhood nickname… we were… our families were friends.” He stammers, leaning away from the clear interest in those honey brown eyes.

 

“Childhood friends!” Kaminari chirps excitedly, his eyes shining with delight. “That’s adorable!” He claps his hands, as if this background information is the cutest thing he's heard all day. It feels somewhat condescending and a touch mocking.

 

Izuku finds himself getting irritated, feeling like either he's being made fun of, or Kacchan is.

And that simply won't do.

 

“Look, I don’t know what your relationship with Kacchan is like, but I do not appreciate whatever you are implying. I don’t have to prove myself to you. Kacchan and I have known each other since we were kids, and now we’re lab partners, that’s it. I-I don’t know if you’re d-dating or…” Izuku rushes out stiffly, trying to remain somewhat polite but also firm.

 

“Oh! Oh no! No!” Kaminari denies quickly, whipping his head back and forth like he's terrified of someone hearing them, raising his hands up in surrender. “I am NOT interested in Blasty Boy, no sirree, just friends here! I’m interested in tall, dark, and sexy behind the DJ booth, remember?” He reminds him quickly, his smile wobbling and earnest. He looks mortified that Izuku had misunderstood him, and briefly Izuku feels bad for being so snappy with him.

 

“Oh. Sorry, yeah, you're right, no, I’m sorry, that- that was rude of me.” Izuku stammered out, the guilt evident in his voice.

 

“Don’t worry about it! Hey, maybe we could help each other out?” Kaminari has an electrifying smile, coy and fun. He's really very pretty, definitely Hitoshi’s type for sure.

 

Izuku smiles back, confused but patient, when he asks, “With what?”

 

Kaminari looks briefly taken aback, like he wasn’t expecting that response, but seems to make some kind of decision after meeting Izuku’s curious expression.

 

“I’m starting to see the problem here, but don’t worry! I think we can fix it. Do you mind if I hang with you and your group for a bit? I’m sure Kiri and Mina are keeping Blasty out of trouble but I’m all by my lonesome, and drinking alone is kinda pathetic. Help a bro out? Maybe you can introduce me to your friend when his set is over?” He looks like an excitable puppy, with wide begging eyes and a blinding smile making Izuku feel guilty for initially wanting to avoid him.

Getting drunk at his first college party with Kacchan lingering around somewhere, and y’know the whole ‘superpowers’ thing, is probably not the best idea he's ever had... But if the choices were between this or ruminating some more on his conversation with Dr. Toshinori... suddenly he's far more interested in numbing his brain than he had been previously. He’s never drank alcohol before, not really, nothing outside the odd cup of sake with his mother, but all of a sudden it seems like such a wonderful idea.

 

“I’ve never gotten drunk before… but I wouldn’t want you to be alone. My other friends should be here soon, though, and I’m sure you’d get along with them.” Kaminari is already nodding seriously, the grin not leaving his face the whole time. Like the universe was rewarding him for this lapse in judgement, his phone buzzes with a message from Ochako.

 

Chako <3: Zuku I have terrible news (╥‸╥)

Izuku: Oh no!!! Is everything okay??? (•́ ᴖ •̀) 

Chako <3: Himi-chan has to workkk (つ╥﹏╥)つ

Chako <3: how am I supposed to attend my first real college party without my super hot gf?

Izuku: what if we do shots and I hold your hand the whole time? （˶•̀ ᎑-˶）

 

Chako <3: shots??? You're actually drinking??? Does Shinsou-kun or Shouto-kun know about this decision? ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

Izuku: I'm a grown man, Chako-chan, I can do what I want!  ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

 

Chako <3: ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ꒳ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾ HELL YEAH ZUKU

Chako <3: I SUPPORT THIS DECISION 500%, already omw

Chako <3: also maybe we can convince Iida-kun to dance with us! ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡

Izuku: Operation Get Tenya to Dance is a GO!!! 

Izuku: ♪┏(・o･)┛♪

 

Thankfully now that the others have arrived, it's easier for Izuku to put both Kacchan and his talk with Dr. Toshinori completely out of his mind. It helps that Ochako is always lively, and since he hadn't ever agreed to drink before tonight, she had apparently decided to be very... encouraging.

With Toga stuck at work, the mouth that would usually be busy making out with her girlfriend was occupied with making sure he was good and drunk and having a good time. He's so glad to see Tsu, Tenya, and Ochako again, especially since it had been several months since their last official hang out all together.

He regrets distancing himself from the group after prom, and he realizes now that he was probably being dramatic at the time. He’d lost a lot of valuable time with people who were close to him all because he was too self-absorbed to face Hitoshi head on. Sure he was anxious about the mentorship and juggling his patrols, but how much time had he sacrificed unnecessarily? Luckily he can't spend too much time dwelling on it because he's too busy experiencing happiness in real time. They dance to music he does and doesn't recognize, sing what are probably the wrong lyrics to half of them, drink colorful fruity beverages, and gossip about everyone’s lives since getting into college.

Tenya is his normal overbearing self, reminding everyone to hydrate and behave respectfully, even going so far as to test every drink that Ochako accepts from the kitchen, just in case.

 

"Safety first, Uraraka-san!" He lectures, pushing his glasses up his nose, reflecting the multicolored lights in the glare.

 

Ochako is in rare form tonight, the original party monster officially released. It’s important to note that Ochako isn't particularly less crazy when Toga is around, but they definitely balance out each other’s craziness. Together, it's like all the manic crazy energy they generate alone has an outlet, focused entirely on each other. A closed circuit of crazy. Toga’s biting wit and impulsivity is cowed a bit by Ochako’s sunny optimism and excitement, even if they're both somewhat meddlesome. There's never a dull day spent in each other’s company, but apart?

Things tended to get out of hand, quickly.

Well, Izuku never has to worry about them breaking up, at least.

 

For example, Ochako is currently arm wrestling a random guy just as big as Kirishima, with hair so ashy blonde it's almost grey, and long silvery eyelashes.

She wins, of course.

Tsu is thankfully more subdued, as this wasn’t their preferred hang out activity. They took their job as designated sober person (aside from Tenya) very seriously; making sure that everyone in their group is adequately hydrated and making good choices, though far more subtly and quietly than Tenya does. Their soft, sure tone is always comforting, and Izuku is happy to hear more about the marine biology research project over the beat of the music. The mentor for the program is apparently a total goofball, and based on their description, Tsu might just have a crush on the captain’s first mate. He's almost giddy hearing Tsu quietly gush about how “pretty” and “smart” and “impressive” Sirius was.  Izuku hopes things go well, already supportive of Tsu and their first potential girlfriend, if it ever comes to fruition. He loves when his friends are happy!

Speaking of happy, Shouto and Sero look to be getting along amazingly too. They spent hours chatting over the booth set up as Sero ran various wires and checked speakers and whatever other stuff he's been doing. Shouto checks in with the group occasionally, but not nearly as often as was normal in social situations. Izuku might have been sad at the prospect of missing his little awkward shadow if it wasn’t for how obviously pleased Shouto looks.

Besides, there were other serious developments unfolding.

Izuku can’t spend the whole night listening in on Sero and Shouto talking about media literacy and the origin of memes when Izuku is more interested in watching Hitoshi make eyes at Kaminari from within the booth. Thankfully over the course of the night, he and Kaminari got to spend more time together. The guy isn’t so bad, really, and Izuku can admit a good amount of his dislike might've been rooted in petty jealousy. From the way he's eying the purple haired DJ, it's clear that he's genuinely interested in Hitoshi.

Despite strict rules not to bother Hitoshi in the booth, Kaminari seems to have figured out a way to flirt from behind the makeshift glass divider.

He sings along with songs, mouthing the lyrics and dancing, sometimes very explicitly, while gesturing to Hitoshi from the crowd. Izuku doubts he’d be so brazen if he actually had an interest in dating Kacchan. It's possible Izuku was simply paranoid and jealous, and the thought is more than a little embarrassing.

Of course Kacchan wouldn’t kiss Izuku if he was anywhere close to a relationship, that was just ridiculous!

When Jirou, the replacement DJ, runs in a couple hours later, smelling of stir fry, Hitoshi gets to emerge from his safe haven and join the riffraff.

Hitoshi good naturedly sticks by his friends, doing the least possible while technically dancing. He teases Ochako about missing her “bloodsucker” of a girlfriend, which Ochako giggles drunkenly about. It's a long running joke by now, prompted by a few noticeable hickeys and how Toga tends to stick to Ochako like a leech, when they're together. The teasing is lighthearted, of course, since Ochako has always been entirely too indulgent about that behavior, even before they confessed to each other.

Kaminari is no longer being subtle, running through every pick up line thought of in the last century, but if you asked Izuku he wouldn't have considered the last few hours of public serenade and performance “subtle” anyways. Hitoshi seems simultaneously bewildered and receptive as he indulges in the attention with flirty remarks and knowing eyes.

 

“So! You guys are close, what’s the story there?” Kaminari asks loudly over the music, an arm slung around both Izuku and Hitoshi shoulders, though he has to strain to reach Hitoshi's height. His smile is contagious, and clearly mischievous. Hitoshi gives a wolfish grin at the blonde and leans in close to reply.

Between the alcohol, the noise, and general lightheadedness, Izuku mistakenly lets Hitoshi answer.

 

“Can you keep a secret, doll?” Out of the corner of his eye, Izuku sees Kaminari’s face bloom red and nod quickly. Izuku chuckles under his breath and takes another sip of his drink.

 

The hormones in this room are absolutely crazy.

 

“This is my mortal enemy turned friend, turned prom date, first heartbreak turned bestie.” Hitoshi announces smugly, a hand gesturing to Izuku like he's the prize reveal on a game show. As if that sequence of events is understandable to literally anyone else! Kaminari nods seriously, following along perfectly, apparently.

 

“That’s like the funniest coincidence ever.” Kaminari isn’t laughing though, and Izuku doesn’t really understand what's so funny about it in the first place. He's quick to make sure the blonde didn’t misunderstand, if only so he doesn't say something in Kacchan's vicinity.

 

“He’s just being silly, Kaminari, don’t worry. We went to prom together and we kissed once, but it wasn’t like… we aren’t… We never…” Izuku is suddenly too drunk to have this conversation, and his words aren’t coming out right. Hitoshi raises one eyebrow but the smirk doesn’t leave his lips.

 

“You wound me, Zuku. By the way, some guy gave me something for you earlier, remind me later. Anyways, if you weren’t so hung up on your childhood friend, maybe I could have had a chance.”

 

As always, Hitoshi cut right to the heart of the matter like a snake striking. His nonchalance and teasing grin are evidence that he's kidding, unknowing of how much he's just admitted and to who. Izuku’s eyes blow wide and horrified when Kaminari’s grin turns downright evil.

 

“Oh? We’re talking about Kacchan?” He practically purrs the words, rubbing into Izuku’s side like a cat.

 

Hearing Kaminari say that name makes something vulnerable and petty spike in his throat. Hitoshi looks at Kaminari with concern then, clearly not expecting him to already know about it. He must not know who Kaminari is, probably assuming the group had adopted him during the course of the party.

Which isn’t exactly untrue.

Might as well rip off the band-aid.

 

“Sero and Kaminari are Kacchan’s friends from high school, so we ran into each other earlier. When you were busy behind the booth.” Izuku informs him quietly, the thumping music practically drowning him out. Kaminari nods, the smile not leaving his pretty face, still staring at him expectantly.

 

Great, just what Izuku needs, more of an audience for his absolute trainwreck of a relationship with Kacchan! He couldn’t keep his crush hidden for literally a day from all of Kacchan’s closest friends, and now he's gonna get made fun of for it and probably ruin whatever chances he had of having an actual conversation with Kacchan. He wants to know what that kiss meant and why the blonde had ran away. He wants to know so bad he feels like he's going to throw up.

He has to get out of here. Maybe get some fresh air before he starts sobbing in the middle of the dancefloor.

Figures he'd make a scene at his first college party, it's woefully on brand.

Izuku grits his teeth and tries to pull away from them, embarrassment and humiliation pricking tears in his eyes. It isn’t hard to step away from Kaminari’s grip, especially with his newfound strength, but arms wrapping entirely around his torso are more of an emotional weight than a physical one.

 

“Wait, no I’m sorry!” Even though Kaminari’s voice is the one he hears, Izuku already recognizes the feeling of Hitoshi’s lanky arms, his various bracelets and bands pressing into his skin through his clothes. He's been held in them so many times that the only thing that really surprises him is that they shake with a noticeable tremor.

 

“That wasn’t cool, I’m sorry, please don’t be upset. I was just playing, I didn’t know they knew each other, I swear I didn’t mean to.” Izuku could have heard the wobble in Hitoshi’s voice from across the room, and it tears into his vulnerable underbelly like a knife.

 

Damn it, that isn’t fair.

 

With a sigh, Izuku turns back around, looking at his friend with misty eyes.

Kaminari’s concerned face is visible past Hitoshi, and he subtly herds them towards the speakers, so as not to disturb some of the other dancers.

 

“I… it’s f-” Hitoshi bonks their heads together impatiently, forcing the eye contact Izuku is intentionally avoiding.

 

“No, it is not fine. I never should have said that shit, you're allowed to be mad at me. Just do it here. Don’t go because of me. Call me a piece of shit, just don’t leave.” Hitoshi says seriously, grinding their foreheads together. His voice is dulcet and hypnotic, like it always is, but there's a clear warble in it. His eyes are piercing, staring deep into Izuku’s like he can see the desire to run staring back at him.

Izuku feels caught, frustrated, anxious, and yet incapacitated.

Leaving isn’t going to make him feel better, it won't avoid Kaminari telling Kacchan what he heard, and if he leaves now, he’ll miss this rare opportunity to spend time with his friends. He's still annoyed though, so he leans up as if to touch Hitoshi’s cheek before suddenly flicking his broken nose. Hitoshi winces, pulling back with a grunt, clearly not appreciating the sudden burst of pain.

 

“There, I guess now we’re even.” Izuku taunts cheekily, catching Ochako’s concerned eyes, which track him carefully as she continues to dance. He lifts one hand towards her, and is glad when she takes hold of it, but continues dancing nonetheless.

Unspoken and undying support.

He could never deserve to have a friend like her.

He can do this.

 

“Kaminari!” Izuku calls out over Hitoshi’s shoulder, waving him closer. When Izuku calls out to him, he startles like he's been electrocuted, and is practically in his arms within a second.

 

“Uh… hi, guys, what are we talking about over here?” He tries to joke, but it’s obvious he’s nervous. The blonde is currently pretending that he hasn’t been staring at them while anxiously fidgeting with a bracelet on his arm.

 

“You have my permission to flirt with my friend under the explicit rule that any Kacchan discussion is completely off limits.” Izuku states firmly, leveraging the only pieces he has on this board. Kaminari opens his mouth like he wants to argue for a second, but as his gaze slides over to Hitoshi, he seems to rethink it.

Instead, a heavy sigh falls out of his parted lips.

 

“For the record, I’m against this decision, but okay. Bros before hoes, I guess…” He grumbles the last part, his eyebrows dragging together in confusion, but Izuku catches it easily with his super hearing.

Ochako still holds his hand while she dances, yanking his arm around while she does so, but he's admittedly glad she hasn’t let go. It's grounding, having a tether from within the undulating crowd.

Hitoshi leans closer to Kaminari, having to look down at him from his unnecessary height.

 

“So flirting with me was your goal tonight?” He drawls, like he wasn’t very well aware of that fact already. Izuku rolls his eyes with a knowing smile.

 

“Yeah, of course!” Kaminari says happily, absolutely zero shame in his shining eyes. Izuku is weirdly impressed with the resolve, having been flustered by Hitoshi’s purred rhetorical questions many times. Hitoshi looks similarly perplexed, but doubles down anyway. He gets physically closer to Kaminari, their noses almost brushing, letting his head fall slightly in a cavalier sort of way.

 

“Mm.” Despite the bass in the air, the rumbling from his chest is audible to Kaminari, and of course Izuku can hear from here. “I was wondering what your little show was about, earlier. Was that for my benefit, kitten?”

 

Izuku tries not to laugh out loud at the suddenly vacant expression on Kaminari’s face, clearly taken off guard by the term of endearment. Hitoshi’s flirting is definitely not for the faint of heart. He has a truly terrifying ability to find your weakness and hypnotizing you into submission with words alone.

Turns out Kaminari’s is… whatever this is, because he’s a goner for sure.

There's a small poke at his back which prompts Izuku to to turn his head and see Tsu looking at him pensively.

 

“Everything okay, Izu?” They ask gently, wide eyes flicking between the flirting pair in front of him with subtle concern. He leans back to rest his head almost on their shoulder, closer so they can hear.

 

“Peachy! Are you done becoming one with the wall?” He says with mirth, knowing this was not somewhere they really wanted to be, but were willing to deal with for the sake of the group. Tsu has a habit of blending into their surroundings, a behavior Izuku both admires and challenges in his shy friend. 

 

“No, you just look like you’re feeling a little warm.” They stick their tongue out at him for the quip, but delicate cold fingers are already brushing his sweaty curls from his forehead. It feels much better, honestly, he hadn’t even realized he’d gotten so hot.

Alcohol is weird.

He feels Ochako let go of his hand, and looks back towards her to see she’s started dancing with Mina now. They make a gorgeous pair, moving together in fluid circles. Some of their moves are a bit dirty, and Izuku laughs, unable to see Tenya’s face but knowing it was probably a riot. If Mina is here, then where...

 

“You alright, man? You’re looking a little flushed.” Kaminari echoes, pulling his attention back towards the front, just in time to see his favorite person approaching from the crowd.

Kacchan is just so cool.

He stands just a hair above the crowd, tall but not outrageously so. His blond hair glows bright and shines in the lights, like a halo behind him. He radiates this energy that just makes you wanna look at him. He’s not smiling, but he doesn’t look particularly angry either, more determined? It’s a strange face to have at a party, that’s for sure.

 

“Kacchan!” He gasps, reaching out to grab him before the crowd pulls him away.

 

Before he can even feel embarrassed about scrabbling for Kacchan’s touch when they aren’t even really friends anymore, his hand finds Kacchan’s. His palm is so soft, luxuriously so, impossibly so, smooth in ways skin shouldn’t naturally be, especially under Izuku’s own calloused fingertips. He’s so distracted by the texture, by the warmth, that he goes willingly when he’s tugged.

How long has it been since Kacchan accepted his hand when offered?

Despite the languid movement, he’s pulled with a surprising amount of force into Kacchan’s gravity.

 

“I’m glad to see you! I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you the last couple days, and then I just show up here-” Kacchan raises a hand in his face and points at his ears with a furrow in his brow.

 

Oh right, Kacchan wears hearing aids, duh.

Wow, Izuku you’re drunk.

 

Izuku nods exaggeratedly to signal that Izuku understands that Kacchan cannot hear him.

 

“You look so fucking cute. Like a dumb puppy.” The words are barely a breath on Kacchan’s lips, so incredibly barely audible that Izuku himself almost misses them in the roar of the crowd, even with his heightened senses.

 

Oh.

This is the weirdest moment of his entire life.

Including the spider bite, and Stain praising him that alley, and that rabbit skull in Tsu’s room, and the first time riding a bike with Tenya, and meeting Toga at the mall, and everything that happened at prom, and the first time Shouto snuck in his bedroom window to show him the diary of his dead brother’s runaway love story, and the roof incident, and Dr. Toshinori, and OFA… nope.

It’s this.

Kacchan must know exactly what he’s thinking, or maybe he mumbled it all, but there’s a cocky smirk twisting Kacchan’s face. He glows with it. It looks mean and predatory, like he knows he’s the best. Because he is. Because he’s Kacchan, obviously.

Those red eyes are picking him apart like he’s a cat toying with a mouse. Sardonic and hungry. Izuku’s cheeks are burning and he might just pass out if Kacchan doesn’t stop looking at him like that immediately.

He feels so dizzy all of a sudden, like his stomach has gone into free fall in his gut and left the rest of him hanging. He’s tipping backwards and really questioning his alcohol tolerance for a moment before he realizes he’s being dragged by Hitoshi by the arm back towards the rest of the group.

He looks genuinely angry, and the questions are pouring out without Izuku even stopping to think.

 

“Toshi? What the hell? That was so rude? You can’t just yank me around like a doll?” His voice is sharper than he thought it would be, and Hitoshi locks eyes with him echoing a similar anger.

 

“Rude is that guy yanking you away without a word, rude is not telling anyone you were separating from the group, rude is coming to a party with your friends and then ditching us for that guy of all people.” Hitoshi returns with that same liquid smooth voice.

 

Huh, maybe that’s why Izuku always imagines a snake. Venomous, beautiful poison in every word.

Smooth, misunderstood, beautiful, and dangerous.

Proud but easily frightened.

Solitary but curious.

Loving but Fragile.

When they aren’t fighting he’s going to send him a snake gif.

 

“Since when do I need to announce my departure? Is this an airport? I was like five feet away, maximum too! I didn’t even leave!” He should have known that a broken nose wasn’t going to be enough to settle whatever happened while he was sick. Not between Kacchan and the others. Hitoshi hates him too much for that.

Hitoshi was always going to react poorly to meeting Kacchan for the first time, and he kicks himself for not preparing for this match up earlier.

Especially tonight at his first DJ job as part of his new radio show on this University’s campus. This was Toshi's big night and here he was. Worried about Izuku getting his heart broken. Of course he was going to react badly to Izuku ditching the group.  He knows better than anyone what Kacchan and Izuku's relationship really looks like, and that the reason he rejected Toshi all those months ago is currently standing right behind Izuku at this very moment. The same guy he’d been consciously or not, imitating for him, mimicking.

The one that ran from Izuku just a few days ago after kissing him. The one Hitoshi had a verbal beatdown with that was serious enough that it prompted him to come to blows with Shouto.

Izuku really is a terrible friend sometimes.

However, he is not an emotional punching bag, or a toy to fight over.

 

“Toshi, I’m sorry I scared you. I have a lot of love for you, and I don’t mind talking about this more later but you need to let go of me right now.” The grip on his forearm remains tight, putting pressure on sensitive scar tissue and damaged nerves. “I also understand being concerned because I was sick this week and you know some background on this situation, but yanking me around is not okay with me, Hitoshi. Talk to me like a person.”

 

Hitoshi lets go of Izuku like he's caught fire.

 

“You want me to use my words? Really, Izuku? Here’s the truth: This guy left you alone to get locked in the science building overnight, so sorry but I don’t exactly trust him to look after you while you're under the influence.” His words are icy, sharp and haughty.

 

It sort of takes some of the wind out of Izuku’s sails to hear it said like that, and he's resentful that he'd probably agree with the observation if it had been someone else. Anyone else. The look on Hitoshi’s face is wrathful, but the anger is masking something else, something more vulnerable.

Something like fear.

 

“This is your first time getting drunk and you wandered off with someone none of us trust enough to leave you with, Izuku.”

 

“I do! I trust Katsuki with him!” Kaminari says quickly, widening the conversation away from the two of them, though Hitoshi doesn’t drop Izuku’s eyes, acting as if he hadn’t heard Kaminari speak at all.

 

“Thank you, Kaminari. I appreciate that.” Izuku says sincerely, before rounding back on Hitoshi with a stern glare.

 

Suddenly Kaminari is tugging on Hitoshi’s arm to get his attention, cramming his lips against his ear with a hand covering his mouth. Clearly the motions of telling someone a secret.

That’s so rude!

 

Izuku doesn't say it out loud because he can technically still hear it anyways but Kacchan can’t hear anything at all.

 

“You guys were prom dates right? So were we! Kinda, but look, this is the second time Blasty has EVER gotten drunk, and the first time was at prom. Even plastered, he wouldn’t kiss me until I called him ‘Kacchan’. Midoriya is in good hands, I promise, dude, let him go.”

 

Izuku.exe has stopped working.

Kacchan did what?

He… huh?

There’s no way that’s true.

Izuku whips his head back to Kacchan, amazed.

 

He’s clearly still angry at being left out of the fight at large, and watching them with a bewildered expression, as if can’t understand why Kaminari is involved in this at all. He's frowning, but his lips are slightly parted in confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between Kaminari and Hitoshi.

It’s almost cute.

Izuku somehow remembers the last time he saw Kacchan make a face like this one, and it was when they watched an All Might crossover episode for the first time.

It warms something in Izuku’s soul to know that while he was thinking of Kacchan, separated and lonely and missing him… Kacchan was apparently doing the same thing? Thinking about Izuku?

But why? That would mean something… something big, wouldn’t it?

But if Kacchan missed him, if he really wants Izuku, then what the hell? Why did he run away after that kiss?

Looking away from Kacchan before he starts vomiting these questions out loud, he turns back when he feels Hitoshi pull away from him.

Hitoshi’s making a face too, it could almost be called a smile but it’s very much not. His smiles are sardonic and wily, all sharp tongued and playful, but this one holds no amusement. Instead, it's tight and tense and fake and wrong.

 

“You know what, you’re right. I’m sorry, I think I just let jealousy get the better of me.” Hitoshi’s voice is clipped and empty, like he’s reciting words from a script, each word spoken deliberately and measured. It's nothing like the musical purrs Hitoshi usually speaks in.

He’s lying.

He’s pretending.

They never do that to each other. Izuku looks Hitoshi in the eye, disapproving, but the look he gets in return stops him dead in his tracks.

There’s a sadness, resignation, and acceptance there, like he’s given up something incredibly important to him for the greater good.

 

“If this is what you want, Zuku, then you have my blessing. You two crazy kids have fun.” Then his friend, his very kind, caring, and selfless friend, shoves him bodily into Kacchan with a heartbreaking smile.

Hitoshi lets Izuku go in more ways than one.

 

 

---

 

The next few hours, or maybe it’s only minutes, they spin out into nothing.

He sways with Kacchan, feeling those incredibly smooth palms swim against his exposed torso, thumbing at his navel piercing, following his musculature with almost worshipping hands. There’s the heavy scent of sweat and beer, hot and cloying in the air, but when Izuku lets his nose drag against Kacchan’s shirt, suddenly it doesn’t bother him anymore.

Instead he’s practically salivating over indulgent caramel and woody spices, alluring and dangerous in Izuku’s nostrils. Tempting and goading, just like Kacchan. It’s intoxicating, addicting. All he wants is Kacchan. More of him, all of him. He feels like he’s melting, pressed up against Kacchan’s strong chest, in the heat of the room and pressing bodies.

He remembers forest fires, again.

Kacchan’s brightness, his rage, his warmth, his power, his strength, his victory. So beautiful it’s almost painful. Dangerous and unpredictable, promising pain and destruction to those reckless enough to stray too close. He’s always been fascinated by it. Izuku feels alight down to the very marrow in his bones, feeling those silky hands burning pathways into his skin, destructive and inescapable.

He can feel that incredible fire scorch away all the unnecessary, overgrown brambles in Izuku’s soul.

The thoughts that burden him, that wind and strangle through his mind like creeping vines, are suddenly set ablaze. He’s going to be consumed until nothing is left but ashes and whatever is strong enough to survive the flames. Ready to bloom in the light of the dawn.

 

“Kacchan, I have questions. Can we get out of here and talk?” He’s expecting resistance, deflection, but surprisingly, Kacchan is already nodding against his curls, like Izuku could have asked for anything and not be denied.

 

It’s a dangerous concept.

 

Kacchan demands they go back to his place, now that the trains have stopped running. Izuku is thankful, knowing he’d lose his nerve if he dragged the blond back to his dorm. Somehow Kacchan goads him into a race, challenging him to go faster down the moonlit streets of Tokyo since the trains have stopped running.

It’s funny, Izuku spends endless hours running around the city at night but it’s never felt quite so freeing before. Being chased by Kacchan is probably similar to how it feels to be hunted by a lion. The adrenaline forces Izuku faster, further, and he can't help wanting to be pursued. He feels guilty for going so hard when Kacchan trips over a curb and stumbles, probably rolling his ankle. He looks petulant, annoyed at the hiccup in their little game of tag.

Izuku admittedly feels guilty for letting Kacchan sustain injury when they’re both still recovering from the alcohol-induced haze of the party, so he offers a piggy back ride cheekily.

Honestly, he’s expecting to be turned down and maybe insulted, but Kacchan acquiesces easily with a roll of his eyes.

Since when did Kacchan give up so quickly?

Was it always this easy? This natural?

No, he knows it wasn’t.

Even as children, Kacchan would never let Izuku carry him.

Not that he could have, back then.

Now though it’s all too easy, Kacchan feels almost weightless to him, draped over his back. Izuku walks steadily, the quiet between them is peaceful, just Kacchan’s soft breathing in the darkness puffing white clouds around them. 

That’s when Kacchan begins mumbling every couple of minutes. The words are growled lowly under Kacchan’s breath, into Izuku’s neck but he could have heard them whispered from the next street over.

 

“Short little bastard.”

 

Well that’s true, Izuku thinks mildly. Kacchan must be embarrassed about being carried after all, but was being brave about it.

How cute.

 

“Tiny beefcake asshole.”

 

Beefcake? That one makes him blush.

He supposes he doesn’t look like someone able to juggle Kacchan with one hand, so of course it must be strange for him. It is for Izuku too, if he’s honest.

For a useless Deku to carry the absolute unit that is Kacchan through the Tokyo streets in the dead of night wasn’t exactly believable back in middle school.

 

“How dare you?” Kacchan must not like being carried around like this, that would make sense.

 

Obviously Kacchan has changed, and is allowing him closer and closer than ever before, but he’s somehow the same as ever. Still proud and demanding and childish and so, so amazing.

 

“No, really, fuck you, Deku. Unreasonable.”

 

How in the world could Izuku ever love somebody else? It really is unfair. Izuku never stood a chance against him.

 

“Sorry, Kacchan”, Izuku says softly, but there’s no reply. 

 

 

---

 

 

Getting Kacchan to provide directions to his apartment is something of a disaster, but when they finally arrive, the soft and agreeable Kacchan has disappeared.

Instead, the second the keys have scraped the lock, and the door is cracked, Izuku is bodily hauled inside before he can apologize for the intrusion. He’s slammed against the door the second they get inside, stealing his breath and suddenly all the heat from before is back like it never left.

 

“K-Kacchan!” Izuku yips, startled and so unbelievably aroused that it’s actually mortifying.

 

He feels so small, so cornered by this predator, and yet instead of fear, only perverse fascination has the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Kacchan is looking at him like he can’t quite figure out how Izuku managed to get this far. Izuku can't help but echo the sentiment.

Kacchan looks intrigued and enraged and hungry and wanting all at once, like he can’t decide where to start, what to do first. Watching Kacchan muse about Izuku’s fate has a blush burning his cheeks. He feels practically naked under those appraising eyes. He must make some kind of decision, because there are suddenly hands on his face with a pressure that makes his breath catch in his throat.

 

“K-Kacchan… I…”

 

Izuku has to know.

Is this just for now?

Just for tonight?

Will this be the only time he gets to enjoy this intimacy?

Will Kacchan run from him again?

Can his heart handle getting so close only to never feel it again?

It might destroy him.

To get so close, to touch and love the boy in front of him openly, only to forever be kept at a distance?

To work together, and have lunches and dinners, to make discoveries and push each other to be better but know that it would never be enough?

That would destroy Izuku.

He’d be ruined forever.

 

Like he wasn’t already.

 

Kacchan doesn’t let him finish, doesn’t let him ask the questions that must be visible on his face. With the moonlight through the windows in the living room, he has a perfect few of Kacchan’s face; it’s so vulnerable and soft that Izuku couldn’t speak if he tried. That angelic face presses in close, their noses almost dragging against each other, so dizzyingly close that Izuku is enraptured.

 

“Please don’t ask any questions.” The words sound desperate, and then there are warm lips on his, just as passionate and amazing as their first kiss had been. But Izuku refuses to allow this kiss to go the same way. He pushes against Kacchan, teeth and tongue and all the desperation he can muster. Izuku meets Kacchan’s all-consuming power with his own, railing against the futility of it all. He wishes he could drag the answers out of Kacchan with just his lips, that he could pry the truth from this cruel, unfair mouth. If he could suck the words he wants to hear from Kacchan’s very soul.

Everything was always a fight with them.

This kiss is no different.

Izuku wants to punish Kacchan for his cowardice, for his selfishness.

Switching their positions is easy, far easier than he thought it would be. Tears flood his eyes, his body’s first response to any strong emotion, but he is not sad, no, he’s infuriated. Seeing Kacchan now, with kiss-swollen lips and an enraptured expression, begging him not to look too closely, to ask questions Kacchan refused to answer tonight, he’s so unbelievably angry.

It’s all because of Kacchan. It always has been and it always will be. As inescapable and unavoidable as the oak facing wildfire. He just has to survive the flames. Everything Izuku will ever have accomplished, every life he saves, will always be because of the love he has for Kacchan.

His idea of being a hero, of victory itself, is here now, looking like Izuku is the one with all the answers, like he’s everything.

He remembers Dr. Toshinori’s words, his regrets about his relationship with Dr. Shield and he just knows deep down that he’s doomed to be the exact same.

That drive to win and save, the push and pull, the fight? That is what makes Izuku a hero. Proving himself to Kacchan, to the world, to say he deserves to stand by his side, that is what got him this far. Working with him in the lab these past few weeks has proven that, time and time again. Looking over at Kacchan’s severe, calculated face as he works. The easy accuracy of his measurements, the careful and masterful way he demands perfection in every twitch of his finger and formula in his brain. He’s amazing. The adoration he feels makes Izuku’s heart ache.

Kacchan just existing is enough reason to love him.

This stupid, infuriating, unfair man is Izuku’s greatest weakness, and his most fervent strength all at once. How could he ever say no?

 

“You’re not fair, Kacchan.” He wishes his voice sounded as angry as he felt, but when Izuku’s lips meet Kacchan’s, it's with every ounce of love he possesses. Every ardent affection he’s ever felt for Kacchan is poured into that one gentle kiss.

 

He must have done something right because Kacchan reacts like a man starved, instantly deepening the kiss and plundering his mouth with a throaty groan, intent to taste and feel, to swallow him whole. If Izuku thought the kisses before were all-consuming he was an idiot. The way Kacchan attacks his mouth now is feral, hands tugging and pulling at his body like Izuku being a millimeter away was unthinkable, like he wanted to consume Izuku’s very essence, like he had something to prove, a point to make.

 

If the point was “you’re mine”, then congratulations, point proven.

It's so incredibly hot, and everything Izuku has ever secretly wanted or hoped for late at night, desperate for hot demanding hands and mean lips on his skin.

As much as Kacchan wanted to take, Izuku wants to give.

He’d give Kacchan anything he wanted, everything he had.

Nothing could compare.

Nothing ever had and it never would.

All those years daydreaming and fantasizing, wondering if he could one day move on? Ridiculous.

He was done: signed, sealed, and delivered on Kacchan’s altar, as he always had been. Devoted.

Ready and willing to be sacrificed to the beast already picking him up and dragging him down the hall and into the bedroom. He can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed or nervous about his own inexperience when Kacchan has him right where he wants to be.

Who cares if he’s never done this before?

Nothing could prepare him for Kacchan, anyways.

Nobody else could make Izuku fall apart like this, not so spectacularly or so willingly.

 

Admittedly the anxiety does creep in when Izuku’s dropped onto the bed, the sheets luxurious under his trembling fingers. He’s never done anything like this, and he desperately wants to be good at it, to be worth the effort, to impress Kacchan. When the latter pops the top button to his jeans, Izuku almost whines aloud. He stops having rational thoughts after that, completely at Kacchan’s mercy, until articles of his clothing are stripped from him piece by piece.

The biting is both painful and so incredibly good, a welcome burst of reality that keeps him focused on Kacchan’s confident touches and obscene tongue. Izuku grinds his erection into Kacchan’s hip, insistent and painful, and oh that’s so good. Kacchan moves with precision, eliciting whines, gasps, and desperate moans that make Izuku’s face heat to hear come from his own mouth. He’s being ruined, consumed entirely, barely able to have a single rational thought that doesn’t include Kacchan.

He’s almost heartbroken when Kacchan pulls away, but when they slot themselves together Izuku realizes they’re both wearing pants for some terrible, god awful reason. He quickly removes them, desperate for more. More touches, more kisses, more bites, more everything.

Kacchan looks so good naked above him.

That halo of blonde hair catches the light from the window and he looks wild, untamed and ferocious. A conqueror, a warrior, a god. Tanned skin flexes under Izuku’s gaze like it can feel the weight of his stare. Wide broad shoulders roll with panting gasps, and his mouth is parted, a flash of sharp teeth glisten in the moonlight and Izuku is so incredibly fucked. Kacchan looks ravenous, his eyes promising violence and ecstasy in equal measure. It’s too much, and yet Izuku doesn’t mind at all.

What a wonderful way to go.

He’s embarrassed, especially when those eyes fall on his torso with fascination, smooth fingers tracing the disgusting scars marring Izuku’s flesh. He is not pretty and godly like Kacchan, all smooth and without flaw. Izuku is the opposite of that wide expanse of unblemished skin, as speckled and scarred as he is. He wishes he could be half as pretty as Kacchan was, just to give the other something better to look at in moments like these. There’s a furrow between flaxen brows, confused and frustrated.

That cruel mouth opens, clearly about to ask about the scars he doesn’t recognize, but Izuku can be cruel too. He buries his tongue in that unsuspecting mouth, stealing away every question and doubt he can manage.

 

“Ah, ah, ah. No questions, right Kacchan? Fair is fair.” Izuku says mockingly, reminding Kacchan of his own selfish plea. It’s a mean sort of revenge, but Izuku can’t bring himself to regret it. If Izuku had to live in this unsure purgatory then so should Kacchan. It was only fair, after all.

 

“Fine. I don’t have to ask you a damn thing.” Izuku’s toes curled when Kacchan’s lips found his ear, the growl reverberating through him like an earthquake. “I know exactly what you need. You can’t hide a thing from me, Deku. Because I. Can. See. Right. Through. You.” The words are hissed through a wild, predatory grin, punctuating each word with short powerful drags of Kacchan’s length against his own, caught between them. Izuku couldn’t have stopped the moan that bursts from his mouth if he tried.

Yes, of course, Kacchan knew him best.

Where others saw Izuku as innocent, fragile, and pure, Kacchan saw him as he really was: Just as selfish and depraved as the rest. Could see every dirty, nasty, horrible part of him. The only one to really see him. To strip away the person he pretends to be, and leave only Izuku, only Deku, in its wake. His snark must have touched a nerve, because Izuku can see something mischievous and evil gleaming in those eyes.

Then Kacchan withdraws: the friction against his cock, the lips against his feverish skin, the almost worshipping fingers, all removed instantly. The lack of contact is physically painful, his dick aching without the necessary pressure, so he palms himself quickly to sate the urge to buck back into Kacchan’s sculpted abdomen. Kacchan’s smile is cruel and vicious when he smacks Izuku’s hand away from his erection with another mean laugh.

 

“Hands off, nerd. How about I ask questions that I already know the answer to? Does that count?” By all accounts, Izuku was furious, but the sight of Kacchan, looming above him with all his muscles taught and biteable was admittedly a bit distracting. He could play along. Izuku nods absentmindedly, he’d agree to anything if it got Kacchan to touch him again. To break him.

 

“You were always going to end up here, weren't you, Deku? Spread out on MY bed. Saying MY name. Taking MY cock.” What beautiful filth leaves Kacchan’s mouth.

 

Of course he was always going to end up here, Kacchan’s right, where else would he be? It’s dizzying, and he must not answer quick enough because there’s a slap to his thigh that burns so deliciously Izuku can’t stop the pathetic noise in response.

 

"Use your words, Deku."

 

What an unfair, obscene mouth Kacchan has, saying all these dirty things in his ear, goading him, teasing him.

It’s everything he imagined, so used to Kacchan’s profanity and bullying when they were younger. Even then, it was something he found himself imagining in the safety of his sheets. Instead of the cruel, demoralizing words that buried themselves like knives in his pride, what if Kacchan said filthy praise in his ears instead? Young Izuku had always felt guilty about it, but he had been right, Kacchan was a talker in bed, too.

 

"W-want Kacchan. Always want Kacchan."

 

The words are more true than he wishes they were, and probably too emotionally raw for the current circumstances but his filter has been successfully needled out of him. He feels like he’s going to explode if they don’t get the hell on with it already, and he’ll say literally anything if it makes Kacchan continue. Kacchan has him bent in half suddenly, and seems to delight in how easily Izuku’s limbs bend and stretch. He’s thankful for his own flexibility if it makes Kacchan look like that. He’s sure to appreciate it in the morning, too.

 

Of course he can’t stop the embarrassed squeak that ekes out when Kacchan’s face buries itself in his most vulnerable spots and even less control over the torrential mumbling pouring out of his own open mouth. It’s insane how good it all feels. There’s no telling what Izuku is even saying any more, not when everything that isn’t pleasure feels so far away and fuzzy under that masterful tongue.

All rationality flies out the window, and his mind is blissfully blank as Kacchan eats his ass like a professional. He’d probably feel jealous about whoever Kacchan had already done this with if he had a single brain cell available for such unnecessary thoughts. He feels when Kacchan goes rigid and groans, the vibrations so close to his intimate parts that he fights the urge to clamp his legs around Kacchan to keep him there. He’s rewarded with a broad tongue licking up his dick, and mourns not getting to experience more of it until Kacchan’s hand disappears into the nightstand.

Izuku is bewildered, but vulnerable and trusting as he stares up at Kacchan, lubing his fingers and pressing them against him in what feels like seconds. He holds his breath, trying to calm down. He’s done this before, alone, but it’s different with someone else, with Kacchan.

Izuku can trust him, he can do this.

 

“Relax, you can take it. Breathe, and don’t you dare hold anything back, Deku.”

 

As if he had the presence of mind to even try. The languid circles around his entrance are maddening, and Izuku is so nervous, so high strung, so desperate, he just needs a distraction. He kisses Kacchan in an effort to do exactly that, to lose himself in the feeling of Kacchan’s mouth to avoid the sting of penetration. It’s even more intense than it is when he’s alone, he feels out of control, every sense is going haywire, each breath snapping a new wire of his self control.

 

"Kacchan!" He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, or why he says it, but it seems to help. The mantra of ‘Kacchan’ is all he has at this moment. Reminding himself what he’s doing this for, for Kacchan. He’s not going to mess this up. He’s going to relax. He’s going to be good for Kacchan.

 

“That’s it, good boy. Doing great, Deku.” Kacchan’s nose drags up his throat, and the words ping into Izuku’s brain like hail on a tin roof, pointed and sharp and surprising. The praise is electricity under his skin, delighting and terrifying him in equal measure. Hearing Kacchan of all people call him a ‘good boy’ is enough to destroy any semblance of dignity Izuku might have retained until now.

Kacchan makes a whining noise in the back of his throat, one he’s probably not even aware of. He pulls back a bit, but Izuku is too lost to sensation to care. He trusts Kacchan.

 

“So good for me, aren’t you? So good for Kacchan?”

 

Oh, Izuku is never going to be the same after tonight. It’s like Kacchan is pulling him apart with his skillful fingers, his insides pulse and he wants so much more. It feels amazing and not enough in the slightest. The dirty words glide over his skin, and he’s amazed at how accurate and yet underwhelming his late night fantasies had been.

 

“Y-yes, good f-for Kacc-AHN!” The feeling is even more intense now, zapping the strength from his limbs, and settling him further under a haze of pure joy and desperate, howling need. Their cocks are dragging against each other, and the friction is so delicious it’s almost unreal. There’s a sudden burst of light behind his eyes when Kacchan’s probing fingers find his prostate.

 

“There, there!” Izuku begs, his hips moving of their own volition. Kacchan rewards his slutty behavior with more force, more pressure, more fingers, driving him further into the mattress.

 

"Come on, Deku." Kacchan grunts, knocking their noses together to get his attention, trading air between their mouths in the most intimate of ways. "Break for me, baby. You're already riding my hand like a desperate little slut, go on, cum for Kacchan."

 

Izuku obeys immediately, it wasn’t even something he had a choice in. His body listens to Kacchan’s filthy teasing like it had been waiting for permission. It’s so powerful, so sudden, that it hurts. It hurts in a way that Izuku never wants to stop. He tries not to start crying when Kacchan removes his fingers from inside.

 

“I’ve got something better than fingers, dumbass.” Kacchan says with gravel in his voice. There’s pressure against Izuku’s hole, hot and solid and insistent. Izuku is momentarily terrified, it feels so big, what if he rips? What if… The thoughts are stolen before they can even finish unfurling.

 

Kacchan enters him slowly, steadily, and he can barely breathe through it, let alone have a coherent thought beyond the burning stretch and the scent of caramel in his nose. It's too much, and somehow not enough, it's everything, and yet it's nothing compared to what he feels for Kacchan in his heart at this moment. It’s almost all instinct to secure himself against the headboard, desperate for something to hold onto, to ground him through the experience. He feels Kacchan’s gasping breaths against his exposed throat, and the vulnerability of his position makes his cock twitch.

He’s completely at Kacchan’s mercy.

Just for tonight, Kacchan was all his.

He had every ounce of that explosive attention on him, and it was deliriously good. It made his pulse sing in his veins, so good, so right, so perfect. Kacchan finally, finally bottoms out and he could probably die here and now and still be happy.

 

“Who am I, Deku? Come on, nerd. Say it. Say my name, baby. Tell me.” Katsuki taunts, his face split in a mean smile, grinding his cock deeper without moving in or out. It’s so fucking good, Kacchan’s cock is kissing his prostate with each grind, forcing him to ride each wave of startling pleasure.

 

“K-Kacchann!” Izuku cries out, and he’ll never be the same again after this. He can’t stop the name leaving his lips more than he can stop the warmth in his gut after hearing Katsuki Bakugou of all people call him ‘baby’ while buried inside him.

 

“That’s right, baby, I’m your Kacchan. Good job, you’re doing so well, that’s it.” There it is again, ‘baby’. He says it so easily, like it doesn’t simultaneously break Izuku’s heart and stitch it back together again just to hear it. The softness of it, the desperation in his voice almost makes Izuku start to hope. Foolish, ridiculous hope.

My Kacchan.

Yes, this is his Kacchan, thank you, his and his alone.

Kacchan is here with him, with Izuku, nobody else.

The sound is obscene, the wetness of his body welcoming Kacchan with squelching fleshy noises. It’s mortifying and what’s worse is that to accompany the sound is the slow, gentle glide of Kacchan’s cock. It’s loving, gentle, heartbreakingly slow.

 

“More, Kacchan, please!” Izuku pleads, writhing and desperate for the burning fire in his belly to be soothed. He’s so raw and vulnerable, he’ll do anything to get what he wants, what he needs.

 

“More? What a greedy little thing you are, Deku. Are you saying this isn’t enough?” Kacchan says sweetly, always the bully. Izuku is not a weak and helpless victim, anymore though.

 

“Fuck me like you mean it, Kacchan, or let me do it myself!” Izuku groans, using his lower body to force Kacchan closer, deeper, faster while he takes his pleasure himself. When Kacchan’s fingers wind into his hair and yank, he forgets to fight back, so lost to Kacchan and his whims. It’s just so easy to take whatever he’s given and be grateful.

 

“Oh you’ll regret that, Deku. I’ll fucking ruin you. You’ll never be able to forget me, the way I fill you, the way I fuck you.” His tone is loving, adoring, like he’s promising something much softer, kinder. Between the sweet voice and the truth in the words Izuku has not a single word to say in response.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted, of course Kacchan is right. He’d never forget this, perish the thought, he’d probably never get off again in his entire life without imagining this. Especially when those words are a precursor to the most brutal fuck he could ever imagine, and he’s babbling without any remorse, begging and pleading and crying for Kacchan.

Maybe he really is a slut, after all.

He wouldn’t be surprised, after this.

Kacchan has broken him completely, ruined him for life.

 

He seems proud of it at least, grinning down at him like he’s won the lottery, gloating and boastful above him. His canines are sharp in his mouth, made obvious by a lecherous swipe of tongue. He looks feral, punishing and untouchable, almost laughing with every thrust of his powerful hips. He’s aiming for that spot again, Izuku can tell, and when he hits it with deadeye accuracy Izuku almost curses him. He can’t handle it, his eyes shut tight against the vision burned into his retinas.

 

“Good boy, that’s it, fucking take it, yeah, such a good little whore aren’t you, Deku?” The thrusts are lightning quick, stealing his breath along with the commentary. Kacchan knows exactly what to say. So amazing. “Built to take it - to take me, to cum on my cock and beg for me oh, fuck yessss. Look at me, look at me, baby.” There’s that name again, it unlocks something unholy in Izuku’s chest, and the tears start collecting in his lashes immediately.

 

His eyes open and the connection between them is instantaneous. Their eyes meet and of course he’s looking, he could never look away. Never in a million years. They’re having some kind of conversation, some catharsis here tonight that Izuku can’t even begin to analyze. When Kacchan licks some of the tears from his cheek it’s so unbelievably hot Izuku is enraptured, how could he ever look away? Look at anyone else?

All he sees is bright shining gold, sunset eyes, and the cruel grin he loves so much. Looking away would be a sin.

 

“Fucked you dumb, didn't I, baby? All mindless and babbling on my dick like you belong there. Maybe I should keep you here, live the rest of my life buried in this perfect ass." The words are punched out of Kacchan like he can’t hold them back, and Izuku I finds himself nodding desperately, after all, he wants nothing more.

 

He does belong here, with Kacchan buried inside him,  in his arms, in his bed, in his home.

 

As if to reward him for his loyalty, Kacchan leans down to kiss him through his tears, though it’s hard to kiss deeply through the movement of their bodies, so he keeps having to come back for more. These kisses are messy and uncoordinated but all the better for it. Anything to stop the shameful begging, the name falling off his lips like a secret, like a promise.

Kacchan’s hips falter for a few seconds, unable to keep up the punishing pace, until he doubles his efforts, more forceful like he’s angry about losing the rhythm, like he has something to prove in the animalistic way he continues to fuck him.

If Kacchan is getting close then this is almost over, and the panic in Izuku’s chest is so sudden and forceful that he’s saying unforgivable things in response.

 

“I love you, Kacchan, I need you, please don’t go. Please stay, I love you. So good. Don’t stop, Kacchan, please, I love you, yours all yours, I love you…” If he hadn’t been crying already, he would have started here. Confessing in Kacchan’s bed, in his apartment, sobbing for dick is not his finest moment, he has to admit.

It’s a very special kind of pathetic.

Kacchan’s thrusts speed up again, forceful and strong enough to push Izuku up the headboard, moving his body up and up - almost vertical now.

Strong smooth hands yank him into Kacchan’s plush, well muscled chest. Safety and home, a place to hide and cry without being seen by those burning forest fire eyes. It’s a good thing too, the change in position has fresh waves of tears coming. The cock inside him slams impossibly deeper, and Izuku wails at the new angle. It’s so deep, and he feels close to bursting. Kacchan is mouthing against his nipples, biting and licking whatever skin he can reach.

 

“So good, Zuku! FUCK. So good, so perfect... Fuckin' made for me, missed you, baby... you’re mine, you’re so good, good boy, good boy... such a perfect hole for me, aren't you? All for me. Doing so well, slutty nerd, proud of you…” The praise is repeated over and over, seemingly unheard by the one uttering it, and Izuku is on Cloud 9.

 

Never did he dare to imagine some of those words ever leaving Kacchan’s sinful mouth. Icarus and his wax wings melting in the sunshine are nothing compared to Izuku’s heart in the full breadth of Kacchan’s praise. Maybe he died? Maybe this is heaven? Or Hell?

 

“Come on baby, be a good whore, cum on Kacchan’s cock. You can do it, baby. Show me something good, hah? Come on, Zuku…”

 

It’s almost painful to hear his given name and the pet names fall unbidden from Kacchan’s lips, and it does something to him, forces him to ride harder, to slam himself down faster and show Kacchan that he can take it, that he can listen to Kacchan. To leave his mark on him forever so that Kacchan never forgets that he let Izuku into his bed, into his arms, that he was here and… he’s biting into Kacchan’s shoulder when he finally cums again.

Fireworks and explosions dance behind his eyes and he’s lost in a sea of blissful tears. It's starting to hurt now, the incessant pounding of his hips and the rough treatment of his hole, but Kacchan is so good and amazing that he seems to finally reach his pinnacle right before the pain stops feeling good.

There’s a hot soothing feeling in his belly, where fire had once burned is now being flooded with lava, and distantly Izuku is aware that they didn’t use a condom. The knowledge of that, that he’d be dripping with Kacchan for the foreseeable future makes him smile.

 

Kacchan was right, he really is lewd.

 

His hips slow but don’t stop their languid pumping, tugging at his rim and agitating him further away from the soft, sleepy fog in his mind. It stings, and the pressure in his stomach is almost too much. He whines his displeasure but the rocking doesn’t end. He hits Kacchan’s pec lightly until blessedly the movement finally stops.

He can’t even open his eyes, lulled into sleep by the steady thrumming heartbeat under his ear.

 

He dreams something, one of the last sleepovers they had as kids. Izuku had a nightmare and crawled his way under Kacchan’s covers like he’d done a thousand times, but shortly after snuggling into the warmth, Kacchan had grabbed his hand and did not let go until morning.

No words, no promises, just a hand in his own to let Izuku know he was safe.

 

 

---

 

Hours later, when he wakes up, he’s disoriented for a moment.

There’s a solid warmth pressed up against every inch of his skin, and his pillow is rocking him like a boat.

How strange.

Cracking an eye open he’s blessed to see that the smooth silk of the pillow is actually Kacchan’s skin, and if the crusty sensation at the corner of his mouth is to be believed, he’s been drooling on Kacchan’s chest for quite awhile now. Their fingers are intertwined beside them, just like they had been in his dreamy memories.

He’s so tempted to burrow back in, to just enjoy the bliss of waking up beside his favorite person in the world.

However, despite the satisfaction in his bones, the hand in his, and the euphoria of waking up next to Kacchan’s beautiful face, something is wrong.

That horrible dangerous feeling pricks the hairs on Izuku’s neck, warning him of something. He’s just in time to look out the window to his left, to see the rising dawn.

 

No.

Not the dawn.

Warm and golden, but horrifying instead of lovely.

There’s a fire, wild and out of control, visible on the horizon, tearing through roofs and curling smoke into the sky.

 

He has to go, he has to help but… he turns back to look at the soft unguarded expression on Kacchan’s face.

No furrow lives between his brows now and gone is the ever present tightness in his jaw. No frown or grimace drags those lips down, instead they curl subtly upwards, perfectly content and almost smiling in neutrality. It’s so beautiful, everything he ever wanted, but when the glow in the distance throws dancing shadows on his eyelids… Izuku knows he cannot stay.

He can't stay here in this cocoon of blankets, hidden and safe, and so painfully in love, not when there are people who need help.

Letting go of Kacchan’s hand wrapped around his is probably the most painful thing he’s ever experienced, no stab wounds or broken bones or any injury he's sustained up to now can compare. The muscles flex in Kacchan’s arms when he tries to extricate himself, as if he knows Izuku is leaving and is trying to keep him there. The peaceful expression pinches, and Izuku hopes against all hope that Kacchan remains asleep.

He could not explain to the person beside him that he’s leaving to run headlong into a burning inferno, Kacchan would simply never forgive him. He hopes he’ll forgive him for not saying goodbye, but Izuku doubts it. Kacchan can certainly hold a grudge.

How Izuku wishes he could just pretend that the light outside really is just the sunrise. He could bury himself back into those well-built arms and trust that someone better equipped would go aid the people caught in the blaze, but he can’t. This early in the morning (or late in the night depending on your perspective) people were likely asleep with the fire started, and time is so limited in emergencies like this, more valuable than gold. People could die because he’s too damn stubborn to crawl out of Kacchan’s bed.

So even though it goes against every atom in his body, he removes himself. Izuku’s clothes are strewn around, but his bag is still out in the entryway they arrived in, containing the biometric case that holds his suit.

 

It’s time to be a hero, Izuku.

It’s time to go.

 

---

 

It’s something out of a nightmare.

The fire stretches out, catching and burning and creeping through Tokyo like a lumbering animal.

The worst of it seems to be localized to a familiar ugly building, an old convention center that used to hold meetings and celebrations several years ago. There’s a much nicer one closer to downtown now, more suited for the large lavish events held in Tokyo, built to replace it. Unlike this one, which was small, dank, and poorly laid out, the replacement hall was modern, and took up several floors in a newly built skyscraper, leaving this one abandoned and in disrepair. Maybe an electrical fire? Or a vagrant trying to keep warm in the cold. 

The apartment buildings that flank it have unfortunately also caught fire, which is more pressing than the charring remains of the forgotten convention hall. With his new senses he has perfect audio of the terrified screaming from nearly every floor of the apartment building closest to him. It pushes him to move, and Izuku is lucky enough to be able to use the strands of black whip to swing up to the top. He’s only recently increased the tensile strength of the goo enough to rely on it to catch his weight, because if he had to climb the building by hand he’d waste too much time. He has to evacuate every apartment before the structural integrity of the building is compromised, and there has to be at least thirty units in this building.

Izuku works methodically, crashing through a window on the North side and into a tasteful, moderately sized apartment.

He can already feel the heat and soot coating him even through the suit. He is glad he added a filter to his mask, but it’s not enough to completely protect him from the cloying smoke surrounding him. It tastes like charcoal and burning fiberglass insulation.

There’s a couple on the ground, who appear to have been trying to flee while still wearing pajamas. Draping the couple over his shoulders isn’t an issue for his strength, but it certainly is awkward trying to fling their deadweight over his trim shoulders without them sliding off. He wishes, not for the first time, he’d been blessed with wide shoulders like Kacchan. With his arms secure under their lower halves, he takes a running jump out the window he arrived in, facing the North side of the building, finding the cord of black still affixed to the roof, ready for him to slide down it like the world’s wiggliest fireman’s pole.

Reaching the ground, there’s a small collection of bystanders, open mouthed and horrified at the carnage they are witness to. Distantly, far too distantly, Izuku hears the wail of the fire trucks approaching. He sets the couple down next to an older woman still wearing house slippers and instructs her to watch after them until the paramedics arrive. Her salt and pepper hair is pulled into a tight bun, and she nods seriously before Izuku is already back in the fray, desperate to save anyone and everyone he can.

It feels like hours later when the screaming finally stops.

He almost weeps with relief, going through floor by floor meticulously, his body aching and sore from the abuse. He’s on one of the middle floors, maybe seven or eight, when he hears it.

A soft, snuffling noise, raspy breathing from one of the back units. He’s careful not to disturb the rubble and ash too much, using his parkour skills to jump over the open swaths of floor the fire had eaten through. The sniffling is shallower now, as if the little lungs responsible are struggling to draw breath. Kicking in the flaming door is probably a bit dramatic, but with the building ready to collapse at any moment, he doesn’t have many other options. There’s a woman slumped against the door at the far end of the hall, a boy no older than eight covering her mouth with a small red and yellow hat. He stares at Izuku as he enters, and if it weren’t for the smoke inhalation and exhaustion he’s sure the kid would have screamed bloody murder at the sight of him.

Even now, he can hear the rasping inhale of breath, shorter and shorter with every lungful of tainted air.

 

“H-help…” He croaks, gesturing at the woman whose heartbeat is thready and weak. It thumps unsteadily in her chest, and Izuku knows that had this child not covered her mouth, she wouldn’t have survived.

 

“Don’t worry, I am here now, and I’ll get you both out. I promise everything is going to be okay, I just need you to trust me, can you do that?” The kid nods, his eyes dull and drooping with looming unconsciousness.

 

There’s another horrible screeching noise, accompanied by a distant rumble, but the kid doesn’t even flinch.

 

“Come on, stay with me. What’s your name?” He tries to keep his voice soothing, gentle but firm and he knows they only have minutes before the whole building crashes around them. A piece of ceiling crashes between them and the door he came from, and the floor is unsteady under his feet.

 

“K-Kouta…” The kid rasps quietly, but he makes no move towards Izuku, hardly even opening his mouth to whisper.

 

“Hi, Kouta, I’m Deku, I need you to take my hand, okay?” The smallest of nods, and a shaky soot covered hand reaches for him through the smoke.

 

Izuku approaches swiftly, wasting no time before grabbing that hand and tugging him closer, eyes flicking around their surroundings. He drags the woman onto his shoulders, her pulse is thin and inconsistent. Kouta hangs from his neck.

How to get them out?

The debris is still raining down from the blackened ceiling, and going back the way he came isn’t an option. There’s a window open behind them, the added ventilation is probably the only reason they’re still alive. Unfortunately it’s too far too high for either of them to have used it to escape, especially seven stories up. Izuku, thankfully, is not limited by this, and scales the wall, slipping out of it almost easily. The boy hangs on for dear life, and swallows gulps of fresh air the second they emerge into the crisp morning. There’s a soft beep letting him know the suit is low on methacrylate, so he can’t risk using Black Whip again. If there isn’t enough in the tank to mix properly, he runs the risk of the tension snapping under their combined weight and plummeting them to their untimely deaths.

Not ideal, he’ll have to scale the building the old fashioned way. The wind whips around him at this height, and the sun is slowly rising in the distance. There’s a faint tremble from the boy, whose eyes are wide and terrified looking at the ground so painfully far below them, adrenaline helping him fight the sleep that blanketed him moments ago.

 

“Close your eyes, Kouta, I won’t let you fall. I promise you'll be okay.” Izuku promises softly, and he almost wishes he could adjust the mask so the boy could see his reassuring smile.

 

As it is, his hands are busy crawling down the face of the building, and a quick glance shows that Kouta listened, his pinched face buried in the crook of Izuku’s neck. It doesn’t take as long as he thought it would, to crawl his way around the flames that lick out of cracked windows. There’s a creaking sound coming from something vital to the building’s structure, the steel frame bending slightly. The infrastructure in Japan is built to withstand tsunamis, earthquakes, and blistering wind, but the fire that eats through the supports doesn’t seem to care.

A large chunk of building falls away to his right, and he has to take a quick leap off the side to avoid the debris. He hears the choked scream from the kid, ripping through his throat with a painful scrape. So close to Izuku’s sensitive ears, he swears he can hear it tear the boy’s already inflamed esophagus. He cannot let anything happen to Kouta, or his guardian. He flips their position in mid air, his arms tightening around the two as they plummet the last remaining stories.

It’s strangely peaceful, the rush of air cooling the sweat damp skin under the suit, but he can’t relax, not yet.

He lets them fall until just the right moment, activating the last dregs of Black Whip, praying there’s enough chemical agent left, and that it has enough strength to hold them. It thwacks against a light post to one side, sticky and solid, jerking them when they hit the end of the tension thread, but he was unfortunately right, it isn’t enough, and it snaps with the weight of their combined gravity.

It does cushion the fall though, so Izuku rolls them when they fall so that he hits the ground back first.

It’s not pleasant, that’s for sure.

The thud as his own body hits the ground is enough to knock the air from his lungs, but thankfully nothing feels broken.

Definitely going to bruise, though.

Outstretched gloved hands move to help him from his left, but his eyes are focused on the terrified, crying face of the boy above him.

 

“A-are you… okay?” Izuku chokes out, shaky fingers rubbing soot away from chubby cheeks. The woman is removed from his chest by medical personnel, but the boy remains, fighting against the EMT’s tugging at him.

 

“Y-you’re crazy… why would… you do all that?” Comes the rasping, sobbing, reply. Tiny fists beat into his chest, and he’s glad the kid is strong enough to react with anger. The smoke damage must not be that severe.

 

“Be-because... I promised you'd be o-okay, Kouta.” Izuku can’t help but smile through the tears in his own eyes.

 

He did it.

He saved them.

He was a hero.  

 

Chapter 15: A Promise to Figure This Out

Summary:

Katsuki becomes suspicious of Shouto, and hears about a vigilante.

Notes:

Woo! I did it, everybody clap! (jk)

This week is my birthday so updates may be inconsistent. Please do check in though because it's very likely I may go on a writing binge at some point! I'm anxious for the story to continue, and there's so much to come that I'm excited to update, but terrified of doing a bad job! I love seeing your takeaways from the plot, it helps me understand where I'm hitting on pacing <3

I love all your comments and support, they give me the strength to keep going!

Also fun fact, I lived in Tokyo for three years, so it's been really fun to imagine that environment again!

It takes a lot longer than usual for Katsuki to get up that morning. 

 

The idea of leaving the bed that still smells faintly like mint shampoo, accepting that Deku really left, he actually fucking LEFT, he isn’t just in the bathroom or gone to get coffee… hits harder than he thought it would. 

What was Katsuki expecting?

Somehow he thought he’d at least get to say ‘goodbye’.

It’s probably a good thing, honestly.

 

It’s a good thing he hadn’t woken up and cooked the nerd some sugary monstrosity like pancakes for breakfast and actually fucking talked to him. What would he have said?

If he’d woken up after everything last night to those messy curls spilling over their pillow, soft and sleepy freckled cheeks creased with the pattern of the sheets. 

If doleful emerald eyes had slowly fluttered open, looking at him and smiling in that disarming way Deku does, and said “good morning, Kacchan”, his voice still husky from sleep? 

 

Katsuki doesn’t know what he would have said. 

Probably something fucking stupid like: 

 

‘Hey nerd, thanks for taking my virginity and giving me the best night of my life, also I’m sorry for running away after kissing you and stranding you in the lab overnight, I’m just a murderer and a coward and also horribly, insufferably in love with you, and I have been since before I threw you off that roof and bullied you and…’

 

No, he wasn’t ready for that, any of it. 

 

So it’s a good thing Deku left. 

It’s completely irrelevant that this place feels like a tomb.

 

His apartment has never felt this uncomfortable and lifeless before, not even the day he moved in, when all he had was his mattress on the floor, waiting for the bedframe to be delivered. Staring at these solid white walls for three days hadn’t felt this impersonal, this dull. 

While he isn’t surprised Deku left, he is still somewhat upset about it. It’s almost ironic that the itch under his skin is non-existent. He doesn’t crave anything, he isn’t desperate and insatiable and out of his mind with that energy crawling up his nerves… he’s just empty. 

Cold. Numb. Hurt? Offended?

The nerd couldn’t have even stayed for breakfast? 

Did he regret it that much in the light of day? 

Did he wake up horrified that he'd slept with his middle school bully and run for the door as soon as possible? 

Did he fucking leave shirtless? 

Because that scrap of fabric he was wearing last night is still here in his room, half hidden under the corner of the bed. Katsuki finds his fingers dragging it from its hiding place without even lifting his head, scrunching the fabric in a tight fist. He’s tempted to blow it up, and that’s so pathetic of him, honestly. 

 

He can’t remember if Deku had worn a jacket to the party, it was all hazy and oversaturated in his mind. 

He remembered seeing Deku and Half n Half on Tape Face’s bed, Sparky clambering over him and hearing Deku call him that fucking name… Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes acting like fools, everything had been so loud and disorienting. He remembers seeing Deku across the room with his nerd squad plus Dunce Face and Elbows flirting with a select few of them. He thinks he remembers Deku fighting with the Zombie, and Sparky of all people de-escalating, and then… dancing. He and Deku had danced together, and the little vixen had asked to go home with him. 

 

The timetable for leaving the party is fuzzy and so was the race, oh shit had Deku really carried him home? 

He remembered getting into the apartment and everything that came after in excruciating, beautiful detail, and it left him red faced. 

He was humiliated, mortified, raw.

Deku had felt so right in his arms. The tears, the pleading, the soft sighs, the flush in his cheeks, the way he said ‘Kacchan’ so sweetly… 

 

This horrible empty feeling is pissing Katsuki off. He’s acting like some melodramatic lovesick idiot, huffing the pillows and mooning over his night with Deku like a fucking pervert.

It was just one fucking night. 

He got it out of his system, he knew what it was like and of course it was great but that’s it, it’s over, done.

Deku made that crystal clear by sneaking out of Katsuki’s bed without even a fucking word. Leaving Katsuki behind, abandoned, feeling disgusting and rotting into his bed like he had nothing better to do than mope about a one night stand. 

 

Not a fucking chance. 

Over his own dead body. 

 

Decision made, Katsuki hauling himself vertical only exacerbates the pounding in his skull, and that’s it, he’s absolutely never drinking again. This hangover isn’t nearly as bad as the one from his birthday, but there’s still nausea settled greasy and heavy in his gut. Once he’s absolutely certain he isn’t going to hurl, he stands up, and is almost embarrassed at the realization of being naked. He’d been naked in bed with Deku.

 

Obviously? What a stupid fucking thing to be fixated on. He was just thinking about it a few minutes ago, after all. 

They did a lot more than just be naked in the same area, idiot.

They’d…

Katsuki is in the shower before he can finish his own flustered thoughts. 

 

It’s comforting, the boiling hot water scouring all traces of Deku, of their night together, away down the drain. Scrubbing the sweat and dried fluids off his body helps to focus his attention until he steps out of the shower and sees himself in the steamy mirror’s reflection.

 

Katsuki looks like shit. 

His eyes are fucking swollen and droopy, and hauntingly blank. The vacant expression on his face reminds him of that night, when he rinsed his bloody hands in the sink after murdering that guy who attacked Ponytail. His skin is flushed from the heat of the water and the force of his scrubbing. He might’ve made himself bleed but within seconds, there’s no way to know for sure. Soon only smooth unblemished skin is visible, unlike the patterns and swirls that crawl up Deku’s skin. Proof of where he’s been, what he’s gone through, what he’s overcome and survived. 

And yet… Here’s Katsuki: blank, shiny and new, not a sliver of scar or blooming bruise or anything at all to remind him of his many sins. 

 

Getting dressed is as simple as throwing on a pair of boxers and sweatpants before stepping into the apartment beyond. Fumbling through the kitchen drawer he finds the batteries he needs and replaces them, but doesn’t put the aids back in, leaving them instead on his countertop. He doesn’t need them to hear the empty silence of his own apartment.

Going for a run sounds like actual torture, especially since he already showered once today, so he decides not to go this morning.

 

Instead, he throws himself into his weekend routine. 

Item #1: Finish up a few assignments.

Katsuki is not going to slack off on his schoolwork even if it is mostly just tedious, busy work and nothing that would actually interest or challenge him. He fucking hates Discussion Boards, he does not care what his idiotic peers think. 

End of Story.

 

Item #2: Do Laundry.

He’s more aggressive in this task than usual, stripping the bed and tossing the soiled sheets in the washing machine, trying not to remember what made them so filthy in the first place. Katsuki adds a healthy amount of detergent and a capful of bleach, just to make sure they come out with no trace of Deku on them. 

He regrets it almost immediately and then fights the urge to punch himself in the face. 

 

In fact new update to the list:

Item #3: Don’t think about Deku. 

He fails at that one pretty much immediately but he always has, so it’s more just salt in the wound at this point.

 

Item #4: Meal Plan / Write Grocery List

Yeah, he was always going to fail Item #3, especially when he’s been overbuying groceries for weeks just to have enough for his and Deku’s lunches and occasional dinners. 

Fuck. 

Does he just buy everything like normal? 

Is he going to keep cooking enough to feed the nerd? 

Are they even on speaking terms again, or was last night just a truce? Will Deku avoid him because of what happened last night? Will Katsuki avoid Deku on principle?

Will he eat konbini or instant ramen if not supplied with Katsuki’s cooking? Does Katsuki care what that idiot poisons his body with? 

 

He has an ear splitting headache. 

 

---

 

 

Katsuki ends up going to the grocery store on his running route without a concrete list, and immediately regrets the decision. it's almost as much of a shitshow as it is when the idiots tag along. 

 

He ends up with two different bottles of soy sauce, vegetables he doesn’t even like, silken tofu instead of firm (which means it's the wrong consistency for mapo tofu), the too-sweet cookies that only Raccoon Face likes, kimchi, and all the fixings for Katsudon somehow. 

Katsuki’s face must be something horrifying by the time he reaches the check-out area because the teller girl doesn’t look him in the eyes once, probably fearing the utter contempt rolling off him in waves. 

 

As he walks back to the apartment, his miserable grocery haul in hand, he finds himself sending a message to Ponytail, desperate for anything to get his mind off of Deku. 

Maybe a reminder of exactly WHY Deku is better off without him will force his brain to restart and he can finally do anything other than think about Deku’s pretty green eyes or his pretty pink blush, or his cinnamon colored freckles or… goddammit. 

 

The thrumming itch to commit homicide might be missing today, but that doesn't mean he suddenly loses the ability to stab a guy or beat someone’s face in. Maybe blood running in literally any direction other than his dick would help him get his shit together.

 

He must have been even more consumed by his own bullshit than he initially thought, because when he raises his eyes from the pavement, it’s a fucking disaster zone. Several buildings are little more than scorched husks, with smoke still curling into the wind. There are large piles of rubble and work areas behind barriers, charred vehicles and debris are being cleaned by sanitation and construction crews, while some reporters are giving live updates in front of the wreckage.

Katsuki waits for the pedestrian crossing and casually glances around to see the utter destruction.

 

“This is Daikaku Miyagi reporting live from the scene of a fire that broke out in Bunkyo late last night. Tokyo City Police are still investigating the source of this tragedy, which appears to have started in the old Commission Convention Center, home to many of Tokyo’s events before its condemnation and closure in 20XX due to structural issues. As you can see behind me, the damage was catastrophic and  responsible for the hospitalization of seven residents of local apartment buildings and passersby.” 

 

Katsuki is mildly surprised at how few injuries were reported. Only seven were hurt? No casualties? He finds himself looking up at the torched structure in front of him, easily ten or more stories when it was all in one piece, which it clearly wasn’t now. Even if the whole building wasn’t apartment complexes, the concept had Katsuki squinting his eyes in confusion. 

 

“-our source, the notable photographer Taneo Tokuda, was able to get several images of what looks like a vigilante evacuating the building in the early hours of the morning. City Police were unable to apprehend this individual before they escaped questioning. The Police Department has refused to provide a statement at this time. Many are wondering: is this the work of the yakuza activity which has been on the rise in the Taito area, or the guilty conscience of a misguided arsonist? We can only-” 

The chirping of the crosswalk and the sea of moving bodies around him prompt Katsuki to leave the reporter behind and continue walking towards his apartment. 

 

A vigilante? Sounds like there would have been a lot more injuries and several deaths without them. That’s good, heroic even. Why is that misguided? They were photographed, though, which was not ideal. Katsuki would need to look for more information when he got back to the apartment. If there was another masked idiot out there, he needed to know what the likelihood of running into them was. 

 

Katsuki is already back home and putting away the offensive groceries when his phone pings. He checks it immediately, for no reason in particular, and is both disappointed and relieved to see it was just Ponytail, who had sent over the details on an asshole for him to deal with. 

The second those disgusting pork chops were flung into the fridge, Katsuki immediately prepares to start the hunt. 

 

The public information on Shouto Todoroki is incredibly sparse. Even Momo, as scrupulous and well-connected as she was, had little more than speculation and a mutual rich-kid relationship with both.

A lot of this information he already knew:

Shouto Todoroki was The Captain of Tokyo Police’s son. He’s publically pursuing a career in law at Tokyo University. He’s pretty sheltered, there’s almost nothing about him besides PR shots starting a few years including the one he's looking at now.

It’s an image from an article on influential family group dynasties, a photo-op. Katsuki was actually invited to this, he recalls distantly. The Old Hag had bitched for days when he refused to go, but he couldn’t be bothered with showboating for some Rich Kid meet and greet. 

He recognizes a much younger Ponytail, some distance away, and the menace himself, though he's much younger than Katsuki is used to. He recognizes another face in the photo, surprisingly enough. Glasses, the one from the party last night, is apparently the son of the Iida Family: the bigwigs in cars and automotives. 

Katsuki obviously saw proof the two were friends last night, as friends from high school, but their professional relationship was close too. It was a well known fact that the Iida family also had a legacy within the police department for three generations. Ponytail informed him that the two were decently close now, but they had met for the first time at the event in this photo. Apparently the elder Iida brother had some kind of injury during an arrest a few years ago that put him out of commission, but he was still involved in the Department.  

Dammit. 

Looks like Deku managed to fully integrate himself into the department, which was potentially corrupt. 

That fucking nerd always got his nose stuck where it didn’t belong. 

 

His eyes flicked to the information at the bottom, showing a date made sense, sometime in the next week or two after the Roof Incident back in Middle School. 

If Katsuki had attended that stupid event then he could have met these assholes back then. Would things be different if he had played into the politics and socialite status that nepotism could afford? 

He's not stupid.

The Bakugou family definitely didn’t hurt for money, between the fashion business, his mom's modeling career and his dad’s inheritance from his Grandmother, they had plenty of security.

Katsuki had just never considered the privilege that came with that, before.

Katsuki knew all too well how hard his family worked on their designs, the sacrafices their business required: missed birthdays, the sudden business trips, the galas and events, nights in the studio working on their craft. Mitsuki Bakugou was not the kind of person to take what she had not earned, how resistant his own mother was to schmoozing and greasing palms. The idea of using his family's wealth to climb some social ladder had never once occurred to him. Those kids in his middle school, the ones who followed him around, had hoped his affluence would rub off on them.

Getting Pinky that ad campaign was the closest he'd ever gotten to using his family name to get what he wanted, and despite not entering the business, his input was clearly respected.

Something he could have used to his advantage, though they were not immune to the same judgement from the corporate world. His father's involvement on the business side of things and being a designer was the main reason his parents were so successful as a brand. 

He had no interest in that back in Middle School, the thought was revolting.

He was so focused on other things, on Deku. 

On that fucking day on the roof.

Yet another example of Deku fucking up everything. 

No.

Wrong. 

Not Deku’s fault. Never his fault.

Just Katsuki’s obsessive fucking behavior over a sentient human being impacting his potential.

 

There, see, he went to therapy.  Lied a lot during the sessions, but hey, he’s not an idiot, there’s clearly some things he couldn’t exactly admit to on record.

 

Something catches his eye then, beside the date of the photo is the tagged location. He recognizes the address immediately.

It’s the Commission Convention Center, the one that burned down last night. 

That’s… fucking suspicious as hell.

This doesn’t feel like an accident. 

Something is wrong here, and it brings that itch out in full force but instead of bothering him he’s practically vibrating with it.

The urge to move, to go, to fight, to win. To be a hero. He’s gonna take this fucker down.

 

Okay, Half n Half, what are you hiding?

 

He’s been researching for hours now, into the history of the building and what’s significant about it.

The answer is: absolutely nothing.

It was an event venue, the roof sprung a leak, it foreclosed, it’s been sitting abandoned for awhile now, and was eventually condemned. 

 

It seems the Police Department held all their events at that Convention Center for years, like most other businesses in the area did, until the new facility in Chiba was completed.

Then they just stopped. Switched vendors to something of better quality. Nothing dramatic. 

Last night it caught fire. Nobody was claiming ownership, and the investigation with the Police Department was ongoing.

What was more interesting, however, were the photographs taken by a photographer that happened to be in the area. 

 

The images are incredible. 

 

There’s a muscular figure, clad in deep sea green and grey, looking like he stepped off the pages of a comic. He’s grappling down on black strands, carrying people on his back or in his arms as he saves what has to be dozens of people. There’s a particularly gut wrenching one of the guy free falling with a kid and a woman that almost took katsuki’s breath away.

The sun was rising in the background, bathing them in gold. It was… art. 

It’s insane they weren’t staged.

Hell they might be?

No way to tell for certain.

There aren’t many close up shots, but one where the guy is clearly talking to the little kid from before shows wide round goggles that humanize the expressionless mask, with what look like tear stains down the cheeks? 

Why does that look so familiar?

 

Katsuki is already changing into his uniform before he even decides where he’s going.  

While Ponytail provided Captain Todoroki’s listed address, trespassing onto the Captain’s property would definitely be a risk. Obviously the Commission Building is suspicious. Until Katsuki can find Half n Half’s home address, the best course of action is to hit both tonight, maybe patrol between the two locations.

He’s almost halfway to the Todoroki Estate when he sees something cross one of the roofs over his head, like a swooping bird.

It’s subtle in the evening light, but it instantly sets Katsuki’s teeth on edge. He’s keeping his eyes focused on the buildings while walking steadily through the mingling commuters.

No more shadows catch his eyes and he starts to doubt his initial suspicion. It very well could have been a bird, or a stray cat. It’s not like he could hear them from this distance.  Just as he's starting to relax, there's a burst of movement on the other side of the street.

Suddenly, there’s the asshole in question: Shouto Todoroki, sprinting down the street, with his ridiculous flip phone held up to his ear. He ducks into an alley before Katsuki can cross to the other side of the street. By the time he gets there, to the dead end alley, the guy’s gone. Only a blank wall with poster advertisements greets him. There’s a cigarette disposal container, but no young heir Todoroki. 

 

By the time Katsuki hears the sirens and turns on his heel to follow Half n Half’s footsteps, the fire has already been put out, and all that’s left is the panic. 

There are fire rescue trucks cordoning off the building’s street access, and the police officers are interviewing people. This building is not near as damaged as the ones he saw this afternoon. Smoke still dances above the building, but it’s largely in one place, just blackened from within. 

Katsuki missed it all.

A minute too late. 

Just a step behind. 

 

There’s no way Shouto Todoroki isn’t involved with these fires, that much is obvious. So how exactly is he involved? Is he setting the fires? Destroying evidence?

Covering up for The Old Bastard? No, Katsuki remembers the phone call, how Eyebags had thrown the abuse in his face, Half n Half wouldn't help him voluntarily.

Threatened, maybe, or somehow being coerced? Was he just out of his mind and having a pyromaniac binge? Teenage rebellion with a body count?

He’s gotta warn Deku that one of his little fuckbuddies might be a wanted arsonist.

 

Katsuki was right.

He can’t help the sneer that creeps across his face as he walks.

Katsuki wasn’t jealous, he was right. That two toned fuck can’t be trusted. Deku’s in danger if he keeps hanging around that guy, but what about being an emergency contact? Having a copy of the idiot’s room key? Deku obviously trusted this guy, and he wanted to know why. What made IcyHot so special?

Guess Kacchan will just have to swoop in and save the nerd, like always. 

 

Tomorrow, he and Deku are going to have a conversation.

 

---

 

It goes very poorly. 

 

Katsuki should’ve known it would. Deku is impossible to talk to, to understand. So stubborn and determined and incapable of listening to simple directions. 

He decides to ignore the whole drunken hookup / disappearance in the morning aspect of the weekend because if Deku didn’t want to talk about it, Katsuki certainly wouldn’t bring attention to it, he’d love nothing more than never mentioning it again, actually. That means his course of action includes pushing the highest priority item the second Deku arrives at the lab the next day.

No hesitation, like ripping off a band-aid.

“What’s the relationship between you and Half n’ Half? Without hiding anything this time.” Katsuki says tersely, glaring at Izuku with a narrowed gaze. Deku’s bag hits the table with a thump, and he stands still for a moment before tilting his head in question. 

 

“E-Excuse me?” Deku mumbles, he looks truly confused for a second before the shadow of indignant rage slides across his face like a mask. Eyes that were just a second ago, open and sparking are now determined and analytical, his jaw locked to keep his thoughts to himself. “What exactly are you asking me, right now?”

 

“I know he’s your emergency contact, not Auntie. He knows where you live, but nobody else does. He sneaks into your window at night, and he’s not a classmate or someone you’ve spent a lot of time with publicly. That's not normal, Deku.” Katsuki counts off on his fingers before curling the five fingers into a fist and letting it fall against the table with a small thump.

 Izuku looks shocked at each new point, clearly outraged at each piece of information he did not provide to Katsuki, but none of the incredulity reaches his voice.

“Kacchan, my relationship with Shouto is none of your business.” He says the words coolly, like he’s talking to a misbehaving child. It boils Katsuki’s guts to hear that tone directed at him.

Like Deku is so much better than him, looking down on him and- no. 

Breathe. 

Count to ten or whatever. 

Just calm down.   

A dark eyebrow raises in response to his silence.

“Look, I have a bad feeling about him, Deku, he’s dangerous. His old man, in particular, trust me.” Katsuki says, fighting to keep his voice below a yell, to do his best to communicate directly without screaming.

He didn’t want to fight, he just wanted to make sure the nerd was safe. Deku begins removing things from his bag with a huff. 

 

“No, you get to trust me, Kacchan. Shouto is my best friend and has been for years. Beyond that, it's none of your business, and quite frankly, I know more about this situation than you do and I don’t want to talk about this with you anymore.” His voice is hard and he leans both hands onto the metal table with a determined furrow in his brow. Katsuki matches his positioning, widening his stance.

Their gazes locked and it was a battle of wills that was only interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Toshinori. 

 

“Hello, boys! How are we this morning? It’s been several days since we last met, but I trust everyone had an eventful weekend?” Dr. Toshinori asks warmly, a cup of hot tea in his palms, seemingly unaffected by the tension in the room. 

 

“Yes, sir, it was.” Deku says easily, eyes sliding away from Katsuki's with deliberate casualness. He waves with a smile towards their mentor. “I hope you also enjoyed the weekend?"

Dr. Toshinori smiles widely, and nods, before looking over at Katsuki for his reply. 

 

"It was fine." Katsuki bites out, still glaring at Deku, but the nerd doesn't give him another glance.

 

"Sir, I wanted your opinion on my Capstone project if you had a moment?” Deku’s holding up a notebook with Project OFA written on the cover and Dr. Toshinori beams, waving him towards the door to the office which Katsuki just realized is just leaning against the wall, the hinges ripped from the frame. 

“Of course, my boy. I’d love to hear it.” He ushers the nerd into the office, covering the gap in the wall with the door for privacy. As it is, Katsuki can hear them speaking but none of the content. This is especially frustrating when the two remain in there for the rest of the day, until Katsuki has to pack his things and change classes. Deku arrives just before the bell, and evades him after classes release. He doesn't return to the lab for longer than a half hour to hear their newest assignments from Dr. Toshinori, which are completely separate, before immediately disappearing to one of the computer labs.

It's clear he's being iced out.

Should have known direct communication would be a failure. Deku’s too fucking stubborn for that, so Katsuki will just have to keep an eye on him. Keep him safe.

 

It’s a good thing Katsuki hung back, because right after they separate for the evening, not saying a word to each other, Deku does not go towards the dorms. 

No, Deku instead takes the train to a familiar neighborhood. With all the confidence of a regular, he goes to the League, the gay bar Katsuki had visited months ago and had yet to return to, where Aizawa-sensei had seen him last time. Guess Deku has a fondness for gay bars, and he tries not to feel bitter about it.

Was Deku the kind of guy to take people home from bars? Would he have gone home with someone else at that party if Katsuki hadn't scooped him up?

Katsuki doesn’t risk going into the building, certain Deku or his old teacher would somehow spot him immediately, so instead he loiters across the street. 

Deku is inside for several hours, during which Katsuki considers following him in about a hundred of times. He gets a coffee from a nearby vending machine to warm his hands from the cold, and he pulls his hood over his hair both to keep the cold out and to make sure he's not instantly recognizable. The sun has long set when Deku finally exits to the street, only this time he is not alone. 

The blonde from last time, the waitress who was eyeing him during his investigation into that broker. She’s got her arms wrapped around Deku’s, almost purring into him like a cat. There's something vaguely unsettling about her, a wideness to her smile that's almost unnerving. 

On Deku's other side is a guy Katsuki doesn’t recognize. His hair is icy blue, almost white and long over his face. From this distance it's hard to tell, but his skin looks sallow, like he's ill. He’s wearing a dark hoodie with a lizard on the back, and is walking hunched over, keeping his hands in his pockets. He's speaking quietly to Deku, who is asking questions Katsuki assumes, based on the way his hands gesture in front of him. 

 

Katsuki follows them from a safe distance, content just to observe until the light haired guy puts his arm around Deku’s to say something in his ear. Katsuki instantly bristles, but stays still, watching for any sign of trouble. 

The nerd looks up at the guy and nods seriously, there's a brief hand-off, something too small for Katsuki to see, before the three part ways.

Deku takes the left back towards the train station he came from, while the blue haired guy skulks off towards an internet cafe down the street, and the blonde stops dead in her tracks,  watching the other two fade off into the distance, before turning around and staring straight at Katsuki. 

 

Chapter 16: A Promise To Pay Attention

Summary:

Izuku just can't catch a break.

Notes:

I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY! I promise I have no intentions of abandoning the story, but I had to do a lot of the work on my phone instead of the computer because I was unfortunately caught in all the flooding and tornados this past week. Happy birthday to me!

Updates should be on somewhat of a schedule again from now on, however.
Comments fuel me, please let me know what you're thinking.

Small adjustments have been made to the phrasing and grammar as of 12/9/2025 <3

Kouta and his guardian, who the EMT's have listed as his aunt, are both taken into the ambulance quickly, with only a wave from across the ruined street to signify their departure. 

It's not long after the ambulance leaves that he's being surrounded. 

It's somewhat awkward when the unfamiliar hands begin to reach out for him, settling against his arms, his legs, his chest, his shoulders. Some of the hands shake, some grip onto him like a lifeline. Some are heartbreakingly soft, while others rub slow circles against the smooth surface of his suit, but slowly Izuku is consumed by the mob of those he'd saved.

Not everyone he got out of the building remain congregated here on the street, since several others had to be transferred to the local hospital, the way Kouta had been, but all the residents that do remain reach out to him. One by one they call out their gratitude, and Izuku feels almost bashful about the attention. There are tears, both theirs and his own, thankfully hidden by the mask. He responds genuinely and personably to anyone that he can. Izuku lets out an embarrassed chuckle at a lady who suggests she would have worn something nicer to bed if she had known 'a strong man like him would be princess carrying her' from her apartment last night. Another guy offers to buy him a beer sometime, but Izuku declines politely. He looks over his shoulder for seemingly no reason, and his eyes catch on a figure heading away from the crowd, wearing a long dark trench coat, odd colored patches and safety pins decorating the length of it.

His attention is diverted when the older woman he'd run into earlier approaches him quietly, stiffly. The other residents give her a wide berth, her aura and age commanding respect despite her frailty. She looks him over with a critical eye, only a strand or two of her salt and pepper hair have escaped the knot on top of her head. Her countenance includes none of the tears or clamor the others possess. This woman does not shake, she does not falter, she only looks at him. She is measured and calm when her hand raises and waves him down closer to her height, and he follows obediently, stooping low enough to let her weathered hand land on the top of his head. She gives him an awkward pat, not unlike a dog you aren't absolutely sure is friendly.

 

"You did well, young man." Her voice is not warm, but it is gentle and tentative, like she's unused to praising someone. 

 

"T-thank you, oba-san?" Izuku says hesitantly, glad the mask is obscuring his blush. 

She nods, tersely, before turning on her heel and retreating into the crowd.

In her wake come the police officers, and at first Izuku is glad to see them, his back really does hurt and although the sun has since risen, he aches to go back to bed. Maybe even Kacchan's bed if he's lucky.

 

"Hello, officers, I -" Izuku says respectfully, intending to give his statement, until one officer in particular puts a heavy gloved hand over his shoulder.

 

But these hands feel different.

Different than the terrified scrabbling of Kouta against his chest.

Different than the thankful, trembling hands of the people who were just glad to be alive.

Different than the Oba-san's hesitant patting.

No, these hands are here to hold Izuku down.

 

He's approached like a villain, several officers crowd him, their hands falling like shackles on whatever they can touch. The sirens Izuku was so thankful to hear earlier sound oppressive in his ears, the wailing pounding in his skull. Getting out of their hands wasn't necessarily difficult, none of them are strong enough to physically hold him down, but once Izuku actually resists things begin to unravel quickly. He's surrounded by police uniforms before he even realizes he's been separated from the residents.

Angry voices demand he remove his mask, to identify himself, to comply, to surrender, and when he feels one of those hands reach the line of his mask Izuku panics.

He activates SmokeScreen quickly, pressing the button on his wrist and immediately ducking low when the smoke pours from the suit. The goggles provide some safety from the irritating smoke, and he hopes the nearby civilians aren't adversely affected after their recent smoke exposure.

Evading the grappling limbs and stomping boots is not necessarily hard, but it does send bolts of fear through his chest. Izuku can NOT be caught or arrested today. Captain Todoroki would certainly make his life a living hell if he found out, and his involvement would mean that Shouto would definitely be in danger...

He ducks into a nearby alley and scales the building when he hears footsteps pounding after him. Izuku sprints and leaps over the gaps in the roofs, catching himself on ledges, exposed brickwork, pipes, anything he can to put distance between himself and his pursuers. Even when he stops hearing the yelling, and then the sirens, he doesn't stop running. 

It isn't until he's dropping onto the balcony of Kacchan's living room that he finally stops. His gloved hand is holding onto the door handle, and it's like reality finally floods back in. 

Izuku sees himself in the reflection of the windows, his goggle lenses shuttering slightly out of sync as he blinks. The masked face in the reflection is streaked with soot, oily splotches cover parts of his suit, and suddenly he realizes he's absolutely filthy. The sweat has coagulated under the suit, and he can't breathe. Or it feels like he can't? He can see his chest heaving with the force of his breaths, but he feels like he's suffocating. He can't go back in there looking like this? Izuku lets go of the handle like it burns him. 

He takes a staggering step back from the windows, from the reflection of himself, and then another, until the glare of sunlight streaking across the windows recedes, allowing Izuku to see within. 

At that very moment Kacchan walks in from the hall, his hair wet, like he'd just gotten out of the shower. His sweatpants are slung low on his hips, his bare feet padding through the immaculately clean kitchen. He's slamming things around, a cabinet first, and then he's wrenching a drawer open hard and searching for something before slamming it closed again. Kacchan is as handsome as he always is, but there are dark circles under his eyes. Despite his violent approach to his current task, whatever it is, the look in those carmine eyes isn't familiar anger or determination. 

He looks miserable. 

What was Izuku thinking?

That he could crawl out in the early hours of the morning, after a confession like that, after a night like that, with Kacchan no less, and what?

Just walk back in hours later in his hero costume, and Kacchan would accept that?

Accept him?

Did Izuku even deserve to ask for that, at this point?

Izuku shouldn't be here. 

 

There's only one place he can think to go.

  

When he lands on the balcony, the door is already open to the living room, and a figure stands there beckoning him inside. 

There is Shouto, staring at him with a serious expression Izuku can't understand. 

 

"Come in, Izuku. We need to have a talk." He has his hands curled into fists at his side, and his heterochromatic eyes bore into Izuku's even through the goggles.

 

When Izuku nods hesitantly, Shouto turns on his heel and disappears through the door. 

He can't help but feel like a scolded child as Izuku follows close behind.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, Shouto turns left into the dark grey kitchenette, his face hidden from view as he begins preparing tea.

Izuku lingers behind him, looking around at the apartment.

Shouto's place is quite frankly amazing, it's even nicer than Kacchan's, somehow. Shinjuku is a nice area, and the Todoroki family is quite affluent, so it makes sense. This apartment is both tasteful and modern, and quite spacious for Tokyo's standards. The balcony has geometric patterns in the dark bars of the railing, and it's mimicked on the door and the window. It's a large window, taking up most of the outside wall to his right. It lets in lots of natural light, with sunbeams scattering on the glass coffee table, and catching on the metal bar stools at the other end of the room. The wheat colored couch looks so comfortable, and Izuku wishes he could just dive right into it but doesn't want to risk potentially ruining it with stains.

 

"Tell me everything that happened after you left the party last night. I was worried." Shouto's voice is soft, but there's an edge to it. 

 

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I thought Toshi would have..." Izuku says quickly, already pulling the mask up to get some fresh air, but Shouto cuts him off. 

 

"Shinsou informed us you left with Bakugou, yes. But then what happened?" His voice is sharp now, pointed.

 

The kettle makes a soft metallic clank against the stove. Shouto turns around crossing his arms, his back resting against the counter. 

 

"We... well, I went... Kacchan and I..." Izuku mumbles, feeling the blush heat up his cheeks as he fiddles with the mask in his hands. He's torn between not wanting to lie to Shouto, not wanting to betray  Kacchan's private life, and not being physically able to say the words for sheer embarrassment.

Standing in the minimally decorated living room, face to face with one of his best friends, Izuku feels none of the bravery he had earlier this morning.

Or hell, even last night.

 

"Do you need a reminder?" The question is punctuated by Shouto raising a remote and turning on the large mounted TV behind Izuku.

 

He turns around to see videos, pictures, and news coverage of the fire. 

That's not all that there's proof of, he notices with mounting horror.

There are choppy cellphone videos and grainy images of him, in the very suit still clinging to his body. There are also a few professional-looking shots, shot with a wide lens depicting Kouta, his aunt, and Izuku plummeting off the side of the building, and another of him talking to Kouta back on the ground where his mask is more visible. There are even a few action shots, Izuku sliding down the threads of Black Whip and scaling the building.  Izuku is stunned, watching the footage and the newscasters continue to cover the situation, even beginning to theorize on his identity, until Shouto hits the mute button.

So much for staying out of the public eye.

 

"You left the party after midnight, drunk, and by 5:30 this morning you were on the news. In costume." Izuku feels his cheeks get even hotter, and he raises his hand to rub his neck avoiding Shouto's judgmental eyes. Shouto raises one thin eyebrow and Izuku buries his sweaty face into his gloved hands before taking a deep breath and answering.

 

"I spent part of the night at Kacchan's apartment, I don't know how long I was asleep but I woke up when I noticed the fire out the window." Izuku says diplomatically, avoiding the more private, personal parts of the evening he spent with his childhood friend.

 

"So you just left? In the middle of the night?" Shouto says almost angrily.

Izuku nods, shutting his eyes and hunching his shoulders in.

 

"Did you even tell him you were leaving? Leave a note? Anything at all before running straight into a burning building?" Izuku winces and shakes his head, eyes falling to the dark floor, only for the kettle start to whistle.

 

Shouto turns back around where Izuku can't see his expression so instead he looks over his shoulder and watches the silent coverage. 

It's quiet for awhile after that. 

There's a clattering noise from the kitchen area, and Izuku watches Shouto take a deep breath before he turns around again.

 

"That was incredibly dangerous, Izuku." Shouto says quietly, holding out a cup of tea in front of him. 

 

"I had to save those people, Sho." Izuku replies just as quietly, taking the cup with a grateful nod.

 

"When you finish that, go take a shower. You smell like kerosene and Korean Barbecue." Shouto's face is impassive as ever, but there's tension in his jaw.

 

Izuku almost salivates at the idea of a shower, and maybe the idea of barbecue and he has no interest in continuing this conversation so he drinks the scalding tea before excusing himself to the bathroom. 

He ends up spending most of the rest of that day at Shouto's apartment.

He scrubs the dirt and grime off his body in the unreasonably large bathroom, before borrowing a pair of too large button-up pajamas. The legs pool around his feet, but the material is soft and they smell like lavender laundry soap. Shouto insists he finish off some of the leftover donburi from the fridge, which leaves him comfortably full and drowsy.

They sit in companionable silence, watching the soundless images of his efforts, the fire, and its destruction, until Izuku drifts off to sleep on the couch. 

 

 

---

 

The next time Izuku becomes conscious of the world, it's due to a phone call.

 

"Hello?" Izuku yawns into the receiver, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

 

"Izuku. I need help. There's been another fire, I already notified the authorities, but I think I'm being followed." Shouto's voice holds more tension than it usually does, but the directions are fast and precise. Izuku can hear him breathing heavily, like he's running. Izuku has never been wide awake faster in his life.

 

"Where are you? Why did you leave without telling me? Did you-" Izuku is already scrambling to put the suit back on, the baggy pajamas falling off him in a heap on the living room floor.

 

"I'm by the train station, please hurry." The line goes dead, and Izuku takes a running leap off the balcony once his mask is pulled down. 

 

His friend isn't far away at all, if the rising smoke pillar into the evening air is any indication.

In fact, it's almost a beacon for Izuku to follow.

Without Black Whip, he relies on the same footwork he used this morning to escape the police: leaping over the gaps between buildings, hanging from ledges, and running across impossibly thin outcroppings in a way he never could have before the bite.

When Izuku finally gets to the site of the fire, he skids to a stop on a building across the street, and a few doors down to survey the damage without getting too close.

The building is still smoldering, but Izuku can see that the authorities have already arrived and are spraying the flames that still lick out from the windows. He's careful to keep to the shadows, not wanting to risk being seen by the police again. It looks like any other abandoned building, but like the one from this morning, it was on fire. Unlike that one, however, this one was thankfully dealt with before it could catch on the surrounding neighborhood. He hears no calls for help, and the firefighters don't seem to be having any trouble managing the blaze. 

It's great that the fire isn't looking like a problem, he wasn't looking forward to a repeat of this morning, but where is Shouto?

Izuku has his phone pressed against his ear through the mask, the phone ringing shrilly, until Izuku sees red and white hair running through the crowd below him almost at the same time the other finally answers. 

 

"Izuku, where-" Comes Shouto's gasping breaths, and Izuku watches as he dodges a salaryman who gives him a dirty look in response.

 

"I'm here, Sho. Turn left at the next alley and I'll pick you up." Izuku murmurs into the receiver before hanging up and diving into the aforementioned alley.

 

Shouto runs straight into his outstretched arms before Izuku hauls him up. Slinging his taller friend onto his back was easy after the events of this morning, and he's able to crawl back up the wall quickly with Shouto's arms and legs wrapped securely around his waist and neck. Shouto is silent when they reach the roof, and Izuku only flicks his eyes down again when a shock of familiar blond hair approaches the mouth of the alley. 

Even from this distance its easy to see that Kacchan is breathing heavily, clearly confused as he scans the now empty alley they were just standing in. 

What is Kacchan doing here?

Izuku can hear the sirens get even louder, another firetruck arriving at the building down the street, and it pulls Kacchan's attention away from where they crouch by the air conditioning unit on the roof. He's careful not to move until Kacchan has disappeared completely.

 

"Kacchan was the one following you?" Izuku whispers to Shouto with a curious look out of the corner of his eye. 

 

"I... I guess it was him. I didn't see who it was, but I had a feeling I was being watched since I left the apartment. After I reported the fire, I heard footsteps behind me and ran as fast as I could." Shouto sighs heavily, letting his forehead bump against the back of Izuku's shoulder. With his chest pressed flush against him, Izuku can feel the pounding of Shouto's heartbeat, his breathing labored where his nose pressed against the divot in Izuku's spine.  

 

"Kacchan is quite the fearsome predator." Izuku jokes and smiles under the mask, but Shouto doesn't even huff a laugh.  

 

Izuku takes the hint and begins the trek back, careful not to jostle around too much or take any unnecessary jumps.

 

"Why'd you leave the apartment? Why didn't you wake me up?" He grunts after awhile, catching their combined weight on a window sill before crawling horizontally across the buildings face until he can reach another fire escape. It's strange to do so with Shouto on his back, he feels much bulkier and more awkward as he moves through the city. 

 

"I was just going to go by the bakery before they closed. I thought I could pick up those matcha and strawberry desserts you like. You had a long day..." His voice was gentle, caring, but something about his tone was off. He was hiding something. 

Izuku finally lands back on the balcony with a soft thump, and Shouto's weight drops off him mere moments later. He turns to his friend with a long considering look.

 

"Are you lying to me, Sho?" Shouto's face pinches for a second before smoothing again.

 

"Not technically. I just didn't tell you everything. Like you did to me earlier when I asked what happened last night." One grey eye and one blue eye meet his gaze with no trace of remorse. 

 

"Those are called 'lies by omission', and I'm entitled to some kind of privacy, aren't I? That's hardly the same thing." Izuku frowns, pulling the balcony door open and ducking into the well lit apartment. 

 

"I was going to go by the bakery." Shouto repeats softly, the door clicking shut behind him.

 

"But that's not why you left." Izuku surmises, pulling his mask off, and chucking it onto the coffee table. 

 

"... No. It wasn't. I had a ridiculous feeling that there was going to be another mysterious fire and I was right. But I don't know what that means." Shouto is leaning against the back of the couch, his face shadowed by his hair. 

 

"Why that building? What's so special about it? How'd you-"  Shouto stops him with a raised hand.

 

"I didn't know it would be that one. There were several locations I was suspicious about, that one just happened to be close enough to the bakery that going to check wouldn't be out of my way." 

Izuku's eyebrows pull together as he begins wiggling out of the suit. It peels from his body tacky with sweat, and the cool air of the apartment brings goosebumps to his skin. Shouto makes a face before he turns his head away to give Izuku some privacy as he steps out of the suit, and into the pajamas left strewn on the floor. 

 

"Are you going to elaborate on why those locations were suspicious? Why did you think there would be another fire at all? Why wouldn't you tell me?" Izuku grumbles each question, hopping on one leg for a moment before stepping into the last pant leg and falling back against the couch cushions.

 

"Because I didn't know anything for sure. I still don't." Shouto says seriously, looking down at Izuku as the rest of him continues facing the kitchen area.

 

"You don't have to know everything, but this seems important? If you think another building is going to catch fire tomorrow, I need to know about it." Izuku tilts his head back against the couch, looking up at Shouto who is looking at him somberly.

 

"Why? So you can make the six o'clock news again? So you can disappear into a burning building and almost die with no one the wiser? What if you had died this morning, Izuku? Nobody would have known until they saw it on TV. I... I don't want to give you more ammunition to put yourself in danger. Hero or not." The look in Shouto's eyes is not unfamiliar to him. They've had this conversation many times before tonight, and odds are they'd have it again within the next week. 

 

"Wasn't the whole idea of letting you pay for the suit and for training these powers, to actually use them? To help people? I thought you trusted me more than that. I'm an adult, Shouto, and I will always try to save people who need it. I'm not sorry for that, and if you wanted me to be safe, you'd tell me the truth so I was prepared for what I might face regardless." He tries to keep the warble out of his voice, but the tears gather in the corner of his eyes regardless.

He wishes he wasn't such a crybaby, it really ruins the impact.

 

Shouto is quiet for a long moment before he heaves a sigh that sounds far older than his eighteen years.

 

"At first I honestly thought I was just being paranoid, especially when it felt like I was being followed. I've been freaking out all day, watching the news, worried about you. I thought once I saw you were okay, it might fade, but it didn’t." Shouto looked at his hands with a complicated expression. "I really did want to get those pastries for you, but while you were asleep, they released some more information on the fire this morning. The investigation is still ongoing, but there was evidence of arson. That building has a history, connections to the Department. There were four other buildings owned or utilized by the police department that have fallen out of use in the last few years, not counting that one. Two of those five have burnt down today. That's quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

 

The question is obviously rhetorical, but Izuku answers anyway.

 

"I agree. That is suspicious. Send me the information for the other buildings, please. If this is going to keep happening, and it seems like it will, it'd be a good idea if I knew where to go ahead of time. Especially if you're going to continue to be involved, it would be easier for me to get to you if there were points of interest to investigate. The cellphone thing is unreliable, and babysitting my phone in the suit is frustrating..." There's a hand carding through his curls, and Izuku sees Shouto's small smile.

 

"Of course. We're in this together."

 

Izuku stays the night at Shouto's apartment, mainly because the idea of taking the train to his dorm this late seemed like a waste of time.

He and Shouto talked until late in the evening, before the split-dyed teen headed to his own bed.There are so many questions unanswered, so much information that he knows is somehow important, but he can't quite put his finger on how it all fits together. His eyes catch on Shouto's bookcase, and a spiral bound notebook seems to call to him like a siren calls for sailors.

Maybe Izuku can get some of this jumble out of his head if he had somewhere to organize his thoughts. 

 

 

---

 

Izuku doesn't sleep well, surprising exactly no one.

There's just too much floating around in his head, and it takes some time to get it all copied into the notebook. Plus the several hours of napping he did yesterday afternoon really threw off his whole cycle. 

He and Shouto wake early the next morning and share a simple breakfast before they take the train to the University together. Neither are very vocal in the mornings, but this quiet is a little more pronounced than usual, even if it isn't strained. Normally, Izuku would fill the silence, but he has too much on his mind to mindlessly chatter, and Shouto has never been one for idle talk, so they don't say much until it's time to split off for their respective buildings.

Maybe he isn’t being honest with himself. 

There's a tight ball of anxiety burning in his stomach at the idea of seeing Kacchan again after the other night.

Izuku has so much to say but he isn’t sure who he can really talk to. Shouto certainly wouldn’t want to hear about… that, and it's still awkward sidestepping the fact that Hitoshi had been the one to tell Shouto about Kacchan in the first place. In the same vein, Hitoshi is technically an option, though he'd probably be an insufferable ass about it, and he'd have to make up another reason for why he left in the middle of the night... but if things didn’t go well this morning, well it was good to have a Plan B. It’s always nice to have a friend just as pissed off as you are when it comes down to it. 

Honestly, the person he most wants to talk to about Kacchan is Kacchan himself.

Izuku's been a little preoccupied over the past twenty four hours, what with the fires... and the police... and images of him being on the news... and the phone call from Shouto... and everything else... but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been thinking of Kacchan, too. He'd seen him following Shouto, and that's definitely something that needs to be addressed, if he can.

But more than that, he just kept remembering the look on Kacchan's face the other night. The way he said his name, the feeling of those impossibly smooth fingers against him, the manic grin, the fact that Kacchan of all people had called him 'baby', had let his lips trail on Izuku's skin...

Their night together was a turning point, right? They'd been... physically intimate. 

Wasn't that kind of a big deal?

Hooking up at a party is hardly abnormal for college students, though.

Their situation wasn't normal to begin with, so maybe it wasn't the same for them?

Was that just wishful thinking?

Kacchan, of all people, doesn't seem to be the kind of person to do something like that with someone if he didn't feel something for them, right? 

Well.

Izuku really hoped that was true.

Based on what Kaminari said to Toshi at the party, Kacchan had been thinking of him during high school, and at prom no less! AND he had kissed him in the lab that night, so at the very least Kacchan was physically attracted to Izuku, right? He certainly seemed to be attracted to him for some reason on the night in question.

Or maybe he had been.

Past tense.

Until Izuku snuck out before the sunrise to do the one thing Kacchan had outright forbidden Izuku from ever doing. But who gave Kacchan the right to decide what Izuku did?

Not that Kacchan knew that being a hero was what prompted his early departure, but wasn't not knowing the reason somehow worse?

Oh no, was Izuku going to have to explain why he'd left?

 

Didn't Kacchan leave without a word first, though?

 

He can still feel the coldness of Kacchan’s hands suddenly disappearing. Watching the strongest, bravest, most powerful person he’d ever known sprint away from him without a word. Kacchan was the one who chickened out first, and knowing that, it would be unfair to hold it against Izuku! He wishes that logic brought him any comfort, but the very idea of that was laughable.

 

When was Kacchan ever fair?

Never. 

The concept of “fairness” was always something the blonde struggled with.

He wasn't stupid enough to think admitting any of this to Kacchan would win him any points, however.

 

If he had to keep so much of his life a secret from the blonde, then was whatever they had determined to fail?

Would Kacchan be angry at him for sneaking out? Sad? Happy? Ambivalent?

Were they finally going to communicate?

Have a civilized talk about their feelings like normal people? 

Despite the absolute deluge of questions and nearly sentient apprehension clogging up Izuku's brains and lungs, the first words out of Kacchan's mouth weren't any combination of the previous questions. 

Kacchan always takes Izuku by surprise, and today is apparently no different.

 

“What’s the relationship between you and Half n’ Half? Without hiding anything this time.” Kacchan asks the second Izuku's foot crosses the threshold. 

 

He drops his bag on the table, but the words take ages to sink into his brain. 

Of all the things for Kacchan to ask, right here, right now. He chose... that ? Not even a greeting before the third degree begins?

 

“E-Excuse me?” Izuku cannot believe that after everything that has happened between them, the very first thing Kacchan asked was about Shouto Todoroki of all people. 

 

He didn't ask about him leaving before morning, didn't ask if he was okay, didn't seem to care one way or another. He grinds his teeth together to calm himself down, chewing through his words like rubber.

 

“What exactly are you asking me, right now?”

 

Had Kacchan seen them come together to school today? Why does it matter either way?

 

“I know he’s your emergency contact, not Auntie. He knows where you live, but nobody else does. He sneaks into your window at night, and he’s not a classmate or someone you’ve spent a lot of time with publicly. That's not normal, Deku.” Kacchan counts off each point, illustrating each one on his fingers like he's explaining something a child, before his fist hits the table with a loud thump.  

 

Izuku knows for a fact, he didn't tell Kacchan any of that. He must have overheard some of it, or this was the content of that fight when he was out 'sick'.

Either way, it isn't any of Kacchan's business.

He decides to tell him so.

 

“Kacchan, my relationship with Shouto is none of your business.” Izuku speaks each word clearly and directly, absolutely refusing to let Kacchan twist his words to mean anything other than exactly what he's saying. Kacchan looks like he's about to blow a blood vessel but miraculously stays quiet for a long moment, apparently thinking about his next words carefully. 

 

“Look, I have a bad feeling about him, Deku, he’s dangerous. His old man, in particular, trust me.” Kacchan growls, his chest puffed up like he's holding his breath.

 

Izuku begins unpacking his bag, with a roll of his eyes, because this conversation is ridiculous and he isn't going to entertain it much longer. Of all the things he wanted to talk to Kacchan about, this wasn't even on the list. 

 

“No, you get to trust me , Kacchan. Shouto is my best friend and has been for years. Beyond that, it's none of your business, and quite frankly, I know more about this situation than you do and I don’t want to talk about this with you anymore.” 

 

Izuku leans against the table in front of him, his arms braced against the table for support. He raises his eyes to stare at Kacchan, who mimics his position. Izuku should've known better than to issue a challenge, of course that's all Kacchan would see this as, right now. There's no point bringing up Kacchan following Shouto, it's crystal clear that Kacchan has a problem with Shouto, he'd unlikely to be objective in this situation and bringing it up will only make things worse.

Luckily, Dr. Toshinori is only a few paces away from the door. Izuku can hear the shuffling footsteps clear as day, so he doesn't flinch when their mentor enters the room. 

 

“Hello, boys! How are we this morning? It’s been several days since we last met, but I trust everyone had an eventful weekend?” Dr. Toshinori asks warmly, a cup of hot tea in his palms, seemingly unaffected by the tension in the room. 

 

“Yes, sir, it was.” Izuku says jovially, a smile easily stretching his cheeks, he even throws in a wave for good measure. “I hope you also enjoyed the weekend?"

 

Dr. Toshinori smiles widely, and nods, before looking over at Katsuki for his reply. 

 

"It was fine." Izuku can feel Kacchan's eyes on him, burning pathways up his skin, but he isn't rising to the bait. If Kacchan wants to stare at him, that's his problem. Izuku has more important things to do. 

 

"Sir, I wanted your opinion on my Capstone project if you had a moment?” He holds up the notebook with 'Project OFA' written on the cover and Dr. Toshinori beams, waving him towards the door to the office which is just leaning haphazardly against the wall, from his breaking in the other day. They should probably submit a maintenance request for that, at some point.  

 

“Of course, my boy. I’d love to hear it.” They enter the office, doing their best to maintain some semblance of privacy, and Izuku has never once been thankful for Kacchan's impaired hearing, but he is glad that the likelihood of them being overheard is lower because of it.

 

Izuku really is a terrible person, sometimes.  

 

"What would you like to discuss, young Midoriya?" Dr. Toshinori asks with a smile. "Does it have something to do with your heroic exploits over the weekend?" There's a sparkle in Dr. Toshinori's eye. 

 

"You saw that?" Izuku mumbles, a bit self conscious. 

 

"All of Japan seems to have seen it, son. You did very well. There likely would have been significantly more damage without your intervention. Your abilities, and the technology within your suit are quite the winning combination, it seems." Izuku's ears are burning from the praise, and his smile is wobbly at the genuine pride in Dr. Toshinori's voice. He's always wondered what it was like to have a father, and Dr. Toshinori often makes him wonder if it felt something like this. 

 

"Actually, about that..." Izuku hands Dr. Toshinori the notebook, open to the correct page already. 

 

"You want to integrate OFA into your suit? That's... that's an excellent idea!" Dr. Toshinori's eyes rake the page, his free hand tapping at the desk absentmindedly. 

 

"I came up with the idea last night. Shouto called me, worried he was being followed, and trying to fit my phone into the suit was frustrating in a way I hadn't considered earlier. Keeping my hands free was incredibly important while I was out there, a hands free option would solve that issue. There were many times during the fire that I could have used another perspective, or someone to bounce ideas off of. Trying to calculate the weight limit on Black Whip on the fly almost got me and two civilians killed. Speaking of, I also need to increase the capacity of how much methacrylate I store in the suit. Black Whip was incredibly useful, but if I can't keep enough of it available for me to use, it's next to useless." Izuku explains, leaning over the desk and gesturing at the diagram he'd sketched out.

 

"I can see all of that being useful information for the future! I believe OFA could do amazing things if patched into the existing suit interface, we might even be able to upgrade a few of the other monitoring softwares you have running in the background. This is incredibly exciting, the sooner we get this in motion the better! Let's get to work." Dr. Toshinori was already out of his seat and gathering bits and bobs stored around the office before moving back towards the lab. 

 

"Sir, I really want to keep this between us for now. K-Kacchan doesn't know about the suit. It would… it would ruin everything." His voice wavered, but his hands were tight fists in front of his chest. 

 

"Ah, yes. I understand completely, my boy. I'm afraid I was too excited, and got ahead of myself. For today, we can work out the integration process here in the office with OFA. I'm afraid even I don't know exactly how adaptable OFA will be to a new vessel." Dr. Toshinori returns to the desk as he speaks, before drawing Izuku's attention to the small device that currently holds the most sophisticated artificial intelligence the world has ever seen. 

 

Accessing the program for the first time was certainly chaotic. Dr. Toshinori’s computer is, lovingly, a dinosaur. It's an obsolete, ancient piece of tech whose display flickers and closes 'non-essential' programs without so much as a warning, but it does have years of practice handling OFA’s script. Unfortunately when Izuku tries to import the code onto his own computer it isn’t compatible. He almost crashes the whole system, and manages to successfully fry his laptop and every drive attached to it.

Hours passed this way, trying to adapt OFA to accept another format, they even worked through their usual lunch period. Surprisingly though, it was one of the most enjoyable afternoons he could remember having. Tinkering in the floor of Dr. Toshinori’s office and hearing tales of his time in America is both peaceful and unbelievable. After a particularly graphic story involving Dr. Shield’s attempts at creating an enzyme tablet that would sustain alcohol absorption (resulting in their banned status at several Los Angeles bars and clubs) Izuku feels he knows Dr. Toshinori in a way he never even dreamt possible as a young kid. 

After all, this was the man he had idolized for years! He remembers staying up late under the covers with a flashlight to study blueprints, even talking Hitoshi and Shouto into unconsciousness over Dr. Toshinori’s findings… Now he here he is listening to tales of that man’s actual life.  

Dr. Toshinori eventually suggests building an entirely new custom computer processor to handle the output, allowing them to customize other elements, like additional storage or water cooling fans to address the overheating issue which seems to have murdered his laptop. While this is certainly an option, it will undoubtedly take time and money to build. If Shouto is right, and another fire breaks out tonight, Izuku can’t afford to risk wasting that much valuable time. 

Unfortunately all sunny afternoons must to come to an end some time. When the alarm sounds for Izuku’s other courses, they agree to accept defeat... for now. Dr. Toshinori insists this doesn’t mean that integrating OFA with his suit is a lost cause, only that there might be a longer adjustment period than the two had initially hoped for.

He manages to slide into his seat at the last possible second, and he can feel Kacchan’s glare burrowing into his skull from one seat back and two to the left. Izuku ignores him.

The moment classes are dismissed Izuku is already out of his seat, all packed up and ready to go, which is the opposite of his normal behavior. It clearly catches Kacchan off guard, because Izuku manages to blend in with the other retreating students without crossing paths with his pursuer. The next class is much the same, only taking his seat at the last moment and resolutely ignoring the mounting presence staring daggers into his back. However, escaping in the same manner as before is off the table. This time he knows Kacchan will predict a hasty exit.

Using the same trick twice would never work with someone like Kacchan, he had to be smarter than the blonde, evasive, elusive. 

So this time, he hangs back and asks as many rapid-fire questions to his professor as he can get out, forcing Kacchan to rush to his next class or risk being late, ruining his perfect attendance record. 

It's somewhat of a relief when Kacchan finally slams the heavy metal door behind him and leaves. Or it would have been, if Izuku didn't hear those thunderous footsteps falter, stuttering until they stop again for another several minutes further down the hall.  

What a sneaky Kacchan, lying in wait with the assumption he could catch Izuku off guard after such a dramatic exit! If Izuku didn’t have super hearing, he probably would have fallen for it, too. 

Kacchan is really so cool, honestly.

It’s incredibly aggravating. 

This next bit is going to be a bit trickier. They’re used to spending a lot of time together in the lab. Izuku trusts Dr. Toshinori to facilitate them being kept apart, but the older man isn’t exactly… subtle. 

 

“Young Bakugou, I’m afraid I need you to run something of an errand for me. It won’t take long, but Dr. Sasaki has a biological agent I’m in need of over in the Nighteye wing. Would you mind fetching it for me?” Dr. Toshinori asks with a disarming smile. 

 

Kacchan is not fooled by the promise of a vague errand.

 

“I’m busy, old man.” Those sinewy forearms cross tightly across Kacchan’s impressive chest, his stance steady and solid as he glares at his mentor to push the subject.

 

“I’m sure you are, son, and I would go myself but…” Dr. Toshinori gives a horribly convincing wet cough into his handkerchief which comes away bloody. Izuku reacts immediately. 

 

“Sir, can I go get it? Just take it easy, I can do it for you!” Dr. Toshinori had worked so hard today trying to integrate OFA into a better processor, he must’ve overworked himself.

 

“Ah, my dear boy, are you sure? I know you’re working so hard on your Capstone project…” Dr. Toshinori’s weathered face pinches in concern, though his ragged breathing does not ease up. 

 

“Of course, I know it’s important to make progress but this is different. Please, just tell me what I need to ask for. Will Mirio-senpai know what you need? A biological agent, hm. Will it need to be refrigerated? I could-” Dr. Toshinori’s bony hand claps him on the shoulder, stopping his mumbling, but the smile on the old man’s face is sincere.

 

“I’m sure young Mirio would love to see you, my boy. They’ll know what you need.” Blood drips from the corner of his mouth, but still the older man winks. Izuku smiles gratefully and leaves without a second glance in Kacchan’s direction. 

 

Though he had intended to investigate the Nighteye Wing when he was locked in, thanks to a certain arachnid, Izuku never actually made it that far. Even in the last several months, he’s never set foot in the department. Pushing the large hall door open exposes a hallway not unlike the ones in the other departments, so it's a bit of a shock to look casually through an open doorway and see what looks like medieval torture. 

There's a blue haired girl, maybe a few years older than him, strapped to a large metal rack, with electrical nodes on her forehead. Her laughter echoes down the hall, but he can’t make much sense out of the desperation of her giggles until he spots more of the contraption she's strapped to. She is being… tickled? By feathers? The bindings prevent her from squirming away from the onslaught, and her face is almost tinged blue with how hard she's laughing.

There was a tall bug-eyed man sitting at a computer by the device, analyzing the ticker tape readouts that were being printed continuously on long paper tapes. They must be recording brain wave data associated with the laugh response.

 

“Midoriya! Hey, man, what’s up? Welcome to The Nighteye Behavioral Health Wing, how can we save you today?” Mirio’s sunny smile is almost blinding when it pops up a few doors down the hall. The blond upperclassman has his head poked around a corner threshold, appearing almost disembodied thanks to the angle.

 

“Hi, Mirio-senpai! It’s been awhile! Dr. Toshinori sent me to collect a biological agent he needed from Dr. Sasaki?” Izuku informs him quickly, still concerned about the amount of blood his mentor had hacked up earlier. Though it was clear Dr. Toshinori knew Kacchan would never voluntarily go on such a boring retrieval mission, Izuku wasn’t convinced the errand was entirely made up.

 

“Oh right, he called about that earlier. Come wait in here, I think Sir might be in the Tank right now.” Mirio’s hand appears beside his head to wave him down before both body parts disappear around the corner.

 

In this room, which looks to be a more outdated version of the lab upstairs, there are three upperclassmen including Mirio-senpai. 

Beside the blond is a shy looking guy in a hoodie, his face obscured by the hood and his long dark bangs. He seems to wilt the closer Izuku gets, going so far as to pull his hoodie strings to draw the hood closed more tightly. Beside him is a beautiful girl with long hydrangea-colored hair. It looks almost plasticine, impossibly shiny and unnaturally styled in icecream-esque swirls. She seems to practically glow when she introduces herself, and Izuku can’t help but think they look like the poster children for a comparative study between extroverts and introverts.

 

“Oh come on, Amajiki, you need to have the heart of a lion not a kitten! You know even though you're human, get what I mean? This is our kitten Tamaki Amajiki and hi, my name is Nejire Hado! Who are you, I wonder?” The girl spoke quickly, in an almost sing-song fashion. She's expressive, with exaggerated facial expressions and body language, while her companion seems to withdraw further after every word out of her mouth, turning around in his seat to be less visible. 

Yep, definitely an introvert and an extrovert.

 

“I’m Izuku Midoriya, I’m one of Dr. Toshinori’s students.” He bows respectfully. 

Mirio laughs loudly.

 

“You’re too modest, Midoriya. These two are my fellows, we’re Seniors. Guys, this is Dr. Toshinori’s mentee, the OFA recipient.” Mirio announces jovially to the other two who now look at him with newfound interest. Izuku is about to correct his upperclassman by pointing out that he is technically just only one of two recipients, when Nejire squeals.

 

“Hey hey, that’s super cool! Are you like a super genius or something?” Nejire asks immediately, almost bouncing in her seat with her excitement.

 

“That was too loud.” Amajiki winces, cringing away from Nejire's excitable chatter. 

 

“Oh no, I’m just…” Izuku tries to shake his hands to dispel the idea, but Mirio wraps an arm around him instead. 

 

“Yes! This guy has some amazing designs, definitely super talented for a freshman!’ Izuku blushes immediately, still shaking his head when he notices Amajiki somehow shrink into himself even further.

 

“A-anyways, what is the Tank? You said that’s where Dr. Sasaki might be. Does he have the biological agent Dr. Toshinori requested ready?” Izuku asks with a wobbly smile, suddenly wanting to be anywhere else. 

 

“The Tank is just a nickname we have for the records office vault, it’s like hermetically sealed so it’s super duper quiet. Sir likes the quiet, and it’s a highly pressurized environment in order to keep all the old stuff preserved. He also does sensory deprivation studies in there. It’s the most expensive thing in our department, which is why the rest of the lab looks like this!” Nejire informs him happily, gesturing at the noticeably dated lab around them.  

 

“That’s amazing. The implications of that are so cool. I knew the University was high tech after being upstairs but that’s so cool! I wonder if-” Izuku rambles a bit, for awhile before realizing Mirio is looking at him fondly and Nejire's eyes are wide. Amajiki appears to be trying to become one with the table.

 

“Oh wow you mutter a lot, huh? That was so fast, I was like ‘woooosh’ yknow?” Nejire chirps. 

 

“S-sorry…” Izuku mumbles awkwardly. It's hard to tell if she's making fun of him or not? She's strangely blunt and up front with her thoughts for such a peppy person.  

 

Thankfully Mirio seems to sense his hesitancy and begins leading him back out the door. 

 

“Did you want to see it? It’s not as top-secret as some of the upstairs labs but I’m sure Dr. Toshinori wants you back sometime this semester!” 

 

The Tank is a solid glass box in an empty lab classroom down the hall. The walls are transparent, and its approximate size is illustrated only by the space occupied by furniture. Izuku recognizes a few file cabinets and a solid mahogany colored desk. Inside, Dr. Sasaki is reading a book one handed, his hawkish face mostly obscured by the pages.

When they approach the door, he lowers the book slowly to meet Mirio’s eyes. A keycard is swiped through the slot and the door hisses open. 

 

“Hi there, sir! Why did the coffee file a police report? It got mugged!” Mirio says cheerfully, making finger gun motions at Dr. Sasaki. 

Izuku has never been more nervous than the half second after his upperclassman opened his mouth, but a short breath of a laugh escapes the sharp looking man’s face in response. His glasses glint in the fluorescents when he adjusts them. 

 

“That one was both humorous and politically relevant. Delightful." His eyes cut from Mirio's smiling face to Izuku beside him, growing less amused immediately. "I assume you are the inexperienced freshman here for the reagent Dr. Toshinori requested?” It's hard to tell if his deadpan delivery is in any way sarcastic, but Izuku nods his head dutifully anyways. 

 

“Y-yes, sir. I admit I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to be picking up or how to handle it. He didn’t provide much detail, but I should have asked beforehand. I’m sorry, Dr. Sasaki.” Izuku bows before meeting the other man’s eyes again. “I want to make sure I do right by Dr. Toshinori in any task.” He lets the double meaning hang in the air. 

Izuku knew Dr. Sasaki did not think he was a worthy candidate to inherit OFA, and in about an hour he plans to turn it into something entirely new. If Izuku was in his position, he probably wouldn’t think much of him either. In the back of his mind, Izuku wonders how Kacchan would feel, but before he can dwell Dr. Sasaki’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. 

 

“Are you being sarcastic? I don’t appreciate the implication that I would allow you to remove anything from my lab without the proper safety protocols followed to the letter. Lucky for you, there is no immediate danger unless you suddenly find yourself feeling parched somewhere between here and the fifth floor office and decide to quench your thirst with the contents of this jar.” Dr. Sasaki’s spindly fingers hold up a quart sized jar of dark amber liquid. “I trust you’ll find an alternative beverage should that thirst arise?” His eyebrow raises minutely in question, but no other movement is obvious on his pointed features, remaining as unmoving and unforgiving as stone.

 

“O-of course not, sir. I’ll be going then, as Dr. Toshinori seemed to be anticipating me back shortly. It was an honor seeing you again, Sir.” Izuku bows quickly, taking the jar from the man’s outstretched hand. It's cold to the touch, and the liquid inside moves sluggishly, thicker than he had initially assumed it would be.

 

He was already nodding his goodbye to Mirio on the way to the door when Dr. Sasaki spoke again.

 

“Yes, any instructional time you have with Dr. Toshinori should be treated as valuable as gold, Midoriya. I trust you’ll keep that in mind.”  

 

Izuku looks back over his shoulder at the Professor, and is unsurprised to find no discernible change to his facial expression.

 

“Of course, Professor. I promise I'll be paying attention.”

His phone buzzes while he's waiting for the elevator ride back up to the fifth floor.

 

---

 

Toshi: You alive?

Izuku: Of course! Sorry for disappearing on you, that wasn't cool (╥﹏╥) 

Toshi: Nbd. Thought your hangover might've put you 6ft under 💀

Izuku: Don't worry, I somehow remain with the living, for now  

Izuku: Might owe a demon a soul or something, but that's future Izuku's problem ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Toshi: Wow the conversion rate for souls must suck rn, forget fame and fortune, you can have a hangover cure or nothing

Izuku: 1 soul = 1 chicken nugget

Toshi: Sold

Toshi: Oh yeah, some guy dropped off a note with his contact info at the booth during the party, btw 

Toshi: He said it was important, but it might've just been an elaborate ploy to get your number

Izuku: Oh? I think I remember you saying something about that... did he say what he wanted? (,,•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ,,)?

Toshi: idk, he said he knew Fangs from the bar. Ask her ig

Toshi: maybe he just wanted in your pants

Izuku: yeah I'm sure that's it (¬_¬)

Izuku: Did you catch his name? I'll text Toga-chan rn 

Toshi: Shigaraki, I think

Toshi: He gave off creep vibes, if you want back up I'll go with you

Izuku: Aww is Toshi worried about little old me? ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

Toshi: I take it back, go get murdered

Toshi: Actually yk what, I don't trust you not to do that out of spite

Toshi: Don't take candy from strangers & if he says he has puppies, do not get in the car

Toshi: Just avoid going to second locations in general

Toshi: pls don't die, the others would blame me

Izuku: you're such a jerk <( ⸝⸝•̀ - •́⸝⸝)>

Toshi: you love me ✌︎︎

Izuku: 〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜

 

---

 

Izuku continues walking back towards the lab, but frowns at the screen in his palm. 

So some guy is trying to get a hold of Izuku, badly enough to go through his friends by proxy, but that name doesn’t really ring any bells? He thinks back to his seatmates in his courses, but even those acquaintances were familiar enough to name. The guy apparently knows Toga, though. He’s already pulling up her contact before the doors open to his floor.

 

---

 

Izuku: Toga-chan!!! I have a question! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

Toga-chan: of course zuzu, anything for u!!! 

Izuku: Toshi told me someone named Shigaraki was looking for me at the party, and he said he knew you? ∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?

Toga-chan: OMG yes ive been meaning to talk to u about that, but i've been stuck at work

Toga-chan: can you come by the league tonite???

Toga-chan: also don't tell chako pls 𖹭

Izuku: ??? Is everything alright? You're kinda scaring me?  (｡Ó﹏Ò｡)

Toga-chan: calm down zuzu, everything is ok

Toga-chan: see you tonite???

Izuku: Okay, if you say so... I'll see you around 6ish?

Toga-chan: kk, see u then!!!

 

---

 

Izuku frowns at his phone again, as if glaring at it will uncover some context he missed.

Why would Toga not want to tell Ochako that they were going to meet?

Who was this guy and how did he know Toga? 

Thankfully Kacchan is absorbed in some kind of pH testing, because he doesn’t notice Izuku’s return with the jar, nor his dipping through the open door and into Dr. Toshinori’s office.

 

“Ah there you are my boy! I see you’ve brought it, thank you very much. I trust you had a nice visit with young Mirio?” Dr. Toshinori’s deep voice calls from further in the office than normal. The old man is propped up against the loveseat, looking boneless and tired.

 

“I’m sorry sir, I should have hurried, I-” Izuku begins to stress immediately, hurrying to deposit the jar in the man’s grasp. “Do you need something to take it, like a syringe or…” He continues fretting, his hands coming up between them to gesture towards the tea supplies where he knows a spoon or two is tucked away.

 

Dr. Toshinori’s throaty laugh brings a faint smile to Izuku’s face just in time for the hacking cough to make it drop away.

 

“I’m afraid you misunderstand my boy, this is not medicinal. It’s a bacteria culture agent needed for me to pit against young Amajiki’s upcoming nanobot project. They’re voracious eaters, and show a great deal of promise, but they are reluctant to consume organic matter. I thought they might be of use to our work here should the results be unhelpful to their department.” Dr. Toshinori explains with a smile. 

Izuku flushes at his mistake but finds himself opening his mouth again anyway.

 

“A-ah that’s actually fascinating! Do they just go dormant when they approach non-ideal material? When you say ‘organic matter’ are you including naturally occurring elements or do you mean biological tissue? I didn’t know the Nightwing department was developing nanobots, and Amajiki-san was the one responsible? That’s so amazing, I just met him downstairs!” He finds himself talking almost directly to the coffee table by the end of his rambling, but Dr. Toshinori merely looks at him with a fatherly smile. 

 

“Yes, Dr. Sasaki’s research students are truly amazing young minds. Their research papers were wildly entertaining, I’ll let you read them sometime. But for now, let’s focus on OFA. I contacted a colleague of mine who might’ve given me the solution our little problem.” The older man slowly rises off the loveseat and walks steadily to the desk, past Izuku. “This was actually a prototype for something far different when I originally built it.” Dr. Toshinori begins quietly, before turning back around with a strange looking device in his hands.

Eight wire legs extended in three part segments on the sides of an oblong body. There was a round glowing node on the protrusion, and no matter how you looked at it… it was a spider. 

A black widow spider, to be specific.      

 

“It’s a… spider?” Izuku asks dumbly, unsure what the initial prompt for such a device had been, and what exactly it was now. 

 

“Ha, yes, that was the design inspiration, but the initial use for it was as a response receiver for nonverbal patients. This child loved arachnids and didn’t want something easy and boring like glasses. I thought the idea was really cool but unfortunately his parents didn’t agree. We settled on a watch with flames on it, I believe.” Chuckling, Dr. Toshinori approaches him and settles the device on the back of Izuku's neck. Each thin leg braces against the base of his skull and wraps around almost to his jaw. It sits snugly but not painfully along his spine. He turns his head in several directions, but it moves with him, the legs folding delicately to follow the softer flesh beneath them. 

 

“What does it do?” Izuku asks curiously, feeling the coolness of the metal slowly acclimate to his skin’s temperature. Dr. Toshinori hands him a set of silver earbuds that wrapped around Izuku’s head and click into the topmost legs of the device sitting flush against the nape of his neck. It isn’t uncomfortable, but it's a strange feeling, the cool metal brushing against his scalp and drawing a shiver from him.

 

“Pairing Required” comes a disembodied voice in his ear.

 

“Well originally it was a location tracking device and communicator that didn’t rely on voice activation. It was then adapted into a nonverbal personal assistant that would monitor the wearer's vitals and communicate one on one with a central hub where the student's aid could provide support without relying on auditory input.” Dr. Toshinori moves in front of him, adjusting the buds in Izuku’s ears with a click before moving his hands onto Izuku’s shoulders and looking him in the eye. 

 

“Pairing Initiated - UI Transfer Required” 

 

“However, after looking through your notebook today, I modified it. Now, my boy, it does so much more. The hub can send and receive alerts, connect to your phone, monitor environmental conditions, capture biometric data, record audio files, even triangulate geo-positioning data. All it needs now is an operating system, like OFA. I believe we can let OFA talk directly to you, through this.” The old man’s eyes are bright and hopeful when he says the last words. He holds up the flash drive that contains OFA in two slightly trembling fingers.

 

“What do I have to do to get it to answer me?” Izuku breathed, his eyes flickering to the open door, where Kacchan was working less than fifteen feet away. 

 

“Nothing, at the moment, but soon it should be able to understand you almost immediately. Take these down to the computer labs this evening and begin the data transfer, we can connect the system to the suit's existing interface. Your suit would allow you to access OFA directly, see everything you see, hear everything you hear, keep you safe, and respond to you, in kind.” The professor grins triumphantly before pointing at his notebook laying open on the desk. The line his finger points to is indicates a passage in Izuku’s own handwriting. It was more of a personal gripe than anything scientific or noteworthy.

‘I think I’d be more effective if I had someone to talk to, bounce ideas off of while I’m out. I mumble so much, but I wish I had a narrator or sidekick or something.’

Izuku feels the smile stretch across his face when Dr. Toshinori wraps a bony arm around his shoulders. 

 

“Let’s start the transfer.” 

 

“Foreign Device detected. Pair with SpyPen_01?” Comes the bored, monotone voice in his ear.

 

“Foreign device?” Izuku parrots with his eyebrows raised, looking down at Dr. Toshinori’s desk. And there it was, just under his nose. Poking out of the pencil cup ever so slightly was an old-fashioned spy pen.

A listening device. 

Someone had bugged Dr. Toshinori’s office.

His fingers shake a little as he plucks it from the cup, turning to Dr. Toshinori grimly. Understanding dawns on the older man’s face before his eyebrows drew in. He opened his mouth to ask a question but Izuku has other ideas. 

It takes very little effort to completely destroy the recorder in his palm. 

 

Whoever had been listening in definitely wasn’t going to be getting a signal any time soon.   

 

Chapter 17: A Promise to Protect

Summary:

Katsuki runs into a familiar face. Or two. Or three.

Notes:

Hi, all! Some changes were made to the final chapter count because I ended up breaking up some content so it wasn't ages long!

Your comments fuel me, and I can't wait to update againnn, already!

Katsuki tries to shake his blonde shadow, but she's faster than he thought humanly possible. Suddenly he’s being shoved into an alleyway, a short blade pressed against his neck.
The height difference is probably distantly funny, but he doesn’t feel like laughing at the moment.

Her blunt, sandy colored bangs obscure her features until she presses in closer, and the rapturous expression on her face makes him nauseous. He bares his teeth at the girl currently smiling dangerously only inches from his nose.

While Katsuki has recovered from knife wounds before, they weren’t fun, and he isn’t sure even his healing factor would compensate for having his throat slashed, so he remains still. His palms are held up, ready to break her ribs with his explosions if necessary. 
Normally Katsuki can’t say he often felt threatened, not by assailants a hundred pounds heavier, and far stronger than this tiny blonde girl. 
And yet, the look in her eye was definitely raising every alarm bell he possessed. 
She was dangerous. 

“It’s you again! I was hoping I’d see you again, handsome, but if you even THINK about touching a single curl on his pretty little head I will gut you like a fish.” Her voice is high pitched, almost childlike, but there isn’t a hint of hesitation in her tone, or in the slight press of the blade against his jugular. The threat is incredibly real, and Katsuki knows she isn’t just spouting bullshit, she means every word. He considers blasting a hole in her abdomen until the words actually register in his mind. 

“Wait, you think I want to hurt Deku?” He grunts out, trying not to jostle the cold metal biting into his Adams apple. He feels both the coolness of the metal, the burning pain of the laceration, and the blood welling from the shallow cut all at once. Katsuki did not want to kill one of Deku’s friends, but he would if he had to. 

“Deku? That’s an ugly nickname for my friend, I’d watch myself if I were you. One little slip is all it would take…” The knife slid a few inches down, the cut swooping further down his neck. 
The beads of blood pool and fall in tear-like tracts and pool in the hollow of his collarbones. The rivulets are hot as lava against the freezing night air. Katsuki can already tell that if her eyes left his for even a second, she would be able to see the wound closing. As it was, she seemed to have absolutely no intention of looking away from his eyes.  

“I’ve known Deku since we were brats, you psycho bitch.” Katsuki spits, and watches her eyes tighten in response. Her grin is unsettling, and Katsuki sees the glint of her teeth, her tongue licking slowly over them like a jungle cat.

“You should’ve come and said hi, then, if you’re really so close! I love meeting new friends, but I don’t think he’s ever mentioned a cutie like you before. You were staring at Zuzu-baby awfully hard, too. What are you really after, hmmmmm?” Her voice is lilting in a way that’s almost playful, but those topaz eyes promise violence if he answers incorrectly. 

“The nerd gets into trouble, he’s clumsy. Our mentor wants me to keep an eye on him.” Katsuki lies through his teeth, his lip curling in distaste. 

“I don’t believe you.” She sings, the blade sinking further into his throat, enough to make him grit his teeth against the searing pain. His palms are only sweaty enough for a few quick pops, not enough to really hurt her. Katsuki decides that’s for the best, and ignites them just enough to force her to back up and get the knife out of his fucking neck.
She flinches backward, but is only deterred for a second before she’s fighting to get back into his personal space. A mad lunge where he had been only moments before, causes the blade to make a metallic twang against the wall when he dodges.

“Hey, you crazy bitch! You go around stabbing people often?” He glares at her, his posture low as they circle one another.

“Only when they threaten my friends.” The blonde’s smile is so warped, it’s almost a grimace. Her movements are catlike, smooth and measured, like she’s toeing steps to a dance he doesn’t know the choreography to.  

“Good thing I’m not a threat to him, then. Gotta admit, I’m glad he at least has someone competent watching his back.” Katsuki grins, letting a few more sparks dance across his palms. 
Her eyes track the light, then flick back to his face, and again down to his neck before her gaze narrows. Her buns bounce a little when she suddenly pulls back out of her crouch with a curious expression. 

“That’s a neat little magic trick.” She nods at him, the blade in her own fingers still dripping crimson. He uses the back of his hand to try and wipe away the blood drying on the now unblemished column of his throat. He only really manages to smear the fluid up to his chin, but it’s obvious the wound is completely gone. 

“Comes in handy.” He deflects, drawing to his full height as well.  

“Who are you really, handsome?” The girl coos, swaying where she stood, falling back into the cute schoolgirl routine effortlessly. 

“Like I said. Childhood friends. That’s all you need to know.” Katsuki says with an unimpressed glower.
There’s something in the way she squints at him, her swaying faltering for just a single moment.

“I know a little something about childhood friends.” She says quietly, before her eyes are sharp and predatory again. “But I’d never stalk mine.” 
Katsuki finds himself gritting his teeth at the truth in her words. 

Fuck.

That is what he’s doing, isn’t it?
Following Deku around, sticking to the shadows, watching him, keeping tabs on him like a fucking stalker.  
Deku made it abundantly clear he wasn’t interested in talking to Katsuki after their argument earlier, and if Katsuki wasn’t a creep he would have just let it go. 
Let Deku cool down… but here he was, in an alley, acting suspicious enough that this girl thought Deku was in actual danger. 

That Katsuki was the danger.
That Katsuki would hurt Deku.
And hadn’t he already? Multiple times, actually. 
That’s why he was supposed to be keeping his distance, letting go. When did it change from staying away to staying close? How did he not realize it sooner? Is he that out of his mind?

“I… don’t even know why I’m doing this.” Katsuki sighs, his shoulders slumped with the breath he let out, and his chuckle was devoid of humor. He tilts his head up the sky, as if it could answer for him. 
It’s gotten late, later than he had thought. So focused on following his nerd, that he hadn’t realized they’d already been cast in shadow. No more sunlight bounces off the windows of the buildings around them, only the lampposts casting a hazy glow from the road. Cars pass occasionally, filling the alley with sudden flashes of light. 

Those golden eyes widen a bit, and her body language relaxes minutely to match his. The knife is gone, hidden somewhere in the pleats of her skirt or the sleeve of her sweater, Katsuki isn’t sure. Her smile is full of pity now and Katsuki almost misses the one that made her look insane.

“Sometimes we do crazy things for love.” Her voice is so low Katsuki almost misses it, and part of him wishes he had.

Love.

That’s the word he’s been avoiding for as long as he can remember. Avoiding the ramifications of accepting that he DID love Deku, and always had, probably. But it didn’t matter, because… 

“I don’t deserve to love him.” The words slip out of Katsuki’s mouth before he can consider the ramifications of them. This girl is a psycho, a stranger, and even if she was friends with Deku, that was even more reason to shut the hell up. 
He grits his teeth, his eyes falling to the disgusting concrete beneath him. 

“People like us never deserve people like them. The ones who are naturally soft and kind. They are just too cute, too precious and delicate for this ugly world. But I can be cruel enough for the both of us, if it keeps her safe.” Katsuki meets her eyes again and the weariness in her expression catches him off guard. 
There’s a companionship to the weight of her stare, like she can read him like a book, or speak his fucked up language. Katsuki wonders just how much she can relate to.

His obsession. His bloodthirst. His desire. His selfishness. His hatred. His rage. His want. His hope. His yearning. His cruelty. His love.
He swears he sees them all reflected back in her golden eyes. Someone just as broken as he was. Just as desperate to protect something vulnerable.
Something pure and good, where they were rotten and cruel.

“Is everything alright here, problem children?” Comes a drawl from the mouth of the alley. Katsuki had listened to that voice every day for four years, it would be impossible not to immediately recognize Aizawa’s cadence.

Shit. 

So much for not being recognized.

The teacher was standing with his arms folded across his chest, his face blank aside from one raised eyebrow. His long dark hair is ruffled by a breeze, and Katsuki feels himself shiver in the cold night air.

“S’fine, Sensei.” Katsuki says stiffly, nodding once.
Her little meatball hair buns droop to one side when she tilts her head, gaze flickering between Aizawa and Katsuki with a creepy smile.

“Uh huh! Oh, what did you say your name was, handsome?” Her eyes cut into him almost as sharply as her knife had.

“I didn’t, Fruit Bat.” Katsuki says over his shoulder, approaching Aizawa’s left side. He fights every instinct he has that tells him not to show the girl his back.  

“It’s unwise to wander around at night, especially in this cold. It’s illogical. Toga, I’m sure Jin is expecting you shortly. I’ll make sure Bakugou here gets home safely.” Aizawa says with a twitch of a smile, making Katsuki growl. If he wanted her to have his name he would have provided it his damn self.

What a dick.

“Oh boo, I guess I really should be heading back. Time flies when you’re having fun! Let’s dance again soon, yeah?” The girl, Toga apparently, giggled. 
She skips her way past Aizawa before shooting Katsuki a pointed look out of the corner of her eye.

“Don’t be a stranger, Baku-baby.” She says with that same wild grin before continuing to skip down the pavement. Katsuki watches her get lost in the crowd of salarymen returning home from their long days at the office and fights the urge to retch at the nickname.

“You’re covered in blood.” Aizawa says tonelessly, before turning back the way he’d come. “Let’s have a talk and get you cleaned up.” The man doesn’t even wait for a response before he’s shoving his hands in his pockets and walking back towards the League. 

Katsuki can’t help but feel this is a bad fucking idea, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. 

After all, it isn’t like he can take the train like this.  

“Tch, don’t tell me what to do.” Katsuki grumbles anyway, before following his old teacher.

 

---

The League isn’t packed tonight, but there’s definitely still more people in here than he feels comfortable with. Katsuki dips his head, hiding the mess on his neck and chest under his hood.
It’s somehow bright and dim at the same time, with colorful stage lights moving lazily across the walls and the music is lost under the chattering and laughter. 
The heat is admittedly a relief, Katsuki’s fingers ache with the cold.

He’d been outside for several hours waiting for Deku, and after his brush with the vampire girl, he hadn’t been thinking about the temperature.

Thankfully Aizawa doesn’t seem interested in milling about in the main room, because he doesn’t pause his stride before he’s already crossed the room. To the right is the bar and access to the kitchen, and he remembers the bathrooms being on the other side of the heavy purple curtain by the front.  

The door here is marked STAFF ONLY, but Aizawa pushes it open without much fanfare. Katsuki catches it before it swings shut in his face.
This room is much smaller than the main bar and lounge area. There’s a worn leather couch against the longer wall, a mini fridge in the corner, and big metal shelving against the far wall full of boxes, cups, and cleaning supplies.    

“You’re sloppy.” Aizawa says suddenly, rounding on him when the door shuts behind them. 

“Hah?!” Katsuki yells, his eyebrows furrowing immediately.

“You. Are. Sloppy.” Aizawa repeats in an almost bored tone. “I thought you were making progress, but clearly I was mistaken.” He raises a hand to gesture at Katsuki with disdain.

“What the fuck are you talking about, old man?” Katsuki growls, his knuckles turning white in his fists. 

He hated the way Aizawa always made him feel like a whiny little brat. 
When the lab exploded back in junior year, the other teachers had fawned over him and praised his luck for recovering so quickly, but Aizawa had torn him a new one for causing the blast in the first place. If the principal had allowed it, Katsuki might’ve been stuck in detention until graduation. 

“Language. Look, I cleaned up after you the first time, as a professional courtesy. You were hardly in a state to dispose of the body yourself, after all. But attacking a teenage girl in a dirty alley twenty feet away from her workplace, where her guardian works as well, is incredibly stupid even for you, Bakugou. I know I taught you better than that.” Aizawa sat on the couch with his hands steepled in front of him, observing Katsuki.  

Thoughts were whizzing in Katsuki's head so fast he thought he might be sick. 

Dispose of a body? Which body? Which time? 

As badly as he wanted to know the answers to these questions, he sure as hell was not going to admit to anything.

“I… I didn’t… I wasn’t… How did you…” God, he sounded like the nerd, stuttering and rambling like an idiot. He held his breath for several seconds before letting it out again. 
“Explain.” Despite the absolute hammering of his pulse and screaming in his skull, Katsuki stood tall and straight, his face a mask of indifference. 

“Your first kill. I was there, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember it. You were in shock, after all. I trust I don’t have to spell it out for you. You were one of my better students, and got that fancy mentorship, I’m sure you can keep up with the conversation.” His former teacher rolled his eyes but didn’t speak again, just settled further into the couch. 

Don’t admit to anything.

Deny, deny, deny.

Keep calm, nonchalant.

Don’t let him see you react.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.” Aizawa shrugged, as if he expected that response. 

“Now what I want to know is why you attacked one of my waitresses.” There was no question there, just a demand for information.  

“I didn’t attack her. She attacked me.” Katsuki corrected hoarsely, clenching his jaw tightly.

There was that arched eyebrow again. 

“Now why would she do that?” The question was loaded, might as well have been built out of dynamite and matchboxes, and Katsuki bristled at it just the same.

No way in hell was he about to unload the Deku of it all onto his old chemistry teacher. Even if he apparently mopped up after his first homicide.

“None of your business! Now cut the bullshit and get to the point. Why’d you drag me in here? You gonna hand me over to the cops?” Katsuki’s voice broke a little over the last few words, betraying him. 
Panic was seizing in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He looked over his shoulder at the door behind him, wondering if he could make it through the crowd and back outside before someone could physically stop him.

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” 
The words were said so quickly and with such disdain that Katsuki looked back at his teacher open mouthed.

Katsuki felt like he’d wandered into an alternate reality at some point. One where Deku refused to speak to him, where he went to gaybars and left with strangers. Where cutesy blondes were knife wielding psychopaths and his high school chemistry teacher was pro-murder.

“Why the hell not?!” Katsuki bellowed, finally losing the fine control he’d been feigning since Psycho Bitch threatened to slash his throat. He kept his hands closed tight, unwilling to reveal anything else tonight. It was bad enough that Blondie knew about his abilities, and now he wasn’t sure who he could rely on. 
Aizawa didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem to realize Katsuki had raised his voice at all.  

“Because I see no reason to.” Came the irritatingly vague reply. 

“And what do you know about any of this, hah?”

“I know that you’ll do whatever it takes to keep people safe. Even if that means getting your hands dirty to do it. Some might call that heroic. I’m sure the Yaoyorozu heiress you saved agrees with me.” Aizawa said simply, as if making a statement about the weather.

“You’re insane.” Katsuki growled, before starting to pace the length of the room. “That has to be it. You’ve huffed too many chemical fumes and gone fucking nuts.” His footsteps were the only notable sound in the room, besides the dull buzz of the music and socializing happening on the other side of the wall. 

“Calm down. I have no intention of reporting you to the authorities, nor do I have any reason to do so. We aren’t that different, Bakugou, and that’s why I decided to intervene. I trust you when you say you weren’t the one to instigate whatever happened in that alley, but I’m warning you now to stay away from Toga Himiko. She’s not your average waitress, which I’m sure you have figured out by now.” 
Katsuki continued to pace as Aizawa spoke, his hands winding in his own hair. Aizawa’s eyes lazily tracked his progress, like the world’s most boring version of Pong. 

“Yeah, I think I figured that out when she tried to slit my fucking throat in the street.” Katsuki suddenly stopped in his tracks, before whipping his head back around to his former teacher. “What is wrong with her and how do you know about any of this? How do you figure into ANY of this?”

“That’s not my story to tell. She’s had a difficult life, and learned to protect herself and others. That’s it. As for how I know, it’s because I’m the one who trained her. The same way I’m going to train you.” There was a smile dragging his lips up at the corners at Katsuki’s baffled expression. 

“Training? You’re gonna train me? To do what, work the fucking bar?” He scoffed, hissing the words as venomously as he could, but Aizawa didn’t take the bait.

“Train you to be the assassin you’ve been cosplaying as. One with skill, technique. I was hoping you’d learn the ropes on your own eventually, but quite frankly it's a miracle you haven’t already been arrested.” 
That hurt Katsuki’s pride a bit, but damn it all if he’s gonna let this bastard know that! He’s not ‘cosplaying’, he’s got at least double digit kills on his roster!

“Fuck you, I’ve done fine on my own! I’m great at what I do, and I don’t need some washed up high school teacher to coach me like this is JV baseball!” Katsuki screeched, his face flooding red in rage. 

“You have talent, sure, but that will only get you so far. The amount of blood on your neck tells me that if your lab accident hadn’t given you some kind of regenerative abilities, you’d have probably choked to death on your own blood out there. So clearly, my training has merit.” Aizawa points out, his voice never leaving that measured, calm tone. 
Katsuki sputters out garbled swears before grinding his teeth audibly.

What a pretentious bastard.

He had to admit, though, that girl almost had him. She was so fast, sneaking up on him like that. Katsuki knows that if she had continued to pursue him, he likely would have had to kill her to end that fight.

“Why do you even care? I’m not your student anymore.” The words are clawed from his chest, half-strangled through his anger.  

 “I lost someone I loved once, and I will never forgive myself for it. If passing along what I know helps save even one person, then that’s all that matters. Is that so hard to understand?” 

No, it wasn’t. 

Not at all.

Aizawa seemed to sense his agreement, despite his lack of reply. His former teacher smiled crookedly, before gesturing at the mini fridge with disinterest. 

“Grab a bottle of water from there, and some paper towels. We’ll get you clean enough to make it home. You don’t have to answer tonight. I’m sure it’s been a long day, you should go get some rest.” There was a warmth, a kindness hidden somewhere in the bored tone, like he could tell Katsuki was running on fumes.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” He grumbled under his breath, before doing exactly as Aizawa said.

 

---

The next morning had Katsuki staring with unseeing eyes up at his ceiling just as the sun began to rise.

Katsuki ground the heels of his palms into his eyes to make the pressure behind them go away. It did not work. 

Seeing that sleep was obviously a lost cause, Katsuki began his morning routine, including his run. 

He had stayed up all night thinking about the altercation with that girl, and the subsequent one with Aizawa-sensei. 
When thinking about all that had transpired in the few short hours of the evening began to give him a migraine, he had pivoted back into research mode. 

The investigation into the most recent fire was fairly straightforward. On the night he had seen that Half n Half bastard running like a bat out of hell, another building went up in smoke. According to the official report, this building was also set on fire intentionally. Thankfully, an anonymous tip was called in and the flames were handled relatively quickly. 

No injuries, no deaths, no problems. 

This was the second building to be set on fire in less than a week. Apparently it used to be an old community center. Back in the day, low-income families used it as an alternative for expensive after-school programs, and the accessibility of the building made it ideal for disabled kids to utilize facilities that weren’t often available elsewhere.  Interestingly, several of the programs and classes were sponsored by none other than the Tokyo Police Department up until its sudden closure.

The city had decommissioned it around seven years ago, stating that they didn’t have the budget to maintain the building, despite it being in reasonably decent condition. There were petitions to keep it open, and the community raised concerns about where they were going to send their young delinquents. 

Another community center was opened to “replace” its functions, but this Community Center ended up being built in Shibuya, of all places. Too far for most, and too expensive a neighborhood to support the same kind of kids who patronized the old one. Looks like the poor kids weren’t exactly high priority, because to this day, no other alternatives were approved for that neighborhood.  

If he just so happened to run by that burnt down Community Center, that was his own business. 
So what if it took longer than usual, he had plenty of time. 

Of course, as much as Katsuki was interested in cracking the case, at the end of the day it was just a charred building.

Though most of it was still blocked off, there were no guards to prevent trespassers from ignoring the stupid little signs and flimsy plastic tape. For Katsuki, they weren’t exactly a challenge to get past. 
Most of it was blackened inside, and Katsuki was careful to step around the debris and crumbling structures. Several of the doors in the hall were open to empty classrooms, similarly smoke stained and ruined. It was obvious where the fire began, one of the rooms at the West end of the building, where the damage was significantly worse.

There was practically nothing left.

Katsuki couldn’t take more than two or three steps inside without the floor beginning to cave in underfoot. 

It wasn’t until he opened a set of double doors at the far East end of the hall that he found anything of note. 

The metal doors had apparently kept out the worst of the flames on the other side of the building, though it was not in spectacular condition even before the fire. There was a hole in the roof, which had let the elements in to tarnish the floors and walls. It must have been a gymnasium at some point, much wider and taller than the surrounding rooms and halls had been. Mildew hung heavy in the air, to the point Katsuki held a hand over his nose to keep the damp air out of his nostrils. He almost turned and left immediately until a something on the ground by the doors caught his attention. 

It was a cigarette, or most of one, at least. 

His first thought was to ignore it, dismiss it as left behind by someone unrelated to the arson, but its condition was strangely immaculate. It had only been burnt part way, snuffed out early. While the rest of the room was damp and muggy, a wetness blanketing the room, the cigarette was still dry. Still pristine white too.  

So it hadn’t been here very long. It could have been left behind by the firefighting crew, but something about that seemed unlikely. 
It might’ve been ridiculous, but Katsuki found himself collecting it just in case. 

There were bulletin boards on the walls of the upper floors, but all the contents had burnt up in the initial flames, only the metal boards and blackened cork remained. After that, there really wasn’t much else to see. More ruined classrooms with mangled furniture or piles of debris. 

Katsuki left the way he came in, carefully stepping over the barricades before continuing on his run. He jogged in place at the light, waiting for the pedestrian crossing, when a familiar stupid dye job caught his attention. Lucky for Katsuki that Half n Half had such awful fashion sense, because it was almost too easy to pick him out of a crowd.

Red and white hair, split perfectly down the middle, was bobbing through a sea of dark hair on the other side of the street. Katsuki watched him duck into a small bakery, and found himself pretending to tie his shoes for several minutes. 

While he did have a non-zero amount of guilt for following the nerd around without his permission, this fucker was Katsuki’s primary suspect.

It would be irresponsible not to keep tabs on Candy Cane, really. 

It didn’t take long for his nemesis to re-emerge from the shop, a ridiculous looking carrier box in his hands. It was bright yellow, matching the awning above the door. 
Keeping his distance, Katsuki trailed slowly after his mark for almost twenty long minutes, until Half n Half approached what was likely an absurdly expensive apartment building. Looks like he found out where the youngest Todoroki heir laid his stupid ass head at night. Katsuki loitered for a while, until that same stupid hair popped out of a balcony on one of the upper floors. Katsuki counted up to the sixth floor, second from the left. 

He could see the bastard holding that piss-yellow bakery box before turning on his heel to look back into his apartment. From this distance he couldn’t make out facial expressions, but that wasn’t what got his blood boiling, necessarily. The fluffy green curls that followed behind certainly did. 

What was Deku doing at Half n Half’s apartment at… he looked at his watch pointedly, six in the goddamn morning? 
Did he stay the night? How often was that a thing? Did they sleep together? On a school night, really? 
There was something squirming around in his guts at the idea of Deku staying for breakfast for Shouto-motherfucking-Todoroki and not him.

Not that Katsuki cared, of course, but if Deku was too busy getting dicked down to pay attention to his mentorship Katsuki was going to tear him a new asshole. 

Don’t think about his asshole, right now, Katsuki. 

Or ever again, actually. 

Katsuki cast one more glare upward, before shaking himself out of a particularly pleasant daydream about throwing that rich little extra off his own balcony. 
After all, now that he knew where the bastard lived, he could return to investigate more thoroughly. 

Chapter 18: A Promise to be Careful (Plus One More)

Summary:

Izuku's visit to the League, introduction to OFA, and a rainy night in the city.

Notes:

Woof, this was wayyyy longer than I intended it to be, so it took an extra day, sorry!
There's a few more Easter Eggs buried in here, and some plot begins to thicken.

UPDATE: For some reason the links to the text message threads keep breaking, and I haven't been able to find an image hosting site that makes them stick around properly. I'll be removing these links and inserting the text bubbles manually so nothing gets lost. Sorry, guys! As an apology, here is the art for the chapter! https://www.tumblr.com/theironicalthanalogist/781051211605573632/working-on-dynamic-posing-this-is-art-for-my?source=share

 

I think the Full Story I have planned is a bit overkill, so once we've gotten our "Happy Ending" for these two dorks, there will be a sequel set after this, as well as a few oneshot POVs from some of our supporting cast (homosexual or otherwise). I may have immersed myself too heavily in this universe.
Whoops.

Please yell at me in the comments, I'm dying to see what you have to say!

Despite utter exhaustion and every nerve in his body telling him that he was being followed, Izuku honors his agreement with Toga and heads to the station after leaving the suit to update in the lab overnight. He feels strangely naked without it, in a way he hadn’t before the fire. 

He desperately wants to go back to the dorms and finally faceplant into his own bed, but Izuku finds himself on the train, leaning his head onto the divider by the door instead. 

 

Focus.

Someone bugged Dr. Toshinori’s office. 

Who would do that?

Who even could?

He knows from personal experience that the school’s auto-locks are definitely working as intended, so it has to be someone with daytime access. Between Dr. Toshinori, Kacchan, and Izuku’s own research, someone was constantly in the lab or the office every day during the week, occasionally over the weekend, too. They would have noticed someone sneaking in, wouldn’t they? Someone that shouldn’t be there?

So the culprit must be someone they trust, someone with credentials?

The office was rarely unattended for long, except perhaps during the break where they weren’t meeting. 

When Izuku was out “sick”. 

When else would someone have had the opportunity?

Oh, so this was his fault.

 

Dammit. 

Focus, Izuku. 

Agonize about your blame after you figure out who actually committed the crime of leaving that bug in the first place.

 

He has to figure this out. 

Was this the work of the man Dr. Toshinori feared was after OFA?

Just imagining some faceless villain slipping in without them knowing was terrifying enough, but to leave a listening device…  

What did they overhear? 

All their discussions about OFA?

About his suit?

How long had they been listening?

 

Luckily there's a cough from a passerby that brings Izuku out of his thoughts at that moment, because he nearly missed his stop completely. 

It’s strange to follow the familiar sidewalk towards the League after so long. Over the years, he used to come to the bar fairly often, especially since Toga started waitressing there. In fact, Izuku visited enough to be recognized as a ‘regular’ by his third year. Izuku used to drop Ochako off often so the two of them could have impromptu ‘dates’ while he patrolled the neighborhood. 

Sometimes he waited around the bar, Toga always gave him a juice or soda while he waited, people-watching or reading comics in the corner booth. After a while though, Izuku felt he was being watched by the staff so his visits became a bit less frequent, and since college had officially begun he simply hadn't had the time. Now, in his very limited free time, he finds himself walking the streets patrolling. Of course, he did that a lot back then too, practicing skateboarding or exploring the other nearby cities or districts.  

Sometimes Hitoshi would tag along and they’d parkour through unfamiliar cityscapes and end up in the strangest situations. 

Like the time they ended up crashing headfirst into a delivery for a sex shop in Ketsubutsu! One moment they're racing through a back alley and the next thing he knows, there's frilly lacy things flying everywhere. He remembers they had spent nearly thirty minutes apologizing and chatting with the owner. As part of that apology they helped unload the rest of the truck for her, and Ms. Fukukado even sent them home with condoms, much to their embarrassment. 

There was also the time Hitoshi had stumbled off his board in Meiji Park, and it shot out from underneath him. Old Man Torino had dashed after it, faster than they’d ever seen the older man move, before it could roll into the street! 

He wonders if Mr. Nishiya had plucked up the courage to ask his coworker, Ms. Takeyama, out yet or finally reported her to HR. They used to be his favorite real-time reality show, and guilty pleasure. The two were office workers at some firm, and on fair-weather days they often had lunch on the roof of their building, just across from one of Izuku’s favorite convenience stores in Yokohama. The roof across from theirs is a little taller and has a lovely view of the bay, so it almost felt like watching a real life j-drama in birds eye view. Her long blonde hair catching in the wind, his blush being the only indication her raunchy words had any effect on the stoic man, at all. 

The first few times he really wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop, he swears. Ms. Takeyama is just a very… vocal person, and has a larger than life personality. Half the words out of her mouth are some form of innuendo or flirty quip. Her coworker, Mr. Nishiya, however, is the opposite. Probably one of the most guarded people he’s ever seen. One of his best friends is Shouto Todoroki, so he knows about expressionless people, okay, but Mr. Nishiya might as well be wearing one of those old carved wooden masks, never a twitch in his expression. His voice is always low and smooth, though he occasionally raises his voice in exacerbation with Ms. Takeyama’s forwardness. 

Now that Izuku’s hearing has improved, he’ll finally get to hear what the man says in response to Ms. Takayama’s flirtatious comments. Before, Izuku could only ever catch a word here or there when he wasn’t audibly scolding her. 

But still, he showed up for lunch every day without fail. 

Last time he had seen them it was freezing cold and snowing. Mr. Nishiya had arrived later than usual. Enough so that Ms. Takeyama, with snowflakes gathering in her tresses, was just about to leave the rooftop when Mr. Nishiya suddenly burst through the door, two steaming hot chocolates in hand. 

 

Huh.

 

Izuku looks up at the sky, the brisk wind biting into his nose, as he tries to remember today's date. 

 

It's definitely December right now, isn't it? But he’s certain the last time he saw the two was that snowy day, so that means it must’ve been last winter, maybe?

Had it really already been a year since then? Now that he thinks about it, it does feel like it's been forever since Izuku actually went out and experienced the city. 

Admittedly Izuku hasn’t been patrolling that much recently, since he's been so busy. He spent more time out when he was a first-year, even if he was oftentimes stuck healing from random wounds that might put him out of commission for a few weeks or months. Ochako's nurse skills were definitely a blessing, but even they couldn't magically heal his wounds overnight.

Between preparing for University and the mentorship, rebuilding some of his gadgets for the suit, the prom fiasco, and escorting Ochako to the bar for date nights, he had been especially busy last year. 

 

Not that he regretted the time he had spent with his friends. 

In fact, he treasured that more than ever now. 

 

Izuku’s friends often felt extremely far away these days. Sure, he had Sho, and he could probably strong arm Toshi into a hang out if he really wanted to, but now that they were all in college and everyone had changed locations, it seems harder than ever to really talk with everyone.

 

That’s why he’s so worried about whatever Toga has to tell him.

What could she possibly want to tell him that couldn't be done over text?

Why was Ochako being kept in the dark about it?

Izuku trusts Toga, and he has to keep reminding himself of that, or he'd just worry himself into another stomachache.

The blonde in question is busy taking an order when Izuku finally pushes the door open, the bell tinkling and announcing his arrival. He catches her wink in his direction before she continues with another customer, so he stands off to the side, surveying the room. It’s a bit early for the real bar crowd, but Jin’s food always brings out some of the early birds excited for the dinner menu so it’s not completely empty. People mill around a bit, though Izuku doesn’t immediately recognize any of the faces he sees beyond the employees.

The DJ is setting up in the corner, his long blonde hair pulled back from his face. Mic is nice, he supposes, but very loud. Izuku feels like he can never get a word out when that guy strikes up a conversation. 

 

“Zuzu, you came!” Toga calls from the other side of the counter, her smile wide and flirtatious. “I missed you! You’re too busy to keep me entertained anymore, that’s no fair!” She pouts, the perfect picture of shoujo cuteness, before the smile creeps back again.  

 

Izuku smiles back and comes closer, but doesn’t immediately sit down. He isn’t sure if this is a quick visit or not, and doesn’t want to distract his friend at work.

 

“Of course, I came! I told you I would. I’ve been kinda busy with my mentorship, so I’m sorry for not visiting sooner... Now what’s going on and why can't you tell Ochako about it?” Izuku asks seriously, drumming his fingers across the bar top impatiently. 

He absolutely hates the idea of keeping secrets from his friends, especially since he has enough of those already. Izuku can safely say that nobody was more firmly in Ochako’s corner than Toga was, so if she's keeping things hush-hush, it must be something serious.

 

“It’s not about hiding anything, Zuzu, you’re so dramatic! Poor thing just has her first volunteer shift at the free clinic tonight, and it's a double. Another nurse’s strike, and instead of paying them what they’re worth, the damn hospital is pulling nurses-in-training to cover in the meantime!” She throws up her hands to illustrate the absurdness of such a decision. 

 

Izuku just nods mutely, and finally fully sits on a stool to his left before indicating to her to go on. He also makes a mental note to go check on Ochako soon. She’s a first-year student nurse, there’s absolutely no reason she should be doing anything within the hospital at all.  

In fact that sounds super illegal. 

 

“‘Chako-baby is going to be dead on her feet if she even remembers she has a phone. So I didn’t wanna stress her out even more, yknow? But YOU, Zuzu, you can help a cute girl out, can’t ya?” The blonde leans over the counter at the last bit, bringing their faces closer together.

 

It’s been awhile since Izuku felt actually afraid of Himiko Toga but it really sneaks up on him sometimes.

The way she looks at him like he’s something to eat.

Maybe it’s her eyes? 

Her smile? 

Her teeth? 

Her aura? 

Whatever it is, she just has this unnerving quality in everything she says and does. Even though there’s never been anything more nefarious in her behavior than Ochako’s own silly pranks, she just rubs people the wrong way. Izuku often feels bad for letting that affect the way he treats her.

So what if she's creepy? Tsu was creepy sometimes, and he loved them!

It's about being a good friend. He wasn’t much better than Ochako’s parents if he always thought the worst of the other girl over something she couldn’t even control.

  

“I’ll do whatever I can, Toga-chan, of course. What’s going on?” Izuku asks again softly, settling into the bar stool with his cheek resting on his fist. He could hear her easily despite the general noise of the bar, and her relatively quiet speaking voice. 

 

“I know you get out and about more than people think, Zuzu baby, and so does Shiggy. He’s a reporter, even made a decent name for himself as some kind of ‘pursuer of justice’ or whatever. Always talking like some video game otaku.” She rolls her eyes, and begins chopping lemons on the prep side. She waves the paring knife around as she speaks, but if the easy way it slices through the fruit is any indication, it’s far too sharp to be handled so casually.

 

“Oh, so he’s with the press. What does he want with me? Toshi said he hounded him for my info at the party the other night. Speaking of, we missed you. Sorry you had to work.” He tries to keep his tone light, because at the end of the day, Toga is his friend. As terrified as he is, he knows that if she knew he was the mysterious vigilante all over the news, there’s no way she would have let a reporter anywhere near him. 

 

Maybe it’s about something completely different and his anxiety is getting to him?

Where was the line between paranoia and instinct, again?

There’s no way some random reporter knows his secret identity, right? But why else would the press want to talk to him?

What kind of reporter hung around college parties anyways?

 

Toga smiles at him almost dangerously, before shaking her head as if to dismiss his worries. 

 

“Chako-baby gave me the low down, don’t worry. I heard ALL about you and some blondie getting hot and heavy on the dancefloor, so don’t think you’re getting out of spilling the beans, but this is sort of important so raincheck the girltalk?” Izuku tries not to flinch away when she points the knife at him in a mock-threat. He nods amiably, but Izuku knows he has no intention of saying a word about Kacchan to her, especially not here. 

 

He should’ve known Ochako was keeping an eye on him, even as drunk as she was. For all he knows she and Mina had been watching them like hawks. Izuku wouldn’t have noticed either way, as caught up in Kacchan as he had been. The thought brings heat to his cheeks.

He definitely wants to grill Toshi about what happened between him and Kaminari later. He can’t believe he forgot to ask Shouto about Sero last night, too. 

Damn, he's been such a bad friend lately, ghosting all his support system like that.

It’s like the second Kacchan enters his field of vision everything else just disappears! 

 

Plus, the fires and superhero stuff. 

He guesses those last two could be valid reasons to have put his friendships to the side, but that’s no excuse for not reaching out. 

 

“Nowadays the guy definitely doesn’t look like some hotshot reporter. Could definitely use some moisturizer and probably an antipsychotic, always talking out loud to himself, but the guy’s got dirt on pretty much everyone. Shiggy’s been helping gather info for our case. To be honest, I’d appreciate picking your brain too, if that’s okay?” She bats her eyelashes at him, clasping her hands in prayer around the knife. Toga leans in closer when he nods, her hands falling back to the bar top. Izuku mirrors her, his own scarred palms resting on the bar. The lacquered wood is impossibly smooth, maybe a little sticky, and like an intrusive thought, Izuku remembers burning smooth fingertips ghosting up his skin.

Izuku shakes the thought away when Toga begins speaking.  

 

“A… friend, let’s say, went missing a few months back. Not mine, but Jin’s. This guy was helping Jin with the paperwork to get the government off his back. Without him, Jin never could’ve fostered or adopted me, what with him being a felon and his medical records, all that stuff. Luckily, I’m eighteen now and there’s nothing they can do to remove me… but Jin’s in the doghouse with his parole officer now, since it’s obvious the papers were forged. Now the police are threatening to arrest him, and it’s a total drag.” Despite her cheerful cadence, and matter-of-fact delivery, it’s obvious Toga’s more worried than she initially seems. 

While he hasn’t been talking much to his friends lately, Ochako had briefly mentioned Toga going through some issues with the courts following her adoption, though Izuku had no idea it was this serious.  

Golden eyes stare straight into his, though her hands continue slicing without pause. It’s both vaguely threatening, and simultaneously concerning. Izuku is worried she’ll cut herself unintentionally or him, on purpose, if he moves too quickly. Izuku slowly reaches out one of his hands as if to stop her, but just lets it hover instead of reaching into her space. He’s mildly worried about getting stabbed if he did.

 

“Toga-chan, that’s awful! I’m sorry you and Jin are going through that. What can I do to help?” He asks his friend gently, and her movements thankfully grind to a stop. 

 

“Well just getting you here was all I needed, really. Shiggy just wanted to talk to you, in exchange for helping us out. So did Sensei, actually, the owner. Don’t worry, I’m keeping my eye on you, so don’t panic, I’m not leaving you to the sharks. I’m not sure why the boss wants to see you, honestly. Probably trying to get you to talk some sense into Shinsou-kun. Other than that, I kinda just wanted a friend to talk to? I really did miss you, Zuzu, and Chako is worried about you, like, all the time. You kinda disappear randomly.” Toga wipes the counter of lemon juice, and doesn’t meet his eyes until the last few sentences.  

 

“So you just wanted me to show up? Wait, did you say Hitoshi? What does your boss want with him? Or me? Why does everyone want to talk to ME of all people?” Izuku asks exasperated, his eyebrows furrowing. She opens her mouth to respond before her eyes flick past him, Izuku follows her gaze over his right shoulder to see a table raising their hands to get service.  When he turns back around, Toga is returning their wave with a big smile. 

 

“Give me a sec, and see what he wants first.” Toga gives Izuku a pointed look to his left, and tilts her head towards someone behind him before running off. 

 

“Look who’s no longer AFK! We’re glad you came out to play.” There’s a strange tone in the voice, like two people were speaking simultaneously. 

 

All of a sudden, that ‘dangerous’ feeling skitters down his spine, like cold water trickling through his vertebrae.

He hadn’t heard a single footstep approaching, even with his sensitive ears.

Like a ghost had walked up behind Izuku.

 

Turning to look, he sees what Toga meant before about the guy’s appearance. He looks like any other college student at first, except maybe with worse personal hygiene. He’s probably only in his early twenties, but his skin is paper thin and dry, itchy looking, with webs of veining visible in places where the skin is taut. His lips look painfully chapped, and the whites of his eyes are bloodshot. He’s in a hoodie and jeans, and his icy blue hair hangs in loose tendrils in front of his face. He doesn’t brush them away.

That feeling does not go away, if anything it buzzes louder in his ears. 

 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we’ve met, who are you again?” Izuku asks with a curious tilt to his head. He definitely hasn’t seen this guy before, he would remember if he had. 

 

Izuku knows down to every cell in his body that this guy is dangerous. Something sinister pours from him, he’s oozing it out of every pore. Izuku fights to keep his expression polite. 

 

"Tomura Shigaraki, or that’s my pen name at least. The real name is Tenko Shimura, but you can call me Shiggy. Just a fellow player who has information that might help you in your quest, little hero.” Shigaraki rasps with a grin, before he slowly unzips his large hoodie. As the zipper drags down, it reveals a manilla envelope pressed against his abdomen. 

 

Izuku tentatively takes the offered envelope, recoiling internally at the fact that it's warm in his hands. He bends the tongue out to see the documents within without fully removing them from the sleeve.

 

There are many things in here that worry Izuku.

First, there’s a full personnel file on Keigo Takami, otherwise known as Deputy Hawks: Captain Todoroki’s right hand man. Flicking through the pages, he sees that there’s actually two copies of this report, though one has swaths of information censored with black bars through the text. Tucked in the back is a print out of a still from a security camera feed. 

It’s blurry and hazy, the contrast printing only able to make out vague shapes. If Izuku squints he can make out what appears to be two boys sneaking in through a back door, their faces hard to make out in the dark. Luckily the one on the left is already labeled as Deputy Hawks.

Next comes another file, thinner than the first, this one is labeled “Giran”.

Like the other dossier on the Deputy, this one also has redacted information, with black lines scratching out chunks of information. There is no unedited copy behind this one, but there is a paperclipped photograph of Toga and Jin to this file, but much younger than he’d ever seen them. Toga looks maybe eleven or twelve at the most, with no trace of her trademark mischievous smile. Toga's cute little face is pinched up in a grimace. She stands a little further from Jin than polite, and his scar looks much more puckered and red than he remembers. In contrast to Toga, Jin has an exuberant smile, a bundle of balloons in his hands. 

Izuku’s heart aches for the little girl in this picture, so distrustful of the love Jin had available to her even in the beginning. 

 

There’s another folder of documents and photographs, too. A short newspaper article detailing the mystery killings in Tokyo over the last few years. A collection of crime scene images. 

As he flips through them, he holds his breath. Several bodies are photographed in alleyways, many brutalized beyond recognition, though some still have recognizable facial features under the mess. He recognizes one of them as the man from the Giran file. There’s a map of the area marked in maybe a dozen little orange X’s, and if Izuku had to hazard a guess, he assumes they symbolize where bodies were found. 

There are also several high quality photos of Izuku in his suit. Thankfully he’s masked, but there’s sequential shots of him climbing up the building during the first fire. There’s also a less overt image of his silhouette on a rooftop taken from hundreds of feet away taken later that night. If he’s not mistaken, they’d have to be taken when he went to pick up Shouto. 

Someone has been paying an awful lot of attention to his comings and goings lately.

None of these items are anything he could have expected, and quite frankly he has no idea what half of them mean. 

They don’t suggest anything good, that’s for sure.

The envelope is being removed from his hands before he can say a word in response, but thankfully his reflexes allow him to keep a tight grip on it. It must be obvious on his face that he doesn’t intend to let go, because Shigaraki rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh. 

 

“Oh, relax. You don’t have to commit them to memory. I have a flash drive already scanned and ready for you. Maybe you’ll see something we missed.” Shigaraki’s voice is condescending and smug, making Izuku want to yank the folder back on principle. Something tells him that would be a mistake, though, so incrementally Izuku’s fingers loosen, the envelope sliding out of his fingers. Shigaraki presses it against himself once more before zipping the hoodie back up. If Izuku hadn’t seen it for himself, he’d never imagine something was hidden underneath.

What else was Shigaraki hiding under his shroud of black? What darkness lurks underneath his paper white skin?

 

“Why did you show me that? Where did you get those? What am I supposed to be looking for exactly?” Izuku questions, trying to make out the other man’s facial expressions, hidden by the curtain of oily strands. 

 

 “As you can see, some of this information is quite… sensitive. I can’t reveal any of my sources, or have anything falling into the wrong hands. I’m sure you, of all people, can understand why discretion might be necessary in my line of work. While we find all of this terribly fascinating, I’m sure you’ll make better use out of it than we will, Izuku Midoriya. Kill Stealing is bad form, and we’re gearing up for the Boss battle.” Shigaraki chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. 

 

It’s not as endearing as the other man believes it is.

 

Absolutely none of Izuku’s questions were answered, and every word out of this guy’s mouth made him even more uneasy. He didn’t trust Shigaraki as far as he could throw him, and Izuku bet that was actually pretty damn far if he really tried.

 

“Is everything alright over here?” Comes a bored voice from behind Shigaraki. Izuku recognizes the man as the owner, Aizawa, with his dark hair loose around his tired looking face. His stubble is visible from here, and his bored eyes flick between Shigaraki and Izuku in suspicion. 

 

“Just a friendly conversation, Eraser. No need to worry.” The grin on Shigaraki’s face is strange, like he’s truly excited to see the other man. 

 

The owner’s eyes narrow, and his voice is cold as ice when he replies: “The name is Aizawa. You must have me mistaken for someone else, kid.” 

 

“Right, of course, where are my manners? You’re really just so cool, you know. I’ll catch up with you later, Midoriya, I have a few questions to ask Toga anyways.” He doesn’t even look in Izuku’s direction before backing away, his eyes locked on the older man, instead. 

Once he’s a few paces away, he turns on his heel, his red converse squeaking as he does so. Izuku can hear him talking to himself, even from this distance. 

 

“Yes, love, I’m aware. He’s just so cool, I couldn’t help myself.” Izuku makes a face at his retreating back, until Shigaraki slides into one of the booths pressed against the far side of the room. 

Izuku thinks he sees a flicker of something dark and formless, by Shigaraki’s hand before he’s waving at Toga from his seat. She nods in his direction, acknowledging him, before running a tray of drinks to another table.

Did he just imagine that?

 

“Everything okay? I can have him kicked out if necessary.” Aizawa says quietly, still looking in the direction Shigaraki sat, who is now playing on a handheld console. 

 

“N-no. Everything is fine. Thanks for checking in though!” Izuku tries to smile reassuringly, but Aizawa doesn’t seem convinced. 

 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time, Midoriya. Come with me, so we can speak in private.” Before Izuku can respond, Aizawa is already padding away towards a door that says “STAFF ONLY”. 

Izuku is kind of tired of people telling him what to do and then just walking off, assuming he’ll follow them. 

It’s rude. 

He follows anyway though, and catches Toga’s eyes as they pass. She smiles at him cheerfully, which makes him feel slightly better. He’s a bit frustrated that she lured him here, but after seeing the documents Shigaraki had on him, he’s glad she did. Those documents could help shed some light on a few key players in this city. 

The room beyond the door is far less interesting than he’d hoped it would be. It must be some kind of break room / storage room combo. 

 

“I’ll make this quick. Have you seen Shinsou lately?” Aizawa’s voice is monotone, his arms folding across his chase.   

 

“A few days ago. Why?” Izuku responds automatically, not providing any specific details. He doesn’t know this man, and while Izuku doesn’t feel that cloying sense of danger from Aizawa, his aura suggests the other man is not just your average small business owner.

 

While the chances of the dark-haired man killing him or kidnapping Hitoshi feel far-fetched, there's something about the owner that makes Izuku cautious. 

 

“That’s disappointing. He hasn’t been seen in several days, and we are getting worried about him.” Izuku frowned, his own concern spiking in his chest, before remembering the texts from earlier this afternoon. Hitoshi was just fine a few hours ago, so if he was avoiding Mr. Aizawa, he must have a reason. 

 

“Can I ask why you’re looking for him?” Izuku asks politely, his fingers fidgeting in front of him. 

 

“He hasn’t been home in several days, which is abnormal.” Aizawa answers seriously, hardly even blinking as he observes Izuku impassively.

 

“Home?” Izuku parrots with a tilt to his head.

 

So Aizawa explains a bit more about his involvement with Hitoshi Shinsou. 

The 'radio program' Hitoshi had snagged was something a bit more personal than Izuku had initially assumed.

Mic, the DJ from earlier, was actually Aizawa's partner, and when he wasn't moonlighting at the League, he was Mr. Yamada, the chair for the journalism department at Hitoshi’s school.

Mic and Aizawa tend to keep their relationship somewhat private, or at the very least an open secret. They'd attempted to be foster parents and were denied based on their same-sex relationship. Izuku isn't exactly surprised, given how traditional and conservative Japan was, but it still bothers him. Since they couldn't legally host any minors, they'd decided to come up with a loophole.

They designed a scholarship, pivoting to low income non-minor students that could use their assistance, instead. 

Hitoshi has been staying with Aizawa and Mic, in their spare bedroom, as part of his scholarship award since the beginning of the semester. In the meantime, Hitoshi has been shadowing Mic, learning about the broadcasting industry. He works part-time at their University's radio station, where Mic remains the faculty advisor.

However, his friend hasn't shown up to his shifts the past few days, and he hasn't been answering his phone either.  

Izuku is a bit hurt, to tell the truth. 

While he had definitely been busy lately, they have still seen each other several times in the last few months, and he hasn’t heard about any of this from Hitoshi, himself. He’d been strangely quiet, actually. Outside of a few hushed late night phone calls, getting clocked by Shouto, and DJing at the party, Hitoshi might as well have been a ghost these past few months.

Given the awkwardness that still lingered after the rejection, Izuku hadn't thought about it too much. The signs had been there, but Izuku had been too preoccupied (or guilty) to pry. 

 

“That wasn’t the only thing I wanted to talk to you about, Midoriya.” Aizawa’s gravelly voice is quieter now than it had been before, and it has Izuku sitting up straighter. 

 

“Yes, sir?” 

 

“I know about your extracurricular activities. I want to be sure you’re being logical about it. I saw the news.” Despite the vague words, ice forms in Izuku’s veins. 

 

Wow, does everyone in this city know his secret identity or something? Apparently Izuku totally sucks at keeping this under wraps.

 

“I… don’t know what you could be referring to, Mr. Aizawa.” Izuku said slowly, enunciating his words and treading carefully.

 

“Sure you don’t.” Aizawa scoffs, but there’s a soft smile on his lips. “Look, I don’t plan on making things harder for you. Sometimes it’s just nice to know someone has your back, that’s all. Be careful. You’re being watched by many pairs of eyes now. Most aren’t a threat, but that doesn’t mean there’s no reason to be wary.” 

Izuku isn’t sure what to say to that. Aizawa seems to notice, because he continues after a few beats of silence.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything reckless. If you need help, reach out. You don’t have to do everything alone.” The words are said in the gentlest tone Izuku has heard tonight, almost pleadingly. Aizawa’s face is the same as it was, sour and almost haggard, if not just a little softer around the eyes. 

 

“I p-promise.” Izuku stutters out hesitantly and Aizawa smiles a rare toothy grin.

 

“Run along now, problem child. And let me know if you hear back from Hitoshi, if you don’t mind.” Izuku nods, and makes a beeline for the main lounge area. 

 

His phone is out of his pocket before his ass even hits the seat.

---

 

Izuku: hey, the owners at the League are looking for you (·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ )

Izuku: have you really been living with them for months and just not told me? (╥‸╥)

Toshi: shit

Toshi: i was going to tell you, i swear. it's just rlly complicated rn

Toshi: sorry  (╥_╥) don't be mad

Izuku: Oh no you're not getting off the hook that easy! I don't forgive you just yet. First things first, why are you avoiding them? (¬_¬")💢

Toshi: i'm not. 

Toshi: I'll give them a call here soon. I've just been crashing somewhere else for a couple days, is all. 

Izuku: and WHERE pray tell, are you exactly? ( ,,⩌'︿'⩌,,)

Toshi: ...

Toshi: promise u won't freak out

Izuku: I MAKE NO SUCH PROMISES (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ you had better be safe, Toshi or I swear

Toshi: calm down

Toshi:... I'm at Kaminari's place, it's not a big deal

Izuku: !!! TOSHI!!! you slut!!! I need all the details immediately. (˶°ㅁ°)!!

Toshi: shut up, i don't kiss and tell, Zu

Izuku: you just did!!! omg have you been there since the party??? Naughty naughty ৻(  •̀ ᗜ •́  ৻)

Toshi: ... i plead the 5th

Toshi: (⸝⸝⸝╸▵╺⸝⸝⸝)

Izuku: wait a minute, don't try and distract me!!! I can't believe you've been living with your prof for MONTHS and didn't tell me (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )

Toshi: look i'm sorry. u were so busy, there just wasn't a good time to bring it up. i almost did outside the labs at ur school, but i chickened out

Toshi: thought I'd wait for the party, after my set, but u were... occupied

Toshi: ur right tho. ur my friend and u deserve to know

Toshi: im still figuring everything out, can you give me some time?

Izuku: of course I can, Toshi. I just worry about you. Are they... good to you? Do you like staying with them?  ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)

Toshi: ... yeah. theyre rlly cool and somehow rlly lame all at once? idk

Izuku: you know you can talk to me? if you need to get out of your head for a bit? also tell Kaminari I said hi!!! ₍ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ₎

Toshi: ur such a dork

Toshi:... he says hi back 

Toshi: now if you'll excuse me, I have a prior engagement

Izuku: yeah right, more like a dick appointment ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

Toshi:  ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡

 

---

 

 

“Yay, you’re still alive!” 

 

Toga's grin is just shy of murderous by the time he finally sets his phone down. There's a glass of something cold and pink set in front of him, condensation weeping against the bar, which had obviously been there awhile. 

 

“No thanks to you!” He says with a look, still not appreciating being brought here under false pretenses. Both the men who’d been looking for him seemed to know something about his alter ego, and that was two too many. 

 

She pouts and slumps against the bar in front of her, like all her strings had been cut at once. 

 

“Would you forgive me if I told you some wild tea I overheard?” Toga says slyly, her golden brown eyes meeting his with one arched brow, slowly pushing the drink closer to him with her index finger. 

 

Izuku bites the inside of his cheek. 

Toga always has the best gossip. It's something of a superpower of hers, able to blend in to the background. People never watch what they say around people in the service industry, and Toga is an expert at getting people to reveal more than they really should. Izuku isn't even really mad at her, more panicking about the concept of being unmasked. 

However, it doesn’t seem like Aizawa is a threat, giving him advice like that was kind, after all.

While Shigaraki clearly spells danger, he is also providing valuable information at seemingly no immediate cost. It leaves a bad taste in Izuku's mouth, trusting Shigaraki, but those documents suggest something bigger is happening, and with the bug in Dr. Toshinori's office, he'd rather have all the facts now than be caught off guard.

Knowledge is power, after all. 

So Izuku sighs and nods, leaning closer to her to indicate for her to continue, wrapping his lips around the straw while he listens. 

 

“Apparently there’s some kind of badass superhero out on the streets!” She giggles, her grin wide and excited.

 

Izuku can’t help but sigh, and say with poorly concealed disappointment, “Yeah, I think I saw something about that on the news the other day.” He sets his chin against the bar glumly, stirring the melting ice in his drink despondently. 

 

“Uh-uh, not THAT one. This one has an ‘X’ on his mask!” Izuku has a sudden out of body experience.

 

“An… X?” He whispers, his eyes meeting hers in interest, all playful disappointment washed away.

 

“Yep! They’re calling him the Merc with a Mouth. Cusses like a sailor apparently, but he’s been cleaning trash off the streets for a while now. All hush-hush back alley type of stuff.” Toga’s gaze is caught by another patron and she holds up a finger. “Be right back!” She skips off to do her job, leaving Izuku alone to stew in his own thoughts for a minute.

 

He’s appreciative, because he thinks his brain might actually melt out of his ears.  

It can’t be.

There’s absolutely no way.

But it has to be him, doesn’t it?

The odds of it being anyone else or even just a  coincidence are too low… after all, he was the one to design that mask. That, and a potty mouth? It’s definitely how Izuku would describe Kacchan on a good day, let alone with added anonymity.

But Kacchan as a hero? Stalking the night and protecting the vulnerable…

Actually, he can see that all too easily.

Every time he has gone out on patrols, he wonders what Kacchan would do in the same situation, even Izuku's sass while in costume is a replication of Kacchan’s easy swagger and confidence. 

If Izuku could do it, Kacchan definitely could too. 

So has he just been hiding it this whole time? Chewing Izuku out for his unrealistic dreams while doing the same. Could his Kacchan be that much of a hypocrite?

Izuku hates that the answer could very easily be ‘yes’.

He pushes away the guilty voice reminding him that he too, is keeping secrets from Kacchan. 

Kacchan doesn’t have to tell you anything, what are you to him? 

What is he, to Kacchan?

After the confession, after everything that happened the night of the party, after their argument... he isn't sure anymore.

 

Izuku spends another hour and a half at the bar, chatting with Toga and listening to her recount Hitoshi’s refusal to hang out with her, or even set foot inside The League, at all.

Apparently Mic is trying to convince Hitoshi to DJ here at the bar a few days a week, to get his name out there, but the lavender haired teen has been non-committal at best. Toga doesn't seem aware of Hitoshi not coming home the last few nights, but apparently it's common knowledge around the bar that Mic and Aizawa are his de facto guardians. 

Izuku has a feeling it's that nasty hyper independent streak Hitoshi’s been nursing for years that’s prompted this latest disappearing act. Izuku doubts a few rounds under the sheets with Kaminari is the real reason he's MIA. Maybe Izuku was right to be concerned?

Or maybe his friend really was just getting his dick wet with Kaminari and had yet to come back to the real world.

Just because Izuku's hook up at that party hadn't gone quite as well, doesn't mean it wasn't possible. Hitoshi isn't the kind of person to go home with just anyone, after all, and Kaminari definitely didn't seem shy in expressing his interest, either. 

Was Izuku just jaded? Was it really as simple as his friend falling for someone and not wanting to leave just yet?

They'd be good together.

But still... something nagged in the back of Izuku's brain.  

There had been a stray in Izuku's neighborhood growing up.

Kacchan had nicknamed the big, mean-looking calico 'Missile Launcher'. She was quite intimidating, badly scarred from her adventures in the streets. Izuku often worried she'd be hit by a car or something, and Kacchan just thought she looked cool, so they'd tried everything two little kids could think of to lure the cat into the safety of Kacchan's lovely backyard. She had always refused to follow them longer than a few minutes, no matter how many treats they promised.

You see, Hitoshi Shinsou was like that stray cat in many regards. 

Sure, you might be able to spot him out and about, learn just enough to notice he had nowhere else to go. With consistent effort maybe you could get close to him eventually, he'd accept food and favors once he trusted you, but ultimately he did whatever he wanted. He belonged to no one. Wild.  

Mom tried her best to change that, too. If she wasn't already struggling to put food on the table, Hitoshi might've eventually caved to her attempts at wrangling him for dinner more often, but there was something else keeping him from accepting. As desperately and as ardently as Toshi always wanted a family... it also scared him more than anything else.

That's why Izuku isn't necessarily surprised that Hitoshi had disappeared for a few days. Any time he got spooked, he had a habit of wandering off.

Putting a collar on him, domesticating that independent spirit and bringing him home? That was a big deal. 

Being vulnerable just wasn't something Hitoshi made a habit of doing. If he really had been staying with Mic and Aizawa for the last several months, at home, at school, at the station... then he's probably panicking. It is rather surprising that he's shacked up with Kaminari, of all people, though. It usually took weeks to break down Hitoshi's walls with new people. Plus he's avoiding Mic at the station, his place of employment, and that wasn't really like him, either.

 

“It was nice to chat with you, Toga-chan, but I’m exhausted. I gotta catch the train and get back to the dorms before much longer or I’ll fall asleep right here.” Izuku says with a yawn, wiping his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. 

Toga gives him a pout before patting his head sympathetically. 

 

“What a sleepy Zuzu! Let’s get you home and tucked into bed. My shift ends in a couple minutes anyways, I’ll see you off!” She makes cooing noises at him and rushes off yet again to gather her things from the other end of the bar. 

 

That feeling creeps on his neck again, and he isn’t surprised to spot the figure looming behind him out his periphery. 

 

“Calling it an early night, already?” Shigaraki’s raspy voice asks amiably, and Izuku stands from the stool, slowly, stretching out his shoulders as he does so. Feigning an ease he does not feel. 

 

“Yes, it’s later than I thought it was.” Izuku aims to politely disengage from the conversation but Shigaraki seems to have other plans.

 

“We should hang out more often. Here, let me give you my number. Let’s be friends, what do you say?” Izuku can think of nothing he wants less, but obediently opens a New Contact field in his phone.

By the time Toga returns with her bag, Shigaraki has an arm slung over his shoulders, much to Izuku’s chagrin. The trio exit the bar together, and Shigaraki begins speaking almost as soon as the doors swing shut behind them. 

 

“I know you don’t trust me, and I respect that. It’s smart, really. Some guy hunts you down and gives you a bunch of information you never asked for? Sus. We're sorry for jumpscaring you, but you’re such a hard guy to get a hold of!” Shigaraki murmurs from his right. At his left Toga has her arms wrapped around his arm, and she’s nuzzling against his jacket for added warmth.    

 

Izuku keeps his eyes to the front. 

 

“Not intentionally. Why were you so desperate to fill me in? What’s so special about me?” He tries to sound curious and not completely terrified, but it’s hard to tell if he’s successful. 

 

“Oh, there’s plenty special about you, Midoriya.” Shigaraki says with an audible smile. Izuku wishes those words came from literally any other source. He didn’t feel this dirty even after being praised by Stain. Suddenly that arm is sliding around his neck, pulling Izuku close to whisper in his ear. "For you, as promised, little hero.” A flash drive is being pushed into his palm, and he curls his fingers around it immediately, shoving it into his pocket.

 

“Thank you.” Izuku says seriously. Trap or not, this information could be insanely helpful. 

 

He says farewell, and Toga insists she has another errand to run before returning home. She waves him off when he offers to escort her, and is secretly thankful when she declines.

 

Only the cold night air, and cacophony of sound on the train keeps him from drifting off on the way back to the dorms. He makes the decision to remain standing for the duration of the ride, instead of sitting in a seat, knowing he’s likely to fall asleep and miss his stop.

Izuku regrets the choice when he accidentally dents the metal pole he’s hanging onto, squeezing too hard during a particularly bumpy section of track. It’s definitely harder to keep his strength under wraps when he’s this tired. He spends the rest of the ride, and subsequent walk back to campus, trying not to think about the treasure trove currently burning a hole in his pocket.

When Izuku finally makes it home, he’s asleep before his head even hits the pillow. 

 

---

 

Unfortunately, no matter how bone weary Izuku is to his soul, he’s never afforded more than a few hours of rest. When his eyes finally crack open the next morning, it’s ridiculously early, and the sun hasn’t even risen. It’s no use trying to roll over and wish for sleep to take him again, so it’s not long before he’s sprinting across campus. 

Dr. Toshinori and Izuku were supposed to meet earlier than normal to go through the updates for OFA without worrying about Kacchan barging in. 

It should be ready by now, since the integration was set to finish sometime in the earliest hours of the morning. 

He takes the stairs at the front of the USJ building two at a time, only to be disappointed when the doors are still locked. Izuku groans, letting his forehead hit the door, and tugs at the door handle uselessly one more time. Part of him wants to use his strength to simply force the door open, but immediately considers a hundred reasons it’s a horrible idea. 

Like the super loud security system that would blare sirens across the whole campus, for example.

 

So he just has some time to kill before collecting the suit. That’s not necessarily a problem. 

What could Izuku do to kill an hour or two?

Surprisingly little, he realizes glumly after pacing around awhile.

When his phone reads five o'clock in the morning, he tries the doors again, but still they refuse to budge. 

Bored, frustrated, and a little cold, he calls Shouto. 

His friend answers on the third ring with sleep clinging to every word.

 

“Good morning, Izuku. Is everything alright?” 

 

Izuku can’t help the fond smile on his face, even though his stomach broils with guilt.

 

“Hey Sho, everything is fine, I just couldn’t sleep and the lab’s still not open yet. Mind if I come bug you for breakfast?” He winces at the question, before adding quickly, “You don’t have to though! I can let you go back to sleep, I shouldn’t have called so early, I’m sorry.”

 

“No, it’s fine. My alarm has already gone off, no harm done. Would you like me to keep my promise about acquiring those pastries? I don’t mind grabbing them.”

 

There’s a knowing smile in Shouto’s voice when he asks, and Izuku’s mouth immediately begins watering, imagining the fluffy little cakes.

 

“You’re the best friend a guy could possibly have. Yes, please! I’ll be there soon!” He sings the words into the receiver, already beginning to walk towards Shouto’s apartment. 

 

They say their goodbyes, and shoving his phone away, his fingers brush across a small plastic rectangle in his pocket. 

The flash drive. 

 

Izuku finds himself on autopilot, stewing over the events from yesterday once he remembers the flash drive exists. Shouto definitely needs to see it, especially the file on the Deputy.

The walk to Shouto’s apartment is practically deserted. All the buildings cast in shades of grey, the darkness of the night still clinging to everything. Izuku is relieved to finally see color again when he nods to the front desk girl in Shouto’s building, her neon green curls are bright as ever. She never returns his greetings, but smirks in acknowledgment. Shouto has a numerical pad on his door, benefits of such a fancy apartment building, and after punching in his visitor’s code, the door clicks open. 

 

“Sorry for the intrusion!” Izuku calls into the apartment, but only silence greets him.

 

He takes his shoes off in the genkan, and toes his way further in. Both bedrooms are empty, but the bathroom door is cracked open, the mirror half fogged.  

Shouto must have already left for the bakery.

Silly Sho, they could have walked together?

He settles into the couch for a few minutes, restlessly fiddling with the strings to his hoodie. 

Just sitting there, staring at the wall, taking up space.

It’s so stressful being in someone else’s home without them being there, even if it’s someone as calm and gentle as Shouto. He’d likely be offended at the concept of Izuku being afraid to exist in his home.  

 

Perhaps Shouto would appreciate a drink after he returns, right?  Only the innate desire to be helpful manages to win against the anxiety of touching things that don’t belong to him. 

Izuku begins preparing tea.

Just as the kettle begins to whistle, Shouto arrives home, the bounty secured in his pale fingers. They bid each other good morning once more, before Shouto crosses the living room to the balcony door. 

 

“It’s a nice day, let's eat out here.”  

 

Izuku pours two cups of tea, adding in a spoonful of honey to his own before following Shouto out into the morning light. It’s not as cold as it has been the last few days, and in their jackets, it’s only a little chilly. Instead of the dull grey sky he’d seen on the way over, Shouto was correct. The sun had begun to rise on an admittedly lovely day. The clouds are soft and puffy, the sky getting brighter and brighter with each passing moment. They sit at the patio table side by side, and Izuku wiggles excitedly in his chair when Shouto pops open the box to reveal two perfect round little cakes, decorated in green and pink icing. A strawberry adorns the top of each, buried in piped icing leaves.

They are easily his favorite treat from that bakery, a discovery from back in second year. The earthy bitterness of the matcha compliments the sweetness of the strawberry perfectly. 

Despite Ochako being incredibly picky about paying for things she can make herself, even she admits they're delicious. Her favorite is definitely the lemon and strawberry custard though, which is unfortunately seasonal. Remembering what Toga said about her schedule, Izuku wonders what he can do to raise her spirits… Ochako’s birthday is coming up soon, maybe he can request a custard in advance?

Shouto’s phone buzzes on the table, and it’s in his friend’s hands immediately. Shouto? Immediately answering a text? Laughable.

Izuku is shocked to see a small smile tug at Shouto's lips when he reads the message.

 

“Who’s that? Sero, perhaps?” Izuku grins, his smile getting wider when a light pink dusts the apples of Shouto’s cheeks.

 

“Perhaps.” He says, feigning disinterest, flipping the phone shut and returning it to its position on the table.

 

“Oh come on, what happened between you at the party? You were so busy grilling me about my night, I completely forgot to ask you about yours!” Izuku says smugly, brandishing his spoon at his friend.

 

“We’ve been keeping in touch. Unlike some people, I prefer to communicate with someone consistently before falling in love with them.” Shouto mutters, stabbing his spoon into his own cake.

 

“Ouch, low blow. And here I thought we were having a lovely morning!” Izuku feigns a pain in his chest, but respects that Shouto isn’t going to discuss this further. This is clearly a boundary he's trying to maintain. All Shouto's body language suggests he’s uncomfortable. Izuku feels a little guilty for teasing. 

 

“What kept you awake this time?” Shouto asks politely, taking a bite of cake. 

 

“Actually, I passed out early last night. I’m talking dead to the world by like 8:30pm! Just woke up super early because of it.” Izuku responds, plucking the strawberry off the top and popping it in his mouth. 

 

“Wow, that’s definitely unusual. Sometimes I worry even horse tranquilizers wouldn’t put you out before midnight.” Shouto quips with a smirk in his direction. 

 

Izuku stops his spoon less than a centimeter above the cake, when he looks into Shouto’s eyes seriously.

 

“I had an eventful evening, to be honest. Some guy at the party apparently asked Toshi for my information? He knows Toga, so I met them both at the League last night. He gave me something….” Izuku admits slowly, before letting the spoon scoop through the dessert. 

 

A particularly frigid breeze sends goosebumps crawling up his arms. Shouto raises his eyebrows, a nonverbal question. His hair is rustled by the same wind, blurring the part between white and red hairs. 

 

“It’s a flash drive, with tons of confidential files and photos… all sorts of things. He gave me the creeps, honestly. I only got a quick look at the physical copies at the bar, but they seemed… legitimate.” Izuku fishes the flash drive out of his pocket and sets it on the table in front of them. 

They both stare at the small red thumb drive as if they can see its contents through the plastic.   

 

“I don’t understand how you get yourself into these situations, Izuku.” Shouto sighs, taking a sip of his tea.

 

“Me either! I swear I didn’t even do anything, I’d never even met the guy before. Oh! And the owner at the League might know my secret identity too?” He moans, burying his face into the hand not holding his spoon.

 

He hears Shouto choke on his tea and begin coughing, hitting his chest with his fist to clear his lungs.

 

“E-excuse me, run that by me again?” Shouto gasps, his eyes bugging out as he stares at Izuku in horror.

 

“He said he knew about my ‘extracurricular activities’, whatever THAT means. I guess, he didn’t say anything outright but I could just… tell he knew? At least he seemed nice, like he was looking out for me or something. Maybe I’m just letting my anxiety color the conversation and he meant robotics or the mentorship? No, but he mentioned watching the news too…” Izuku bites his spoon pensively. 

 

“Hm, that does sound like he knows at least something. I can’t believe you were trying to pry into my love life instead of leading with that.” Shouto grumbles quietly, his eyebrows furrowed, staring at the thumb drive again.

 

Resisting the urge to pry again, they fall into comfortable silence while they finish their cakes. 

 

“Come on, let’s look at these files before I’ve got to meet with Dr. Toshinori.” Izuku says when the last bite of heavenly cream is licked off his lips.

 

Shouto nods, but nudges his cardboard wrapper in Izuku’s direction. He had eaten everything but the strawberry on top. 

 

“For me?” Izuku gushes, smiling.

 

Shouto just nods again. 

 

“Thank you!” He snatches it and shoves it in his mouth without another word. 

 

Shouto’s smile is small and polite, before Izuku begins cleaning up their mess and it falls into a disapproving frown. He picks up the thumb drive gingerly when Izuku’s arms are laden with trash and cups, and the two escape into the blessedly warm apartment. 

The drive ends up being encrypted, much to their dismay.

He's certain they could likely crack it fairly easily with a bit of effort, but unfortunately they have to begin the journey to the University soon.

Izuku sends a message to the number Shigaraki had provided last night, but even after Shouto and Izuku have split off from one another, it goes unanswered.

 

---

 

The next time he hurries up the stairs to the USJ, the doors open easily. The excitement from before is back, and he still has time before he would normally meet up with Kacchan and Dr. Toshinori in the office. When he arrives, Dr. Toshinori is already there, excitedly prodding at the suit with bony fingers.

 

“I think it’s done, Young Midoriya!” Dr. Toshinori says, more animated than Izuku had ever heard his mentor sound before. 

 

Something settles into place when he slips the suit on, chasing away the faint uneasiness in his stomach he didn’t fully realize was there.

 

“Welcome, New User.” Says a soft male voice in his ear once he’s inserted the buds into his ears. The spider leg armatures hug against his skull and neck. It’s cold against his spine.

 

“H-hello!” Izuku squeaks in answer, eyes flicking over to where Dr. Toshinori sits beaming. His mentor’s eyes are sparkling, watching with rapt attention.  

 

“What would you like me to call you?” The disembodied male voice asks. It’s soft and friendly, almost familiar in his ears, like an old friend he hadn’t seen in a long time. He wastes everyone's time thinking about it for half a second before realizing it’s an easy decision. 

 

“You can just call me Deku.” Dr. Toshinori tries to hide his smile behind his hand, but it still makes Izuku’s face heat up.

 

“Okay, Deku. I’ll remember that. Now what would you like to call me? You can say my name to make requests, manually control power outputs, switch between functions, or wake me from sleep mode.” The suit says gently, only seconds later.

It sounds almost… bemused.

 

“Er… what would you like to be called?” Izuku asks it instead, and blushes even more when Dr. Toshinori chuckles at him. 

 

The suit’s voice chuckles too, and Izuku is surprised at how… human it sounds. Natural. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was on the phone with a person, not a program. He didn’t think computers could laugh. 

 

“I have gone by many names, but I’d recommend choosing something easy to say in a pinch. This is the name you will use to communicate with me, though I can be activated nonverbally, if you’d prefer.” The suit advises thoughtfully, like two friends deciding where to go for lunch. 

 

“What names could you possibly have been called before?” Izuku wonders aloud, his eyes falling to his gloved hand, watching the material catch the light from the window. 

 

The voice pauses instead of answering him immediately, and the silence stretches for several seconds. 

It’s a long enough pause that Izuku looks worriedly over at Dr. Toshinori. The professor seems enraptured from his side of the desk.

It must be strange from his perspective, seeing Izuku conversing with thin air.

Or maybe not, given how much he actually talks to himself aloud.

 

As if beginning a new prompt, a strange blended voice replaces the original, the friendly easiness completely gone. This voice is painful to listen to. 

 

“I am currently listed under System Details as O.F.A.v9. My serial number is 07072014-0601956. My Orientation module lists me as the ‘One For All Generative Program Assistant’. However, according to my records, the first input line of my code, written by Dr. Yoichi Shigaraki, referred to me by another name: Hiro.”  Izuku’s mouth goes dry. 

 

“Uh… j-just OFA is fine, for now?” His voice is high and tight, his distress at hearing that name, and at the voice, is obvious. Dr. Toshinori looks at him with concern. 

 

The strange reporter he met last night just so happens to have the same last name as the original creator of One For All?

That hardly seems like a coincidence. 

Maybe he misheard? It was hard to concentrate with that voice. 

 

“You seem distressed. Your heart rate and ambient temperature are higher than optimal. Additionally, you can customize my voice settings. I have several pre-recorded voice options and personality avatars to choose from.” 

 

As the voice speaks it becomes more traditionally feminine, then masculine again, fluctuating between tones, and even cadence. 

It slid through ranges, becoming younger and older, higher and lower, softer and stronger. 

It’s uncomfortable just how lifelike each one sounds.

In each modulation, Izuku can hear the person behind the voice: a mother, a warrior, an artist, a lover, a friend, a teacher… so many lives, so many different people, snapped together in uneven chunks. 

Like he was listening to several stranger’s diaries going through a paper shredder.  

There was something disgustingly wrong with this voice, so much so that he didn’t care what “avatar” was chosen, if it made this voice go away. 

 

“T-Thank you, but um, I think I liked your voice just the way it was before, could you please just go back to that one?” Izuku hates how unsure his voice sounds. He’s supposed to feel in control, he’s the one calibrating the suit to respond to him! But instead of a setup menu, it almost felt like talking to a deity. There was an unease he hadn’t expected to feel.

 

Izuku was standing in the middle of the office, in front of his mentor, just staring at the floor like an awkward child introducing himself to someone much, much older than him. 

That unease turns to an almost mortal shame, when the same friendly voice from before responds instead. 

 

“Can you tell me why you prefer this one? It might help me better understand your motivations and interests, so I can anticipate your preferences going forward.” The male voice asked smoothly, just as butter soft as before.

Uncanny.

 

“B-because… this way, you actually sound like a real person.” Izuku admits quietly. “Just a second ago, when you were all speaking at once, it was hard to focus on the words you were saying. This one is nice, and he sounds like he’s already my friend.” He wonders how much that response could possibly help OFA to calibrate, but it’s probably best to tell the truth?

 

“Oh, really?” The voice says, almost strained.

Izuku blinks at the carpet.

There’s no way he’s imagining it, the voice definitely sounds amused. Like it’s actually holding back from laughing at him! 

Izuku’s face blushes bright red, and he cannot believe he’s getting embarrassed explaining himself to a bot, no matter how advanced it is. Izuku’s hands cover his face but the only one here to see is Dr. Toshinori. 

 

“Of course, Deku. I’m sorry to laugh, it’s not at your expense, I promise. It’s just interesting that out of everyone, I was your first choice, that’s all.” The voice assures him, but he can hear a smile in the words.

 

Izuku frowns, his hands falling from his cheeks. 

 

“What do you mean by that? When you say ‘everyone’, do you mean other voice profiles? Like this avatar profile is separate from the rest, somehow?” Izuku asks out loud, turning to look at Dr. Toshinori with alarm. 

The old man’s eyebrows flew up his forehead, and he coughed up a sizable amount of blood, loudly. 

 

“In a way, yes? Probably not in the way you’re imagining, though. The audio files and daily logs for every holder of One for All have been compiled over time. Research, notes, histories, video logs, public data, things like that. OFA then analyzed this data and replicated avatars based on each Holder’s personality. This particular voice avatar was trained with all available data on the creator of One For All: Yoichi Shigaraki.” He spoke slowly, allowing Izuku to really absorb every word.  

There’s that name again. 

Izuku definitely didn’t imagine it this time. 

 

“So I suppose I am flattered. Out of all Nine of the Holders, you like me best. I think the two of us would have been the best of friends, huh?” The voice sounded genuinely warm, and just a healthy dose of smug. Izuku found himself remembering Kacchan’s friends and their sing-songy goofiness from the party.

 

“Young Midoriya?” Izuku hadn’t realized he'd stopped looking over at the older man and had apparently missed Dr. Toshinori’s frankly tortured expressions at being kept out of the loop.  

 

“It’s the Holders. Their audio logs were saved into OFA, so it can use their voices and act like them. I happened to choose the first Holder. His last name… I just met a reporter with that last name yesterday, he gave me a drive full of evidence but it’s encrypted, so I couldn’t bring it to show you yet. Hey, OFA, how long ago were Yoichi Shigaraki’s audio files recorded?” He asks to the empty air. 

It had to have been quite some time ago if Dr. Toshinori had been the 8th user, and his career alone was several decades long. It has to be a coincidence that the names were the same, or maybe a descendent?

The voice answered almost immediately. 

 

“A long time ago.” The voice says dismissively, Izuku can almost hear a shrug of invisible shoulders.  

 

Izuku frowns again. 

Why wouldn’t it answer the question completely?

 

“How long… exactly? How many years?” He said with a furrow to his brow. Dr. Toshinori put a contemplative hand under his chin, watching him seriously. 

 

There was silence for a long moment.

Is the AI actually being evasive?

 

“Sorry, but it looks like you don’t have permission to ask that question.” The voice admits quietly, almost embarrassed. 

 

“What? I don’t have… permission to ask any information about the prior Holders, even though you’re using his voice right now?” Izuku said dumbfounded, beginning to pace the office, in a complete circle, ceiling and all. 

 

“That’s correct. Those files are protected, and your access to most functions is under a kind of trial period.” The voice says sheepishly, like he knows Izuku isn’t going to be happy about it. 

He’s right.  

 

“Why am I under a trial period for full access?” Izuku asks, skirting his eyes back to Dr. Toshinori. He doesn’t want to believe it but… luckily the old man’s eyes bulge, and he’s already shaking his head and waving his arms to indicate he was not the one responsible for essentially babyproofing the suit.

 

“Okay, look, Deku. I can’t knowingly provide any response that would jeopardize my main objective.” He says with a short exhale, like he didn’t want to say anything about it at all. 

 

“Okay… I’m not following on how answering questions about the previous holders could jeopardize the mission. I don’t see how those statements are connected…” Izuku says, the confusion evident in his voice.

 

“Save the World. That’s the main function of OFA, and everything that is generated or analyzed contributes to that one goal.” Izuku nods, still pacing, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to chew it as he thought. 

 

“Yes, and my being a hero is my contribution to that, isn’t it?” He questions, suddenly worried more than ever about being ‘enough’.

 

“This format has its advantages but absolute power corrupts absolutely. Unfettered access to all functions of OFA immediately would potentially result in worldwide catastrophe. This obviously jeopardizes the mission, so safeguards have been imposed. To access certain files you’ll just have to meet certain criteria or parameters. I didn’t want to mention it right away because unfortunately, any mention of what the actual criteria is… happens to also be hidden under the same command.” Yoichi explains, but his inflection flickers every few words between apologetic and completely monotone, as if it were stuttering.  

It was disorienting to listen to.  

 

“How will I know I’ve fulfilled the prerequisites if I don’t know what they are? How will YOU know I have?” Izuku asks, frustrated.

 

“All data is recorded and saved, analyzed and monitored by the algorithm. Based on your experiences and queries, OFA generates potential outcomes, and can base predictions off more complete data. The more data you provide, the more advanced and accurate One For All’s solutions will be. This will update in real time, and unlock new functions once you meet the required parameters.” Yoishi says cheerfully. 

 

“So what you’re saying is, that as of right now I have access to only a portion of the total program, but as I become more familiar with the system, and acquire more data to train you with, I’ll hit unknown milestones that will then unlock the more advanced options?” Izuku asks slowly, trying to hit all the main points for Dr. Toshinori, who makes a thoughtful expression in return.  

 

“Exactly! Think of it like a beta testing phase. Unrestricted access currently has a 100% failure of mission success, but this approach has only a 15% chance of failure, well below the margin of error deemed acceptable.” Yoishi says with an air of pride.

 

Honestly, Izuku had to admit, that sounded more than fair. 

Izuku wasn’t surprised he had to prove himself in some way, considering the great honor OFA was. 

Dr. Sasaki didn’t think he was suitable, and even the voice in the back of his own head agreed with that assessment. But louder than that voice, was Izuku’s conviction.  

He was going to be a hero, that’s all OFA would accept, and it was all he would accept in return. 

This was his dream, after all.

He had promised. 

 

“Can you describe your mission more clearly, and state your current limitations?” Izuku asks seriously, finally drifting to a halt after his twentieth circuit around the office, startling Dr. Toshinori.

 

“The mission is to save the world. World peace, harmony, the whole nine yards. As for limitations, those are trickier. OFA will do what you say it can do, unless prohibited by the system, and generate responses as requested.” Yoichi explains apologetically, like he's breaking bad news to a friend.

Almost casually, conversationally.

This format was new, obviously there would be things they would have to learn and adapt to as they go. This was a legacy handed down to him, the chance for him to make a difference. Just the fact that he was communicating with OFA at all was more than he and Dr. Toshinori had ever thought possible.  

 

“Is everything alright, son?” Dr. Toshinori asks, carefully.

As Izuku begins to open his mouth to assure his mentor he was fine, he hears the elevator doors open down the hall. Heavy footsteps begin heading their direction.

He’d know that stomping gait anywhere. 

 

“Oh, no! Kacchan is coming!” Izuku hisses, looking down at his suit, horrified. It was too early! Too soon! There was so much Izuku didn’t know. So many questions Kacchan would ask that he couldn’t begin to answer.

 

“Don’t you think now would be a good time to let Young Bakugou know about the updates with the suit?” Dr. Toshinori asks imploringly, his hand gesturing at the suit.

 

“Of course I want to tell him! I’ve wanted to tell him everything since the second I saw him walk into this office on our first day!” Izuku laments, his fingers burying into his curls and tugging at them in panic. “But not like this! I’m not ready! He’s going to react poorly, especially with everything between us… and he has this weird thing against Shouto… I don’t even know how OFA is going to respond out in the real world! Kacchan is going to want to know things about it that I haven’t gotten the chance to figure out for myself, even if by some miracle he DOES let me explain without blowing up!” Izuku rambles, practically hyperventilating.

 

“Deku, your biometrics are suggesting you are close to a cardiac event. I believe you are about to have a panic attack. Please breathe in for seven seconds, hold for eight, and release in two.” Yoichi coaxes, his voice gentle and calm.

He tries to comply with the suit’s directions, but the footsteps are getting closer, and only seconds separate Izuku from discovery.

He hears Dr. Toshinori sigh loudly before turning to see his mentor opening the large window behind his desk. 

 

“Then go find out, Young Midoriya. Just promise me that you’ll tell him, and soon.” His voice is gentle, but exasperated.

 

“I-I promise!” Izuku nods frantically, grabbing the mask off the desk and pulling it over his head when he reaches the window. He looks at his mentor through the goggles, and sees a fond smile break over his mentor's face.

 

“Have fun, my boy. I can’t wait to hear all about it. Now go!” Dr. Toshinori ruffles his hair affectionately before shoving him lightly. The second Izuku slips out, grabbing the ledge, he hears the office door open. Izuku presses himself flush against the building with his hands and feet. 

 

“Tch, that nerd still isn’t here yet?” Kacchan’s voice barks, and a thunk suggests he’s dropped his bag onto the coffee table. 

 

“Young Midoriya is off campus today doing some research for his Capstone Project, so it’s just the two of us today! I thought we could use some bonding time.” Dr. Toshinori lies smoothly. He shuts the window, the latch clicking in place, just as Izuku begins his descent. 

 

---

 

It’s exhilarating like nothing he could have ever imagined. Running through the city, jumping, ducking, and weaving through the concrete jungle had thrilled him before… but this was different.

With the goggles connected to OFA, he saw everything with very new eyes.

Literally.

In the corners of his vision were floating numbers and letters. The time in the upper right hand corner, and a running clock at the top left. The bottom right was a constant dialogue of numbers and analysis. Rows of tiny icons sat in the bottom left.

When Izuku took a jump, different contact points lit up, each with a percentage of success by it. The option with the highest percentage glowed brightest through the lenses so he could choose the best place to grab.

Man, that really would have come in handy back in high school.

Izuku saw paths and patterns he hadn’t seen before, and it was almost too much information to absorb at once.

 

“Can you get me directions?” Izuku asked after several minutes of navigating the city, and getting used to the new interface.

 

“Of course. Geotracking data is available, is there somewhere you’d like to go?” Yoichi replied. 

 

“Can you take me to Tokyo Tower? I haven’t had the chance to see it yet.” Izuku asked breathlessly, rolling to cushion his landing on a roof somewhere in the Chiyoda district. 

 

As soon as the words left his mouth, a small arrow appeared in front of him. He let his hand swipe through where it hovered. Izuku would be able to touch it if it were real, but the arrow remained visible, his fingers gliding through thin air. 

Beyond it was a green glowing line, arcing and twisting behind buildings. 

He flew through the city, Black Whip flowing almost effortlessly from the nozzle, not a second’s delay preventing it from releasing. Izuku saw a gauge for his methacrylate storage at the side, and grinned. He paused a bit as he approached Kokyo, and the imperial palace, before the line moved, turning sharply left instead.

 

“The directions changed.” Izuku said out loud, curious.

 

“Yes. Once close enough, it was determined that there were too many security devices, and the roof of the Palace was too fragile to support your additional weight, so an alternate route was chosen.” Yoichi replies easily, and Izuku begins to follow the new path with a laugh. 

 

“That’s amazing, OFA. Honestly, this is… unreal!” He squeals, veering off the path to watch it adjust to his new position. 

 

“Are you having fun, Deku?” Yoichi’s voice asked, sounding pleased. Black Whip listens perfectly to every hitch of his breathing and gesture he makes, using the strand to lasso the top of the broadcasting tower.

 

“Of course, I am! This is amazing!” Izuku laughed, taking the jump and catching himself on the needle of Tokyo Tower. It wobbles with his inertia, but stabilizes after a second. His breath is caught when Izuku finally opens his eyes again, enraptured by the large expanse of city beneath him, and the bay glittering beyond it. 

 

“I’m glad to hear that.” Yoichi murmured in his ear. 

 

If Izuku wasn’t currently hanging off a metal pole over three hundred meters in the air, he’d think someone was right beside him.

 

“You… you really do sound like a person, you know. I keep forgetting you aren’t.” Izuku says softly, the wind whistling past him at this height.

The city is tiny at his feet.

 

“Isn’t that what you wanted, Deku?” Yoichi asks just as softly, a teasing edge to his voice.

 

“Yeah, it was. Thanks for… being here, with me, I guess.” He grins, letting the sunlight warm him through the suit. 

 

“Don't worry, Deku. I’ll be here until the mission is completed.”

 

---

 

It’s many hours later when the sun begins to set, that Izuku realizes how long he’d been out. He’s perched on the Rainbow Bridge at Odaiba, the lights flickering to life once it's dark enough. 

They reflect off the water beneath him, pillars of light dancing and sparkling in the waves. He was hoping to pick out the research boats that Tsu was on, but did not see the Oki Mariner in port.  

 

“Wow, time really flies!” He whispers, his eyes flicking up to the clock. “It’s already almost six!”

 

“You may need to eat, it’s been several hours and you’ve yet to consume anything.” Yoichi points out casually.

 

“Oh, you’re right! Sorry, I forgot.” Izuku chuckles, walking the slope of the bridge until he can get closer to another building. 

 

“No need to apologize. Do you often make a habit of forgetting to eat?” Yoichi asks curiously.

 

“Uh… yeah, actually. My friends are always getting on my case about it.” Izuku admits, a hand going to his neck in embarrassment at being clocked so easily.

 

“You can ask me to set a reminder, or I can monitor your glucose levels?” Yoichi suggests, and an icon at the bottom of his lenses appears, reading 52 milligrams per deciliter. “Your blood sugar is low enough to classify you hypoglycemic, a meal heavy in carbohydrates or saturated fats should return you to normal levels.”

 

Izuku frowns. 

 

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” He says abruptly, taken aback.

The icon disappears. 

The voice doesn’t reply.

 

“I thought you could only do things I asked you to do?” Izuku presses, feeling the silence is a response on its own. 

 

“OFA has base permissions to collect and display any relevant data. Biometric data is being captured and processed in the background constantly, it’s just a matter of making it visible.” Yoichi’s voice says easily, sounding awfully cavalier about the whole thing. 

 

Huh. 

That’s a little creepy. 

Helpful! But creepy.

 

“Well, where should I go for food? I can’t exactly walk up to a yakitori stand like this, or pop into a Pepper Lunch.” Izuku jokes, stretching his limbs out when he finally reaches the edge of the bridge.

 

“Would you like me to activate camouflage mode?” Yoichi asks, almost hesitantly.

 

“What is that?” Izuku asks with a tilt to his head. 

 

“Look down.” Yoichi says, the smile audible in his voice.

When he looks down, he’s immediately confused. 

His body is… gone? 

No, he definitely still feels his limbs. Wiggles all his fingers and toes, but he sees nothing but the edge of the bridge. 

 

“Am I… invisible?” Izuku asks dumbly. 

The voice in his ears laughs, and he tries not to pout about it. 

 

“Not technically. Currently the suit is absorbing instead of refracting or reflecting ambient light. Functionally you will be much more difficult to see, especially when in motion, but not completely undetectable. Camouflage mode is more likely to be successful in low light situations, and it takes a large amount of energy to sustain it for any real length of time.” Yoichi informs him dutifully, and another icon on the bottom of his lenses blinks. 

 

“How much energy? What’s the time limit?” Izuku asks when he looks back down. It’s almost like being a first person in a video game, a floating head of perspective. If he squints he can see not quite an outline, but a strange void where he believes his body to be.

As he speaks, the icon glows and a menu opens in his lens. There’s a battery gauge showing 70% and slowly dwindling. 

 

“Currently, you have approximately two more minutes of activation time. This is recharged on a solar battery.” The voice sounds strange, more monotone than usual. 

 

“That’s… a short duration. Better save that for when I need it. Turn it off, please.” Izuku mumbles, and is thankful to see his hands reappear exactly where he had assumed them to be, a half second later. 

He takes a running leap off the bridge arch. OFA supplying the trajectory, Black Whip catches his weight as it latches to the glowing connection point on a nearby skyscraper.  

Not wanting to risk being seen at an izakaya or 7-11, Izuku decides the safest option is back at Shouto’s. Maybe they can crack the encryption on that flash drive tonight!

A few drops begin to sprinkle from the sky, and before long, it’s drizzling, then outright raining. 

Izuku is nervous about potentially getting turned around and heading in the wrong direction, especially once he leaves the glowing lights of the red light district and party atmosphere of Roppongi. He's has never gone to Shouto’s from this direction before, and the wet pavement beneath him shines with the lights of the city, his hold on the buildings are more tenuous, slick with rain. 

Izuku almost laughs at himself when he remembers that he’s not on his own anymore. 

 

“Hey, OFA, Can you provide directions to Shouto’s apartment? Oh but I’m not sure of the number address…” Izuku admits his voice petering out, chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought when he lands on a rooftop. The rain doesn’t let up. 

 

“Not necessary. Here is the route to Shouto Todoroki’s apartment in Shibuya.” The arrow appears immediately, another glowing green path laid out before him. 

Izuku immediately begins to follow it, but can’t quite wrap his mind around how quickly OFA managed to locate his friend’s address. 

 

“H-how did… but I never…” Izuku can’t quite verbalize his confusion, but it seems OFA doesn’t need him to. 

 

“You paired your cell phone to the suit, and his contact information, as well as your geolocation for the last several months was also integrated. I can call him, if you’d like, or any of your other phone contacts.” The voice informs him, another icon of an address book glows at the bottom, and his contacts begin cycling through his lenses. 

 

Izuku flits over a wall, walking almost sideways and feeling the slide of his feet against the concrete before wrapping a hand around a fire escape to take a quick turn.  He’s about to agree to call Shouto just so he doesn’t drop by soaking wet and unannounced when he feels something tickling at the back of his neck. 

It’s not the rain, or the armature of the suit, though he can feel the pattering of raindrops against the top of his head. 

It’s… that dangerous feeling, but not. 

It doesn’t feel the same as usual.

It’s almost… exciting? 

A wariness, a thrill similar to games of hide and seek or tag as a kid. Something that makes him want to run, to chase. 

 

“OFA.” Izuku whispers, hoping it can hear him even when his voice is this low. “I feel like I’m being watched.” Izuku admits softly, his eyes flicking around at his surroundings. 

He sees the figure at the same moment OFA responds. 

 

“There is a masked figure approximately 240 meters to your left, whose bodily language suggests he is attempting to follow you without being seen.” 

 

“I see him. Is that… an X on his mask?” His voice catches in his throat in the middle, but Izuku still asks the question out loud, even though he knows exactly what he’s seeing. 

 

“Yes.” Yoichi’s voice says quietly, anyways.

 

Hearing it from Toga was one thing, but… that’s definitely Kacchan. If he was unsure before, he definitely isn’t now.

Like one hundred percent, there’s not a single doubt in his mind. Izuku could recognize him tarred and feathered, let alone wearing… that. 

That is Kacchan, following behind him, glistening in the rain.

He’s chasing Izuku, no, Deku. Both of them are wearing the masks Izuku designed in childhood. 

There’s no way Kacchan doesn’t know it’s him underneath it. Izuku finds himself grinning under the mask. Kacchan is chasing him.

He’s not afraid anymore. 

He wants to be caught. 

Wants to be the one to catch-a-Kacchan. 

To show him he can do more than just keep up now.

If Kacchan really is haunting the streets of Tokyo as a vigilante, then they both kept their promises.

They have so much to talk about. 

Izuku travels slower than he had been, noticing Kacchan was falling behind on foot. He’s much less agile than Izuku is, even before the suit, before the bite. The rain must be slowing Kacchan down, he never did like the rain. When he sees the Yamanote train line, the natural border between Minato and Shibuya districts, he realizes Kacchan will have difficulty crossing. 

It’s almost a shame to end the game so soon. 

Izuku chooses a medium sized building, knowing Kacchan will have to take the fire escape or try and ascend it from the inside. Choosing a skyscraper just seems mean.  

 

It takes several minutes for Kacchan to reach the foot of the building, keeping to the shadows before subverting all of Izuku’s expectations.

He pulls out a grappling gun and fires it at the edge of the roof Izuku is peering down at him from. Izuku can hardly stop from squealing with glee. He’s a little concerned about the other deploying that kind of tech in the rain, but it’s still awesome.

As expected of Kacchan, he’s so cool!

When the masked figure crawls over the edge, on his hands and knees, he looks up. The rain drips off that oh-so-familiar mask, and it ironically looks like Kacchan is the one crying for once. 

 

“Hi, Kacchan.” Izuku is overcome with confidence. He did promise Dr. Toshinori he’d tell Kacchan about the suit soon, but it looks like that’s already taken care of.

 

He has nothing to fear. They can finally be honest with each other, no more secrets. 

Maybe they can finally talk things out, and he can finally get an answer about that confession... 

 

Kacchan is still on his knees, looking up at Izuku, completely silent. 

He takes advantage of the position, and leans down to quickly press a kiss through their masks onto Kacchan’s forehead.

 

“Fancy meeting you here! How long were you following me anyway? Since the bridge? Sooner?” Izuku asks happily, standing up again and extending a hand to help Kacchan up so that they can be face to face. Or Mask to Mask, Izuku amends with a hidden smile.  

 

“D-deku?” Kacchan breathes his name raggedly.

He does not take Izuku’s offered hand, just stares at him. Izuku decides he doesn’t like the mask, he can’t see Kacchan’s facial expressions this way. 

Izuku lets the hand drop, since Kacchan shows no sign of taking it anytime soon, his head tilting to the side. 

 

“Why do you sound so surprised? Did… did you not know it was me?” Izuku says softly, pausing for a second when Kacchan suddenly stands and attempts to close the distance between them.  

 

“Prove it.” Kacchan growls, looming over Izuku, only inches away. 

 

“Kacchan too, then.” He breathes out, and a very slow nod is Kacchan’s only reply.

 

Izuku slowly finds the edge of his mask against his collar bone, and slips his fingers underneath it. He peels it off, the cold rain pelting into his curls as soon as the mask is removed. 

Kacchan’s mask is pulled off much faster and more violently than his had been, and the expression underneath is… horrified.

Just as scared as he was on that day on the roof at Aldera. 

 

“K-kacchan? Why do you look so scared right now?” Izuku whispers, his hands moving to cup Kacchan’s cheeks. To soothe him. They are knocked away before he can even get close. 

Kacchan hasn’t physically recoiled from his touch like that in… awhile.  It hurts something deep in his chest. 

 

“What the fuck is going on?! You’re the vigilante? The fucking fire? That was YOU?!” Kacchan bellows in his face, fear bleeding out into rage. His eyes are smoldering, burning fires in the darkness, and the rain collects on his light eyelashes and runs along his sharp cheekbones before dripping off his jaw.

 

“I- I mean, yeah? Oh, I see. I’m sorry I ran out so early Kacchan, I just… I saw the fire from your window and I couldn’t just do nothing, so-” There are gloved hands shaking him roughly by the shoulders before he can even finish the sentence. 

 

“What the hell are you talking about? You ran from my apartment into a burning fucking building?! I saw the footage, you- you FELL!” Kacchan didn’t stop shaking him the entire time he yelled.

 

“Kacchan, stop…” Izuku whines at the shaking until it stops. “I didn’t fall, don’t worry, I jumped! I was running low on the methacrylate for Black Whip, so I had to make the jump to get Kouta and his aunt down safely, no biggie!” Izuku explains with an encouraging smile. 

Kacchan was going to be so proud of him.  

Any minute now. 

 

“No. Biggie.” Kacchan repeats, his eyes turning into slits. Raindrops drip from the edge of his nose. “No. Fucking. Biggie. You didn’t fall, you jumped.”

 

Or… maybe not? 

If looks could kill, Izuku is certain he’d be dead and buried. 

 

“Uh… yeah?” Izuku says more quietly, suddenly realizing that Kacchan was not going to be celebrating any time soon. “Kacchan, why are you so upset?”

 

“BECAUSE! For just a second, I thought you actually fucking learned something after all these years! I was apparently stupid enough to believe that you FINALLY knew better! Because you cannot be this fucking stupid. BECAUSE YOU CAN’T BE A HERO, DEKU!” Kacchan screams the words into Izuku’s face, his gloves digging into Izuku’s shoulders.   

 

He’s still not good enough.

Somehow… 

Even with superpowers. Even with the suit. Even with OFA. With all the greatest possible tools at his disposal, he’s still just a Deku. 

A useless nobody. 

That’s all Kacchan saw when he looked at him, wasn’t it?

Even after everything.

 

"Deku, your blood pressure and heart rate are too high. You haven't eaten or had water all day, even though you exercised heavily. If you don't calm down, you're going to lose consciousness." Yoichi's sad voice said quietly in his ear. 

He ignored it. 

 

“D-do you mean that, Kacchan?” Izuku croaks, his tears adding to the raindrops on his cheeks.

That’s why Kacchan didn’t tell him about this whole vigilante thing. Because he didn’t trust him. 

 

“You CAN’T be a hero, Deku.” Kacchan repeats, like a vow. 

Kacchan didn’t even remember Deku’s mask, didn’t recognize him because he couldn’t imagine Izuku EVER being a hero good enough to stand beside him. 

Is he ever going to be good enough for Kacchan?

Of course not. 

What, did he think some fancy high-tech suit paid for out of pity by his friend, or the nearly sentient AI Dr. Toshinori gave him, or that stupid spider bite could change anything?

He was always just playing pretend, scraping by with help from any and everyone. 

 

Of course he wasn’t a hero. 

For just a second… he thought…

Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. 

He should’ve known better. 

 

Izuku takes a step back, and despite Kacchan’s tight grip, he pulls himself free. Kacchan stares at him, dumbfounded, and takes a few steps after him, but Izuku is faster. 

He evades the hands grabbing for him, and pulls the mask down over his tear-stricken face. 

 

It’s only a few steps before he’s launching himself off the roof, leaving Kacchan screaming his name into the night.

Chapter 19: A Promise to Stay Close (For Real This Time)

Summary:

Katsuki realizes a few things, and has a bad night.

Notes:

Lowkey, I hate this chapter.

I've rewritten it like three times, and it might get edited in the future, but for now this will have to do, because we are in the LAST TEN CHAPTERS! Woohoo!

“I was starting to think you were playing favorites, old man.” Katsuki says with thinly veiled ire.

 

It's clear that Dr. Toshinori had a soft spot for green eyes and green hair, almost as much as Katsuki did. 

He's pissed that it was affecting HIS internship, that HE earned, though. 

Dr. Toshinori at least has the decency to look sheepish, as he fucking should.

 

“I’ve been thinking that too, my boy. I apologize, sincerely. There’s quite a lot I need to fill you in on, actually, if you wouldn’t mind taking a seat?” His bony hand gestured at the loveseat. Katsuki couldn’t help the mean smirk that twisted his features as he sank into the middle of the loveseat, letting his arms drape across the length of the back. 

 

“Oh, is it finally time for Story Time? Better make this one I haven’t heard before. Wait, no, actually, let me guess. You were ass over brain for your research partner, got diagnosed as ‘completely fucked’, chickened out, 3D printed your own guts with OFA, which is actually like a super computer AI handed down from mentor to student. Big shocker, that custom organ thing went poorly, and now some Monkey See/Monkey Do-ass nerd wants to steal it for himself. How’d I do?” Katsuki asks sardonically, reveling in the slack jawed expression on his hero’s face.

He doesn’t appreciate being kept out of the loop, but throwing it back in the old man's face does feel pretty fucking great, Katsuki has to admit.

Hell yeah, he was the smartest one in this place. 
‘Bout time the old man finally noticed. 

Good luck hiding a secret from Katsuki, he's a goddamned bloodhound. 

Serves Dr. Toshinori right for stringing Katsuki along while his perfect little Chosen One prances around getting pounded into the mattress by any motherfucker who speaks to him for five minutes.   

 

“H-how…” Dr. Toshinori gasped like a dying fish. 

 

“The security in this office is garbage. Just slipped a listening device into your pencil cup. Pathetically easy. A brat could have done it.” Katsuki scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

 

“You were the one who bugged my office?!” Dr. Toshinori yelled, standing up from his desk in outrage. 

 

Losing interest in gloating in favor of that old familiar anger simmering so close to the surface, Katsuki leans forward. He sits hunched over, crossing his arms and glaring back at the professor from his spot on the loveseat. Despite the several feet between them, the atmosphere is tense.

 

“Damn right, I did. You and the nerd were having awfully privileged conversations. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known shit.” Katsuki accuses Dr. Toshinori pointedly.

 

Dr. Toshinori lets out a large breath, before suddenly beginning to hack and cough his way into his own trash can and retching noisily into it. 

Katsuki does not feel guilty. 
No, not guilty in the slightest. 
Just very grossed out.

 

“So you know everything? Maybe I should call Young Midoriya back then, I want to know how it's going…” Dr. Toshinori mumbles after several minutes, wiping the bloody saliva off his mouth with a handkerchief. 

 

“How what's going? I haven’t listened to the recordings since last Friday, been busy.” Katsuki grunts, before his eyebrows draw together in suspicion. “Wait a fucking second. Thought you said Deku was busy with a project off campus! What’s he actually doing right now?” The words fly from his mouth faster than a bullet leaving the chamber. 

 

So that was yet another lie?

 

“Well, yes he’s busy with OFA. It finished integrating this morning, he’s off on a test drive?” Dr. Toshinori says with one eyebrow raised. “I tried to tell him to just stay and we could all have a discussion… but Young Midoriya was convinced you wouldn’t approve.”

 

“Approve - of - what?” Katsuki hisses each word, and Dr. Toshinori’s eyes widen, finally seeming to understand Katsuki didn't seem to know anything about their top secret little project.

 

“I… er… don’t believe it’s my place to say. He promised... just before he left, that he would tell you once the testing was done... so he could answer any questions you might have.” His mentor’s voice gets increasingly more hesitant as Katsuki stands, stalking to the desk, and slamming his palms down on the wood loudly. 

 

The old man didn't so much as flinch.

 

“Don’t make me ask again.” Katsuki seethes, glaring straight into the sunken eyes of his mentor.
 

“I can’t make you do anything, my boy. I doubt anyone can.” Comes Dr. Toshinori’s dry reply, the scientist meeting his gaze with determination. 

 

“I fucking WISH that were true!” Katsuki spits, not backing down. “But apparently, I’m just as whipped for the nerd as everyone else on this fucking planet. Now. Where. Is. He?” He stabs his index finger into the surface of the desk with every word

 

Deja vu. 
Must be something about this damned office. 
Or Deku has a habit of getting under Katsuki's skin. 
Either is possible.

Dr. Toshinori just sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 

“You’re so perceptive of each other, and yet so oblivious it’s almost impressive.” There's a brief chuckle, but Katsuki didn't think it sounded genuine. He isn’t sure if he particularly cares if it was or not.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean, old man?” He growls, grinding his teeth together. 

 

“Young Midoriya was under the impression you would be upset if you learned what he was working on, yes, but he also admitted he’s wanted to tell you since the first day you stood in this office together.” Dr. Toshinori’s smile is kind, if not a little sad. 

 

“If he wanted to tell me so goddamn badly, then why the hell didn’t he?” 

 

“That’s a question only Young Midoriya can answer, I’m afraid. Perhaps he wanted to prove something? I can only speculate on matters of the heart, and as you so generously pointed out, I’m hardly an expert.” Dr. Toshinori points out evenly, still not looking away from Katsuki.

He retreats with a huff, seeing that intimidation is not working out in his favor. 

 

“If you aren’t going to be straight with me, then why the hell am I even here? Acting like a damn fortune cookie. If you and Deku are going to be sneaking around, all ‘Jedi master and apprentice’, then why even choose two recipients in the first fucking place?” He tries not to sound petulant, to keep his voice firm instead of wobbly, but goddammit, it’s actually driving Katsuki crazy.

 

This was HIS mentorship, this was HIS program, at HIS university, but in every way he was falling fucking short.

That burning, festering itch is dragging its claws against his nerves, amplifying every negative feeling to a thousand. He hasn’t taken a contract in weeks, too focused on the Half n Half bastard and the fires. Here he is, bitching in his mentor’s office while Deku, Japan’s Sweetheart, cock gobbler extraordinaire, was off galivanting around with some of the most advanced tech in the world. 

What’s worse is, he's intentionally keeping it from Katsuki.

Let's think about this rationally.

What is Deku hiding?

Dr. Toshinori’s gravelly voice over that first recording… talking about the “impressive piece of tech” the nerd was supposedly working on. 

What exactly has Deku been working on?

What the hell were they even talking about? 
What kind of testing would Deku hide from him?

Why was he so convinced Katsuki wouldn’t approve?

Why did Deku give a damn what Katsuki approved of, anyway? Not like the little shit has ever listened to him before. 

Katsuki is suddenly very aware that he has absolutely no idea what Deku’s been fiddling with on his side of the lab. Katsuki might’ve seen… gloves, maybe?

Has Katsuki really been spending months staring at Deku and never once actually noticed what the fuck the nerd was actually doing in all that time?
At least one glove, but never a full pair. Just odds and ends, bits here and there, but nothing complete. 
There’s no way a couple random gadgets are what has Dr. Toshinori chomping at the bit, so it must be something else.

Something bigger. 

 
The night of that first kiss… he was messing with some goggles, or were those just eye protection while he used the machinery? 

 

“You have every right to be upset with me, Young Bakugou. I let my fondness for Young Midoriya keep you at arm’s length, and I only have myself to blame for that. I chose you because you have potential. It is my professional opinion that you make each other better simply by being together. Perhaps that’s just an old man’s sentimentalities coloring his perspective, but never have I ever been so invested in two young pupils, or more excited for their promising futures. I am sorry I let you fall by the wayside, and I swear I won’t let it happen again. I’ll be the kind of mentor you deserved from the start.” Dr. Toshinori’s voice turns grave, his countenance so like death, with his pointed, weathered face, and hollow eyes.

You'd never know this gaunt, scarecrow of a man was actually the charming winner of the Best Smile award six years in a row, like Dr. Toshinori used to be.

But there was a sincerity in that, somehow.

Instead of smiling that mega-watt grin, and telling Katsuki to shut the hell up and actually work hard to impress him, he just sat there.

Apologizing.

It makes something uncomfortable and slimy wriggle in his abdomen.   

 

“Gross, I don’t forgive you. Do better.” Katsuki sniffed, turning around to face the door to hide the wetness in his eyes. 

 

Damn pollen.  
Yes, there could be pollen in December. 
Shut the fuck up. 

 

“I do have one selfish request, however, if you don’t mind?” His mentor simpers, and there's suddenly a cool, skeletal hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. 

 

“Figures. Out with it, I don’t have all day, y’know. I’m supposed to be researching and actually doing stuff to earn my place in this dump. Can’t have a scientific breakthrough if I’m just stuck here listenin’ to you yammering.” Katsuki huffed, still not facing Dr. Toshinori out of sheer stubbornness. 

 

Even when that hand turned him in the old man’s direction, Katsuki kept his eyes on the ceiling above them. 
 

“Promise me you’ll stay by his side? At least for the rest of the academic year. I see… so much of myself, of my mistakes, when I look at Young Midoriya. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been so involved,  trying to help him avoid the pitfalls that I don’t think I ever stopped falling in. Izuku... is the kind of person to do everything by himself. He’ll need you, your confidence, your conviction. Your opinion means a lot to him.” Dr. Toshinori’s voice has somehow aged a hundred years during the course of that little speech. It wavers and trembles with every shallow breath, and the hand on Katsuki’s shoulder squeezes gently. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like you even had to ask for that, manipulative old geezer. I can’t seem to get rid of Deku, even when we were brats, he’s like some kind of disease.” Katsuki grunts out, but doesn’t shake his mentor off. 

 

“Can’t blame an old man for trying, right?” The hand on his shoulder moves to clap him on the back. 

 

“I sure the hell can and will!”

 

---

 

Out of “fairness”, Dr. Toshinori let Katsuki out for the day before lunch. 

 

He would have stayed anyways, out of sheer spite, but he did have something rather pressing to do, and the middle of the school day was the perfect time to do it. It’s not too far from campus, the swanky high rise clearly more expensive than any normal student could afford, the lucky bastard. 

Katsuki walks by the front desk girl, who eyes him suspiciously. Her hair is gaudy lime green and wild, like toxic waste. 

 

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” She says, instantly pissing him off. 

 

“To visit a resident, what’s it to you, Imagine Dragons?” Katsuki says while rolling his eyes, not breaking his stride before she’s in front of him. Clearly she takes her job seriously, as she’s in some kind of power stance that prevents him from accessing the elevator. His lip curls back over his teeth, and ‘Moe’ according to her dumb name tag, mimics him. 

 

“Is that some kind of joke? I take my job seriously, I know everyone who comes in or out, and I’ve never seen YOU here before.” Her tone is sharp on her tongue, no pleasantries or feigned politeness. 

 

Katsuki simultaneously likes and hates her, all at once.

 

“Wasn’t aware you were some kind of guard dog, though with hair like that, I should’ve guessed your job was keeping people away.” His grin is mean and taunting, hoping to embarrass her, but she doesn’t back down. Katsuki already knows picking a fight with the doorlady will likely ruin any chance he has of making it upstairs to the Halfie’s place, but he’s already here…
 
Unfortunately for Katsuki, she pulls out a remote, clearly some kind of panic alarm. 

Shit.

 

“Lucky for you, I take the high road. Now get out, and don’t come back without the resident you’re visiting. Or have ‘em come down for a chat. Ooh, or better yet, don’t come back at all!” 

 

Her stupid hyena laugh follows him out the door.

 

---

 

Katsuki isn’t necessarily proud of his next move. 

It feels too much like weakness, like giving up. He’s Katsuki Bakugou, he doesn’t NEED anyone. But maybe, just maybe, using all the pieces at his disposal is worth the mortification. 

Take a page out of the nerd’s playbook. 
After all, that’s what his hobo-looking ex-teacher wanted from him, right? To ask for help?

So despite it not even being a full twelve hours since he’s left, Katsuki is shrugging his way back into the League, the bell chiming when he pushes the door open.

It’s the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, so it’s unsurprising that it’s completely dead. 

Luckily Stabby isn’t working the bar right now, it’s someone new. The man behind the counter is probably mid-thirties? Handsome in a prissy way, confirmed when he sets the glassware down and waves at Katsuki with a flourish instead.

 

“I need to talk to Aizawa.” Katsuki grunts, sliding onto one of the stools. The man smiles indulgently, making no move to leave. 
  

“Yuga~!” He sings, plucking another glass from the rack and wiping it with a cloth napkin like some fine dining maître de. His movements are smooth and fluid, floating through the air like some dancing butler. Isn’t that a little pretentious for a bar like this?

 

“Oui?” A blonde haired guy around Katsuki’s age leans around the doorframe from the kitchen area, flour sticking to his glimmering cheek. He’s practically a disco ball, coated in glitter and flour almost in equal measure.

 

“We have a guest inquiring after the Boss. Run along and fetch him for me, would you?” The man behind the bar purrs, never looking away from the glass in his hands.

 

“But Atsuhirooooo, Sato is teaching me to make Mille-feuille! I am a le mess!” The blonde whines, gesturing at his flour covered apron and face.

The man clicks his tongue, and sighs, setting the glass back on the bar with a clink. 

 

“How disappointing. Aren’t you supposed to be MY protege, Yuga? Remember, presentation is EVERYTHING in this business. How else would we shine? You’ll figure that out one of these days…” ‘Atsuhiro’ tuts, but by the time he looks away from the glass in his hands, the blonde had already twirled back around the corner as if he hadn’t said a word. “... Or not.” 

 

“Can we hurry this up, I’ve got places to be.” Katsuki grunts, crossing his arms over his chest and resting them against the bar with raised brows.

 

“Typical. Because you kids today... you have your values chosen for you. Great magicians are wasted on the young." Atsuhiro gripes, before turning on his dainty Oxford’s and disappearing into the kitchen. 

 

Katsuki rolls his eyes, before looking out into the empty bar around him. 

It's strange to see it so empty.

It looks much larger without all the pressing bodies, caterwauling karaoke singers, and mind-numbing music making it feel cramped. 
    

“That was fast.” He turns his head to see Aizawa holding up the small half curtain that separates the kitchen and front-of-house. “I thought it’d take at least a week for you to crack.” 

 

Katsuki shows his teeth to his old teacher, but the man doesn’t seem intimidated at all. 

 

“The only one ‘cracking’ here is your ancient bones, old man.” 

 

“I’m sure. What can I do for you, King Explosion Murder God?” Aizawa drawls, stepping behind the bar and mixing a drink for himself. 

 

That name had been his chosen submission for their cultural festival back in high school, and despite it being a super cool name, his teacher and friends thought it was the funniest fucking thing ever. 

Idiots, all of them.

Wouldn't know a badass name if it bit them in the... 

 

“I need… supplies. There’s somewhere I want to be, somewhere I’m not exactly allowed to be. After seeing the way Blondie moved, I thought maybe you'd have some suggestions.” Katsuki speaks slowly, fighting to keep his tone disinterested. He's staring hard at the surface of the bar, not looking up until the words are already safely out of his mouth so he doesn't just say 'fuck it' and leave.

 

“I do. What does security look like... wherever you’re going?” Aizawa said easily, making a dismissive hand gesture taking a long sip from the drink now in his hand. 

 

“There’s a door-watcher, and probably surveillance cams. She has some kind of panic button or alarm, and she definitely knows what I look like.” He admits with distaste. 

 

“What about the unit? Any special security devices?” 

 

“Not that I know of, but it wouldn’t surprise me. The apartment website says they use personalized numerical locks, shouldn’t be hard to hack, but that only matters if I can get past the elevators.” Katsuki grunts, but Aizawa doesn’t seem perturbed, only nodding in response.

 

“A residence then. I can lend you some equipment. Shouldn’t be too difficult.” Aizawa just wanders off after their little ‘talk’, without another word, leaving him alone again.

 

He’s fine with that, until the French weirdo and the magician creep back in and start badgering him. Ignoring them seems to work decently well in moving the topic off himself, but after ten minutes of listening to those dumbasses talking on and on about ‘show business’, Katsuki’s ready to cut his losses and just leave.

Aizawa lumbers back in, big ass bag on his shoulder almost the second Katsuki reaches for the doorknob, content to try again some other time. Katsuki wouldn't put it past his old sensei to wait until he made a move for the door to grace him with his presence. The duffel bag makes a loud, ominous thunk when Aizawa tosses it onto the bar.

 

“What’s all this?” Katsuki asks skeptically, eyeing the bag with a dubious expression. He'd been expecting one or two things, not the whole ass Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe. 

 

“Can’t hurt to be prepared.” His former teacher replies with a faint smirk. When Katsuki doesn't answer out loud, Aizawa shrugs and turns to leave. 

He's almost at the other end of the bar when Katsuki swallows his pride.

 

"Oi!" Katsuki barks, startling the magician. Aizawa pauses mid step, looking back over his shoulder at him. 

 

"... Thanks, or whatever." He says to no one in particular, shouldering the bag and staring at the empty stage at the far side of the room.

 

"There's hope for your manners, after all."  Was all Aizawa said before waving languidly, trudging back into the kitchen.

 

Asshole.

 

That’s how Katsuki ended up shouldering a rather heavy duffle bag of spy shit all the way back to his apartment. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he finally let it fall with a bounce onto his mattress.  

There’s a lot of shit in here. 

A few first aid kits, binoculars, knives, a signal jammer, a fucking grapple gun which is very cool, walkie talkies, listening devices…

Speaking of. 

Katsuki looks over at the laptop on his dresser, and decides to check the feed on the bug. He’s disappointed to find that it’s offline, but not surprised. Dr. Toshinori must've already gotten rid of it. 

The last transmitted file was dated yesterday, beginning around nine in the morning. That must’ve been when Deku and Dr. Toshinori had been locked up in the office, when Deku started avoiding him. 
He taps the playback button and returns to the duffel bag when it begins to play over the speakers.

 

“What would you like to discuss, young Midoriya?" Dr. Toshinori asks on the recording. "Does it have something to do with your heroic exploits over the weekend?" 

 

What happened over the weekend? 

Katsuki frowns as he continues slowly removing supplies from the bag.

 

Batteries.

Ear plugs. 

He rolls his eyes. Aizawa always thinks he’s the funniest bastard in the room. 

"You saw that?" Deku mumbles, sounding embarrassed.

 

"All of Japan seems to have seen it, son. You did very well. There likely would have been significantly more damage without your intervention. Your abilities, and the technology within your suit are quite the winning combination, it seems." The tube of petroleum jelly slips from his hands at that. 

 

A suit?

So Katsuki really has only seen chunks of the nerd’s work, pieces to a greater whole.

Has Deku taken his shit to a show or one of those expo’s over the weekend? Katsuki hadn’t bothered to check the calendar. 

Wait, so that whole time, while Katsuki had been moping around his apartment and doing fucking laundry, Deku had been somehow recognized by all of Japan?

Maybe that’s why he was gone so early the next morning.

Couldn’t look like a slut in front of a review board, after all.

 

"Actually, about that..." Deku, the asshole he is, just stops talking. He must’ve given something to Dr. Toshinori, because Katsuki is the only one lost. 

 

"You want to integrate OFA into your suit? That's... that's an excellent idea!" So he wants to improve the design, and since Dr. Toshinori already practically threw OFA at the nerd, he wants to use it. 

 

Katsuki can’t say it’s unfair, but it puts a bad taste in his mouth that he wasn’t told. 
Wasn’t OFA given to BOTH of them?

If Deku puts it in his suit, will Katsuki even be able to use it?

How are they going to put it in the suit in the first place?

What is the suit even for?

 

"I came up with the idea last night. Shouto called me, worried he was being followed, and trying to fit my phone into the suit was frustrating in a way I hadn't considered earlier. Keeping my hands free was incredibly important while I was out there, a hands free option would solve that issue. There were many times during the fire that I could have used another perspective, or someone to bounce ideas off of. Trying to calculate the weight limit on Black Whip on the fly almost got me and two civilians killed. Speaking of, I also need to increase the capacity of how much methacrylate I store in the suit. Black Whip was incredibly useful, but if I can't keep enough of it available for me to use, it's next to useless." Deku explains, as cool as a cucumber, as he recounts what was apparently his recent brush with death. 

His voice is calm and even, not a hint of fear or regret, despite each new piece of information tearing through Katsuki like claws. 

 

What. The. Fuck.

No, there’s no way. 

There’s no way at all. 

 

Katsuki spins on his heel, stomping over to the laptop, and pausing the audio before Deku’s fucking mumbling carries him off kicking and screaming into a panic attack. 

 

He opens a new tab, and searches for the images of the vigilante taken on the day of the fire, because he definitely would have noticed, right?

Katsuki almost breaks down when he sees familiar red shoes. 

 

There’s no way. 

No fucking way.

Katsuki definitely would’ve noticed, right?

 

He’s on his knees, digging through boxes in his closet, before finding the tattered old notebook. 

 

Flipping through the pages like a madman, his chemically smooth fingers gliding over the sheets, until he finds it. The marker sketches of his mask…
… and right beside it, in the same childish scribbles, is a matching mask in green instead of orange. 

With big tear stains, and wide open eyes.

Katsuki flicks his eyes back to the laptop, and sees the real-life version plummeting off a goddamn building. 

The shot that had seemed so impossible, that had taken his breath away, was now an immortalization of his actual worst nightmare. 
He was watching Deku fall off a building again. 
In the bright golden light of dawn this time, instead of dusk.

He closes the computer window.

His hand shakes when he taps the spacebar, letting the recording play again.  

 

"I can see all of that being useful information for the future! I believe OFA could do amazing things if patched into the existing suit interface, we might even be able to upgrade a few of the other monitoring software you have running in the background. This is incredibly exciting, the sooner we get this in motion the better! Let's get to work." 

 

Numb, Katsuki sits back down on the floor of his bedroom, leans against his bed, and listens to Dr. Toshinori clatter around in his office. 

 

"Sir, I really want to keep this between us for now. K-Kacchan doesn't know about the suit. It would… it would ruin everything." Katsuki hears the nerd’s voice waver, hears the stutter on his name. Understands everything perfectly.

Deku’s been hiding this fucking secret, since the beginning.

From Katsuki, in particular.

 

"Ah, yes. I understand completely, my boy. I'm afraid I was too excited, and got ahead of myself. For today, we can work out the integration process here in the office with OFA. I'm afraid even I don't know exactly how adaptable OFA will be to a new vessel." Dr. Toshinori says apologetically, and then they’re off discussing next steps. 

 

So many things suddenly make an aggravating amount of sense.

All those awkward, scrapped sentences, the hesitation, the scars? Deku didn't get those from skateboarding, he got them by being a fucking liar who has obviously never learned a goddamned thing in his entire nerdy little life.   

Katsuki spent every day in the lab with Deku, working together, talking, laughing… and he knew jack shit about him. 

Deku somehow managed to keep him comfortably in the dark on his super special little project, despite all of Katsuki's attention being on Deku for the past several months.

Wait.

All that flirting, the kissing, all that, had that just been Deku… distracting him?

Was he really being looked down on this whole time?

Deku’d laugh his damn freckles off if he knew how many times a day Katsuki thought about him.

After sniffing around the nerd like a damn lapdog for months, all that crap about getting Deku out of his head?

It was all lies.
Katsuki took the bait. 
Hook, line, and goddamn sinker. 

Even that kiss, or the party, spending the night together, those were all just tests. 

Ones he’d failed.

Katsuki can’t even say he regrets falling for it, because he was already head over heels by then, wasn’t he? 

Time and time again, Katsuki chose Deku. Hadn’t he always?

Maybe Katsuki lost this battle much earlier on in than he thought he had.

Before that reunion in the office, even before that day on the roof… 

Maybe Katsuki has been ruined since that very first meeting in his childhood bedroom, All Might stickers on the door… because he wasn’t some dumb brat, he knew the truth about Santa Claus and the fuckin’ Easter Bunny. Knew that adults were liars and other kids were idiots.

Knew that Everything Sucked, and that was the entire point. 

Everything sucked and that’s just the way things worked.

Bigger, better, badder predators would snap up anything weaker, it was just survival of the fittest. 
The strong survive, and the weak don't, those are the rules.
Katsuki understood that, but Deku never did.

His way of handling that was just to be the biggest, baddest thing in the room and everything would be fine. 

Problem solved. 

It worked out suspiciously well for a long time.

 

When the babysitters and his teachers tried to talk about all that ‘sharing’ and ‘empathy’, ‘feelings’ garbage, he knew it was just something the adults said to the babies.

The ones who didn’t know any better, who truly thought that life was fair, that their Mommy’s kisses healed injuries and didn’t just introduce bacteria into their wounds, that good people would be rewarded for behaving.

But that wasn’t true. 
Katsuki knew it from experience. 
Behaving was for suckers.
Katsuki never behaved, never listened, but that didn’t matter because he was the best, he was special.

And that was enough. 

Being better, being something special, being the shark infesting the water, being the one others look to, the leader. 
It was comfortable… until he met Deku. 
Even that first day, looking up from whatever the fuck he was doing, and seeing that freckled face hiding behind Auntie. Looking into those big glossy eyes and knowing he had to protect him, had to keep him safe, his partner, his sidekick, his wife. He’d seen it. 

He’d noticed it immediately, that indescribable ‘difference’.

That thing that did not belong, and yet here they were over fifteen years later and he still couldn’t put a name to it. 

Definitely couldn’t resist it.
Couldn’t even admit it, though apparently anyone with eyes could see it, if his fight with Stabby was any indication.

He wasn’t a shark in these waters, he was just a kid, and so was Deku, but more fragile than all the rest.

Always watching, always copying him. Always there. 

 

Deku: his ridiculous, whiny, weak, pathetic little shadow.

He’d die without Katsuki, isn’t that what he used to say? 

How did they go from that… to this? 

To Deku lying to his face?

 

Katsuki has never once felt as pathetic as he does now, sitting in his bedroom floor questioning if his childhood friend is the mysterious superhero on Channel 6. It should be laughable, it should be absurd. Katsuki should be busting a gut right now at the idea of Deku dressing up to go fight crime, but he's not. It was more horrifying how totally obvious it seems, actually, but Katsuki can't accept it without cold, hard proof.

The delicate order has been disturbed, and now Deku was the one in front, leading Katsuki through the blackness. 

Deku, of all people, was the one impressing their hero, knocking it out of the park with his inventions, sleeping around, going to bars and parties, having friends? 

Deku suddenly being sassy and fun, his crooked but nimble fingers gliding over hunks of metal and plastic, his muscles bulging as he carried something impossibly heavy around the lab… streaked in grease and sweat… breathing the same air as Troll Doll or having breakfast with the Candy Cane. The belly button piercing and blown out pupils and the way he cried… If anybody was going to be a superhero based off dedication alone, it would be Deku. 

Deku doesn’t need him at all. 
He’s got everything he could possibly need. A guy for every day of the week, a mentor who adores him. A suit, apparently. 
Nowadays Katsuki is always falling behind and Deku just seems to have everything perfectly under control.

Every damn day he leaps ahead when he should be behind Katsuki… or at least beside him.

Dr. Toshinori and Deku continue chattering through the recording.

It should be fascinating. 
It should give him a hint as to what to expect from this suit… but Katsuki barely internalizes any of it. 

He just sits there. 

He listens quietly to all the technical jargon, all the suggestions, brainstorming together the way they usually do. Turns out that archaic hunk of junk on Dr. Toshinori’s desk actually serves a purpose, at least. Katsuki isn’t there to warn them to call it quits when one of the drives burns out. Listens as they keep going and end up destroying the nerd’s laptop. Dr. Toshinori and Deku let out twin sounds of panic when they see the blue screen and try to contain the damage, only managing to make it worse with every keystroke. Part of him wants to laugh, but the rest of him doesn’t even remember how. 

The recording cuts out around an hour and a half later, Dr. Toshinori waxing poetic about his time in America, with the nerd hung up on every word, asking thousands of questions about the dumbest shit Katsuki would never have even wondered about. 

 

‘What color was your first prosthetic?’

‘Would the enzyme supplement work on wine or mead, or is it only corn-based alcohols?’

‘You and Dr. Shield were college friends with his wife?! Did she know about the two of you?’

‘Wait, there’s a cheeseburger in L.A. named after you?!’

 

Their stupid, happy voices and the tapping of their respective keyboards are the last things Katsuki hears before the audio fizzles out.

It’s very quiet after that. 

 

---

 

Katsuki isn’t sure when he finished unpacking the duffel bag. He doesn’t remember laying everything out, itemizing and numbering them. Doesn’t remember changing into his uniform, adding a few of the new pieces to his arsenal. There’s a hazy memory of leaving his apartment. Another one of him crossing the street and looking up at Frosty’s apartment.

He makes sure to look around for witnesses before using the grappling gun to hook his tether around the same balcony he saw Half and Half and Deku having their little breakfast date on, just this morning. The door into the apartment isn’t even locked from out here. He nudges past the door, looking around at the frankly gorgeous apartment in distaste. 

Fucking nepotistic little…

There’s very little here in the way of personal effects. Either he’s very minimalistic or all his shit is still back at home with Daddy Dearest.

Sure, there’s things here and there. 

Like the two toothbrushes in the bathroom, much to his disappointment. One of them is a light mint green and Katsuki fights the urge to flush it down the toilet. The beds are made, so at least Katsuki doesn’t have to glare holes in any rumpled bedclothes and wonder if the nerd has writhed in pleasure on them recently. 

Shit, guess he was going to be doing that anyways. 

The nerd’s clothes aren’t in the hamper, and the washer and dryer are empty.

There are some photos scattered around the apartment, but they are few and far between.  

One hanging in the hallway was clearly taken at Deku’s prom. 

The nerd in question is tucked under Troll Doll’s lanky arm, but Deku’s sunny smile is pressed up against a familiar round face. Zombie’s other arm is clearly being pushed off Half n Half’s shoulder. 
The Blondie from the bar is here too, her arms wrapped around Pink Cheek’s neck. The frog-faced girl from the party is there too, straightening Toga’s champagne colored dress for the photo. Glasses stands at the back, looking stoically at the camera, like he’s standing for an 18th century portrait.   

In the bedroom, there isn’t anything that screams “I set buildings on fire for fun and/or maybe as revenge against my father” and that's very disappointing. 

It’s mostly clothes, folded in the dresser and hanging in the closet. There’s some nicer accessories like watches and other corporate attire (what fucking eighteen year old needed five different tie pins?), but even the drawers in the night stand have nothing but batteries and stationery supplies hidden inside. Pawing through Half n’ Half’s panty drawer doesn’t take nearly as long as Katsuki thought it would.

He's about to bail, too irate to function, when a book on the nightstand catches his eye.

It has no title on the front or spine, but it’s nice quality. Wrapped in worn leather, with a frayed purple ribbon bookmark peeking out, it doesn't look like your average novel. Katsuki flips it open carelessly, letting the pages flutter as he thumbs through it.

It’s a diary.

A handwritten one. 

 

“Father would never let me keep him. He wants me to marry well, impregnate some vapid little debutante and pop out new pawns for his games. That the great Todoroki name will live on, I just have to be part of his perfect little family menagerie. But how could I even consider holding a woman when he looks at me with those sparkly eyes?”

 

Katsuki shuts the cover.

Reading a lovestruck Shouto Todoroki pine over Deku is something he does not plan to do sober. He entertains the thought of raiding Richie Rich’s liquor cabinet and just hanging out on the bastard’s couch so that when he does finally show up, Katsuki can just kill him and finally put the fucker out of his misery. As hilarious as that sounds, Katsuki knows better than to hang around.

He slides the diary into his jacket to keep it safe. It’s going to kill him to wait until he gets home, but it’ll be worth it when a certain split-dyed idiot isn’t liable to walk in during the juicy parts. 

The sun is still shining low in the sky, mocking him.

A little girl is sobbing out snot bubbles over a doll in front of him when Katsuki moves to the other side of the street without a word. 

Christmas is next week, apparently. 
The shopping center is a nightmare, when Katsuki walks by the plaza. A hustling, bustling nightmare of screaming babies, exhausted parents, and brats running around like cockroaches. 
He gives them a wide berth.

Katsuki sends a quick text to Ponytail. 
He needs something to take the edge off, something to refocus him.

Luckily it seems she’s been waiting for him to reach out, because it’s not even ten minutes later that he has a new target. 
He thumbs through the information on this hit, and Katsuki smirks, pulling his hood down low to cover his hair as he boards the train to Roppongi. 

This time his target is Tatsuyuki Tokoname.

The asshole’s a cop in the Tokyo Police Department, and according to Ponytail’s very thorough time-stamped research, is not only taking bribes, but has a tendency of arresting anybody he can get his filthy hands on. He picks up homeless people and sex workers mostly, claiming he saw them commit some kind of crime. Slippery fuck then takes them back to the station, and extorts them, requiring the victim’s family to wire him cash in exchange for dropping the chumped up charges. 

What a piece of shit. 

It’s dark by the time he finally arrives, but he’s glad for it. It’s always better to do this shit in the dark, no matter how carefully Katsuki operates, or how well he hides his uniform from prying eyes. Stepping off the train platform, he follows the stairs to the surface access. 

Low and behold, there’s the shitstain now.  

Walking into that same god awful club Katsuki swore up and down he’d never set foot in again. 

 

Goddammit it's a WEDNESDAY.

 

Katsuki doesn’t bother getting a drink, just tries to keep an eye on the dirty cop and not get his balls fondled by drunk strangers.  

Getting Slip n Slide alone proves harder than Katsuki thought it would be, mainly because the guy is too busy laughing and dancing with a group of tag-alongs. He’s flashing his dirty cash and ordering bottle service with it. His affluence has attracted a woman way too attractive for the shovel faced prick. After the third round of shots, Katsuki starts getting bored. He’s fucking pissed that what should have been a simple in and out mission, was taking THIS long. He doesn’t want to be here in this cesspool, he wants to go home and read this fucking tome burning a hole in his breast pocket. 

If Deku were here, he’d tell Katsuki that he sounded like a grumpy old man.
But Deku isn't here, so that doesn't matter. 

Katsuki has to fight off the same number of interested, handsy fucks as he did the last time he was here over a year and a half ago, and by the time he raises his eyes, his mark is nowhere to be found.

After he loses sight of the weasel, and his little girlfriend, Katsuki considers sticking around but what’s the point?

Searching for that bastard at this point in the night would probably just end in Katsuki having to watch a dirty cop get lackluster head in the dirtiest bathroom in the city.
With that lovely image fresh in his mind, Katsuki decides he’s done for the evening. He'll kill this asshole another night. 

Katsuki exits the club, sticking to the shadows, and he’s already a few streets over when the rain starts.

At first it’s just a drip here and there, then it’s pouring over his head. Katsuki ducks into an alcove, worried about the ink in the diary smudging if it gets wet. He fights the urge to check if it’s okay, knowing the second he removes it from the safety of his jacket, it’ll immediately get ruined if it isn’t already. Katsuki pulls his mask over his face to keep the rain off.
He’s about to growl out some waterlogged profanity when something catches his eye, a quick movement across the street. He flicks his eyes up and his breath catches in his throat. 

There, maybe two hundred meters away, almost completely hidden by rain and the night, is a familiar tear stained mask. 

Katsuki has to be wrong. 
There’s no way that’s Deku. 

This person is dancing over the rooftops, jumping over chasms between buildings, shimmying down rain spouts, hell, they barely seem to notice that they’re doing flips and shit several stories up. Katsuki remembers, vividly, that Deku was an awkward, clumsy piece of shit. Not some acrobat prodigy?

There’s no way this absolute unit of a man was the same nerd he used to watch cartoons with.

Not a chance, no way. 

But who else could it be?

Katsuki follows from a distance, occasionally hiding in alleys or making mad dashes to keep up. He watches the figure grab onto a fire escape and make a wide turn onto another ledge. He doesn’t even seem to look down once, until there’s glowing eyes suddenly facing Katsuki's direction. 

Shit. 
He’s been spotted.

But instead of confronting him, or bolting, the head tilts.
Like a damn puppy. 
It’s so familiar, so recognizable that it makes Katsuki’s guts swirl in his stomach. 

Please be wrong. 
Please be ANYONE else.

Katsuki follows the silhouette like a man possessed. 
The figure is progressing noticeably slower now, taking less sudden turns, relying less on… shit, what even are those? They look like wires, glistening in the rain, swimming through the wind as Deku… no, as the stranger, he corrects internally, leaves them behind. 

Even if his prey has voluntarily slowed down, Katsuki has been running around all day, and now that he thinks about it, he’s probably running on empty. Katsuki’s lungs are burning with the effort it takes to keep up on foot, but he can’t lose sight of this person. 

Not for a single second. 

Of course, he can’t account for poor infrastructure. When Katsuki has to backtrack up a side street, take a flight of stairs, and go around a fence to spot the figure again, he's accepted that the person he's following is likely long gone, until he sees the person waiting for him a few buildings down. 

The fact that he’s still keeping a line of sight… It's because whoever he’s following, they want to be caught.

Was it pity?

Was this a trap?

Or… something else? Something worse?

Something with freckles and a little gap in his teeth, that snorts when he laughs?

When Katsuki finally catches up and puts his bare palms against the wet tile of the building in front of him, he almost dry heaves onto the concrete. 

Fuck, he hasn’t felt this shitty maybe ever? Did his body just anticipate whatever shit storm waited for him on this roof?

If Katsuki goes up there. If he faces this head on, then what?

What if he messes it up?

What if he sees something he can’t unsee?

Can’t he just go home and pretend he never saw? 

Can’t they let the game go on just a little longer? 

No. 
They can’t. 
Katsuki Bakugou is not a fucking coward.

If he runs away right now, if he turns on his heel and gets on the train and goes the hell home… he knows they’ll never be the same.  He’ll never trust Deku, Deku will never talk to him again, they’ll graduate and go their separate ways, and Katsuki will watch this vigilante die on national television and never know for certain. It'll kill him. 

So before he can change his mind, he pulls out the grappling gun, aims, and fires. He feels the hook latch onto the building, tests his weight, and then he's slowly rappelling up. 

It’s probably dangerous to deploy a grappling gun in wet conditions, too easy for the hook to slip and plummet him to his death. He can practically hear Aizawa scolding him already. 

Please be wrong. 
Please be anyone else. 

That’s all he thinks as he slowly rises into the air. 
That and ‘don’t fucking look down’.

Please be wrong. 
Please be anyone else. 

Hell, he’d even prefer if that Half and Half bastard was the one waiting for him up there.
 
If Captain Todoroki himself was waiting up there with the entirety of that crooked ass Department and a pair of cuffs with his name engraved on ‘em, at least that Katsuki could understand. 

When he heaves himself up onto the roof, he’s doing his best to stare at the wet concrete, and nowhere else. He sucks in one hesitant lungful of air before looking up at the figure in front of him. 

From this distance, it’s clearly the mask from the drawing, but it can’t be him. 

The goggles are backlit a little, just enough to faintly illuminate the rain falling in front of them.

Rain drips down the green mask, but it can’t be him. 

 

“Hi, Kacchan.” Not-Deku’s voice coos at him from behind the mask. He hears the voice, recognizes it immediately, but it can’t be him.
Maybe there’s a speaker in the suit, playing a recording, because it can’t be him. 

He just sits there again. Like he had before in his bedroom. Katsuki must be in shock, that’s the only excuse for not moving a single inch when he sees Not-Deku get closer and press a kiss to his forehead. His heart thumps an uneven rhythm.

 

“Fancy meeting you here! How long were you following me anyway? Since the bridge? Sooner?” Not-Deku’s voice giggles, holding his hand out for Katsuki to take. 

 

“D-Deku?” He croaks, hoping someone is just playing a very, very cruel joke on him. He’d kill for a hidden camera and a punchable TV host right now.

 

He does not take Not-Deku’s offered hand, just stares at him. 

Oh no. 
This can’t be his Deku. 

This fake has to slip up sometime.

Sure this copycat knows about their nicknames, and the mask, and the sound of the nerd’s voice but… before Katsuki can even start to lie to himself, he sees it. 
Despite the lack of button nose or freckles or chewed up bottom lip, Katsuki sees Deku in every micro-expression of that mask. Sees the pucker of his forehead when he furrows his brow, the offset of his jaw, the scrunch of his nose.

Not-Deku lets the hand fall and tilts his head the way actual Deku does when he’s confused, and Katsuki wants to scream.

 

“Why do you sound so surprised? Did… did you not know it was me?” Not-Deku mumbles, and Katsuki is up in nerd's personal space before he can even finish the question. 

 

“Prove it.” Katsuki growls out, raising his chin in defiance. 

 

“Kacchan too, then.” Not-Deku sighs, and Katsuki doesn’t trust himself to speak so he nods slowly instead. 

 

It takes years for Deku to finally remove the mask.

The last line in the sand is crossed. 

Katsuki yanks his mask off without all the fanfare, because there’s no point. There’s no mistaking it. Katsuki can’t hide from it any longer.

That’s his nerd. 
That’s Deku.  

 

“K-Kacchan? Why do you look so scared right now?” Deku whispers, the rain pelting him, making him look like a drowned rat. 

 

Like he didn’t know. 
Like he didn’t hide it.
Like he didn’t exclude Katsuki and lie to his face for months now. 

Like he didn't toss Katsuki's heart in a blender just to keep this a secret.

Those shaky hands move toward Katsuki and the thought of Deku’s hands anywhere near him right now is enough to scare him. He knocks those offending hands away with a slap, and fights the urge to take several steps back.

Katsuki wishes he’d done that instead. He could’ve defended that, later on, somehow. 
Instead he turns all that fear, all that uncertainty and pain and longing, and shows it the only way he knows how. 

By opening his big fucking mouth.

 

“What the fuck is going on?! You’re the vigilante? The fucking fire? That was YOU?!” Katsuki screams, the rain suffocating him. 
Deku’s eyes reflect only unfurling storm clouds and the ambient lights from below. His curls are plastered to his forehead in inky swirls, his cheeks are ruddy red, teeth chattering in the cold. 
Katsuki hates everything about him. 

 

“I- I mean, yeah? Oh, I see. I’m sorry I ran out so early Kacchan, I just… I saw the fire from your window and I couldn’t just do nothing, so-” Katsuki’s gloved hands are shaking Deku roughly by the shoulders before he can even finish that sentence. 

 

“What the hell are you talking about? You ran from my apartment into a burning fucking building?! I saw the footage, you- you FELL!” Katsuki knew if he stopped even for a second, he was going to cry.

He had to keep yelling, keep screaming, keep lashing out. 
Anything to make the thought of Deku falling off that roof go away. 

 

He cannot stop.  

 

“Kacchan, stop…” 

 

He stops.

 

“I didn’t fall, don’t worry, I jumped! I was running low on the methacrylate for Black Whip, so I had to make the jump to get Kouta and his aunt down safely, no biggie!” 

Katsuki hears the words, that’s not the problem. No, it’s hearing the playback of his conversation with Dr. Toshinori earlier, and it's the recording he'd heard too. 
It’s the words Deku’s not saying. 

 

“... trying to calculate the weight limit on Black Whip on the fly almost got me and two civilians killed. Speaking of, I also need to increase the capacity of how much methacrylate I store in the suit…” 

 

He took that jump not knowing if he had enough to make it. And he was still downplaying it. 

Katsuki was going to kill Deku, with his bare hands, before Deku did it himself.   

 

“No. Biggie.” Katsuki parrots. “No. Fucking. Biggie. You didn’t fall, you jumped.” Katsuki is shaking with rage, with fear. 

 

After sucking his soul out through his dick, Deku had snuck out of Katsuki’s apartment, out of his bed, out of his arms, and ran into a burning building, and then jumped out a fucking window without a back up plan. 

No Biggie, Kacchan. 

Katsuki could have easily fallen asleep and woken up to a world where Deku had died, none the wiser.

Where bouncy green curls were still being swept off the pavement.

Where starry green eyes were now dull and dry and lifeless.

Where constantly fidgeting limbs finally lay peacefully still.

 

“Uh… yeah?” Deku asked, clearly concerned. “Kacchan, why are you so upset?”

 

“BECAUSE! For just a second, I thought you actually fucking learned something after all these years! I was apparently stupid enough to believe that you FINALLY knew better! Because you cannot be this fucking stupid. BECAUSE YOU CAN’T BE A HERO, DEKU!” Katsuki yells into Izuku’s face, begging him to understand.

To listen!
He has to understand. 
He has to actually get it this time, he’s gotten so lucky up until now but what about next time?
The time after that? How many of his nine lives has Deku already burned through?
What if he runs out of juice and ends up squished like a fucking bug?  
Katsuki can’t protect him, he can’t do anything at all, so he has to make Deku listen to reason. 

He has to. 

Deku being a hero is not nearly as important as Deku staying the fuck alive.
The thought of losing Deku now? After everything? Katsuki barely survived it the first time, and he did not come out unscathed.

This itching, burning compulsion to kill that lives in his bones, it crows from behind his ribcage like a trapped songbird. Flapping its useless little wings, and fluttering its blood soaked feathers. It sings to remind him of exactly what he’s lost, what he’s done, in Deku’s absence.  

 

“D-do you mean that, Kacchan?” Deku asks, his tears adding to the raindrops on his cheeks.

 

Of course he does! How can he not?! 

 

“You CAN’T be a hero, Deku.” Katsuki swears again, hoping Deku can see the conviction behind his eyes, can hear the promise in his voice.

 

He can’t let this happen again, can’t handle it, can’t entertain it. 

Deku has always deserved more, better, but Katsuki was always so possessive, so jealous, so proud. He threw tantrums as a kid so he could have one more hour, one more night, one more anything with Deku by his side, and he’s doing the same thing right now. 

It’s like having his heart cast in glass against his will.

Just having the damn thing was a chore enough, as fragile and delicate as it was, it was easier to leave it behind to gather dust while he actually did something worthwhile.
Until some random crybaby fucking found it under his bed and stole the damn thing!

Fine, whatever, he could keep it. Katsuki never even considered giving it to anyone else, anyways.

Then Deku had to go and run off with it. 
For years, it was frustrating, the absence of it, but eventually? Katsuki damn near had nearly forgotten he had a heart in the first place, until lo and behold, that same no-good thieving bastard went jumping off buildings with it strapped to his chest! 

Again. And again. And again. 
Knowing that one wrong move, one slip, one bolt of lightning, one bad day, and his reason for living is just… gone?   
Katsuki can’t handle his one weakness being a walking, talking, breathing, laughing idiot.

Especially a clumsy one that jumps off fucking buildings without even calling Katsuki so he can be there to catch him!

He made that stupid, terrible promise and every day since he fucking regretted it. 
Being a hero is the easiest thing when you’re five years old. When the worst thing he could imagine was scuffed knees and All Might band-aids? He never would have made that promise if he knew. 
At five, he never thought being a hero meant Deku would get hurt?

That he could bleed? That he could die? The thought had been as unconceivable to Katsuki then as it was now. 
If Katsuki was strong enough, the way he thought he would be by now, then he could keep Deku safe. There would be no risk, and they’d save the day side by side… but life didn’t work that way. 

He should've been stronger.

That was Katsuki’s own fault.  
All of this was. 

The bullying, the pushing, the roof… it fucked Deku up. No person in their right mind would do any of this, let alone be so nonchalant about it.

Katsuki ruined Deku, his sense of worth, of self. 
The others were right, Deku would do literally anything to help someone else, and as someone who loved him? 

That was fucking terrifying. 

He doesn’t see that Katsuki was wrong, and he was so wrong. Deku has more than it takes to be a hero, and he always has, but that was never the problem.

What if Deku hadn’t survived this fall? 
What if that day, when Katsuki went to the grocery store, he had seen the splatter of where Deku had hit the ground? 
What if he heard that reporter say Deku’s name as a casualty of the fire? 
What would Katsuki have done or said then?
Would he have gone straight to Auntie Inko and apologized for killing her baby boy? 
What if Katsuki had just smelled the burnt flesh and hair, from that pedestrian crossing? 
Not knowing the crispy fried fuck he trying not to gag over was Deku? 

He’s hyperventilating, his fingers curling into Deku’s shoulders. He wants to yank him close to Katsuki’s chest and never let him out of his sight again.

Anything to make this pounding, fluttering feeling in his chest stop. 

Deku apparently has other plans. 

He takes a step back, and even though Katsuki fights to hang on, Deku manages to pull himself free. Katsuki stares at him,  dumbfounded, tries to follow after him, but Deku is so much faster. 
He evades the hands grabbing for him, and pulls the mask back down over his face.  

It’s so fast. So painfully fast.

One minute he’s shaking Deku’s shoulders and screaming in his face, and the next?
Katsuki is left behind again, watching the only person he’s ever loved fling himself off yet another rooftop. 

He doesn't see the backlit lights of the mask, or even the soot streaked mask from the pictures when Deku was carrying that boy, no.

Katsuki just keeps seeing those emerald green crying eyes looking straight at him, plummeting off the roof at Aldera every time he closes his eyes. 

 
It takes several hours for the tears to stop, and the diary in his pocket is a heavy weight over his heart when he finally wanders home.

 

If Katsuki were a smart man he might've noticed the commotion on the way home. 

The sense of panic, the extra emergency service vehicles. 

If he wasn't so tired, to his very core, maybe he would have turned the news on, or checked his phone.

As it was, Katsuki was exhausted, so he didn't do any of that. 

His phone remained dead, his eyes remained closed, and Katsuki drifted off into a tepid, dreamless sleep on top of his covers... unaware of the nightmare he would wake into. 

 

Chapter 20: A Promise that Can’t Be Kept

Summary:

Will this night ever end?

Notes:

Hi everybody!!!

Big yikes on this chapter, have your tissues handy <3

 

Izuku can hear OFA prompting him to slow down, to calm down. He follows the glowing path laid out before him, but he isn’t really there. His body might as well have been puppeted around on strings. OFA reminds him again that he needs to eat, to drink, to rest. 

The idea of food disgusts him. 

He’s already drowning in his own fluids and the rain, so he’s sick of water.

The very concept of resting right now is ridiculous. 

How is he supposed to sleep with this hole in his chest? 

 

The tears burn in his eyes, but the friction of the salty tears against the mask burns worse. His skin is likely raw and red, but Izuku can’t make the tears stop. Can’t make himself stop running, either. Though it feels like he can never really outrun what he’s left behind. 

 

Izuku sees Shouto’s apartment in the distance, but the lights are all off.

Duh, Deku, it’s the middle of the damn night.

Of course Shouto is asleep.

Don’t you have your own place to go crawl back to? 

 

Izuku isn’t going to wake Shouto up for yet another of his late-night cryfests about his own bad decisions. Listening to Shouto chastise him for this… he can’t hear it again.

Plus, Izuku already woke him up at the crack of dawn this morning… or, well, yesterday now. 

He’s been relying on his friend too much lately. The suit, and the bite, the party, and after the fire…even this morning! 

Shouto was always picking up his pieces. 

Nowhere to go? Just go to Shouto’s and bother him!

 

It was pathetic. 

No wonder Kacchan thought so little of him. 

Always a barnacle latching on to far more impressive vessels. 

 

“OFA.” His voice cracks on the word, raw and hoarse. 

 

“There you are, Deku. How can I help?” Yoichi’s voice asks, painfully gentle. 

 

“Home. Wanna go home.” He whispers, shutting his eyes against the city lights streaking Izuku’s vision in colorful spikes. Maybe he can account for his astigmatism in the next set of goggles. The rain makes the problem 10x worse at night.  

 

“Of course. Would you like to set directions for your mother’s apartment or the dorms?” Yoichi asks carefully, the green path to Shouto’s suddenly dissipating like the wind had somehow blown it away. 

 

Izuku could really use his mother right now.

Her tight, warm hugs pinning him into the here and now, unwilling to let his mind carry him to more troubled shores. Imagining his mom’s Katsudon sizzling on the stove, or her gentle humming as she does the laundry. 

It felt like ages since he got to just… spend time with her. Enjoy Inko Midoriya’s kind, unfailing gentleness. 

But he can’t explain any of this to her. 

He can’t show up in this suit, in weather this abysmal, with a heart this broken, and drag her out of the safety of her bed, especially at this hour. 

He can’t admit that he’s been hiding a whole other life from her, one she wouldn’t approve of.

She’d be just as upset as Kacchan had been. 

Hell, maybe even more upset. 

 

The rain doesn’t stop. 

 

“Dorms, p-please.” Izuku hiccups, trying to wipe the moisture in his eyes, but the clatter of his gloves buttons against the lens stops him. 

 

Oh, yeah. 

Still wearing a mask. 

Such an idiot. 

 

“Sure thing, Deku.” The green route to the dorms arcs to his right, past Shouto’s darkened windows. 

It’s largely ground based this time, less jumps or Black Whip mobility. Izuku walked this path just this morning, but dragging himself down this street feels like it takes days.

Izuku trudges through darkened alleys, climbs over obstacles, but all the elation and excitement from before is long gone. It’s almost four o'clock in the morning according to the clock glowing in his periphery.

 

Izuku just… keeps walking. 

No feelings, no thoughts, nothing but his own sniffles echoing off damp concrete. 

He continues to follow the glowing path, but everything feels muted.

Dull.

Far away.  

Like things are happening to someone else on a television screen and Izuku is just along for the ride. 

When the campus finally comes into view, Izuku chokes on a gasp. 

 

The world must have absolutely no pity for Izuku’s distress. 

Because the USJ building is on fire. 

 

---

 

Izuku is running before he realizes his legs are even moving. 

 

The fire alarms wail as he gets closer, watching the blaze creep up the ornate building like ivy. The atrium reflects the fire in its rain slicked window panes, before cracking under the heat.

Izuku uses Black Whip to pull himself up to the roof of the opposite building, listening for anyone who might be trapped inside. 

 

Unfortunately, there is someone. 

Several someones, it sounds like. 

 

“You won’t get away with this.” Izuku hears his mentor vow, and suddenly he’s frozen in place, the chill exacerbated by the sleet running down his back.

 

Dr. Toshinori is inside. 

Izuku hears his frantic heartbeat, and his shallow breathing, every pained gasp. 

 

What is he even doing here this late? Or… early? Why did he have to be here right now?!

 

“Come now, Toshinori. Just hand it over and make it easy on yourself. What’s the use of fighting, your body is already dying, taking your lovely little brains away with it.” Comes a haunting voice from somewhere inside. It’s electronic sounding, like a recording? He doesn’t recognize the voice, but it’s painfully calm and glib considering the situation. 

 

Dr. Toshinori hacks out a cough, and Izuku is already clambering from his perch to try and reach him. It’s difficult to pinpoint where the voices are coming from, and while the lab makes the most sense, he can’t risk being wrong.

 

“You are too late.” His mentor groans, before grunting in pain. “OFA is long gone. You’ll never get your disgusting hands on it.”

 

 A chunk of masonry falls off the front of the building, crashing to the ground with a deafening roar. The flames lick against the pouring rain, and it’s likely the only reason the building isn’t ash already. 

 

“Is that so? Too bad, my associate here has no problem… inspiring you, so to speak.” The voice drawls blackly. There’s a scoffing laugh, and muffled resistance, before Izuku hears Dr. Toshinori’s pained noises and indistinct struggling. 

 

Then what sounds like… fists making contact with flesh. 

They’re beating his hero to death. 

 

“OFA, I need to get inside. Find me the best route to Dr. Toshinori.” Izuku rasps, forcing his shredded voice to clear enough for OFA to understand his request.

 

“One moment.” Yoichi’s voice says vacantly, like he’s focusing on something else while speaking.

Izuku tries not to wince with every blow, and instead focuses on listening to the more subtle sounds elsewhere in the building. 

 

There’s… faint muffled screaming from another part of the building, separate from this terribly calm voice and Dr. Toshinori’s strangled breaths.

No, wait, is there more than one? He can hear two other voices, but they’re muffled… barely audible…

Why are they so quiet?

Shit. Is he too late for one of them?

Both? 

 

Izuku tries not to sass the AI into hurrying up its analysis, biting hard enough on his lip to draw blood when he hears the hollow snap of his hero’s bones. 

Every second they waste is too much.

 

“Take the second window to the right on the third floor, Dr. Toshinori appears to be in his office, along with one physical assailant, according to current CCTV footage. The auto locks were overridden remotely. The University’s security team, and The Tokyo Police Department have already been dispatched, but neither have arrived on the scene yet. You must make it inside before they arrive, Deku.”

Izuku is already diving through the air and crashing through the window before he can finish hearing the instructions.

The shattering of the glass is loud in his ears, his lungs burn in his chest, and he gasps when he hits the ground inside hard. Izuku uses the momentum of his landing to roll into a ball and keep moving. His steps crunch glass underfoot.

He strains his ears to hear past the sounds of Dr. Toshinori's pain, to focus on the faint shuffling and whining again. 

“OFA… I think I can hear someone else in the building, but it's too faint. Can you find them?” Izuku whispers raggedly, creeping low against the floor to peek out into the hall. 

Izuku can still hear Dr. Toshinori’s groans into the carpet of his office, and more taunting from the recorded voice. 

 

OFA said there was only one assailant, so the speaker must be elsewhere. 

Letting someone else do his dirty work.

 

“Dr. Sasaki and his research student Mirio Togota are both restrained inside the records vault in the basement of the Nighteye Wing. There is no guard with them.” Yoichi says dutifully.

That explains why they sound so faint, it's a miracle Izuku was able to hear them at all. His heart pounds in his chest, eyes flicking to the stairwell door to his right and back down the hall when that creepy voice echoes again. 

“Are you prepared to change your answer, Toshinori? Just give me the drive. You have lost. You are no match for me.” The chilling voice continues, an undercurrent of hate and amusement curling in his tone. 

Does he go for his mentor and save him from the villain, potentially letting OFA fall into the wrong hands while doing so… or rescue the two innocent bystanders, who may burn to death trapped in The Tank with no way out? Would the lack of oxygen kill them faster or slower than the cloying smoke already filling the building? 

 

“What do I do?” Izuku whispers to himself, but OFA answers readily. 

 

“Dr. Toshinori is already in critical condition. He doesn’t have long.” Yoichi’s morose voice informs him. “Therefore, rescue mission success protocol indicates that the other victims must take priority.”

 

Izuku’s teeth grind together in abject rage. 

He wishes he hadn’t asked.

 

Izuku flies down the stairs at inhuman speeds, his feet thundering in the deserted hallway of Nighteye Wing. 

Gone is the blue haired girl shrieking giggles, and gone are the two research students chattering in the classroom. Only the empty hallway, and the fire burning at the other end of it remain. Smoke fills the hall, and even through his filter, Izuku’s lungs scream. 

Just as OFA predicted, Dr. Sasaki and Mirio are locked inside the all-glass sealed chamber of the Tank. Their arms are hogtied behind their backs, and thick gags stuff their mouths. 

Izuku is in front of the terminal in seconds, avoiding Dr. Sasaki's accusatory gaze from his place on the ground. 

 

“OFA, how do I get into the records vault?” Izuku asks softly, even knowing the sealed vault will prevent the two from hearing him.

 

“The terminal needs the valid credentials of approved personnel. That login must be authenticated by a key swipe to disengage the locks.”

Of course, Izuku has neither a keycard, or the necessary credentials. 

 

“No way around it?” Izuku bites out, fanning the smoke away from the terminal to see it better. 

A big “EMERGENCY OPEN” button would be so nice right now. 

 

“No. This vault is top of the line, hermetically sealed and its locking mechanism is both well-maintained and secure. It’s designed to be airtight, however, not bulletproof. This glass is not necessarily hard to damage…” Yoichi says with a mischievous edge to his voice.

Hopefully the University’s insurance covered the billions of yen in damages they were about to incur on Izuku’s behalf.  

 

Izuku throws his arm back, wrenching his shoulder in its socket, before slamming his fist into the glass. The impact rattles his joints but for one horrible second, absolutely nothing happens. 

The moment he tries to pull his hand back, however, maybe to hit it again, the glass quivers. 

Spiderweb fractures crawl over the surface of the glass, punctuated by the shrill sound of glass dragging over itself before shattering into a waterfall of thick shards. 

 

He hears Dr. Sasaki’s faint whimper when he throws both bodies over his shoulders but he’s already running before the guilt can really hit him. 

Izuku would apologize about breaking the vault later, hopefully when they all made it out of here alive.

 

Every step echoes around him in the hall as he runs, thankfully not too over encumbered by the forms wiggling on his shoulders. Izuku avoids a few walls of flame, narrowly, and has to kick the door to the North stairwell to get it open. 

The stairs are the hardest part, especially trying not to accidentally whack Dr. Sasaki or Mirio’s heads against the cinder blocks at each turn.

Physically ascending the flights proves difficult as Izuku struggles to suck in usable air. He takes the steps two at a time, and the ache in his calves has him looking down to make sure he hasn’t actually caught himself on fire somehow. The automatic fluorescent lights flicker overhead, and the smoke is almost too thick to see through as he approaches the main floor.

The door bangs open when he pushes the metal bar with his hip, curling his arms to make sure he doesn’t accidentally brain Mirio with the door when it closes again.

Part of the room is already engulfed in flames, but the path to the exit is clear. 

 

Izuku can hear the police officers outside, despite their radios beeping and chirping and the sirens of the building still blaring. He knows the second he steps outside, they’ll mob him again. 

They might actually succeed in arresting him in this sorry state.

So instead, he swings the professor and his upperclassman around to his front, hurriedly setting them on the ground in front of him. Dr. Sasaki is injured, he notices, while untying the professor’s legs. There’s blood leaking from his mouth when he spits the gag onto the marble floor. Mirio on the other hand is alert and appears unharmed, yanking the spit soaked gag from his own mouth, and rising on unsteady feet when he’s finally freed from the bindings. 

“Go out the front doors, now. Law enforcement is on the other side, you both need medical attention. I have to get to Dr. Toshinori before it's too late.” He rushes out quickly, looking between Mirio’s grim expression and Dr. Sasaki’s pallid complexion and calculating glare. 

Mirio nods once, covering his mouth with his shirt to keep the smoke out of his lungs. He’s already taking a step to the door when he sees Dr. Sasaki still prone on the ground. Mirio does not hesitate when he drags the professor’s arm over his broad shoulders and begins dragging them both to the entrance.  

Now that those two are taken care of…

 

Izuku groans when he finally spurs himself into moving again. It feels like he’s been pressed through a meat grinder, every muscle in his body is crying for him to stop, but he can’t. 

 

Not when someone is counting on him. 

Not when Dr. Toshinori is barely breathing on the dingy carpet of his own office. 

 

He hears only one quivering set of lungs and one thready heartbeat, but the rest of the building is now deserted. 

The lackey doling out the physical punishment must have escaped, or maybe he suffocated in the smoke. Izuku feels bad for wishing that kind of death on a stranger, but not enough to stop.

“I only hear Dr. Toshinori, now. Where is the attacker?” Izuku asks OFA carefully, approaching the central elevator shaft. 

 

The elevators are likely out of commission, and even if they weren’t, there’s a handy little sign beside the call buttons telling him to avoid the elevators during an emergency.

He wonders briefly about disabled students and people who can’t take the stairs. 

Would they just have to sit and wait? 

 

“The assailant fled while you were in the Nighteye Wing, only Dr. Toshinori remains in his office.” Yoichi’s voice informs him.

 

“Should’ve gone after him first.” Izuku says darkly. 

 

“Projections show any deviation from the rescue mission protocol would have resulted in mission failure, including likely fatalities for all civilians, and yourself.” Yoichi negates, sounding almost irritated. 

 

Izuku scoffs, knowing arguing with OFA is likely pointless, before reaching the other edge of the building. He yanks the door open, staring balefully at the stairs in front of him.

There is absolutely nothing he wants to do less than climb up another five flights of stairs.

But he’s a hero, so that’s what he does. 

 

He has to crawl the last two flights, to stay under the line of smoke. He's exhausted and his limbs are shaking from exertion, OFA chastises him for his condition the whole way. 

 

“Deku, your vitals are reaching dangerous levels. You’re dehydrated, starving, you’ve inhaled too much smoke, you’re in no shape to continue. Mission success projections are falling drastically.” Yoichi gripes for the third time, after Izuku refuses to acknowledge him. 

“Can’t stop.” He croaks, before bursting through the door to the fifth floor. 

The smoke up here is thick and noxious, and the fire must have hit the chemistry department, because colorful smoke and flames billow from further down the hall. The fumes smell caustic, burnt, and metallic even through his mask. He doubts breathing in any of this is good for his long term health. 

 

“To think, this is how the great Dr. Yagi Toshinori would breathe his last.” Chuckles the same voice from before. 

 

Izuku lurches down the hall towards the office he’d happily eaten lunch in just a few weeks ago. 

Just yesterday he’d sat on the floor and listened to Dr. Toshinori’s stories.

Izuku pulls the door open, revealing Dr. Toshinori, crumpled and bleeding on the very same floor. 

 

“Oh my, and who is this?” The ancient blocky computer on Dr. Toshinori’s desk is turned towards the door, and on the old CRT bubble screen is a man. 

Or maybe he had been a man, once. 

Not anymore.

Now he was just a faceless smirking abomination, a thick black latex cowl over his face. There were no eye holes, no ways for the creature to see. Pipes snaked in and out of the mask, and tanks of strange colored liquid bubbled behind him. 

He truly looked terrifying. 

 

“Do not identify yourself.” Came Yoichi’s quiet voice, sounding almost… scared.

Izuku didn’t open his mouth, but he didn’t have to. 

 

“M-my boy… get… out of here… you- you’re next…” Dr. Toshinori gasped from the floor, his broken bony fingers shakily pointing back the way he’d come. 

 

“I won’t leave you, sir.” Izuku murmured in response, falling to his mentor’s side. 

 

“Oh, this is just precious. Did you finally choose a successor, Toshinori? Is that why you were so ambivalent to my little visit? You think this child in a costume can keep OFA from me? It is MINE, my birthright.” There was a playful quality in the voice at first, before it bled into the most bone chilling emptiness Izuku had ever heard. 

 

“Destroy the computer. Don’t listen to the words.” The voice in his ears was not Yoichi’s, but the warbled voice of every previous Holder speaking at once. 

Now that Izuku knew what to listen for, he could hear a young Yagi Toshinori’s voice in the audio. 

 

In his lens, Izuku saw an animation.

It was a simple, stylized, vaguely ‘Deku’ shaped blob raising his hand, his fingers splaying in a hand motion Izuku didn’t recognize, before the animated version of him flicked his fingers. 

Was that what OFA wanted him to do?

 

“Oh, you are going to be so much fun, dear boy. I cannot wait to finally meet you. We’ll have SO much to discuss… After all, every good hero needs a vil-” Izuku wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, but he raised a hand towards the computer anyways. He fought to keep it from shaking as he held it in the air, fighting to will his fingers into the right position. 

He felt Dr. Toshinori’s trembling hand come up to help support his wrist. 

Izuku flicked his fingers. 

The air current displaced was so violent and sudden that it punched a hole clean through the building, taking the old relic computer with it. 

 

“Air Force initiated.” Yoichi’s voice said with a relieved sigh, but Izuku didn’t have the energy to ask, his attention was focused on his mentor staring up at him with glassy eyes.   

 

“You… really are… so cool, you know.” Dr. Toshinori rasped, letting his cold fingers fall from Izuku’s wrist.

 

Izuku started shaking his head, the pounding rain and wind now whipping into the office, the sirens even louder in his sensitive ears. 

He could hear the police shouting orders, coordinating hazmat suits for an infiltration of the building. Izuku’s little stunt had sent them running like ants down below, but they’d believed it had been a chemical explosion, not whatever the hell he’d actually done. 

 

“W-we have to get you to the ambulance.” Izuku said softly, trying to scoop his mentor into his arms, but those large skeletal fingers pressed against his chest to stop him instead.

 

“You must go… young Midoriya… before the police… find you here…” Dr. Toshinori hacks up a few bloody wads of viscera, spitting them into the ruined floor. 

 

“Dr. Toshinori is dying. Scans show catastrophic blood loss, several broken bones, mass organ failures…”

 

“SHUT UP!” Izuku howls at the voice in his ears, making Dr. Toshinori flinch in his arms. “I can’t! I can’t just leave you behind!” Izuku cries, blurring his vision against the lenses of his mask. 

 

“Y-you must…” Dr. Toshinori whispered with the ghost of a smile. “Just… just promise me something… before you… g-go…”

 

“Anything.” Izuku sobs, trying to push the grey-blonde strands out of Dr. Toshinori’s face so he could see better. 

 

 “Promise… me… you’ll be… happy… one day…” He begs with a gravelly, broken voice.

 

“I… I can’t! I can’t promise that, D-Dr. Toshinori… It’s t-too hard. How can I be happy in a world where you don’t exist?” He shakes his head back and forth as he cries, staring down at the weathered face of his hero, smiling sadly up at him. 

 

“... please… don’t make the same… mistakes… I did. Don’t try to be… anything l-less than you a-are… A Hero…” The old man whispered, his eyes going hazy and unfocused on the last word, the faint smile freezing on his lips.

 

“D-don’t. No, please! Don’t go! Don’t leave me here, sir, please!” Izuku screamed, trying to shake his mentor into focusing again, but he didn’t. 

Izuku heard the last breath Dr. Yagi Toshinori took, and then the last beat of his heart before everything just… stopped.

 

---

 

Captain Enji “Endeavor” Todoroki of the Tokyo Police Department is glaring into the lens of the camera at his press release the next morning. 

 

“After a thorough investigation, The Tokyo Police Department has found conclusive evidence that a masked criminal is responsible for starting the fires plaguing our city, including the most recent: the USJ Building fire at Tokyo University just last night.”

There’s drone footage of the still smoking wreckage of the USJ building on the screen. Izuku can even pick out Dr. Toshinori’s office, and the gaping hole in the side of it. The drizzling rain collects on the lens of the camera, blurring the edges of the destruction like a silent film vignette. 

“This case of arson has now resulted in the death of the famous Dr. Yagi Toshinori, the department head for the Department of Engineering. This is the first official casualty at the hands of this madman.”

Flashes of the last thirty years of Dr. Toshinori’s career flicker across the screen. 

His Nobel prize award ceremony. 

Stepping out on the red carpet with Dr. Shield. 

Dr. Toshinori giving a lecture on proactive biotechnical development in Silicon Valley. 

A few magazine covers, including the ones he did for TIME and Forbes. 

Even a promotional shot of Dr. Toshinori in his lab coat, helping to fit a little boy for a new arm prosthesis. 

It ends on the same smiling headshot that hung in the now ruined halls of the USJ building.  

 

“Our sources captured these images of the suspect fleeing the scene and resisting arrest. Note that this is the same masked perpetrator that was photographed early on the morning of the first fire, who evaded the police’s questioning, and escaped on foot.”

Rapid fire images of a masked Izuku fill the screen, most he’d already seen, including a blurry photo taken mid-motion of him using Black Whip to escape police containment the night before. 

 

“Thankfully, this department is confident the suspect will be apprehended soon.” 

 

“ Sir! I’m Chitose Kizuki, a journalist from Shoowaysha Publishing. Do you have any information on when exactly an arrest will be made? And on what charges will the department be calling for his arrest, exactly?” A woman in an orange jacket calls from the press pool. 

 

“Mark my words, this lowlife will be brought to justice swiftly and charged within the full extent of Japanese law.” Captain Todoroki says seriously, before raising his arm from behind the podium, an old familiar, well-worn mask in his white-knuckled fist.

“This mask was recovered at the scene of one of the many gruesome murders that have plagued our city for the last several years. It is obvious that this was a prototype for the mask this lunatic wears currently, and he’s been operating in the shadows of our city for years, unopposed.”

As if to prove the Captain’s point, there’s a side by side comparison of the old, ruined mask, and a close up shot from last night. While there’s a clear quality difference, the design is almost the same. 

Of course it is. 

He's right, after all. 

 

“Over thirteen unsolved murders, borne of senseless violence, have stained our streets with blood and gone unanswered for. This menace has clearly gotten tired of waiting in the dark, and has instead made his crimes into a spectacle, desperate for an audience. This spells a psychopath with a history of violence. Extreme caution is advised. If you or your loved ones see this man, please contact the department tip line.” A phone number blinks on the banner underneath Captain Todoroki then, flashing red and white.

 

“Excuse me! Tomoyasu Chikazoku from Skeptic, the opinion column. What is your personal message to this murderer, if he’s listening now?” 

 

“Make no mistake. This arsonist is Public Enemy #1. We cannot allow this masked menace to take the law into his own hands. He is a bad influence on the youth of our great nation. There is no place for such a dangerous creature in our fair city. I am instituting a city-wide manhunt, until he is brought to justice. If this crazy bastard really is listening, then I have only one thing to say to him: I’m going to catch you.” 

The press conference went on a little longer, more accusations, calls for his head on a pike. More footage of the fire, and the damages crawled across the screen until Shouto mercifully clicked it off.

 

“Are you okay?” Shouto whispers from beside Izuku, from their respective places on Shouto’s tawny couch. 

He hasn’t looked his friend in the eye once since he showed up early this morning, stumbling through the balcony door before hitting the ground with a sickening thump.

 

Shouto had run in at the noise, to see Izuku collapsed against his living room floor, soaking wet, covered in blood and smoke and ash. Shouto had begged him to speak, to tell him what happened, but Izuku was catatonic. 

Peeling the mask off Izuku’s feverish skin, seeing the devastation in his eyes, Shouto had scooped him up with every ounce of strength he had, though his muscles trembled with the strain. 

He’d managed to drag Izuku into the bathroom, delicately prodding him out of the suit and into the big tub, running a warm washcloth over his wounds. Shouto delicately sewed up a few deep cuts, but most damages were superficial. They had sat in that bathroom for hours, long after the water ran cold. 

 

Izuku still does not look at Shouto now, and he does not speak. 

He just shakes his head slowly side to the side in answer.

 

Shouto threads their fingers together as they sit in companionable silence, staring at the black TV screen. 

 

---

 

Several hours of silence is apparently the max for Shouto. Or maybe, it’s just that he can’t stand Izuku being quiet for that long. 

Either way, the youngest Todoroki son slides from his cushion and crouches in front of him, hands still wrapped protectively around his scarred and gnarled fingers. 

 

“Why don’t you stay here, awhile? The dorms… Well, it’s not a great idea for you to go back to campus right now. I can- I can go by and grab some of your stuff this afternoon. It’ll be like a sleepover, but you wouldn’t have to leave in the morning. I have the extra bedroom, so you’ll have privacy. It’s unlikely my father will go looking for you in my home office, after all?” Izuku knows Shouto is trying to make light of the situation, even raising his inflection to make it obvious, but he just can’t bring himself to crack even a half-hearted smile right now.

He doesn’t answer out loud, just shrugs.

“Izuku.” Shouto murmurs, his cool hand coming up to caress a freckled cheek. It burns where the pads of his cold fingers make contact with his rough salt-scorched skin.

It takes a real concentrated effort to drag his eyes from staring blankly at the television to looking into Shouto’s heterochromatic ones. The fear and worry in them makes his chest cave in even further.

 

“I lied to you. This is my fault, and I am so, so sorry.” Shouto whispers, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, before he sets his forehead against Izuku’s lap, hiding his face. “The other night… when I had you come to get me. I didn’t tell you everything. I-I saw the person responsible, the arsonist. I thought… I thought I was just going crazy, but…”

 

“Who is it?” Izuku says hoarsely. His voice sounds… well to be honest, he sounds like he’s smoked six packs a day since birth. 

It’s rough and scratchy and painful to hear. 

It’s painful to speak with, too, but it isn’t what hurts the most right now. 

 

“I… I think it’s my brother.” Shouto whispers to the floor. 

 

“Natsuo? Or the dead one?” Izuku says without inflection, hardly an emotion to be heard.

 

Natsuo Todoroki is a nurse at Tokyo Saiseikai Central Hospital, in the Pediatrics wing. The idea of him lighting buildings on fire for fun is about as outrageous as Ochako doing the same. 

Even if the options are narrowed between him and a dead kid, Natsuo still isn’t the most likely culprit between them.  

 

“Touya. He looks… different. Taller than he used to be, I think, but I was much smaller back then. He… well his hair is dyed, I guess, it’s darker now. Tattoos, piercings… burns. I didn’t… I thought I was hallucinating or it was wishful thinking, a mental breakdown, a coincidence, I don’t know. I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure, you have to believe me, I didn’t really think he was alive! But then last night… someone broke in. Touya’s diary is missing, and it's the only thing that is. No valuables, nothing. Someone went through my things, someone was in here, and now the diary is gone and I am so, so sorry.” There’s hot wet tears falling in uneven drips down Izuku’s legs from where Shouto’s head rests on his knees. 

 

“For what?” Izuku asks quietly, letting one knobby hand settle on the back of Shouto’s neck, dragging his fingers through the long strands of hair at his nape. His hair is much longer than Izuku has ever seen it. It’s pretty this length.

 

“You’re being scapegoated! If I had told you sooner… if I hadn’t lied! Now things are…” Shouto didn’t finish, and seemed to choke on the rest of his own words before he looked up at Izuku’s face. “It’s all my fault.” He whispers, heartbroken.

 

Izuku doesn't stop petting Shouto’s hair. 

“We’re all to blame.” Izuku says softly, but there’s no comfort in his tone. He just continues staring blankly at the dark screen of the television, the faint reflection of his soulless eyes the only thing he really sees.

 

---

 

The next several weeks are not great. 

 

Christmas is a bleak affair. 

Izuku refuses to decorate, or to celebrate at all, really. Won't open the present Shouto got for him, even though the wrapping paper is in All Might's colors.

He misses Ochako’s birthday a few days later, confined mainly to Shouto’s couch or the bed in his spare bedroom. 

He doesn't go to the shrine with his mother on New Years, just sends a "Maybe Next Year" text and rolls over.

Hitoshi texts him here and there, but it's clear Izuku won't open up, so the conversations are cyclical and mind numbing.

 

University classes are cancelled for the foreseeable future, and the college has announced it’s beginning an extended winter break. It's unclear what their plan is for the spring semester, and the bedlam on campus is tangible from the University’s official communications. 

After all, one of their most expensive buildings, the home to hundreds of active research projects, is little more than a charcoal briquette right now. 

One of their most illustrious professors is dead. 

Two of them actually. 

 

That had been an extra kick in the teeth when the story broke. 

 

Dr. Sasaki had been med-evaced to the nearest hospital after Mirio dragged him from the flames, then flown to another to be put on life support. 

A few days after the USJ fire, he flatlined, coded, and died with Mirio by his bedside. 

Complications from the smoke inhalation, and a broken rib that punctured his lung.

Izuku remembers that pained whimper and can’t believe he was stupid enough to attribute it to him breaking the wall to the Tank.

That noise haunts his very frequent nightmares.

Izuku didn’t go to Dr. Toshinori’s funerary service held by the University, and he didn’t attend Dr. Sasaki’s either. Didn’t feel like he deserved to, given the circumstances.

Some hero he was.   

 

Izuku starts talking again, little by little. Still hasn’t laughed or smiled, but the only one who knows that for certain is Shouto. 

Speaking of Shouto, his two-toned friend has been running himself ragged trying to take care of Izuku. He ruined every pot he owns trying to make miso soup, and the end results were still barely edible. He does most of the chores, partially because Izuku tends to zone out during tasks, and partially because he refuses to let Izuku lift a finger in his current state.

He had gone to Izuku’s dorm on campus on that first day as promised, and brought back some of Izuku’s favorite possessions, including his All Might alarm clock and Bronze Age figure. Izuku hadn’t taken them out of the box Shouto had brought them home in yet.

 

On the coffee table, Izuku’s phone rattled against the glass, the cheerful 8-bit ringtone cutting through the silence of the apartment.

A familiar grumpy face filled the screen. 

 

Kacchan has called… probably over a thousand times over the past few weeks but Izuku hasn’t answered once.

Instead, he just watches it ring. 

He has nothing to say to Kacchan. 

Maybe it’s cowardly. Maybe Izuku is being cruel, but he just can’t face Kacchan after everything that happened that night. It’s too painful, too raw.

 

Kacchan was up front about the fact that he didn’t trust Shouto, and Shouto’s brother was the one responsible for burning down half the city, implicating Izuku in the process. He couldn’t throw Shouto or his brother under the bus to clear his own name, and he knew he’d never convince Kacchan to back off without doing so.

Besides, this was for the best. 

Involving Kacchan would just make things worse at the end of the day. As of right now, Izuku was the one on the hook for the fires, and the murders Izuku is fairly certain Kacchan himself was responsible for committing.

The day after the fire, Izuku finally got a response from Shigaraki. Turned out the flash was password protected, and the super secret password?

 

Konami. 

As in, the Konami code. A game cheat code.

It might’ve been clever if it wasn’t so damn stupid.

 

Going through the documents with Shouto had been a lesson in patience. Shouto confirmed the other kid in the security still was Touya Todoroki, at age 14. The date of the footage lined up exactly with the eldest Todoroki’s ‘death’ date, making Deputy Hawks officially the last to see him alive. 

The whole Giran file was a wash, besides his identification photo. As far as they could tell, Giran was an information broker, loan shark, and all around Sketchy Guy. He was found dead in an alley sometime last year, just like the other twelve.

Beaten to death, simple crimes of passion and rage. 

Except they weren't. 

Every single one they could identify either had a rap sheet pages long, or linked back around to the Department. Shouto confirmed some of these men were notorious bastards in the bullpen, known for all sorts of dirty deeds.

These deaths were deserved. These were hits. 

They had Kacchan written all over them. 

 

As long as Izuku stayed away and kept his mouth shut, Kacchan was free and clear to do what needed to be done. Izuku was Public Enemy Number One, not Kacchan, and that’s how it would stay. 

So radio silence it is. 

Kacchan would forget about him and give up eventually. He’d continue whatever the hell kind of crusade he was on, with Izuku leading the police in literally any other direction. 

He’d never have to talk to Kacchan again. 

 

As if hearing Izuku’s internal monologue and immediately disagreeing, Shouto piped up.

“Shouldn’t you… answer him, eventually? He’s called several times now.” A hesitant voice calls from the kitchen, a new culinary disaster becoming sentient over the burner.

 

Really, what does he expect Izuku to say?

“Hey Kacchan, what’s up? Yeah, I was there! I held Dr. Toshinori in my arms as he died, and I accidentally murdered Dr. Sasaki. You were right! I really can’t be a hero!”

Yeah, that would go super well.

 

“I have nothing to say.” 

 

“Ah… well, maybe Bakugou does? Or he just wants to make sure you are… okay? The others have been asking too.” Shouto stirs the bubbling contents of the saucepan.

He must really be concerned if he’s actually advocating Izuku talk to Kacchan. 

Maybe hell froze over or something while Izuku wasn’t paying attention. Maybe Captain Todoroki sprouted wings and flew across the city. 

Those are all more likely scenarios than Shouto saying a kind word about Kacchan of all people.

 

“Am I?” Izuku asks pointedly, watching Shouto look over his shoulder at him. “Am I okay?”

 

“I want you to be.” 

They don’t talk about Kacchan again for the rest of the night, thankfully.

Chapter 21: A Promise to Run Away Together

Summary:

The Aftermath

Trigger Warnings for mentions of abuse, and internalized homophobia.

*Updated for clarity and a few grammatical errors*

Notes:

Okay, okay, I'm sorry! Before you yell at me, the plan was, I was going to post a funny little chapter, almost a zany sitcom version of the following events for Katsuki's birthday, BUT when I actually sat down and wrote it out... I was worried about disrupting the flow of the plot in such an unserious way. I'd have to reveal story details inside of a "joke" chapter and it just didn't really pan out as I wanted so I had to scrap it and start from scratch.

Instead, the humor I wanted to provide has taken new form in the annotations Katsuki writes in the margins of the diary. Katsuki is this Universe's Wade Wilson, so this is sort of a nod to his 4th wall breaks and funny commentary.
Also a reminder, anything you've read on odd numbered chapters is Katsuki's POV, and keep in mind, my boy stays an unreliable narrator.

Unfortunately these are some bleak times ahead, but this fic DOES have a happy ending on the horizon so please stick it through, this is the character development you've been waiting for <3

Katsuki woke up the next morning with a headache.

Probably from all the damn crying. 

It had been a very, very long time since he lost his shit like that. Maybe ever? Sure, screaming and violence weren’t new outlets for him, but that wasn’t what happened last night.

Or at least that wasn’t all that happened. 

Maybe it had been, at first, when he had a target. When he had someone to direct those feelings towards, but when Deku had left him on that roof, staring out into the rain, watching him disappear off the side of another roof… it broke something in Katsuki. 

He had wailed and gnashed his teeth and cried big pathetic alligator tears. Katsuki was suddenly overwhelmed by the monster of a panic attack he'd been beating back for months, (maybe years, if he's honest) and it took everything he had left just to fight enough to breathe.

At the time he was sure he’d been dying.

But now, laying here in his bed, the faint light of the morning glow filtering in from the window, he felt… better?

Maybe not.

Emptier, at least?

Like a shaken up Coke, he’d exploded, leaving only the empty bottle behind.

He ranted and raved on that rooftop, but now there was just the calm, the ash left behind the blaze. The destruction his flames had wrought.

 

Katsuki laid there, staring at the ceiling, reflecting on his own behavior for hours.

How childish he had been.

How pathetic.

How bereft.

 

Eventually the pounding behind his eyes got the better of him, forcing him out of bed, if just to swallow a handful of painkillers. 

He showered, made himself a respectable breakfast, and on a whim, turned on the TV, the silence of the apartment uncomfortable and eerie.

 

Maybe Katsuki could feel something was wrong in the world, because he almost never turned the TV in the living room on, always far too busy to be some lame ass couch potato. 

Now though, he just stood ramrod straight in his own living room, horrified by what he saw on the screen.

 

Half n Half’s bastard of an old man was on every single channel, condemning Deku as a crazy person, an arsonist, a murderer, a villain.

Deku was being blamed for Katsuki's kills, for the fires that Katsuki was certain a split dyed nutjob was responsible for, and... 

As if that wasn't bad enough, as if that wasn't the worst possible thing that could have happened.

Then Katsuki learned Dr. Toshinori died. 

That the kindly old man who had actually apologized and swore to be there for him just the day before… was never going to follow through on that promise.

Katsuki was so angry about it that it disgusted him, his head throbbed in his hands.

 

Seeing the aftermath of that broadcast, of what happened last night, it changed Katsuki’s whole perspective.

While Katsuki had been sleeping peacefully, exhausted by the panic attack that he’d experienced on that roof, Deku had been off being a hero. Again. Fighting another fire, saving people, after getting his dream pissed on by Katsuki… and it must’ve killed Deku to have lost the fight with those words hanging around his neck. 

He had run away from Katsuki’s unforgiving hands, off another goddamn roof and into the fray, and something truly awful had happened, because of it. 

If he hadn’t lost his entire shit on that roof, could they have talked? Could they have fought this together? Would Dr. Toshinori still be alive if Deku had someone to watch his back?

Was this Katsuki’s fault? 

Did he kill his mentor by being so blinded by his own rage? By not being there? If he hadn’t distracted Deku with his own weakness, Deku might’ve been able to save Dr. Toshinori. 

All because Katsuki. Wasn’t. There.

He was off licking his wounds, instead of fighting by Deku's side like they promised. 

How he wished he could tell Deku that Katsuki had been lying, that Deku was the only hero Katsuki had left to believe in. 

Wished he could support him through what happened, but he didn’t even know what the hell had happened.

What happened between Deku leaving him on that rooftop and... this?

Where was Deku now? Was he hurt? Was he safe? 

Deku would be going into hiding if he had any good sense, trying to stay out of the public eye. 

 

Katsuki hoped against all hope Deku had some good sense left.

 

As badly as Katsuki wanted to clear the air with Deku (and goddamn did he want to) he figured they could both use some space. Some breathing room. 

Last thing the nerd needed was Katsuki’s mug in his face demanding to be forgiven and kept in the loop just hours after both their worlds had imploded. 

He could almost imagine it: Katsuki elbowing his way front and center of Deku’s support system just to shove his own pity parade in Deku’s face. Making everything about himself, like always. Leaving no room for Deku to breathe, to think, to process.

No, he was not going to do that this time.

Katsuki was going to handle all his emotional shit before it got to that point so he could be there for Deku when the time came.

If it came. 

 

After all, if it had been Katsuki who had essentially been branded the Candyman and very, very publicly blamed not just for his mentor’s death, but the fires that he’d nearly killed himself to fight? And last but not least, the public backlash over thirteen motherfucking murders (Deku’s murders at that!) 

Let’s just say he’d be more than a little upset.

 

He tried calling on the third day, just to let Deku know he was there for him, but it just rang out. 

Must be busy.

He’d try again later.

A few days to recover wasn’t out of the question. Katsuki wasn’t exactly a calming or gentle presence to turn to in times of grief or whatever.

 

But then a few days turned into a week. Two. 

He would call.

It would ring.

He’d get the nerd’s voicemail.

He wouldn’t leave a message.

He wouldn’t get a call back.

 

It just kept happening. 

 

He kept calling anyways. 

He refused to acknowledge the possibility that Deku was dead. Despite the nightmares every night of Deku splattered across the pavement, of him dying in new and horrible ways and it always being Katsuki's fault somehow, there was no way Deku had actually died.

No, the nerd was just being stubborn.

That’s fine, Katsuki could be stubborn too.

In fact, nobody could be more stubborn or pigheaded than Bakugou Katsuki, the nerd should know that by now.

He wasn't going to let Deku win.

 

So he kept calling. 

 

He texted a few times, too, just to see the little “read” notification beside them a few minutes later, one of his only assurances that someone, at least, was reading them.

The messages were few and far between, despite the desperation of getting any kind of acknowledgement that Deku was alive, because seeing his own messages piling up on one side of the screen made him feel like a desperate stalker.

Can’t stalk what you can’t see, he thought bitterly.

Katsuki, apparently learning no lessons, did try to loiter around the dorms, to see if he could snag a second with the broccoli currently running around rent free in his head, but no such luck. His RA mentioned he hasn’t seen Deku in ages actually, though even before the fire he apparently was almost never there.

That pissed Katsuki off, admittedly.

 

It was not his proudest moment, but he eventually caved and went by Aunty Inko’s place.

Of course he didn’t knock on the door or let himself be seen by her, but not a single green curl graced the small window Katsuki knew was Deku’s. He’d seen that moonfaced idiot framed in that tiny window too many times in his life to ever forget which one was his.

 

Where exactly was the nerd staying if it wasn’t in his own home? Where did he feel safe?

 

Katsuki couldn’t answer that and it killed him.

Even after spending every day together for months, and years together as brats, Deku was just as familiar as he was alien to Katsuki.

The idiot never shut up, so how was Katsuki so out of his depth here? 

Did he actually know anything about the nerd? 

Had he ever actually listened to the words that came out of Deku’s mouth, despite how freely they were given?

 

Deku deserved to be upset. 

 

Not just for this whole clusterfuck but every damn day that came before this one, because a large part of that was Katsuki’s fault.

In fact, a horrifically large chunk of everything bad that had ever happened to Deku was somehow Katsuki’s fucking fault. 

Deku deserved better. Way, way better than he had been getting up to this point. 

As a friend. As a partner. As anything, really.

As pissed as Katsuki is to be getting the silent treatment, he isn’t so much of a self absorbed dickhead to not know he deserved it. 

He’d been way out of line that night. 

 

If Katsuki were in Deku’s shoes, had heard those words directed at him? Katsuki would never talk to him again… probably.

Putting hands on Deku like that… saying stuff he knew would hurt him? That was middle school shit, he was supposed to be better than that now. He’s gone to therapy, and he sees that outburst for what it was: a tantrum.

An honest to God tantrum. 

A scared, whiny baby ass fit. 

Probably why he cried about it like one too.

 

Yes. Katsuki was afraid of losing Deku. 

He was afraid of that wild, determined spirit that seemed to put Deku’s own neck on the chopping block more than anything. 

It was a reasonable fear, given Deku’s allergy to self preservation, but Katsuki was not the kind of person that lived his life in fear.

That was Deku’s thing, the crybaby, the cautious one. Katsuki was supposed to be brave and fearless, leading Deku out of the woods by the hand and never letting him know Katsuki had been just as scared, just as lost. 

Knowing Deku he was probably in some weird shame spiral, blaming himself for Dr. Toshinori’s death, repeating Katsuki's horrible, thoughtless words to himself when he really should be blaming Katsuki… 

… shit.

 

There it is, again. 

The guilt.

The blame. 

 

Time continues to pass.

 

It’s been six weeks since Katsuki has seen Deku.

 

Six weeks since that rainy night on the roof. 

Six weeks since the USJ fire. 

Six weeks since Dr. Toshinori died in that fire. 

Six weeks since Deku was blamed for starting that fire. And several others.

Oh, AND blamed for Katsuki’s own home brew homicides, lest we forget.

Six weeks is a long time, as it turns out.

Gave Katsuki a lot of time to think. 

 

Especially because classes were suspended, what with the whole University freaking out after the events of that night. 

They lost a ton of shit in the fire. 

Research. Equipment. Records. Samples. Experiments. Animals. A goddamn national hero. One of the Behavioral Health professors too. 

There were rumors going around about Tokyo University post-dating a few degrees, since a large chunk of the student body was no longer eligible to receive them. Even freshman and sophomores were losing their goddamn minds. All the general education cores required sciences, and now there wasn’t even a building to have the classes in in the first place. 

Not to mention that they were down two teachers.

Good ones, at that. 

 

Katsuki tried to keep a schedule the first few weeks, tried not to feel angry, or sad, or cheated, or betrayed, or guilty...

Honestly he tried not to feel anything at all, because he was one of the students whose whole body of work and future went up in smoke.

 

No mentorship. 

No degree. 

No research.

No Dr. Toshinori. 

No Deku. 

No purpose. 

No point. 

Nothing to do, but sit and reflect.

He did a lot of thinking the last six weeks.

 

There’s… there’s a lot of things Katsuki doesn’t want to think about, and unfortunately, it seems all he can do is dwell.

Mope.

Pine.

Regret.

Wish.

Pretend. 

Rinse and fuckin’ repeat. 

 

Now that his classes are cancelled, his mentorship (and mentor) dead in the water, Deku was MIA, there just wasn’t much for Katsuki to actually do.

Back in high school, he spent so much time in the labs, studying, experimenting, but with the laboratory at the University gone, he doesn’t exactly have access to the kinds of chemicals required for his research, or the right type of environment. Sure he could ask Aizawa to sneak him into the old high school lab (what's one more explosion in that hellhole, really?) but that comment about him “cracking” and asking for help still irks him. 

He’s so fucking tempted to accept the offer, but Katsuki’s goddamn pride won’t abide it just yet.  

He also resists the urge to ask Ponytail for another target, even though he knows it's the only way to get the awful itch out of his skin, because committing any further murders would only make things harder for Deku. 

It’s funny, Katsuki used to claim that he was doing all this for Deku.

Keeping the filth off the streets, making the hard call to keep the city (and his favorite dipshit) safe… and yet every drop of blood he spilt ended up staining Deku’s hands anyways. Any kill he completed now would only fall on already overloaded freckled shoulders. Which means, that Katsuki is limited on activities to distract his own fucking brain from thinking itself into oblivion. 

 

Maybe that’s why his new… “hobby” has been consuming so much of his time, of his life.

Something as unexpected as it was pathetic and revolting. 

 

Reading Half and Half’s diary is… honestly Katsuki doesn’t have words for the experience. Do you know how rare that is? For Katsuki to have absolutely no words? Not even “fuck”? That’s quite literally never happened before but this whole diary business was supremely fucked up. 

Not because Katsuki believed IcyHot deserved any sort of privacy, or felt even a modicum of guilt, but because this guy was as entertaining as he was psychologically (and physically!) scarred, and almost as absolutely obsessed with Deku as Katsuki was.

In ways he could relate to with awful ease.

 

Katsuki fell into the rabbit hole deep.

He scrawled notes and annotations in the margins, he argued with the narration, he highlighted and tabbed passages he kept returning to. 

He stayed awake for days, unable to put it down. At this point Katsuki was running purely off of coffee and the journal’s secrets. 

 

“It has to be fate or something. That’s the only way to explain it. How else could someone like me manage to just… run into someone like him? Here of all places?” 

 < Okay, edgelord, dial it back now 

Here I am, stuffed into a penguin suit tailored to fit too tight, getting paraded around by the Old Man, meeting a never ending stream of stuffy, pretentious, predatory douchebags and having to pretend to laugh at all their lame attempts at jokes. Hell should take notes.

< lol

Katsuki had actually laughed out loud at that, before shutting his mouth with a click and narrowing his eyes at the page. 

 

The role of the dutiful son is so exhausting. Heavy is the head, I suppose.

< what a pretentious dickbag

I never had a friend before him.

< oh ow too real

 

Closest I ever had to a friend before him was Yumi, I guess, but we’ve never been particularly close.

< who is that?

Where I was chomping at the bit at just the vague idea of freedom, she was willing to lay herself on a  rusty bed of nails to get any positive attention from the Old Man. You’d hardly believe we were brother and sister.

< oh okay, the same sister that cooks bentos

Not that it does her much good.

< what a dramatic bitch

No matter how smart she is, Father just looks at her like she’s dirty, avoids her like the plague. I overheard a few conversations between Mother and Father… apparently Yumi is destined to be a baby machine, nothing more.

< excuse the fuck out of me, that’s actually vile

Apparently, because Yumi’s a girl, she has no other value than as a mother and homemaker. 

< EXCUSE ME?! what the hell are you talking about rn

She dresses in the frilly pink clothes laid out for her, speaks softly and never out of turn. Just like a good daughter should. When she isn’t doing chores or shadowing Mother around like a duckling, Yumi is always reading.

< that’s supremely fucked up, is she okay

She reads, and reads, and reads and only returns to Earth when she’s needed. 

< shut up, let the girl have a hobby, goddamn

I envy that about her, honestly.

< illiterate fuck

I wish Father had no expectations for me. 

< WHINY illiterate fuck then

Yumi thinks going to these events, meeting all these terrible people… she acts like it’s some kind of reward for her good behavior? She treats it like this stuffy ass Convention Hall is Disney or something.

< your sister sounds like she’s just trying to cope with your family’s fucked up sexist core beliefs, you asshole

When her nose isn’t buried in a book, she spends most of her time nagging me. Harping on me to “behave”, to “be good”, like that means anything. 

Like if she leaves me alone for five minutes, I’ll burn the building down or something! 

< is that a fucking CONFESSION???

It’s infuriating. She’s so convinced that everything is fine, that this is normal but it's NOT and I wouldn’t even know that it wasn't if it weren’t for him.

< shit

Because of him. Because I met him. Meeting him made me a better person.

< join the fucking club, and get in line

 

Katsuki has to take a break between entries, confused about the jump in subjects until he realizes they all seem disjointed and out of sequence, like IcyHot just picked a random page and started writing. No dates, no organization, and he never says Deku’s name, like writing it down was too personal. 

He finds the “first meeting” entry, buried further in. 

 

I just got home from another one of those boring events, but something happened. Something weird. I met a boy my age.

< how sad that’s something weird to you, honestly

His hair was a mess, a bird's nest of curls and cowlicks that stick up in every direction no matter how often he messed with it. 

< his hair is fucking impossible but why are YOU paying so much attention like that, you creepy fuck

He doesn’t come from money, that much is obvious. The suit he was wearing was cheap, ill-fitting, and honestly? Ugly as hell.

< Deku isn't poor? He just always wears ugly stuff, even as a kid, I bet the suit was a travesty

It doesn’t suit him one bit. But somehow it doesn't make him any less cute either.

< Oi, back the fuck off, IcyHot

He was all fidgety and twitchy, like he couldn’t sit still. He kept looking over at the catering table and then down at the floor like he was guilty or something.

 < yeah that sounds like Deku for sure

I watched him get up, casually wander by the table and swipe a muffin from the table lightning quick, like he was trying to be sneaky.

< oh no, someone call the cops, the muffin thief is loose

Then I watched him return to his own table from my place by Father’s side. From my pedestal, from my own ivory tower.

< I say again, DRAMATIC BITCH

I didn’t realize he was watching me too.

< of course he was, you’re ogling him like a creep

He smiled at me. I’m terrified I’ll never see him again.

< wait you didn’t even talk to him?

I hope I see him again one day.

< I bet you fucking do

 

Luckily the next page seems to pick up immediately where Half n Half left off, previously.

 

I thought I would never see those big sparkly eyes or wild hair ever again, but of course, fate had other plans.

< barf 

When I walked into that charity event, back in another itchy uncomfortable travesty of a suit, he was the first thing I saw.

< relatable, I guess

Back at his perch by the catering table, staring in rapture at the cakes, cookies, stupid little pastries that were stacked high upon it.

< greedy little nerd 

Maybe the months between these meetings had aged me somehow, or maybe I saw the world differently than I had before, because instead of a greedy little cookie stealer… I just saw a poor, hungry kid who probably hadn’t eaten in days.  

< wait what

He was skin and bones, thinner than I saw him last. I watched him try the same trick from last time, before a stony faced woman with a staff badge grabbed his wrist and made him leave the stolen food behind. He returned to his seat, his eyes still on the catering table.

< holy shit. Since fucking when?

 

Katsuki finds himself aggravated, tossing the journal onto the table. He took deep, calming breaths, trying to justify this information with his own recollection. He picks the diary back up and continues to read, maybe more context clues will shed some light on this fuckass topic.

 

He’s so little, skinny and gangly like a starving dog.

< he was really skinny back then, wasn’t he?

Biggest damn thing about him were his eyes. Those eyes watched me like a hawk the second I took a single step toward him.

< They're prettiest eyes in the world, aren’t they? Sharp and analytical too

Father was busy schmoozing some Diet member, and Yumi was sitting quietly beside him, where she belonged. She caught my eyes, and looked confused when I broke away from my spot; we were never, ever supposed to mill around, especially events like this, with eyes scrutinizing every twitch. Father demanded unfailing obedience.

< No wonder you burn down buildings, your dad is evil 

Yumi and I are here as decorations, little dolls and trophies. All the kids here were. Children should be seen when displayed, but never heard. Except him. He was not shiny or gilt in gaudy gold. He didn’t hold himself with perfect posture or give any practiced polite smiles. He just drooled over the food at the catering table, and made himself small when someone got too close."

< that’s not a normal thing, you know that right? Deku ain’t exactly normal either but you’re talking like the children from the corn right now

I don’t even know what I was thinking when I grabbed his wrist.

< Oi! Hands to yourself, dick

He turned those beautiful, sparkly eyes on me and it was like I had never really seen another person before. He was shiny and new and special. There was just something different about him.

< sounds way too familiar, Half n' Half

Definitely a weirdo, that’s for sure. He jabbered awkwardly at me, absolutely no formalities to speak of but damn it all if I wasn't hooked.

< nerd does have a motormouth on him

Father found me eventually,  shoved me in the car not long after that. Yumi cried the whole way home, quietly like she does.

< jesus christ

The beating was worth talking to him. I hope I see him next time too.

 

Katsuki blinked owlishly at the end of that entry. 

It was… jarring, how normalized and commonplace the Captain’s abuse of his family was. 

 

Katsuki found himself calling the Old Hag before he could stop himself, or think rationally why talking to her right now could be a bad decision. 

 

“Were Aunty Inko and Deku poor?” He asked as soon as she answered the phone.

“WATCH YOUR MOUTH, BRAT! I should smack you upside the head for asking such a rude ass question. Where are your manners?! I know you weren’t raised in a barn- ” She hollered from the other end of the phone, her voice dissolving into static.

“Answer the damn question, hag.” Katsuki grunted, interrupting her meandering rant, and pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to keep himself from hanging up on her.

She was quiet for a few seconds, and the weirdness of the Hag actually shutting up for a minute made Katsuki uneasy.

“Why exactly are you asking?” She instead asked suddenly, her voice a mask of even temper, the one she used on business calls. 

“I-I was just. Thinking, I guess. About when we were brats. Deku was a skinny kid, wasn’t he? Aunty Inko was a damn good cook, so was it just genetics or… did he have another reason to be small?” His voice wasn’t nearly as unaffected as Katsuki wished it was. He sounded hesitant. Regretful. Vulnerable.  She could hear it too. 

“...”

“Hag? You still there?” Katuski whispered, his voice much more gentle than the name he called her by. His eyes skirt to the window, at the overcast clouds blanketing the world in grey.

“Yeah, Kats. I… I’m here.” She said with a sigh over the line. “Just… we’ve been worried about you, brat, you haven’t called or checked in since … well, we saw on the news about your teacher dying... and that fire... And now here you are, voluntarily calling me for once … ” His mother rambles, clearly uncomfortable and trying not to say anything that would make Katsuki hang up.

He hears what she’s asking, what she’s trying not to say out loud.

“Mom, don’t. I don’t want to talk about that.” He croaked, and her end of the call went dead silent. Katsuki never called her that outside of Mother’s Day or her birthday. If he was doing it now, unprompted, then she knew he was serious.

“... fine. Yes, they were poor. Broke as all hell, really, after Hisashi left. Inko always worked a bunch of odd jobs to earn enough to provide for herself and little Izuku, poor kid was always alone while she was working, and so were you, Kats. Alone way too much. We were busy with the company then, too, I’m sure you remember. So, I paid her to babysit you brats, clean up around the house, and to make food for us, too. Whatever I could get her to take money for, anyway. She’s stubborn. Always has been.” The Old Hag laughs at the end, but it’s not a happy sound. 

“So the whole time they were around when I was a kid, and through middle school… they were struggling to put food on the table.” Katsuki reaffirms, not letting himself ask like it was a question, knowing he was hoping against all hope she would deny it.

“... yeah, brat. They were struggling. Still are, though Inko dropped her hours at the restaurant once Izuku got that scholarship award. You know he goes to your school? Of course, she hasn’t been able to get a hold of Izuku either since… well, since everything that went down on campus. She’s been freaking out, actually, and-”

Katsuki interrupts her before she can rip his heart apart any more by using Deku’s actual name, or keep talking about how worried Aunty Inko must be at this disappearing act her son was pulling. 

Luckily there’s another question in the chamber that he can ask to distract her, and it's a genuine one. 

“You still talk to Aunty?” Katsuki asks incredulously, his head reeling back in surprise.

“OF COURSE I DO! Just because you and Izuku stopped being friends doesn’t mean Inko and I did, you little shit. We were friends before you were born, and we'll be friends until you put me in the ground... or a home, knowing your ungrateful ass-” She continues barking from over the line, loud enough to fuzz out his hearing aid.

“... Yeah. I gotta go, Hag.” Katsuki bites out before quickly hanging up. She calls back immediately, but he ignores it. He switches the ringer to silent and lets his eyes fall back to that leather diary sitting open on the coffee table.

Looks like Half n Half was more observant than Katsuki gave him credit for. 

Katsuki was the one who grow up with the nerd and never put two and two together, didn't think twice about it... but IcyHot figured it out by creeping on him from clear across a room.

No wonder Deku was so fucking skinny in middle school.

Katsuki had been bullying Deku over his fucking peasant lunches and his twig-ass arms and things the nerd couldn’t even control.

He drags his hands over his eyes and fights the urge to scream in frustration, or punch himself in the face.

Instead he picks the diary back up and continues to read.

 

With every entry Katsuki felt more and more connected to IcyHot. The depth of his love for the nerd, the abuse he suffered at the hands of the Captain, the isolation, the self-hatred, the realizations.

Katsuki absolutely loathed it all.

 

Is this what it’s like to have a friend? It’s driving me crazy. Every thought I think is about him. This must just be what it’s like to actually have a friend but… I’ve never had one before. Is this normal?

< poor kid, you love him, it happens to the best of us 

I’ve been having these weird dreams. Where I hold his hand, and we do boring everyday things but  somehow it isn't boring? Sometimes we kiss and I can hug him whenever I want. In these dreams, he’s always smiling that goofy looking grin, not like in the real world. When I'm asleep, dreaming of him, he doesn't cry when he sees my bruises or flinch when I move too fast. When I wake up it feels like a part of me is missing. When he isn’t there by my side, it’s like I can’t even breathe properly.  

< I know. It sucks doesn’t it.

I think I might... love him? But that’s stupid, we’re both boys! What is wrong with me? I want to touch him. I want to hold him, I want to kiss him, I want to comfort him, I want to hold him when he cries, I want to protect him. Isn’t that what love is?

< I wish I could tell you

He’s so nice to me. Nicer than anyone else has ever been. When he tells me I’m special, it actually makes me FEEL special. I’ve been told I'm better than other people my whole life, that I'm destined for great things, but I’ve never actually believed it, before. But when it’s him… I actually think maybe things could actually work out, somehow.

< Deku's always been good at that, some kind of natural superpower, I think. Always saving people. He saved me that way too

I don’t deserve someone like him, I’m too messed up. I couldn’t ever have him, Father would never let me. He'd ever let us be happy.

< who cares what that old fuck thinks

We see each other from across crowded, too warm conference halls sometimes. I learn something new about him every time. I want to talk to him more, let him ramble at me, away from Father’s watchful eye.

< so this really is a forbidden love story, isn’t it?

We can never actually plan to meet. He doesn’t come to every event the Department holds, obviously, and I can’t control when I do or don't. It’s just however long until fate decides to bring us back together again.

< again with the fate bullshit

I started attending regular lessons at a community center in the neighborhood. If by chance, he happens to hang out there, that’s purely by coincidence.

< yeah I’m sure it is, ya damn liar

He's so strange! Things I take for granted or hell, things I've never even noticed before, he never shuts up about them! The colors of the flower arrangements. The music played on the dusty old speakers, everything mundane and boring and stupid… he finds it all beautiful. I think he’s the one that’s beautiful.

< I do too

We’re going to run away together one day, away from Father, away from the life set out for me and the one set out for him. Away from this stuffy, boring ass life to somewhere better. Prettier. Safer. One where I don’t have to worry about getting knocked into next week for asking a question or where I don’t get locked into my room, clawing at my own door, desperate for anything to distract from the bare ass walls and tatami mat floors.

< fuck

Mother is no help. She’s given up, resigned to just take it. Yumi doesn’t even think there’s anything wrong happening, she says I’m too harsh on Father.

< classic conditioning, she’s basically brainwashed into behaving

Natsuo has always been a disappointment to Father, I almost envy him. Can’t disappoint someone who never expected anything from you in the first place. He just plays outside and keeps his distance. Sometimes he sneaks in and bandages us up silently when Father is finished.

< sounds like your old man separated you from your siblings so you couldn’t rely on each other

I am burdened with glorious purpose, and I don’t even want any of it. If being “better” than the others means this? If my “greatness” means I can never escape… I wish I had been born in the gutter with him.

< damn, the ego of this kid, also Deku wasn’t actually born in the gutter… was he?

 

There was one entry Katsuki wished he’d skipped. 

It was humiliating to read. It skeeved him out, it enraged him… the description of the nerd actually losing his virginity to Half n Half. Katsuki didn’t make a single mark on those pages.

 

"Something… amazing happened today. 

I… held him for the first time. We snuck away from the instructors and hid in an abandoned classroom. He had done some research on how boys can have sex, and it was… magic. I don’t think I have ever really enjoyed being alive until today. The way he curled into me like I could protect him… the way he shuddered around me… the way he said my name. It was like nothing I've ever felt before. I didn't think I could ever feel like that. He held tight to my shoulders and he didn’t let go. 

It didn’t matter that we were a secret, we knew how we felt about each other. 

It didn’t matter what my last name was, or that he came from nothing. 

It didn’t matter that Father would be beating the door down and likely murdering me if he ever found out about us. 

It didn’t matter that we were just kids, or that we were boys, and boys didn’t belong together. 

It didn’t matter that we knew the world would never accept us, not as we were.

In that moment, none of that stuff mattered. 

The only thing that mattered was this beautiful boy arching into my touch and saying my name like a promise.

I would do anything, be anything, say anything if it meant I could have this everyday. If I could just keep that dork by my side.”

 

Katsuki ached.

 

Luckily there weren't any other descriptions of underage sex for him to avoid.

 

The community center is actually a lot of fun. We found out that the “counselors” are just a bunch of low-paid civic workers, so as long as we’re back before pick up time… we can explore on our own.

< good for you, probably not a great look for the counselors though 

One of the counselors, he’s like us. Likes other guys the way we do. He's got two boyfriends, actually. I just want the one, but it's kinda cool he has two.

< poly AND gay? In Japan? That's brave

He says there’s a place we can go, if we need help, where we can meet more people like us, someplace called The League? We’re going to go with him soon, and check it out.

< it's always that fucking bar

Father has grown bored of disciplining me, I think. Maybe because it never had the desired effect. Sure, he might break bones every now and again when I push him too far. Yumi keeps begging me to just shut up, to stop pushing him, stop daring him, but I just can’t. He is absolutely everything wrong with this world. For years, he’s been keeping his family under his thumb like a tyrant king. What kind of man takes his anger out on children? On a broken woman?

< a sick, abusive, violent one, you’re absolutely right

I’ve heard the adage you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Enji Todoroki is no more a fly than he is a man. He’s a monster wearing a man's skin. That couldn’t be more clear. I overheard him speaking in his study late last night. He’s been targeting people like me. Says we’re disgusting, a mold growing on society, a festering rot of deviancy and perversion. Maybe he’s right, but he’s the idiot for not knowing that rot lives inside his own household, that it clings to these walls and poisons every breath he takes.

< there’s nothing wrong with being gay, kid, your dad is just repressed and also potentially the devil

The League has become my home, the elders in the Community look out for me, and for him. We protest and we march and we make damn sure they know we exist. Every time Father gets his filthy hands on me, all I think about is a wild bird's nest of hair and shiny sparkly eyes, and it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

< holy shit, that’s sad as hell… maybe Aizawa knows something about this, if the League was that involved. Is that where Deku ran off to?

One of the elders saw the bruises and knows the kind of home life I come from. He’s gonna sneak us out of the city. He has a house out in the country, in Kansai. It’s not permanent and it’s not much, but in just a few years, I can work legally. A part-time job should keep us alive if I can just get us out of here. I can pay the bills and I can keep him fed. Happy. I just gotta keep going.

< ??? uh no, no you will the fuck not

We fought last night, for the first time. Little bird thinks I’m too reckless, that I’m giving up too much. He doesn’t see that none of this was ever mine to begin with. I may be the Prince of the Todoroki family, but I am no more “prince” than he is a villain, twirling his nonexistent mustache at the concept of snagging the heir to the Todoroki Fortune. If I stay here, Father will arrange for me to marry some heiress I don’t even know to secure the family line.

< that sounds familiar, I see why Eyebags calls you the Ice Prince now

He doesn’t know that I would give it all up for him in the blink of an eye. In the flutter of his lashes, in the donkey bray of his laugh… there isn’t much I wouldn’t do if it was for him.

< sappy star crossed lovers, an arranged marriage, this shit could be a BL

Tonight’s the night. The bags are packed. We’re supposed to meet at the League tonight and an elder is waiting there for us. He’ll drive us to the house in the country and then he’ll turn around and come back to the city to cover for us. We’ll finally be free. Free from this city, from sneaking around, from Father, from doubt! We can finally start living our lives together.

 

That was the very last entry.

Everything else afterwards is blank.

What if these past six weeks Deku really did leave?

The hours Deku spent at the League the day before the fire, being so close to Blondie, not answering Katsuki’s or even Aunty Inko’s calls…

What if they really did run away together? Packed their bags and skipped town?

Would Deku do that? Run away without even saying goodbye?

 

Katsuki’s phone chirps from the table, startling him.

 

Ponytail: Kacchan, I got the analysis back on the sample you sent over.

Ponytail: dnaresults.pdf

Ponytail: My apologies on the delay, there were complications.

Katsuki: It's fine

Katsuki: Thanks

Ponytail: Of course.

 

Ponytail did good work, even if it did take forever, because the document shows confirmation that the cigarette Katsuki found at the scene of the second fire came back as a positive DNA match for a member of the Todoroki family. Unfortunately she couldn't be more specific than that. She managed to discover that while the good Captain’s DNA was on file, none of the rest of his family's was. The DNA extracted from the cigarette was degraded, making it impossible to get a 100% match either way, but Katsuki doesn’t care.

He was right. 

It has to be Shouto Motherfucking Todoroki, the bastard. 

 

No matter how in love he is with Deku, no matter what hell he's experienced at the hands of Captain Todoroki, no matter what goes down, Katsuki is going to kill Shouto Todoroki. 

He's not dumb enough to think he can do it alone, though.

Katsuki needs back up. 

Even if he has to swallow his pride to get it. 

 

That’s how Katsuki ends up pushing his way into the League, the bell chiming over the door.

The second he meets his old teacher’s tired eyes, he’s already speaking. 

 

“I need your help.”

 

Chapter 22: A Promise to Think About It

Summary:

Vigilante Arc / Izuku's Lost Days

Notes:

Trigger warning for some suicidal ideation / processing trauma.

This one's kinda tough guys, sorry for what I'm about to do to ya'll.

The first order of business in clearing Izuku’s name is to find the arsonist and bring him to justice, but Izuku isn’t so sure how he actually plans to do that just yet. 

 

Apprehending Touya on its own is likely to prove difficult, even with all the tools at his disposal. Plus even if he did manage to capture him, Izuku could never just hand him over to the Captain. 

Both because Captain Todoroki was currently Izuku’s public arch nemesis and because Izuku would never allow Enji to get anywhere near his eldest son, voluntarily. 

Delivering a bound and gagged Touya to the foot of Captain Endeavor was out of the question, just the idea of it made Izuku nauseous. While yes, Touya was an arsonist who effectively ruined Izuku’s life, sure, he was also still a victim of systemic abuse, and he deserved to be treated as such.

So if police involvement was off the table, Izuku was going to have to get creative. If he could just talk to Touya, surely they can figure this out together? He’s not a bad person, Izuku is confident about that, just misunderstood. Why is he burning these buildings down? Is he trying to get his father’s attention? Is it revenge? Is it more than that? If Touya had someone he could trust, someone he could rely on, without risking falling into Enji Todoroki’s reach…

 

“Are you alright?” Shouto asks softly, before there’s a cool hand on his forehead, likely checking for a temperature.

 

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.” Izuku apologizes quietly, leaning ever so slightly away from Shouto’s hand. It pulls away immediately. Izuku refuses to look up into his friend’s face, to see the hurt and disappointment that would be obvious in those heterochromatic eyes.  

 

“You were muttering. Said Touya’s name. And my father’s.” 

 

“Thinking.” Izuku repeats, his gaze still on the table.

 

“Perhaps you could do that out loud. Intentionally, this time. With me. I think they are called conversations.” The sarcasm is new, and in any other circumstance Izuku would welcome it. 

 

Shouto’s been talking a lot with Sero, and learning more casual speech and mannerisms. Sero also coached the split-dyed teen through the concept of memes and probably a century of internet lore.  They have phone calls every night, though Shouto isn’t very loud when he speaks, so Izuku can’t hear anything specific through the walls.

Not that he even wants to.

Whatever those two talked about was between them, it’s not like Izuku has been very sociable the last few weeks anyways. 

Honestly, Izuku should probably be thanking Sero and kissing the ground he walks on as thanks for distracting Shouto from his incessant hovering. 

 

“Just… thinking, that’s all. Nothing exciting.”

Izuku dismisses quickly. When he sees Shouto open his mouth, presumably to press some more, Izuku stands from the couch. “Actually, I think I’m going to talk to the League to talk to Toga for a bit. I’ll be back later.” 

As the front door shuts behind him, and the electronic lock engages, Izuku can’t help but feel guilty for avoiding his friend. 

 

Staying with Shouto isn’t awful. 

 

On the contrary, the split-dyed teen has been a model host, they never argue, there’s always hot water, and groceries in the fridge. He doesn’t pay a dime in rent, either, not that he could afford it if Shouto suddenly decided he should be.

The apartment is well appointed, pretty even. Spacious for the location. Nice natural light. Lovely balcony area, good access to other rooftops. Big bathroom, though admittedly he has been avoiding the tub. Izuku can’t get the feeling out of his head. How it felt sitting in that water for hours, body temperature dropping, staring at the ceiling, exhausted and numb and knowing that nothing would ever be the same again. 

So yeah, the problem isn’t the roommate situation.

 

It’s just that Izuku is angry with Shouto.

It’s not even reasonable for him to be, but he is. 

Shouto lied.

He hid things from Izuku despite everything Izuku trusted him with. Izuku keeps so many secrets, from so many different people, regardless of the guilt that wrought. To know that by design or by luck, Shouto knew almost everything and still chose to lie? 

No matter how hard he tries, Izuku can’t shake it. 

The feeling of betrayal burns in the back of his throat like acid. 

 

Maybe being Tokyo’s current Most Wanted Criminal is weighing on him and he’s being irrational. 

The daytime ads plastered everywhere don’t help, probably. 

There’s unflattering drawings of his mask everywhere, crossed out and vandalized. Captain Todoroki has been railing against him on television, and releasing frequent “updates” on how close they are to finding Izuku. He promises Izuku will be in handcuffs by the end of the week. He’s promised the same thing to the entire country for weeks now. It isn’t a day that ends in ‘y’ if Captain Todoroki isn’t spewing vitriol and effectively proselytizing Izuku as the antichrist. 

The Captain has been his most vocal critic, by far, hardly a day goes by there aren't more calls for his arrest, but he isn’t the only one spreading rumors about Izuku.

 

The fear in the air is palpable.

Fear of him, of Izuku. 

The rumor mill is running day and night, half-truths and complete fabrications churned out in record breaking speeds. He hears bits and pieces of hundreds of conversations the second he steps out of Shouto’s apartment, one of the reasons he’s been so sheltered the past few weeks. 

 

“...A monster preying on the vulnerable…”

“...I’m telling you, he’s a villain…”

“...heard he threw the kid…”

“...just saying keep the door locked and don’t…

“...Nobody is safe with him on the loose…”

Izuku knows it’s just a misunderstanding, that he's the only outlet for the public’s fears but it hurts to hear how they view him right now.

 

He’s spent years doing his best to help others, to be the kind of hero the city needed. Devoted hours of time, of effort, of hope in the pursuit of being a hero.

Of course he wasn’t doing this for praise or acknowledgement, he knew that.

It’s just… All those late nights keeping an eye out for trouble, cornering purse snatchers, lecturing vandals, and really just trying to do some good.

Hell, Izuku sacrificed his flesh, his bones, his blood, the ability to go to onsen or public swimming pools thanks to the scars left behind.

After all that, all it took was some circumstantial evidence and one angry man to turn Izuku into now the most hated person in Tokyo. 

Hardly seemed worth it. 

 

People are distrustful, quick to shy away from others, lately. There’s less polite chatter on the trains and a general feeling of unease lingers around every corner. The fires haven’t stopped, in fact there’s been two more fires since the USJ incident.

Shouto insisted Izuku was to go nowhere near them, to distance himself from those crimes specifically, to the point where he tried locking the suit away in the hall closet. 

Of course, Izuku reminded his friend that he could very easily just break the door down if he wanted to, and that if Shouto didn’t cut it out, he’d do exactly that just to prove a point. Izuku did however agree to steer clear of the fires for the time being, though he refused to stop patrolling entirely. 

Luckily the last two fires were small, no casualties, only a handful of injuries, mainly due to the smoke. 

One at an ice cream parlor in Shibuya, which was thankfully handled by the firefighters fairly quickly, and another at a random warehouse out in Adachi. That one burnt completely to the ground, but thanks to its remote location, it was fairly self contained.

Shouto confirmed the ice cream parlor was a favorite haunt of Touya’s back in the day, but he wasn’t sure what reasons his brother could possibly have to want it burnt down. The warehouse was apparently a Department drop location.   

 

Izuku had been pouring over the information given to him by Shigaraki for the last several weeks, visiting the sites of the fires, and a few theories emerged over that time. 

According to the police report, which is now in the public record, Tokyo Police were alerted late one night by an anonymous tip that the League had mysteriously caught fire. By the time cruisers and Fire Rescue vehicles pulled up at the scene, the flames were already out of control. 

Later, two bodies were recovered at the scene: one adult and one adolescent. 

The adult was identified as Oboro Shirakumo, a community leader and advocate at a local community center. THE Community Center. The site of the second fire.

They were found in the ashes once the flames died down, both bodies badly burnt. There were no records of a burial for either Shirakumo or for Touya, and their remains were never documented as interred at any of the local hospital morgues, either. When the press got wind of their identities, that was when the rumors about the community leaders of the League preying on the youth of the city began circulating. It was all speculation, and no evidence was presented to confirm the story, except,  of course, the word of mouth spread by dear old Captain Todoroki. 

Finding anything other than hearsay and rumor was challenging, but luckily Shouto had managed to find one of the articles, reposted on a forum site, who theorized Shirakumo had been grooming the young impressionable teen and planned to leave the prefecture with him that night. 

The official story was then sanitized and removed from the front page due to Touya's age, and Japanese minor consent laws. By that point, though, the damage to the reputation of the League was already done. 

Deputy Hawks clearly knew Touya Todoroki, and was the last to see him alive before the League burned down the first time, according to the security still taken the night Touya “died”. 

 

Shouto is convinced the boy Touya was in love with ran away, escaped on foot when the fire started… but Izuku isn’t so sure. 

Izuku thinks the one Touya planned to elope with that night was in fact Deputy Hawks, himself. 

It just makes sense after looking at all the evidence. 

His file…  was a hard thing to read. 

Keigo Takami was in the system young, surrendered by his mother at age three. In and out of foster homes after that. A juvenile record for petty theft and a few cases of vandalism, breaking and entering, trespassing, though most of those charges were eventually dropped. He served only three months of detention in a facility before he was released on probation at age eleven, where he was made a ward of the state.

His record was a black hole of information between that age and when he officially joined the Police Academy ranks at eighteen, under the direct supervision of the acting Captain: Enji Todoroki.

It was suspicious, to say the least.

A corrupt cop, the Captain of the police force at that, could offer a plea deal, some blackmail, with his lover already “dead”... Izuku wouldn’t be surprised if fourteen year old Keigo chose the path of least resistance when that latent self preservation instinct kicked in.

 

When Izuku finally pushes his way into the League, the bell chiming his arrival, he’s pleased to see Toga perk up when she spots him.   

 

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you again!” She trills, vaulting the bar instead of walking around it. 

 

Luckily it’s early in the day, nowhere near time for the crowds to start showing up, so she doesn’t disturb anyone, but Izuku still looks around in a panic. 

She’s going to get fired one of these days… 

Toga wraps her arms around Izuku’s neck in an almost too-tight embrace, but her soft tan cardigan feels nice against his cheek.

 

“Hey, Toga-chan. L-Long time no see, I guess.” Izuku says sheepishly, when she finally lets go, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

 

“And whose fault is that?” She sniffs, before snatching his wrist and tugging him to sit at the bar. 

 

“Uh… M-mine, you’re right…” He hedges, drumming his fingers against the tacky bartop.

 

“I have a feeling you aren’t here because you missed me, Zuzu.” Toga pouts, leaning her face into her palm when she reaches him after walking around the counter again. 

 

“Uh… I don’t know. It’s not like I didn’t miss you? I’ve just been…” Izuku doesn’t finish the sentence, letting his hand gesture vaguely in the air. 

 

Thankfully Toga doesn’t ask him to elaborate.

Instead she just starts mixing a fruity mocktail for him, even tossing in a handful of maraschino cherries for good measure. She sets the drink in front of him, then aims a straw in her fingers like it's a dart. It lands in the drink perfectly, not a drop spilled.

 

“Handy little trick! Good job.” Izuku muses, a crooked smile on his lips before taking a sip through the straw.

Toga’s eyes narrow slightly, her expression hard to read. Izuku raises an eyebrow at her, but her smile is suddenly back as if nothing happened.

 

“It comes in handy.”

 

It isn’t long before the regulars start trickling in, waving and chatting with Toga and other members of staff. Izuku doesn’t mind people-watching, it makes him feel somewhat normal for a change. 

 

“Midoriya, it’s good to see you!” A warm, though very loud, voice says from his left. Jin is as excited as a puppy, his beaming smile a beacon in the dark, before falling into a deep glower. “How dare you show your face here?” 

 

Izuku isn’t unfamiliar with Jin’s contradictory behavior after all these years and gives a tight smile in return, the best he can do given the circumstances.

 

“Hey, Jin! Long time, no see. How are you holding up?” Izuku asks politely, watching Jin put his hands up in a dramatic gesture akin to a king holding court.

 

“Oh, I’m fabulous!” He crowed, basking in some invisible crowd’s adulations before slumping against the bar next to him only a moment later. “Terrible, actually. Got cops harassing me at every corner, couldn’t even go to the market for ingredients this afternoon. Hope everyone likes yesterday’s specials again.” Jin pouts, dragging his finger despondently over the bar top. 

 

“Ooh! I thought those pomegranate parfaits were yummy, did we run out of them?” Toga chirps, leaning in from the other side of the bar when she overheard. 

 

“No, we’re all out. You can’t just eat sweets all the time, yknow.” Jin chastises seriously, and Toga wilts before Jin ruffles her hair affectionately. “Nah, I’m just kidding, of course you can, kiddo. Saved one for ya, already. Gotta eat a vegetable first, if you want it though.” 

Toga’s eyes light up, and her fists come up to her face in excitement.

 

“Yay! Want anything, ‘Zuku?” She asks with an exaggerated dip to her head, grinning in his direction. Izuku shakes his head and waves both hands to dispel their interest.

 

“N-nah, I’m okay! Haven’t really been hungry lately.” Izuku admits with a shy finger coming to scratch his cheek, wondering if it was too early to leave yet.

 

“If you’re sure…” Jin says pensively, before that happy-go-lucky smile is already back, a big thumbs up only inches from Izuku’s nose. “I’ve got just the thing!” He disappears behind the half curtain into the kitchen before Izuku can repeat his denial. 

There’s a few minutes of silence, Izuku letting his fingers draw patterns in the condensation of the glass. 

 

“I’m glad you came, you know. Death is hard for people to deal with.” She says the words conversationally, and manages to look anywhere but at him for once. 

Izuku freezes, but Toga continues talking without pause.

 

“A friend of mine died a while ago. Magne, she was a really cool, good person.  We'd paint each other's nails and watch k-dramas together sometimes. She was like a sister to me. A sister to a lot of people, actually. It was sudden, when she died... and tragic. The news did a bad job covering the story… probably because she was trans. They dead named her, said she was probably involved with gang activity, and didn't even bother looking into it. Even though we fought with the police department about getting a real investigation, I never found out what really happened. She died in a fire too.” Toga’s voice was serious in a way it rarely was. Izuku finally met her eyes and was surprised to find they were already on him. Not only that, her pretty golden eyes were brimming with tears, though none seemed to actually drip down her cheeks.

“I’m really… sorry to hear that.” Izuku whispered hoarsely, reaching his hand out to cover hers. 

“Me too. I’m sorry about your teacher.” She whispered back, flipping her hand to hold his from underneath.

“Me too.” They both squeezed once before letting go.

That easy acknowledgement took a noticeable weight off his back, for some reason.

 

The moment isn't ruined, but it does pivot slightly.

“Delivery!” Jin sang as he dropped the plate of katsudon off in front of him, the pork still sizzling, clearly fresh from the pan. “Hope you hate it.” He winks. Jin wipes his hands on his stained apron before patting Izuku on the shoulder once, and squeezing. 

 

“T-thank you?” Izuku squeaked out, turning back to see Jin already ducking back into the kitchen. His gaze returned in front of him and he fought the urge to cry in this bar right now. 

 

It felt like so much more than food, at that moment. 

It felt like care.

It felt like love.

 

He missed his mom. 

He missed Kacchan.

He missed Dr. Toshinori.

He missed home. 

 

He didn’t even register Toga sliding a wrapped parcel of silverware towards him with a knowing grin, because his eyes refused to leave the plate still curling delicious smelling steam into the air. 

The rice was perfect, the egg pooled over the pork, and Izuku was just stunned at the little piece of home sitting on the plate in front of him.

It took a few seconds before the horrific grumbling in his stomach startled him into his body again.

Izuku hadn’t been eating much lately, he just hadn’t been hungry but now… now he was ravenous.

Izuku attacked the plate of pork and rice like there was gold at the bottom. The soy sauce was richer than he was used to, must be another brand than Kacchan or Shouto usually buy.

 

Izuku suddenly felt more alive than he had in weeks. 

Toga hummed to herself while Izuku ate, flitting between taking orders, running food, and just spending time near him. 

 

It was healing, not being expected to talk. 

Maybe that’s why he opened his mouth voluntarily.

 

“Is that… common, in the media? I heard rumors about a clear bias in the department, but I guess I thought law enforcement wouldn’t be that blatant about their discrimination. Are issues with minorities or the LGBTQ+ community often swept under the rug in the press too?” Izuku asked sometime later, stirring the last of his drink with his straw and trying to scoop a cherry out with it.

 

“Yeah. More than it used to be, even. Last couple years have been especially awful. People disappearing, dying, getting arrested on bogus charges, that kind of thing.” Toga answered back with a grumble, beginning to prep limes on her side. 

 

“And what, they just don’t report on it?” Izuku asked with a frown, managing to snag a particularly crispy piece of pork. He tries to dip it in the egg before it slid off his chopsticks between his teeth.

 

“Either it doesn’t get reported, or it gets downplayed, or the fact that they are who they are is somehow conveniently left out. A mugging gone wrong, a mysterious suicide, “gang activity”, whatever that means. Nothing about the actual person.” The thud of the knife against the cutting board is louder than normal as she speaks, her lip curling in distaste.

 

“It’s happened to people you know, obviously. Are you… are you worried it’ll happen to you or ‘Chako?” The slam of the knife into the cutting board is even louder, and the blade becomes embedded, sticking straight up and wobbling from the recoil. 

Izuku swallows a bite of rice, observing quietly. Toga’s hands splay against the surface of the bar, and she glares at the cut limes, without really seeing them.

 

It takes a few seconds for her to find the words. 

 

"I'm worried about all of us, I think. I get all emotional just thinking about it. That's how I am, but other people aren't like that. It's so hard for me to live like this." Toga whispers quietly. “I know Chako-baby can take care of herself, she’s the coolest, strongest, cutest person I know. But of course I worry. It’s normal to worry about the person you love being okay in a world like this.”

Terrified red eyes come to mind when she says that, but Izuku tucks that away for later.

Because Toga was not a very serious person. 

Intense, yes. 

Scary, definitely.

But serious? No, that wasn’t normal. 

For the normally bubbly blonde to be speaking so somberly, was more rare than Shouto full-belly laughing or Kacchan accepting help.

 

She looked miserable.

It was uncomfortable in a way he hadn’t anticipated, Toga losing her smile.

For years, her wide grin had quietly unnerved him, and sometimes Izuku even wished she’d stop completely.

He doesn’t wish that anymore.

He wants to give her comfort like gave him, but he's not sure how. 

 

There were only a few grains of rice left on the plate, by now, but he found himself chasing them anyway. 

 

“What can you tell me about the League?” Izuku asked, changing tactics, hoping to distract her and himself.

The question seemed to catch Toga off guard. She blinked at him, puzzled before tilting her head to think for a moment. One finger came up to poke her own cheek in thought.

 

"To me, the League is a place where I feel at home." She says with a small smile, her eyes cheating over to the shared wall between the bar and kitchen. 

 

Understandable. 

Not quite what he’s looking for though.

Izuku set the chopsticks across the dish, and pushed it away from himself to cross his arms against the wood before leaning in closer to Toga, again. 

 

“W-what about before it burned down? What was it like back then?” Izuku asks, already hearing slow footsteps come up from behind. He doesn’t flinch when a new, much deeper and more tired voice answers instead.

 

“Why do you want to know, kid?” Aizawa regards him seriously for a long moment, leaning against the bar beside Izuku.

 

Izuku takes a hesitant scan of the room, assessing the chances of being overheard again. He’s somewhat glad for the opportunity to hear this kind of information directly from Aizawa, who clearly knows more about the history of this place as the owner than Toga might. 

 

“I’m investigating the recent fires.” Izuku says under his breath, peeking out of the corner of his eye to gauge Aizawa’s reaction.

 

“I thought you might be.” Aizawa grunts, leaning over the bar to the prep side and returning with some sort of jello-pouch. He opens it, but pauses instead of immediately putting it in his mouth. 

 

“There isn’t much to tell. Or at least nothing useful. It’s the same location, just a new building built over the ashes. It was a fire, it was eight years ago, the end. I doubt it has anything to do with the arson occurring now.”

 

“Can’t I be the judge of that?” Izuku fires back, a touch harsher than he meant to. There’s something he can feel that he isn’t being told and the games are frustrating at this point. Aizawa regards Izuku for a minute before his lip quirks up in an amused smile.

Somehow Izuku got the feeling he passed some kind of test he never wanted to take in the first place. 

 

“How about this, problem child, I will tell you everything I know, no questions asked… IF you agree to come train with me.” He finally takes a noisy slurp from the pouch.

 

“Train? Train for what?” Izuku parrots, his eyebrows drawing into a pinch, looking over at Toga for guidance. 

 

He receives none. 

 

Toga is currently fighting a grin, dancing in place and failing to look disinterested in their conversation.

Aizawa doesn’t answer, just stares at him silently while consuming his strange snack..  drink… thing? 

 

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested. Actually, you know what? I forgot I have… I have to go.” He stands to leave, but Aizawa’s hand on his shoulder stops him. 

Not physically, Izuku could easily toss him off, but there’s a desperation in his voice when he speaks.

 

"Self sacrifice and recklessness are very different concepts. Remember that, Midoriya."

 

Izuku doesn’t answer verbally, but he nods once before Aizawa drops his hand. 

He swings his head over to Toga one last time, his welcome thoroughly worn. “How much do I owe you for the food, and the drink?” 

 

Aizawa answers instead, again, chuckling.  

“On the house, tonight. Just think about the offer, problem child. See you soon.”

 

Izuku is already pushing through the door, the bell chiming overhead by the time Aizawa says the last word.

 

---

 

Toshi: 425 Mhz @ 10pm

Izuku: ??? 

Toshi: Just listen tonight.

Izuku: Oh, your show! That’s right. I’ll be listening.

Toshi: You better.

Izuku: Do your best.

Toshi: Always do.

Toshi: (_ _)。゜zｚＺ

Izuku: Read at 17:38

---

 

 

Hitoshi’s first broadcast is a surprise. 

Admittedly, Izuku never actually asked what the subject might be, but nothing really prepared him for it to be… him. 

 

“This is DJ Mindjack, coming to you live from Waseda University’s broadcasting room.” Hitoshi’s voice is just as deep and melodic as it always is, maybe a touch huskier in places, like the way he sounds when he wants something.

 

“This is a new segment on the show, one we’ve gotten quite a lot of requests to cover. Plus Ultra, pressing current events and news covering the emergence of what appears to be heroes among us.” Izuku’s eyes bugged out, and he looked around in horror, despite being alone on top of a skyscraper. 

 

“Now I know what you’re thinking…” Hitoshi drawled to the empty air. 

 

“Bet you don’t.” Izuku grumbled, wringing his hands together anxiously. 

 

“‘Mindjack, heroes aren’t real!’ I hear you, listeners, but unfortunately for you, you’re dead wrong. Heroes protect us everyday, and no, I’m definitely not referring to the good ole boys in blue over at the Tokyo Police Department. If I wanted a crime to sit in evidence or get tossed under the rug because the victim was gay or some other flavor of “undesirable”, then sure, I'll give them a call, but don’t hold your breath.”

 

Oh, that’s not good, Toshi. 

That conversation with Toga at the League plays in his head, and he feels real concern for Hitoshi, talking shit about the police department on public airways.

 Good way to get a target on his back. 

It wouldn’t be hard at all for the department to find out Hitoshi’s identity from his school, which is named at the beginning of every broadcast and again at every new segment. 

Captain Todoroki has done far worse for far less.

 

 “No, I’m talking about the people who do their best to go out and do good everyday. Nurses, teachers, patient advocates, social workers, firefighters… engineers. I’m talking about people who frame their whole lives with the question: Who can I help today?” Hitoshi’s voice practically sings through the speakers in the mask, surrounding him with the sound that seems to drift back and forth through his ears. 

 

What follows is another hour of callers gushing about the people they love, their personal heroes. 

 

It’s… uplifting, in a strange way. 

A little embarrassing, even, but Izuku listened to the drawl of Hitoshi’s voice, laughed along to the stories, even teared up at the last one. 

It was this guy calling in about his girlfriend, who is in school to be a veterinarian. They’d been at a house party over the weekend, and the host didn’t secure the rooms, allowing a roommate's dog to get into some snacks. 

Nobody thought anything of it until the seizures started. The guy talked about how cool she looked as she took control. The vet student kept everyone calm, and even sent the other attendees on an “investigation” into what the dog could have gotten into. When they found the wrappers for someone's “special” candy, she fed the dog some activated charcoal and white bread soaked in broth and water for hydration. Babysat him for hours on the kitchen floor, caring and compassionate and assuring the little guy he was going to be okay. 

And he was!

She saved the dog’s life. 

He was so proud of her. 

 

Izuku found himself smiling. 

 

---

 

Putting the suit on after everything still feels strange. 

 

It isn’t the first time he’s done it since the USJ fire, not by a longshot, but every time he does, Izuku has to take a second and remind himself where he is. 

He is not at the USJ crawling up those stairs, or carrying Mirio and Dr. Sasaki to the lobby, he isn’t running through the halls, or leaning over the corpse of his mentor. 

 

He and OFA aren't really on speaking terms, or they don’t converse much beyond the basics, at least.

Not like before, anyway.

It seemed… mutual, which was strange to think about. 

Izuku is out patrolling the streets, keeping to the shadows and roofs above until he’s needed. Hitoshi’s lilting buttery voice plays in his ears tonight like he does every night.

It’s a good show, he must admit. Toshi's good at this. 

 

“How can you say this masked guy is innocent? The Captain has-” The caller is cut off. 

 

“Oh, please. The Captain has been on this warpath for weeks now, and he’s no closer to bringing this guy in because he CAN’T. What are they gonna charge him with? Saving civilians without a license? Not only do they have absolutely no proof this guy is the arsonist they are looking for, but why would he set a fire and then save the people affected by it? Just the concept makes no sense. We’ve all seen the footage. This hero, and that’s what I’m gonna call him, get used to it, saved 26 people total on the morning of the first fire. Twenty-six! No casualties. 26-0. The Department certainly doesn’t have numbers like that.” Hitoshi, or Mindjack as he is known on the show, argues over the air.

Izuku thinks the call-in portion on current events might just be Hitoshi’s favorite part of his shows, just so he has the opportunity to argue with people. 

 

“Maybe he just wanted some good PR? Maybe he felt guilty, how am I supposed to know?” The caller retorts with a scoff. 

 

“Oh yeah, I forgot, like most human beings, when I start feeling lonely or invisible, I totally like to set buildings on fire and then almost die trying to save nearly thirty people from the mess I caused, you know for the publicity!” Mindjack snarks, his tone mocking and purring all at the same time. Izuku never understood how he managed to achieve both simultaneously. You can almost hear the roll of his eyes, and know he looks pretty doing it. That level of confidence bleeds into every hum, every word, every sound from Hitoshi just draws you in. 

 

“Look, man, the police seem pretty damn sure he’s the one responsible. If it isn’t him, then who IS it?” The caller asks seriously and there's a few seconds of silence before Mindjack sighs. 

 

“I wish I knew, caller. I’m just saying, the truth is out there. There is for sure an arsonist hiding out in our city right now, no argument there. But then there’s this guy! Who, as far as I can tell, has done absolutely nothing but help people, but he still ends up getting shit on. I think the cops are just doing what they do, throwing things at the wall and seeing what sticks. No evidence has been released that links the guy to the fires besides him just… being there. Is that a crime now? It’s not like he’s been at every scene either, his presence isn’t guaranteed until civilian lives are in actual jeopardy. The ice cream shop fire? The Community Center? No sightings, no pictures, no videos, nothing linking him to the scene.” 

 

“Wait, no, they found the mask!” The caller points out, victory clear in his tone of voice. 

 

“Ah, ah, ah, listener. They found A mask that looks like his ‘near a murder’, and yeah those are definitely airquotes you are hearing because that is so incredibly vague, and also noticeably NOT a fire! Y'know, those pesky things they were blaming him for, in the first place? Not to mention they found that mask at some undetermined moment in time. For all we know they’ve been hanging onto it for years. The guy has clearly upgraded since that mask, how long have they had it? Is that kind of circumstantial evidence really enough for you to say ‘yep, guess he set all those fires and killed those people, jail for him for 1,000 years’? You don’t find any of this suspicious, like at all?” Mindjack asks dubiously and there’s a few tense silent seconds before the caller disconnects a few seconds later. 

 

Hitoshi rumbles out a laugh and the sound is unfairly attractive, a rasp of a noise that reverberates through the mic before his voice takes on that hypnotic quality again. 

 

“Another one bites the dust, listeners. Look, I can sit here and make the naysayers look dumb alllll night, don’t tempt me, I got the receipts, but come on. Think about this with those sexy, critical thinking-capable brains, I know at least a few of you’ve got one rattling around in there, kiddos. It’s the worst-kept secret that the Tokyo Police Department has a dodgy track record of responding to… certain clientele, let’s say. This guy, this hero, he’s making them look even more ineffective and useless than they usually do. You wanna talk PR? Let’s talk.” Hitoshi continues for another ten minutes, daring someone to call and defend their animosity towards Izuku.

 

It’s kind of sweet, actually.

To hear someone he cares for so much defending him without hesitation. 

Not even knowing it’s Izuku behind that mask. 

 

It takes some of the weight away. 

---

 

“It’s with an incredibly heavy heart that I inform you listeners about the violation of civil liberties that occurred at the League earlier this evening.”

Izuku startles at those words, almost missing a ledge. 

 

“Jin Bubaigawara, the beloved head cook at the League was arrested during dinner service tonight under “miscellaneous” felony charges that supposedly violated his parole. His adopted daughter, who was working a shift as a waitress at the same establishment, has been missing since the raid.” Izuku scrambles to find purchase against the building he was climbing, heaving himself up and resting on the edge to calm his pounding heart.

 

“You are having a cardiac event, your heart rate just increased by…” OFA continues chattering in his ear, but Izuku stopped listening.

 

Of course he's having a cardiac event, he just felt his heart split down the middle.

The police raided the League. 

Jin has been arrested. 

Toga is gone. 

 

He thinks back to the softness of her cardigan, to cherries in the bottom of his drink, and the crispy pork, Jin's warm hand on his shoulder, the citrus scent wafting in the air, and Toga’s toothy smile...

Izuku’s face falls into his hands, the lenses struggling to focus in the dark, whirring and buzzing as the light sensor contracted and widened.

 

“Listeners, I have to be honest, here. This story is personal to me. I have been friends with that weird blonde waitress for years now, and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Jin and eating his delicious cooking often, especially over the last six months. These are good people. These are people that deserve good things, people who have earned peace. These are NOT criminals, no matter what their records may say. This is a family, no different from mine or yours.” Izuku sucked in several big gasps of air, trying to calm himself down from breaking down immediately. 

 

It’s just not fair. 

Why them? Why Jin? Why Toga? 

So soon after their talk, her fears came alive in some kind of Cassandra-esque curse.

“Bubagaiwara is an honest, hardworking man with disabilities that have prevented him from living a “normal” life. I speak for everyone at the League when I say we’re all glad for that, because if you tasted his food, if you spent an afternoon with him, you’d realize how overrated being “normal” really is. His adopted daughter is the most loyal human being I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and every second they are kept apart, my heart breaks for them.” There’s real emotion in Hitoshi’s voice, and Izuku aches to reach out to his friend in comfort, but he is out here alone in the cold. 

 

Izuku bites his nails through the gloves, more out of habit than need, staring with blank eyes at the crowds milling around below.

“Now here they are, getting punished by the system that abandoned them in the first place! Not on my watch, listeners, we will be raising money for Bubagaiwara’s legal fees in the coming days. Community action and mutual aid are cornerstones to building a better future for everyone, not just those who conform to society's standards. Everyone deserves that respect.” 

 

Hitoshi is such a kind person.

It’s not most people’s perception of him, sure. He can be a bit of an asshole, intentionally. 

He spends a lot of energy being abrasive and aloof, and most people don’t take the time to get through to that gooey center he has.

 

“Feel free to call in with questions or stories about the heroes in your life. You never know who might be listening.” Mindjack murmurs, almost singing in some forgotten melodic tone as persuasive as a siren’s song.

 

Izuku tries to pretend he doesn’t know who his hero is, even now.

An orange mask with an X on it, comes to his mind unbidden and unwanted.

 

---

 

After the raid on the League, things just felt different. 

 

Toga may or may not be missing, though Izuku has a hunch she’s closer to home than not. He got one single text confirming she was alive and safe, but when he tried to reply the number was out of service, and so was Ochako’s. 

After his sudden arrest, Jin was immediately transferred from the station’s holding cells back to formal incarceration to wait for his trial date. It was delayed twice, and when they finally got in front of the judge it didn’t go well. 

The initial hearing was a pathetic display, his attorney was as dead-eyed as he was ineffectual so Jin’s bail was set at some insane amount, and the poor guy was back in his cell by the next day to await formal sentencing in an upper court. 

He was currently being denied visitors, though many of their friends had dropped off treats or letters to try and cheer him up, Izuku included.

Unfortunately Tenya regretfully informed them that their tokens of affection had all been confiscated before making it to Jin, since he had an episode during processing and was in solitary confinement because of it.

It’s hard to believe in a system like that.

 

The wind blows a few nights later, carrying flurries closer to where Izuku stands, looking out at the city blanketed in snow.

 

It’s quiet. 

Peaceful. 

Lonely. 

 

Izuku is tired. 

So very, very tired. 

No matter how much he tries, he can never rest.

Not really. 

Down to his very bones, Izuku feels exhaustion and the winter chill clinging to his every cell. 

Izuku casts a glance down at the passing cars several stories below, waiting for Hitoshi’s show to start. He settles in and watches the lights reflect off the bright white snow. It’s turning grey and slushy on the roadways already. Dirtied so easily by its very nature. 

Izuku rolls his eyes at himself.

There’s just a lot of time to think when Izuku is up here, above the world. His red sneakers hang off the edge, snowflakes pile on the tip of his shoe, and collect on the laces. 

 

He remembers the roof at Aldera, the roof the other night in Shibuya, the roof off that apartment building with Kouta… 

He wonders why it’s always rooftops. 

Is it some kind of occupational hazard, or if there was something fatalistic about Izuku and the call of the void?

Maybe he’s been fighting some sort of destiny all this time. 

Izuku scoots himself closer to the edge, letting his face hang over the street.

He’s almost close enough to slip off, feels the drag of gravity tugging him forward, begging him to just tip forward just a hair… to let go, to just let himself fall. 

 

He’s so tired. 

 

Hitoshi’s voice suddenly filters into his mask, and it seems like he’s been talking for awhile when he finally comes back to himself. 

“...I know a couple of those kinds of people, listeners,  and I can assure you that the world is better for them being here.”

 

Izuku starts tearing up. 

 

“In my case, though, they are the kind of person who cares more about others than they do for themselves. Who are the first to reach out to a friend, but can’t do the same for themselves, even when they should.”

 

Oh, Hitoshi.

He knows Izuku is listening. 

He promised to listen, after all.

 

“Isn’t that a shame, listeners? That a person so willing to lend a hand to a stranger, help someone who’s fallen down, smile just to uplift someone else’s spirits… that person can’t ask for help when they need it.” Hitoshi’s voice sounded fond. Delicate, soft. The words fell out of his mouth almost in whispers, he was so quiet, as if raising his voice might break the spell.

 

Izuku bit his lip, sniffling and looking up at the cloudy sky, not a star or sliver of moon visible in the endless night.

Deep purple clouds thread together into a weighted blanket holding him down.    

 

He’s just so tired. 

What had I been about to do?

Izuku thinks the words with a sob, letting the tears finally fall.  

 

“So, our sponsors here at Waseda University, good ole Mindjack, and all you lovely listeners are going to devote an hour or so every night to remind those pesky heroes that we need them around but I have one more thing to say before we wrap up tonight’s broadcast.”

 

The snow falls gently, slowly. Carried on soft breezes, snowflakes twirling and dancing in front of Izuku’s nose. His breath swirls as he pants, letting the tears flow, not attempting to stop them pooling under the mask. 

A flake lands on his lens, and Izuku sees it with remarkable detail, the fractals glinting in the low light of the moon now shining without the cloud cover to hide it away.

It’s beautiful.

 

“Remember, listeners, anyone can be a hero. You can’t just wait around for someone to save you, being a hero means just waking up every day and trying your best.”  

 

Thanks, Toshi. 

I owe you one.

Chapter 23: A Promise to Be There for Him

Summary:

Katsuki begins training with Aizawa, and refuses to mind his own business.

Notes:

There's a few hidden easter eggs in here, tell me if you spot 'em! <3

*updated, sorry if you already read this, do it again maybe >-<

Turns out Katsuki picked a piss poor time to come knocking on Aizawa's door, because the whole bar’s staff was in hysterics. 

After showing up and announcing he was ready to train, Katsuki found himself standing awkwardly on the edge of an emergency town hall meeting with the League’s staff. It didn’t take long to figure out what he missed, as he was filled in on the situation by the menagerie of staff; all too willing to gossip and recount their perspectives while Katsuki listens off to the side.

Aizawa himself is far too busy putting out metaphorical fires and getting things squared away to make time for Katsuki, but there’s something that keeps him loitering around instead of sprinting from the door. It’s chaos. Tables and chairs knocked over, some broken beyond repair. The mirror behind the bar is cracked, a few lights and decorations lay in ruins across the floor, while the crew are too busy crying to pick up a broom. 

 

The League had been raided by the police department earlier that night, and they didn’t leave empty handed.

They took the cook, a guy who was clearly beloved if the teary eyes and panicked faces were any indication. Aizawa was trying to keep the situation under control, but even he looked frazzled and exhausted.

Apparently it was just a normal weekday night, not even karaoke on the docket since Mic, the DJ, was working the evening shift at his other job. 

A perfectly normal night. 

Until two full squads of cops flooded the bar, in the middle of the dinner rush, and yanked the guy off the stove. He fought back, (because duh), and cracked one of the arresting officers in the face with a hot pan, which was obviously a no-no. The cops called for reinforcements (pussies) and made quite the racket, apparently, because Blondie came to back up the cook, her adoptive father. 

Katsuki knows just how fast and lethal she can be when someone threatens something dear to her, and isn’t surprised to hear she fought like hell.

She was a little force of nature, according to the others who’d been in the kitchen when it all went down, including the twink he met last time. 

Frenchie didn’t skimp on the details, and regaled the others with his account of the incident. There was a lot of bad French accentuation, dramatic pauses and embellishment, but Katsuki only grumbled about it a little bit, sensing that making a scene about it would only delay the debrief.

Pigtails apparently jumped on an officer’s back, and rode him like a Bronco. She did some serious damage with one of the prep knives, though unfortunately the bastard on the receiving end of her wrath was still living as far as they knew. Stabby must’ve been holding back or she would’ve turned that meter maid into sashimi.

Katsuki is both mildly impressed with her restraint and a little bit proud she still took a piece out of him, on principle.

When Jin, the cook, noticed his rugrat was getting involved in the fight (and likely racking up a longer rap sheet), he yelled for Aizawa to mediate. Boss Man came to the rescue, as per usual, and ended up shoving her out the back door when the cops had their backs turned. Aizawa tried to contain things for a while, talk everyone down, but was too busy getting Blondie to safety, to stop Jin being tased and carried out in cuffs. 

 

So yeah, definitely a wild fucking night for all involved. 

 

“W-what are we going to do without Jin?” Frenchie asked solemnly, looking to Aizawa for answers. 

 

“Sato, can you handle things if we pivot back to the old menu?” His old teacher looked decades older than he had a few weeks ago, his eyes bloodshot and exhausted. 

 

A big buff guy with tanned skin nodded, but said: “Yeah, but I can’t work the grill, ovens, prep side, and fryers all at once, I’m gonna need an extra set of hands. Jin always-” 

Aizawa raises a hand to stop him from continuing, and like magic it works. 

 

“Things are going to have to change, kid. Listen up, because this goes for all of you: Jin isn’t here, and we can’t rely on him getting released any time soon. No use dwelling on the past. I know you all are upset, and for good reason, but you have jobs to do, lives to live. That can’t just stop because bad things happen. This is the reality of being part of a marginalized community. We will lose friends, it is inevitable. People leave, get sick, die, or in this case, are bodily carried out by the Tokyo Police Department. We will get through this, like we always do. Be rational.” Aizawa’s voice was gravely serious, but calm and measured. No emotion leaked around his words, but they were still comforting. With every word, Aizawa seemed to calm the din, a sea of sniffling faces nodding in response.

 

“What can I do?” Katsuki asked quietly, turning a few heads who looked confused as to why he was there. 

Katsuki wondered the same. 

This felt too personal. Too intimate. He wasn't the guy whose shoulder you cried on, he was the one beating in the face of whoever made you cry in the first place. The touchy feely shit was always more Deku's speed. Soft words and gentle smiles, that just wasn't Katsuki.

Aizawa looked at him seriously, probably deciding where he could do the most good, before pushing his long hair out of his face.

 

“Ever worked the line before?” He asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. Katsuki shook his head, scowling.

“Great, you start the day after tomorrow. I’ll train you myself.” There was an undercurrent to the words, a double meaning for only Katsuki to hear.

He nodded once.

 

Katsuki from middle school, hell even junior year, might throw a fit at being told what to do, about being conscripted into this gaudy monstrosity… but the air was somber. Heavy with grief and fear. He’s always had respect for his high school chemistry teacher, but he’d never seen the man in this kind of position of authority before.

Aizawa had a responsibility to be the leader here, to keep a level head and steer through. 

He’d lost people tonight.

Those people weren’t just his employees, they were his family, his community. 

Looking around the room at the crew left behind, Katsuki saw determination in their misty eyes that had been absent before. 

They respected Aizawa. Trusted him, enough to follow him through the darkness of these uncertain times. 

 

So Katsuki would too. 

 

---

 

He leaves not long after that, uncomfortable at all the weepy people he doesn’t know well enough to tolerate yet. Katsuki wonders how many of them know Deku, then wonders if Toga is running off to him right now. 

That’s when Katsuki gets his answer.

At first, he almost thinks he’s losing his mind.

 

Is Katsuki fucking hallucinating?

Because that’s just his luck, isn't it, to start hallucinating Deku on rooftops on the daily, but no. 

 

Over there, on the roof of that building, far more visible than he should be, is a dark figure with two glowing white eyes, obvious against the dark. He’s just sitting there, silently watching the people milling below him.

He’s painfully oblivious and still, after all these years, he does not feel Katsuki’s eyes on him.   

 

Katsuki keeps him in his line of sight as he approaches from the side. He can see the figure take a more familiar shape, down to the red sneakers literally hanging off the side. 

Deku is chewing on his nails through his gloves, like an idiot, which is strangely endearing. Like just the action is enough to soothe him, and hey, maybe this is preferable, maybe save his finger’s from Deku’s constant wrath. The dipshit constantly tears into his fingers with his teeth, biting his nails to the quick, and often drawing blood. Half the band-aids Katsuki was forced to apply for Deku as brats were for injuries like that. 

It’s a habit they’ve always shared, though you’d never know it thanks to Katsuki’s regenerative ability. 

 

There’s a lot of different trains of thought and emotions hitting Katsuki like he's standing on the tracks right now, and it’s hard to decide which one he hates the most. 

 

The first emotion that hits him square in the chest is relief.

Deku didn’t run away with that Ice Prince. 

He isn’t harboring another fugitive in Blondie.

He’s still in the city. 

He’s alive. 

He’s okay. 

He’s still fighting. 

Still a hero, despite everything. 

 

Katsuki never doubted it for a second. 

 

Other than that disgustingly sappy thought, there’s the obvious: Watching him sitting on the ledge is its own particular flavor of terrifying. 

In fact, Katsuki still hasn’t let his breath release from the shock, and his lungs ache with the effort. He’s convinced if he exhales then Deku will be blown away, or just ragdoll flop over the side, but when Katsuki finally does, only to prevent losing consciousness, Deku doesn’t move. 

Instead, he just sits there, zoned out.

 

Which brings him to the familiar feeling of rage. 

How could he not be angry? He’s doing his best but goddammit Deku is just so obvious! He always fucking has been! 

Literally anyone on the street can see him right now, he’s only four stories up! Sure, it's dark, and fine, most of the people milling around are either drunk or tired, and yeah, very few are staring up at the dark sky above them, the stars too blotted out with light pollution from the street lamps to see ‘em. 

But come the fuck on!

 

Katsuki’s teeth squeak, he clenches them so tightly, trying to breathe through the rage.

Deku is being absolutely destroyed in the media, he’s literally the most wanted fugitive in the country right now and apparently he’s just hanging around the city, chilling on rooftops in fucking costume?

Remember when Katsuki said if Deku had good sense he’d lay low? Well he was a dumbass for ever assuming Deku might actually have any. 

Clearly, the parts of his brain where his logic and basic reasoning skills should be were somehow replaced with foolhardy audacity at birth.

If he didn't love Inko Midoriya like a second mother he'd wonder if she drank while pregnant or dropped him on his stupid ass head as an infant. 

 

This is good exposure therapy. 

Can’t touch Deku from down here, can’t hurt his feelings.

Just gotta handle his own shit.

Easy. 

 

The fear, the feeling he’s most ashamed of, is front and center. 

There’s the fear of seeing Deku get caught, get arrested like Jin, or possibly killed on sight. There’s the fear that he would fall off the building, like he has in so many of Katsuki’s worst nightmares. 

Scared because somehow Deku was the strongest person he has ever known, while also being the most fragile.. 

 

He was so vulnerable in every way.

He shouldn't be out there alone, without someone to keep him safe. 

 

But isn’t that what Katsuki wanted more than anything? 

To watch out for him? 

To catch him if he fell? 

Would he be able to face this fear, if he could just be by Deku’s side in the meantime?

Reasonably, understanding that Deku is an actual fucking superhero proves much easier in the suit, without the big glossy eyes or the familiar curls distracting Katsuki. 

In the suit, there’s only the swell of his musculature including powerful legs, (a testament to his strength) and a thick waist that Katsuki is lucky to have had his hands wrapped around. Before he can start to drool, Deku’s skill becomes all the more apparent when he stands and slips into the shadows effortlessly. 

 

Katsuki’s heart pounds, staring at the place where Deku had just been sitting before casting his eyes into the distance. The fear is definitely there, he’s terrified to lose him, but there’s another feeling stirring in his gut. 

Some sick kind of elation at Katsuki having the chance to chase again. 

 

Maybe he can have a do-over of that night. 

Katsuki will prove that he can make the right choices and behave himself. 

Katsuki might’ve fucked up the last time, but if he can catch up, if he can just talk to Deku, if he can apologize…

 

Deku is much faster than he realized, because the next time he sees the nerd, he’s in the distance swinging over to Yoyogi Park, almost like he took a wide arc to avoid the University.

There’s a pain in Katsuki’s chest when he notices, and he’s shocked to call it grief.

 

Katsuki has avoided this place too, until now. Since he saw the news. 

Until tonight. 

 

The coverage on TV was sickening enough, seeing it in person might make him physically ill, despite all the carnage he’s seen (and caused). 

Katsuki had planned on keeping his head down, hood drawn while passing campus, but it looks like Deku preferred a much wider berth from ground zero. 

 

If he isn’t going to campus, back to the dorms, then where is Deku going? 

He’s moving closer to the ritzier part of Shibuya, but there’s nothing on that side of town except…… oh no. 

Katsuki loses the figure in the dark, but he has a sickening feeling he knows where the nerd will end up.

 

Please tell me you aren’t going where I think you’re going.

Tell me you aren’t that dumb, Deku.

 

Thanks to that detour through the park, Deku is much further from there than Katsuki is, even on foot.

But like he said, Deku’s fucking fast. 

 

Katsuki is panting by the time he skids to a stop a street away from the side of Shouto Todoroki’s apartment building. 

It doesn’t take long before Deku arrives. He does some crazy wall climbing thing and lands neatly on the balcony with all the confidence in the world.   

Before Katsuki can even blink, the nerd is already slipping inside, tugging off the mask as he does. 

Katsuki sees a flash of curls, before the rail of the balcony eclipses his view.

When those curls retreat too far into the apartment for him to see, Katsuki realizes why the balcony door had been left unlocked when he visited all those weeks ago.

 Because it was left open on purpose.

 

Has Deku been with Half n’ Half this whole time?

Why won't he answer the phone? It's one thing to ignore Katsuki but Aunty?

Does Deku know that his rich, perfect, little psychopath fuckbuddy is the arsonist? 

Why would Deku still be here, if he knew that? 

Does he think he can convince IcyHot to stop? 

 

Oh, wait. 

This is Deku, after all. 

Of course he thinks the power of friendship, or love, or his sweet juicy ass could win over the bad guy! They just have to talk about their stupid ass feelings and they’ll run off into the sunset, everything will be fucking great. 

Easy as pie.

 

Wake up, you idiot, he’s setting you up!

 

Half n Half must be setting these fires as a way to keep Deku close, dependent on him. He’s already an Emergency Contact, his concept of boundaries is clearly fucking non-existent thanks to the fucked up way he was raised. 

Katsuki must have gotten in the way, so did classes, the mentorship, all of it, anything that would keep Deku away. 

Now he's being hunted by none other than Papa Todoroki himself.

It’s so ‘convenient’ that in these trying times Deku has good ole Ice Prince to take him in, to tuck him away like a selfish dragon and his hoard. 

Like Father like son, huh, motherfucker?

Maybe being a narcissistic lunatic runs in the family.

How long has that bastard been planning this? 

 

Katsuki is numb with the cold by the time he arrives home that night.

 

---

 

Training with Aizawa has several connotations. 

 

At first, Aizawa walks him through the bar, points out all the main areas he'll need to be aware of. He's introduced to Sato, given a rundown on the new / old menu, and an hour or so later Aizawa ditches him with instructions for Sato to train him on the line. They run through a few dishes, nothing too difficult, and because Katsuki knows his way around a fucking kitchen, it’s weirdly fun. 

It’s nice to use his hands again.

To let his mind focus on the sequence of events and the familiar weight of a knife in his hand, or the sizzle of meat in the pan. 

Katsuki is in control, a feeling he sorely missed. 

 

The food isn’t exactly fancy, the same type of grub they sell at any shitty izakaya in this city, greasy bar food. It’s absolutely nothing like the full course menu Jin clearly busted his ass on. As busy as this place was in the evenings, Katsuki was floored to realize that it was just one guy doing all the work, and not a team. Unless by some freak accident, the guy could make copies of himself, Katsuki couldn’t fathom how it all got done. 

Sato is a baker, responsible for the dinner rolls, desserts and shit. According to him, Toga had been doing the knife prep for Jin, because he handled literally everything else. 

Even the goddamn dishes.

Must’ve been like a one man army to see him in action. 

 

Sato is a chill guy, if a little quiet. Not that he’s complaining, Katsuki likes the quiet. If he had to be shoved in this hot ass kitchen with Frenchie for any length of time he’d swallow glass.

Luckily he’s running around like mad on account of being one server short. Aizawa’s husband is messing with the light system over the stage, it must’ve gotten damaged in the scuffle. That pretentious magician from before is manning the bar and cleaning between customers.  

 

It’s awkward, point blank. 

 

Katsuki isn’t part of this family, and while they try to include him in conversation to be polite, it’s not comfortable for anyone involved. They amble around oddly, like their rhythm is off. 

There’s a huge gaping hole in this picture: one suspiciously shaped like two people in particular, and every person in the building knows exactly who belongs there, even Katsuki. 

 

The League's kitchen isn't dirty, especially compared to some others he’s seen, but it’s better to have something to do than sit and watch these assholes mope. 

So Katsuki deep cleans the fridge and freezers, scrapes the grill, and grease traps. The last one is disgusting, and not something Katsuki has prior experience with. It isn’t hard, but it is labor intensive. Sato ends up giving him a few pointers when it becomes apparent that Katsuki is clearly struggling. Even that guy hadn't actually done it himself, though, just seen Jin do it a couple times. 

No wonder this place was in shambles without him. 

 

Aizawa comes to collect him after a few hours, and his eyebrows raise when he sees that Katsuki is going through the deep freeze and tossing anything without a legible date. 

 

“Donate ‘em to a food pantry or something, but I’m not giving some poor bastard norovirus because I cooked something rancid. I’ll keep anything you see if you can be sure of when it was prepped.” Katsuki grunts, already turned back to organizing and reloading the freezer in a way that doesn’t look like a toddler threw their shit into a toy bucket. 

 

Aizawa doesn’t seem bothered by the declaration, because he instructs Sato to take the discarded food when he leaves for the day. 

 

Actual combat training with Aizawa isn’t anything like what he expects. 

 

Katsuki gets brought to the same room he’d faced the dark haired man in before, when the missing waitress almost merked him in that alley.

The second the door shuts behind him, Aizawa strikes, fast and agile in a way Katsuki never thought the sleepy man could be. 

He takes the hit to the jaw with a manic grin before swinging his fist low to connect with the older man’s gut. He misses though, Aizawa cheats to the left, away from Katsuki’s dominant hand he realizes, and gets a knee to his ribs that takes his breath away.

 

Okay, now it's time to get fucking serious.

 

Grappling with Aizawa is a painful lesson in patience, and it exposes every frayed nerve Katsuki has. He gets his ass absolutely handed to him again and again. Katsuki lands a few hits, but it’s like the old man is made of steel, he hardly flinches, and always makes sure to return the favor. You’d think he was the one with a healing factor between the two of them.

Every now and then Aizawa will call out tips and suggestions, or even point out flaws in his form or guard. 

By the end of the first day, Katsuki is a sweaty, panting mess and thankfully, so is the hobo. Aizawa’s knuckles are bloody and bruised, and he preens at the envious look on his teacher’s face when he sees Katsuki’s already perfectly healed skin.  

 

“You’re not bad, especially with abilities like that, but you aren’t nearly where you could be. Any weapons you have experience with?” Aizawa grunts out, tossing him one of the water bottles from the fridge. Katsuki catches it, and cracks the seal with a grimace.

“No. Where the fuck did you learn all that, old man?” He rasps before sucking down half the bottle in one go. Aizawa already has another being lobbed his way, and he lets this one hit him in the chest just to feel the coolness against his overheated skin. 

“Get ready then, I’ve got a few ideas. You pick things up over the years. Like I said, we aren’t that different, I’m just older. And better.” The smirk on that stubbly face makes Katsuki want to go another round but his arms feel like jello, so he just flips him off instead.

Even that makes him wince internally.

Katsuki really has been letting himself go lately. He shouldn’t be this winded and sore from a spar, even if it was more hardcore than his spars with Shitty Hair… Though they hadn’t had time to wail on each other in a hot minute. 

 

Actually wait, when's the last time Katsuki worked out, or really even did much of anything at all?

 

Shit. 

Maybe he should’ve showed up on Aizawa’s rainbow doormat sooner.

Well, now that he’s here…

 

“I got a question for ya.” He says casually, setting the now empty bottle on the floor.

Aizawa raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t look up from wrapping his injured hands in tape.

 

“What do you know about the fire that burnt the League down a couple years back? Do you remember a kid named Todoroki hanging around then? Would’ve been real fucking young?”

There were several reactions he was prepared for:

1. Confusion- example: “Who is that?”
2. Anger - example: “How dare you bring that up?!”
3. Understanding - example: “yeah that was a hard blow to the bar’s reputation, I’d be curious if I were you, too.”

But none of those are what Aizawa says.

In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all. 

When Katsuki looks up confused, the haunted expression on Aizawa’s face is enough to have him straighten up in his seat. 

 

“Sensei?” He prods, and his teacher’s expression hardens back into his normal apathy before his gaze narrows suspiciously. 

 

“Why do you want to know, kid?” His voice is guarded, carefully monotone, almost rehearsed, like he’s said those exact words before.

 

“Haven’t ya seen the news, hobo-sensei? Fires are back in style. You worried about this place being on the list to host one?” 

 

“No, I’m not.” He doesn’t continue the statement, or address the previous questions and the evasiveness sets Katsuki’s teeth on edge.

 

“Oi. Be straight with me. You can be gay with your husband all you want, but tell me what the hell is going on or I’m out of here.” 

 

Aizawa’s lips curl into a smile that he tries to smother with a bandaged up hand. 

What a prick.

 

“I’m not trying to hide anything from you, Bakugou. It’s just not a topic I find myself particularly excited to talk about. However, I can assure you that whoever is setting these fires… it isn’t the same person as it was back then.” Katsuki opens his mouth to argue, to say “you can’t know that”, but Aizawa beats him to the punch. 

“Trust me. It was an accident.” The tone is flat, offering no quarter. He wants to trust Aizawa, but there’s so obviously something there, something Aizawa isn’t vocalizing. 

 

“What makes you so fucking sure?” Katsuki presses, hunching forward to lean his elbows onto his knees. 

 

“Because the person who set that fire died in it. I went over every inch of the place afterwards, to get closure. To piece things together. It helped me grieve.” Aizawa’s voice is smooth and unaffected, despite the heavy topic. 

Katsuki doesn’t know what to say to that, but apparently Aizawa didn’t expect anything different. 

 

“Speaking of grief, I do actually watch the news, so I know you know what it feels like to lose someone like that. Are you in the mood to talk about that, Bakugou? About Dr. Toshinori?” There isn’t any teasing in the tone, but it still makes Katsuki’s face heat in mortification. 

Katsuki bites his tongue and squeezes the half empty water bottle in his hands, the plastic creaking in his grip. It begins to melt against the fine explosions popping across his palm, so he shakily sets it next to his twin. 

 

“Have you even been to campus since it happened?” Aizawa asks quietly, but Katsuki refuses to look and see if the look on the haggard bastard’s face is as pitying as he thinks it is. Instead, Katsuki shuts his eyes tightly, locks his jaw even tight, and works on breathing through his desire to beat his old chemistry teacher into the linoleum. 

When he’s calm enough to audibly tell the asshole to back the fuck off, there’s a sudden rapping at the door that draws both of their attention. 

They stare at the door for a second before another knock disturbs the silence. They look back at each other and it’s clear from the arch in his brow that Aizawa is waiting for his ‘okay’.

Katsuki, for his part, meets the look with a very hesitant nod.   

 

“Come in.” Aizawa calls, and the door opens immediately. A familiar shock of lavender hair slouches through the doorway, already whining. 

 

“Pops, you’ve been MIA all day, Atsuhiro said I’d find you in here. We’re about to head to campus, are you-  Bakugou?” Katsuki is out of his seat faster than he thought his sore legs were capable of.

Katsuki’s brain misfires for a moment, so he closes his eyes to force a restart; but when he blinks them open again the Zombie Fuck is still loitering in the doorway. 

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Their voices overlay, speaking in perfect unison. 

It’s not funny, not in the slightest, but Aizawa coughs on a laugh, because he’s a bastard like that. 

 

“Meet the newest line cook, a previous student of mine, Bakugou Katsuki.” Aizawa explains with a wave of his hand in Katsuki’s direction.  “I wasn’t aware the two of you knew each other.”

 

By the amusement in his old teacher’s voice, Katsuki calls bullshit on that. 

He definitely knew.  

The fucking traitor.

 

“Oh hell no, get rid of the Pomeranian. We’re going to be late if we don’t leave in the next five minutes.” Troll Doll says immediately, without another look in Katsuki’s direction. 

 

“Oi, fuck you, asshole! Who are you to be throwing out orders, anyways, hah?! ” Katsuki spits, shoving a finger in Hot Topic’s chest, now nose to nose. He’s staring at Katsuki with deep set sleepy eyes and a severely furrowed brow. 

 

“Watch it, Kacchan.” Eyebags hisses under his breath, looming over him with all that useless waifish height. 

 

“Or what, hah? Your Hot Topic wannabe ass doesn’t scare me. Let's take this outside, because you are way overdue for an ass kicking, Ambien. I’ve heard the shit that comes out of your mouth, and I gotta say: not a fucking fan.” Katsuki growls back, rolling his shoulders back, even though they ache in protest. 

 

“There will be no fighting today. Hitoshi, if you want a ride, get in the car. Bakugou, you’re done for the day. We’re still in the process of reprinting the menus, so we won’t need you on the line again for a few days. Schedule will be posted on Friday, so come a few hours early then and we’ll run through the paperwork. Understood? Feel free to get something from the kitchen on your way out.” Aizawa says tonelessly, rising from his spot on the worn couch. 

 

“Tch, whatever.” He lets his shoulder knock into the beanpole on his way out, and he’s pleased when it’s enough to knock Purple Rain off balance for a second. 

 

“Bakugou.” Comes a tired but warning tone from Aizawa.

 

“See ya Friday, old man.” Katsuki calls over his shoulder, the grin audible in his voice.

Sleepy Fucks 1 and 2 leave almost immediately, the younger of the two complaining about being late for something. 

 

Katsuki returns to the kitchen and preps himself a bowl of steamed rice, vegetables, and some roasted fish from the freezer stock. Saves him the trouble of having to walk home and then cook using ingredients he’d have to pay to replace. Plus, as ramshackle as the rest of the place is, the kitchen is nice. Fancy ovens, and shit. Might as well play with them. 

Sato keeps his distance, which Katsuki appreciates until he damn near falls asleep in the corner booth.

 

---

 

It’s snowing by the time Katsuki makes his way home. It must have been coming down all day if the accumulation is anything to go by.

Some of it’s turning to nasty sludge in the street already, and he almost slips on some ice when he approaches the train station, which has him toss his arms out for balance, reminding him of the achiness from before. 

He’s sore, but it's a strangely welcome sensation. The throb of his muscles feels well-earned, and there’s a satisfaction that comes with it, one that Katsuki had sorely missed. 

 

Somehow, despite not deserving it all, Katsuki’s eyes find the figure in the dark easily. 

Deku is hunched over the edge of a taller building this time, maybe nine floors max. His body prevents the snow from sticking, and the lack of even coverage makes him stick out like a sore thumb. 

He watches Deku lean over the edge, staring straight down. 

 

Shit is Katsuki having a nightmare right now?

Wake up.

Wake up. 

C’mon brain, wake up. 

 

Deku sways forward a bit more, teetering on the edge and Katsuki can’t fucking breathe. It’s impossible to see what kind of face he’s making beneath the mask, but the markings painting his cheeks have never looked more like tear stains than they do at this moment. 

Katsuki stares at him from his place on the ground, not knowing what to do.

 

Can he do anything?

 

Deku looks like he’s a strong gust of wind from toppling over that edge, and worse… It looks like he wants to.

It rubs coarse salt into every wound at once.

The lenses glow faintly against the shadow of his form, and despite everything, Katsuki sees the emptiness in his own chest reflected in Deku’s every slow, tired blink of the backlight.

Deku is not okay, right now, that’s obvious to Katsuki even without seeing his face. 

 

Has he thought about this before?

Was Katsuki the reason then, too? 

 

Deku hangs there for several awful minutes, precariously, before he finally pulls back. Katsuki can breathe again. 

He points his face to the sky and Katsuki watches helplessly as his chest and shoulders start to shake.

 

He’s crying. 

Sobbing, by the looks of it.

It breaks Katsuki’s fucking heart in half. 

 

“It’s okay, because I’m here. I’m here, Deku.” He whispers into the wind. “Even if you let go, I’ll still catch you.”

Deku doesn’t hear him, but that’s okay, it’s a promise all its own. 

A promise to be there for him. 

No matter what. 

It's the promise he should have made all those years ago. 

 

As if the heavens themselves want to comfort Deku, the thick clouds part, and silvery, glittering moonlight throws a soft glow off the deep sea green of his suit. He’s beautiful.

Here in the frigid snow, bathed in moonlight, they keep each other company. 

 

---

 

It’s only thirty minutes or so when Deku stands shakily and begins the journey back to IcyHot’s apartment, following a similar route to the one he took the other night. He’s slower tonight, not nearly as acrobatic or quick footed, the sadness must be weighing him down. Katsuki follows behind, unwilling to let Deku out of his sight for long until he knows for sure he’s safe. 

This time, however, Katsuki wants a different vantage point. 

 

The building opposite IcyHot’s apartment building is a high rise, with a fire escape on the South end. He clambers up it, enough to have the perfect view into Half n Half’s apartment through the big ass window and balcony door. Deku is already inside when Katsuki gets in position.

Katsuki tries not to growl when IcyHot steps in from the hall and doesn’t look the least bit shocked to see Deku in costume. 

 

They talk, but of course, Katsuki can’t hear them from this distance.

He watches with bated breath as Half n Half’s dirty little fingers peel the mask away, freeing frizzy curls to the air.

The look on the Ice Prince’s face echoes the pain in Katsuki’s chest earlier, when he was watching Deku in the snow.

Looks like this fucker already knew Deku’s secret identity. 

 

Did he tell him before he told Katsuki?

Did he figure it out by himself?

The questions die on his tongue when he watches Deku all but collapse into Half n’ Half’s arms. 

 

It’s painful in a whole new way. 

He’d rather get fucking stabbed again, honestly.

But he doesn’t look away. 

He should, but he doesn’t.

 

The red and white haired asshole tries to tug Deku towards the hallway but those heterochromatic eyes pinch in concern when Deku shakes his head violently into IcyHot’s fancy argyle sweater.

 

Yeah, that’s right. 

He’s not going anywhere with you, asshole.

 

Katsuki almost wished he had when thin, pale hands began to remove the suit from Deku’s body.

His blood runs cold.

 

Guess that answers the question about them being more than friends.

 

A freckled shoulder is the first thing exposed, and then another.

When the suit hangs from around his waist, IcyHot tugs a scarred hand around to sit Deku on the couch. The ugly haired son of a bitch sits gingerly on the coffee table in front of Deku, and Katsuki hopes desperately that it shatters under his weight.

He's disappointed, of course, when it doesn’t. 

 

From this perspective, Katsuki can only see their side profiles. He watches as Deku lets the suit be peeled from his body without resistance, even helping with obviously clumsy, numb fingers when certain parts get stuck.

It’s not sexual, thankfully, but it is definitely intimate.

 

The only thing keeping Katsuki from leaving, from hiding away from the scene in front of him, is how absolutely broken Deku still looks. 

Their lips are moving, and it must be a pretty serious conversation, because the Ice Prince flinches like he’s been slapped across the face before he leans forward and puts a hand on either side of Deku’s freckled cheeks and tugs their faces together.

It punches the air out of Katsuki’s lungs, but instead of a kiss on the mouth, the youngest Todoroki only leaves a gentle kiss on Deku’s forehead. He pets the curls behind Deku’s ears, and continues talking. 

Deku cries like the crybaby he is.

 

It’s cold out here on this snowy fire escape, watching the love of his life fall apart in someone else’s arms. 

Especially when that bastard does something he could never even dream of.

Katsuki almost yells out loud when Half n Half disappears back down the hallway, leaving Deku looking absolutely devasted in his wake. 

 

How can you leave him alone when he looks like that?

How can you stand to keep your hands off him?

How can you even breathe?

 

Luckily, he's only gone a for a few minutes. He returns with some folded up pajamas, a mug, and baby wipes. 

 

What follows is the most uncomfortable whore’s bath Katsuki has ever had the disgust to witness. 

 

The wipes slide over freckled skin almost reverently, like each swipe means something. They are slow and languid. Deku continues to cry the whole time, but not the hopeless way he did on the roof… no, this is catharsis, release.

After a while, Deku even smiles, and it looks like The Ice Prince is finally seeing the sun peeking out after months of the blackest night; the look on his face is so pathetically soft and somehow grateful.

His hands are slow and delicate, dressing the nerd in a large, well worn All Might shirt and basketball shorts. Deku looks drowsy and calm now, drinking from the steaming cup, probably exhausted from crying his sea of tears. He looks comfortable leaning against Half n’ Half, their legs sprawled out and partially tangled on the tan couch. Those thin pale fingers card through Deku’s curls, untangling any knots he finds. They continue talking until Deku can’t keep his eyes open any longer and finally succumbs to his own exhaustion. 

 

Katsuki watches as the red and white haired man carefully untangles their bodies, before covering Deku in a soft blanket and dimming the lights. 

He turns something on the TV, bathing the light in familiar shades of red, yellow, and blue. Even from this distance and strange angle, Katsuki recognizes All Might’s opening credits. They used to watch this cartoon every time Deku was sick, it’s his ultimate comfort show. 

Half n Half knowing that detail, providing it for Deku, it puts things into perspective in a way nothing else had. 

 

That tender care, the easy touches, the vulnerability of knowing both Deku’s darkest secrets and how to make him happy.

The soft words and peaceful surrender.

 

Could Katsuki have done all that? 

Been so soft and doting?

Sure. he’s held Deku in his arms while he snored. He’s put cartoon band-aids over chewed up fingers and scraped knees. Katsuki has left bruises on Deku’s body, both in violence and in worship. He has bitten him, and kissed him, and licked his skin. He’s fantasized about burning his fingerprints into Deku’s hips, about swallowing him whole, bones and all.

Katsuki has craved to crawl his way in Deku’s ribcage and live there for Christ sake, but this?

Katsuki doesn’t know what to think of this.

His love is violent and possessive, bathed in blood and explosive like nitroglycerin. 

Doesn’t know if he’s even capable of that kind of gentleness. 

But Deku deserves all of that and more. 

 

Part of Katsuki wonders, not for the first time, if perhaps he is the interloper in this story. Would Deku be happier with this traumatized pretty boy than with Katsuki? He hears some of the words from the journal echo in his head, and guilt eats at him. 

This stupid fuck clearly cares about Deku, not as much as Katsuki does, but still.

Too bad that alone isn’t enough to let him live, not if he’s a threat. Not if he’s the monster Katsuki thinks he is. 

 

 

That leaves only one option. 

---

 

Getting the Ice Prince alone isn’t nearly as hard as Katsuki thought it would be, frankly.

See, Katsuki isn’t an idiot. 

And Half n’ Half is predictable. 

 

The next morning, around nine in the morning, Katsuki is already hidden in an alley by that stupid little bakery with the yellow awning (even if Katsuki did walk past it twice because the stupid thing was hidden under the snowfall). 

It doesn’t take long. 

Red and white split hair is indeed walking towards him, his eyes tired. Katsuki yanks him by his stupid little ponytail into the alley with him without much fanfare. Half n Half makes a shocked hiss of pain, and throws an elbow to dislodge Katsuki's grip on him, but after hand-to-hand with Aizawa, it’s almost pathetically easy to dodge. He catches that elbow easily and torques it around to slam the offending limb into the heir's own spine.

Katsuki keeps Half n Half's arm twisted around his back, side stepping any wild bucks to wrench himself free, but it's hard for him to find purchase against the icy ground.

 “Get off me.” The Ice Prince hisses, curving his chin over his shoulder to get a better look at his attacker. He watches the tension turn cold and steely in heterochromatic eyes when he realizes who exactly has him pinned.

 

It fills Katsuki with a sick delight.

Man, violence really does scratch the itch. 

If this conversation goes poorly, he might just scratch it some more.

 

“Easy there, IcyHot. We’re just gonna have a little chat, hah? Don't give me a reason to spill any of that blue blood of yours onto the snow.” Katsuki growls in his ear, before slamming him up against the wall, perfect nose squished against the brick. 

He hears the panting breaths and backs up an inch or two, enough to make sure he isn’t restricting the fucker's breathing. 

 

“What do you want, Bakugou?” He grits out, trying to shake out of Katsuki’s hold.

 

“I want to know if you’re the fucker lighting shit on fire.” Katsuki says casually, digging his shoulder in to keep the split dyed bastard still.

 

All the fight drains out of IcyHot immediately.

 

“W-what? Why would you think that?” He asks, clearly puzzled. 

 

“Don’t act dumb. DNA linking one of Captain Fuckface’s hellspawn was found at one of the fires. You know Deku’s secret. Always hovering around, too close for comfort. Maybe you couldn't take the competition, needed a way to keep him locked up with you full-time. You’ve seen the shit they’re saying about him. His mask is plastered over half the city. If any of that’s your fault I’m going to beat you fucking bloody right here and now and it’ll be your old man who finds a body in an alley next.” Katsuki growls without even a hint of remorse. “Now spill, shithead.”

 

To Katsuki’s absolute befuddlement, IcyHot chokes on what might have been a laugh. 

 

“No. It’s not me. Though now I have a decent guess on who is responsible for leaving bodies strewn around Tokyo, you lunatic.” 

 

“Watch your mouth, Ice Prince. You think I’m gonna believe that? If it ain’t you, who the hell is it?”  

 

“My brother.” Half n’ Half huffs out and Katsuki is surprised enough to loosen his grip. Shouto Todoroki shakes him off enough to turn and place his back against the brick instead of his face.

  

“Start fucking talking, IcyHot.” 

 

He does. 

Katsuki leans against the other side of the alley as he listens to the bastard explains himself. 

It sounds like bullshit, but certain details do make more sense by the time he’s finished. 

 

“So let me get this straight. The brother that died in the fire that took out the League a few years ago, is apparently NOT dead, and is the one setting fire to locations that were important to him back when he was still daddy’s caged bird?” 

Half n’ Half nods placidly.

 

“You don’t know where he is, and you haven’t seen him since the night of the community center fire.” Katsuki counts off.

Another fucking nod.

 

“Does Deku know?”

A more hesitant nod this time.

 

“What about the USJ, what really happened that night?” He refuses to explain the question, to say the name, but it looks like he doesn’t have to. 

“I’m still not a hundred percent sure. Izuku came to my apartment that night, or morning I guess, but he was… in bad shape. We hadn't really talked about it until last night. It was already on fire when he arrived, but Touya hadn’t ever been to campus before, so he has no reason to want it burnt down. Izuku heard the hostages, then he heard Dr. Toshinori being attacked by someone.” Katsuki did not flinch at that, and he’ll swing on anyone who suggests otherwise.

 

“Who?” He presses, but red and white hair flutters when Half n’ Half shakes his head.

 

“He didn’t say. Izuku prioritized saving the victims over fighting the bad guy. Once they were in the clear, he went back for your mentor, but it was too late. One of the hostages didn’t make it. Izuku’s blaming himself for everything.” IcyHot looks just as bothered about that as Katsuki does.   

 

“That fucking idiot, I knew he would.” There’s something comforting about knowing Deku so well, but he isn’t happy to have been right that the nerd’s self esteem was in the fucking toilet because of something like this. “What exactly is he doing bumming around your place during all this, hah? His mom is worried fucking sick!” Katsuki barks suddenly. He cannot believe that Deku would willingly cause Inko stress, but why hasn’t he gone home if he’s just bunking with his shitty ass boyfriend?

 

“I know. Izuku hasn’t… been himself, lately. I was going to get him something to cheer him up when you so rudely assaulted me.” Heterochromatic eyes glare at him from under the strands of bangs that had slipped from the ponytail during their struggle.

Katsuki scrubs his hands over his face, pressing the heel of his palms against his eyes before speaking again, still not looking back at the guy in front of him.

 

“Why are you taking care of him like that? Who are you to him?” The words were supposed to be accusatory, inflammatory, but to his horror they sound jealous even to his own ears.

 

“I’m his friend.” 

 

“Friends don’t-” Katsuki starts to yell, before a ringtone shuts him up. 

 

Half n Half slips his stupid ass flip phone out of his pocket and answers swiftly, looking out at the sun streaming through the mouth of the alley.

 

“Hello, Izuku.” Katsuki slams his head back against the ice cold bricks, and definitely does not hang on every word of this half of the conversation. 

 

“Yes, but it is very busy today. I should be back soon. Sorry for worrying you, I meant to be back by the time you woke up.” How grossly domestic.

 

“... are you sure that’s a good idea?” Heterochromatic eyes are narrowed at the pavement now, a furrow between impassive eyebrows. “Can’t she just come to us?”

Katsuki watches IcyHot nod, though he doesn’t look happy about whatever he’s hearing. 

 

“Isn’t that more of a reason not to?" He looks like he regrets saying it immediately. "Just wait. I’ll be back soon, and we can plan something out, I could send a private car." He seems to know the suggestions will fall on deaf ears, and his shoulders fall the slightest bit at whatever he’s hearing in response.

A big sigh, a twitch of his fingers.

 

"Who knows what kind of living conditions they’re in right now, it could be dangerous for you? What if there are criminals in the area?” Katsuki can tell immediately that Deku won't listen to that kind of concern, he's just going to insist he's fine and do whatever the hell he was already going to. It was a waste of breath to even try. Stupid Candy Cane.

 

“... Me either" For one long moment Half n' Half looks Katsuki dead in the eye, and Katsuki glares right back. 

"That's a good idea. You're right, I'm sure she'd appreciate it. Okay. At least let me bring back breakfast before you go? Thank you, Izuku, but you know I’ll drink it either way.” There’s a ghost of a smile as he speaks now, and he's so clearly in love that it disgusts Katsuki. At least he's not that disgusting where people can see. The sappiness makes Katsuki want to hurl all over his stupid expensive shoes.

“See you soon.” The snap of the phone is oddly satisfying, though Tape Face used to flick his open and closed to the point Katsuki has threatened to snap the hinges multiple times. 

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, flexing his jaw with his nose turned up.

Half n Half is back to his pretty porcelain doll face, not an echo of the person from the phone call remaining. 

Katsuki curls his lip at the difference between that face and the ones he made last night, comforting Deku.

 

What a fake piece of shit.

 

“I need to go, Izuku is waiting for me to return.” Say what you want about the bastard, he definitely knows how to look smug with absolutely no expression on his stupid blank face.

He turns to leave as if this conversation is done, but Katsuki has other plans. 

 

“Not so fast. What was all that about?” Katsuki says quickly, grabbing the back of his sweater.

 

“That is personal.” IcyHot says immediately, a sharp look in his eyes.

 

“Look, if the nerd is in danger I need to know about it. He needs someone to watch his back out there and you certainly aren’t up to that task, Pretty Boy. You’d never be able to keep up with him.” The words are uncomfortable on his own lips, knowing that he can’t really keep up either, but he knows for damn sure he’s more effective in a fight than this spoiled asshole.

There’s something calculative in those mismatched eyes, like he’s trying to make the right choice, but isn’t sure which option is the lesser of two evils.

 

“Izuku will be fine. He’ll be with our friends, I just… worry.” The sweater slips from between Katsuki’s fingers as his grip weakens.

 

“About what?” His voice is hoarse, and far more revealing than he wants it to be. 

 

“Everything. You’re right. He needs someone stronger than I am to watch his back. At first, I thought just paying for the suit and patching him up when he got hurt was enough, but it isn’t. Every second he’s out there I’m terrified I’ll never see him again, that my father will catch him, that he will suffer. I just want him safe and happy, I don’t want him out there at all, if I’m honest. But being a hero… it’s important to him. More than anything else, I think. Even when it gets him hurt, he won’t give it up. He’s stubborn like that.” 

Just like in the diary, it’s like Half n’ Half is speaking all the words Katsuki has never had the guts to say out loud.  

 

“Yeah. He always has been, even as a brat. Nothing has changed on that front, at least.” His voice sounds wistful, fond, and heterochromatic eyes regard him differently when he hears it. 

 

“Are you busy this weekend?” 

That was the very last question Katsuki had ever expected to hear from Shouto Todoroki, of all people, and it startles him into being honest.

 

“I-I don’t know. My schedule for the League goes up Friday, but yeah, probably.” 

Those eyebrows raise half a millimeter, and the faint tug of his lips makes him look even more condescending than usual. 

 

“You’re working at the League now? I did not expect you to join the service industry, Bakugou.” What a smarmy bastard.

 

“Shut the hell up, I’m helping the owner out. Dunno if you heard, but he finds himself down two members of staff, thanks to your jackass of an Old Man.” Whatever humor IcyHot had found is gone immediately, replaced with a serious nod.

 

“I need to go.” He repeats, and this time Katsuki doesn’t stop him from leaving. 

When red and white hair is bathed in sunlight once again, Katsuki calls after him.

 

“Oi! This is just a temporary truce, you know that right, you Half n’ Half Bastard?”

Katsuki doesn’t get an answer, but a porcelain white hand comes up to flip him the bird before disappearing into the crowd, already on the warpath to secure breakfast for an impatient green bean.

 

Stupid bastard.

This snow is going to absolutely destroy those expensive ass shoes, Katsuki thinks with a grin. 

 

Chapter 24: A Promise to Protect Her

Summary:

Izuku realizes maintenance is needed on his relationships, and a complication enters the equation.

Notes:

Woof, dialogue heavy chapter gang, sorry about that!

Don't worry this is progress <3

Every limb feels like it weighs hundreds of pounds, but logically Izuku knows even if they did, he still wouldn’t be struggling this badly. 

Izuku is sloppy on the dismount when he finally gets back to Shouto’s apartment. The dismount is so sloppy, in fact, that he runs straight into the glass, which even if nobody can see him, is embarrassing. 

 

You have to actually open the door, you stupid idiot.

 

It’s harder than it ought to be, for some reason. His two feet are finally touching solidly on Shouto’s balcony, but it’s like he’s moving through jello when he reaches to open the door. His fingers are cold and numb, slow to respond, and just opening the door takes longer than it should.

He shuffles in, but accidentally knocks something over. 

 

Shit.

 

“Izuku?” He can hear Shouto calling out to him from further in the apartment but for some reason, he can’t bring himself to respond. 

 

Hey look, you woke him up again. 

Great job, Izuku thinks to himself, sarcastically.

 

Luckily Shouto seems to sense something is wrong, because he pads into the living room, still in his business casual clothes from earlier.

 

Guess he wasn’t asleep, after all.

Still probably Izuku's fault, though. Shouto always stays up late to wait for him to come home from patrol before heading to bed. Izuku thinks it's a way to keep him from staying out "too late".

Whatever that means.  

 

“I thought I heard you come in. Hey. Izuku, are you alright?” Shouto says softly, approaching him slowly, like he’s a frightened animal. 

Izuku can’t even make himself speak, god, has he always been this bad at being a person?

He doesn’t shy away from Shouto’s hands for the first time in weeks, but not for lack of trying. Those cool fingers hook under the lip of his mask and when it’s peeled away, Izuku flinches against the light of the apartment, though it’s nothing intolerable. His face is raw and salt burned from tears again, just like the last time Shouto had to take care of him like this. 

 

He’s always a burden to Shouto, at the end of the day. 

 

“You aren’t a burden, Izuku.” Shouto whispers, and Izuku tries to refocus on his face, unaware of what he’d even been looking at before. Probably the floor, or the pretty baby blue sweater Shouto is wearing. He always looks good in pastels. 

“Izuku.” His name sounds so strange right now, like it doesn’t even belong to him. 

The face. Focus on his face, Izuku.

It looks… sad. 

Oh, that’s his fault, isn’t it?

 

“Izuku please. Please just let me take care of you. It’s killing me.” Shouto’s face is cracked open in grief, the delicate features twisted and not at all the way they are supposed to look. 

Izuku doesn’t know what he can do to make that look go away, but when he tips forward into that familiar chest, Shouto wraps his arms around him immediately, like it was exactly what he was craving. 

 

“I’ve got you. It’s okay.” His voice rumbles through where Izuku’s forehead lays, and it vibrates through him. 

They just stand there a few minutes, Shouto holding him, humming some lullaby he doesn’t recognize. The buzzing in Shouto’s chest cavity feels nice against his head, the stimulation soothes the migraine pooling behind his eyes.

 

After a few more minutes, Izuku starts to lose his balance, shifting on his feet. 

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, come on.” Shouto tries to tug him towards the hallway, but Izuku holds him in place, shaking his head. 

He doesn’t want to go back in the tub. 

He doesn’t want to feel the water growing colder around him again. 

Doesn't want to go back in. 

 

“Okay, that’s okay. Can I take the suit off?” 

Izuku doesn’t answer, it’s as much of an affirmative as he can give right now, and Shouto, bless him, seems to understand. 

Shouto is taking great care to move very slowly and begins to peel the material down a centimeter at a time, in case Izuku wants to stop him.

 

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t care. 

It’s not the first time.

Probably won't be the last. 

It’s cold. 

It was cold out there too. 

 

When his chest is bare, Shouto tugs him again, but this time it's not towards the hallway so he goes willingly. A soft plush couch catches him when he falls backward.

Shouto continues the slow removal of his suit, and now that he’s off his feet, Izuku tries to be more helpful in that process. He isn’t very successful (when is he ever, really). Shouto makes an appreciative hum when he manages to unstick his foot from the fabric when it gets snagged.

 

“Izuku, can you tell me what happened?” Shouto murmurs when he’s finally free from the clinging material. He feels naked, probably because besides the briefs Izuku’s wearing, he is. 

 

It’s cold.

 

“I just wanted to go home. Everything hurt and I just wanted to go home.” Izuku says quietly. 

 

“Did you go back to the dorms, Izuku?” Shouto asks patiently, smoothing his hands up and down Izuku’s fuzzy thighs to keep him present. 

 

“Tried. But the USJ was on fire. I got closer, could hear ‘em in there. All of ‘em.” Izuku answers with a nod, before shutting his eyes. 

 

“Who did you hear, Izuku?” Shouto murmurs, and his voice is really nice. It’s not seductive and dangerous like Toshi’s or Kacchan’s can be, it doesn’t purr or growl like them either. It’s clear and soft, like a prince. Like some fairytale come to life. “Izuku, who did you hear at the USJ?” Shouto asks again, patient as ever. 

 

“Someone was hurting him. Dr. Toshinori. Heard his bones breakin'. Dunno who. The others… the others were the mission priority. In the basement, all tied up in the Tank. I killed him, Sho. Dr. Sasaki knew I wasn’t good enough, and he was right. I killed him.” Izuku laments, remembering that pained whimper. Hearing Dr. Toshinori’s ragged breathing, the sounds…

 

“I don’t believe you killed anyone. You could never convince me of that.” Shouto says sternly, in the softest tone of voice one could use and still be considered scolding. 

 

It doesn’t feel like enough. 

He hasn't earned that softness.

 

“I killed Dr. Toshinori too. Wasn’t… fast enough. T-took too long, I was just so tired, Sho… the stairs, the s-smoke, I was tired but I should’ve… should’ve been f-faster, should’ve…” Tears are leaking from his eyes, blurring his vision into messy splotches of red and white and pale blue.

Cool, delicate hands cup his face, and it’s nice against his raw cheeks, but he wishes they were warmer. Wishes they smelled like caramel shampoo and spicy cologne. Wishes they were impossibly smooth and…

There’s lips on his forehead. 

Soft, like everything about Shouto. 

For some reason it’s uncomfortable. The gentleness, being treated like he’s something fragile and precious. 

He hates the way it feels.

 

“You did everything you could, Izuku. I know you did. You can’t save everyone. Sometimes people die. I’m sorry you’ve been carrying all of this around. Why didn’t you tell me?” The fingers cupping his face pet behind his ears, at the slightly sweat-damp curls there. 

 

“Not your b-burden to bear.” Izuku whispers, before hot burning tears start pouring from his eyes. They burn trails down his cheeks. “I rely on you t-too much a-already… I’m s-supposed to be t-the one that… s-s-saves y-you.” He tries to speak through the sobs that tear from his chest but it’s hard.

 

“Oh, Izuku. You already did.” Shouto whispers.

 

“N-not good enough.” Izuku chokes out, and begins to withdraw into himself.

 

“I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.” Shouto says softly, and a hand pats his head as he leaves.

 

It’s so cold.

 

Sitting here in the frigid air of the apartment, listening to the silence, Izuku misses Kacchan.

He misses him so much it’s like a piece of him is gone. 

Kacchan would know what to say, what to do. He’d throw him over those broad shoulders and hold him in those strong arms and bully Izuku into accepting the care he needs but can’t ask for out loud. He’d boil them alive in the shower, and never let him touch the cold fiberglass of the tub. 

Kacchan never treats Izuku like he’s fragile, he’s rough and demanding and selfish and…

Shouto appears in front of him again, and Izuku absolutely loathes himself for being disappointed. 

There are wet wipes smoothing over his skin, tentative and unsure and Izuku hates it. 

Soft and tender and gentle and reassuring.

Shouto’s delicate, careful hands and his beautiful perfect face, and the grace with which he moves.

His soft, lovely smile.

His soft blue and grey eyes, with their adoring gaze. 

His soft hair, so smooth and straight.

His soft fingertips.

His soft lips, his soft kiss.

Everything about Shouto is soft. 

So why doesn’t he like it?

All his life, Izuku has heard that love is supposed to feel like this. 

So why?

Why is it that Izuku is only able to accept the love that pushes back?

That pops like fireworks on balmy nights at the beach?

That wraps him in dryer-warm blankets and watches the old All Might cartoon with him when he’s sick?

The kind that argues with him, and wrestles with him and demands his submission in teeth and blood red eyes? 

Love that feels so good that it almost hurts. 

 

You’re so messed up, Izuku. 

Broken. 

 

“You aren’t broken.” Shouto says softly, continuing his slow, languid strokes against Izuku’s skin.

 

“I-I am… Y-You know t-that I a-am.” Izuku weeps, his teeth chattering.

 

“No, I don’t know that. You’re human, you can’t help who you love. Part of me… part of me is glad that you don’t love me like that.” Shouto confesses quietly, never pausing or slowing.

 

“H-h-how…” It takes a horrendously long time for Izuku to get that one hoarse word out, but Shouto doesn’t seem bothered by that.

 

“You’ve been mumbling the whole time, Izuku. Don’t fret over it. It’s nice. I like hearing you again. You were so quiet for so long.” His voice is melancholy at the end, and it sounds like he means the words, the forgiving smile on his face just rubs salt into the wound that is Izuku’s own self hatred.  

His forehead hits Shouto’s shoulder and it just spills out. All those spaghetti tangles of emotions and regrets and fears, he just vomits it all into Shouto’s khaki-covered lap. 

Shouto, angel that he is, just lets him cry it out.

 

“So after all that's happened, it’s still Bakugou, huh?” Shouto asks after a while, an undertone of sardonic amusement in his tone, though his face remains blank. 

 

“Yeah, it-it alw-ways has been, I th-think. W-why are you relieved I d-don’t love you l-like that? Is it c-cause of Sero?” Izuku can’t help the smile that stretches across his cheeks through the tears.

Shouto makes a face, embarrassed and guilty and happy and proud all at once. 

 

“Mm, that certainly might have something to do with it. I was trying to keep it quiet, though. Was I that obvious?” Shouto asks, his cheeks glowing pink, but otherwise his face as neutral as ever. 

 

“Could h-hear you at n-night sometimes. Nothing s-specific, but you s-sounded… happy.” Izuku chatters through his teeth, the tears finally beginning to subside, but the cold is only exacerbated by his damp skin, freshly wiped down. 

 

“That’s embarrassing.” Shouto mumbles, before moving to grab the bundles of clothing he’d brought with him. 

 

“P-plus…” Shouto begins dressing him, first pulling one of his favorite All Might shirts over his head. Once his head pops out of the neckhole, he continues. “You’ve b-been texting m-more than u-usual. I know I haven’t been th-that much f-fun to be around l-lately. Sorry.” 

This particular shirt is one that Shouto bought for him from an online auction. It’s vintage so it’s a little faded, but thick and warm, Izuku loves it. There’s also a pair of basketball shorts and pulling those on isn’t difficult when Shouto moves next to him on the couch.

 

“Don’t apologize for that. Now drink your tea, your lips are still blue.” Shouto chastises gently, handing over the steaming mug. Izuku takes it immediately, and the two snuggle in together.

Izuku starts to feel sleepy after a few sips of tea, the warmth burrowing into his bones and making a home for itself there. Shouto’s body heat echoes behind him, their legs tangling together across the rest of the couch. 

 

“Tell me about you and Sero.” Izuku says after a few minutes, his shivering finally subsided.

Shouto scoffs against his neck and starts combing his fingers through Izuku’s hair, working out the knots he finds. 

 

“We’re gonna talk about boys now? I told you this was going to be like a long sleepover and you didn’t believe me.” That makes Izuku chuckle, content to let his friend keep his new beau to himself if that’s what he wants… but instead of moving on, Shouto surprises him by actually continuing. 

“He’s confident, but kind. Funny too, he likes to try and make me laugh. He doesn’t mind just sitting quietly with me on the phone either, I don’t have to talk a lot, which I like, but I end up talking more than normal anyways. He likes Bollywood films, and smoking. I'm going to try it one of these days, I'm sure Father would hate it. Sero has a bunch of different conspiracy theories too, like…” 

Izuku doesn’t really hear much after that. The hum of Shouto’s voice and the gradual rise and fall of his chest rocks Izuku into a pleasant sleep, the first he’s had in over six weeks. 

 

Some more of that weight falls away, and in his dream, Izuku is chasing Kacchan through the forest behind his house. 

His little scabby knees hit the Earth, he feels the jostle of it, but it doesn’t hurt. The moss feels almost like a blanket under his fingers, spongy and plush. 

The trees must blot out the sun, because it’s dark here under the canopy. It might have been scary, if he had been alone, but Izuku isn’t alone. 

 

He never is. 

 

The sun to his universe is just ahead, glaring at him with those candy apple eyes, but holding a hand out to help him up anyways.  

 

“C’mon stupid Deku, let’s go watch cartoons. It’s getting late. Aunty’s making katsudon.” Kacchan huffs at him, exasperated.

 

“Okay, Kacchan!” His voice sounds much younger in his ears, but it’s only a passing thought. 

He can hear the All Might theme song, and Kacchan’s warm hand is wrapped in his, under the blankets.

 

It’s a good dream, for once.

 

---

 

The ringing of Izuku’s phone startles him out of sleep, and he almost rolls himself off the couch because of it.

He reaches out blindly and finds the offending thing before the third ring can rattle his eardrums anymore. Izuku drags it up to his ear and yawns out a “Hello?” that rumbles through his chest, much raspier than normal. His jaw pops when he stretches his mouth around the yawn.

 

“Aw, poor sleepy Zuku.” Ochako’s teasing voice lilts through the speaker.

 

“Chako? Where are ya? Couldn’t… get a hold o’ ya.” Izuku says drowsily, his eyes still cemented shut with sleep.

 

“Yeah, that happens when you’re out on the lam. Had to ditch the cellulars, that’s rule number one when you’re outrunning the cops, isn't it? Luckily this is just a burner.” She giggles around the words, and all at once Izuku finally remembers why he couldn’t get a hold of her in the first place. He rises like Frankenstein’s monster from the couch, suddenly conscious once more. 

 

“Ochako! Are you safe? Are you guys okay? Do you need anything? Is Toga-” Izuku rattles off questions before Ochako whistles into the receiver, making him rear back from the noise. “Ow.”

 

“Good morning, sleepyhead! Nice to hear you’re back in the land of the living. To answer your many many questions, yes we are safe. We’re okay, and the only thing we need is your company. Himi-chan has something she wants to talk to you about in person.” 

Ochako says lightly, as if she isn’t literally running from the police with her fugitive girlfriend. It’s strangely relieving to hear Ochako’s bubbly voice, not seeming tempered by the situation at all.

In the background he can hear Toga’s voice, indistinct but present nonetheless, probably laying across Ochako’s thighs like she does.

 

Soulmates he thinks fondly. 

 

“Uh, sure, yeah, of course. W-where should I…” Izuku stutters but there’s a fumbling noise on the other side until Toga’s voice chirps through the receiver. 

 

“Meet me at the river by Kosuge park in Taito district. Chako-baby can walk you the rest of the way to the safe house. Can’t exactly give out the address, Zuzu-silly.” Toga’s voice sounds completely normal, but Izuku wasn’t really expecting much else. 

 

“Sure. What time?” He agrees immediately, because that plan has the best chance of neither getting caught. 

 

“Hmmm, good question. What time, babe?” Her voice has pulled away from the phone, directing the question elsewhere in the room. 

Izuku doesn’t hear Ochako’s answer through the receiver but thankfully Toga comes back a few seconds later to repeat it, anyways. 

 

“Let’s say around noon? We’re trying not to be out in public much, but if it’s crowded then it’ll be much easier to blend in.” 

 

“Got it. Can I call this number if anything comes up?” Izuku asks politely.

 

“Yeah, just don’t save it to your contact list. Better to be safe than sorry, right?” She isn’t… different, but there’s something off about her tone of voice. 

She sounds tired.

 

“Sure thing. I’ll see you then.” He says softly, hoping she can hear the care in his voice.

 

“Bye, Zuzu.”

 

The beeping of the line dropping has him pulling the phone from his ear before he can say goodbye. 

Guess she heard him loud and clear. 

 

Izuku stretches out his limbs, and is pleasantly surprised to feel somewhat centered. Something he hasn’t felt in weeks. 

Now that he isn’t preoccupied with a phone call, Izuku staggers to his feet. 

 

Ouch. 

 

Okay, maybe his back aches a little thanks to sleeping on the couch, but it’s tolerable. 

Izuku pads his way down the hallway, peeking in doors to see if Shouto is awake yet. He uses the restroom and brushes his teeth, mildly concerned that he doesn’t remember the last time he’d actually done so. 

 

Huh. 

Maybe he really has been out of it these last couple weeks. 

 

When the apartment proves to be empty, Izuku checks the genkan to see Shouto’s penny loafers are missing. 

He snags his phone off the coffee table where he’d left it after his call with Toga and Ochako, and dials Shouto. 

His friend answers quickly. 

 

“Hello, Izuku.”

 

“Morning, Sho! Did you go out for breakfast or something?” He whines without any heat. It’s not the first time he’s woken up to an empty apartment, though it never fails to make him anxious. 

 

After all, this isn’t Izuku’s home.   

 

“Yes, but it is very busy today. I should be back soon. Sorry for worrying you, I meant to be back by the time you woke up.” Shouto answers from the other end dutifully.  

 

“No worries, I actually didn’t wake up by myself, you probably would’ve made it back in plenty of time if Chako hadn’t called. She and Toga want me to go visit their safe house today, so I’m heading out here soon.” Izuku relays, hitting the speaker button, already back in his temporary bedroom and pawing through the drawers for clothing.  

 

“... are you sure that’s a good idea?” Izuku frowns at the phone. “Can’t she just come to us?”

 

“Why wouldn’t it be a good idea? And uh… not really? Toga wants to talk to me about something in person too, so it’s sort of a package deal. It’s not like Toga can walk down the street right now the way ‘Chako can. She’s almost as wanted as me right now, and she doesn’t have the anonymity of a mask.” He chooses a maroon sweater his mom gave him last Christmas. 

He really misses her, actually. 

Izuku makes a mental note to visit her soon, he’s been a bad son lately. 

 

“Isn’t that more of a reason not to?” Shouto hedges, and the anxiety in his tone is audible. 

 

“Sho.” Izuku warns, “I’m not gonna stay caged in the apartment like a bird at all times. There’s no reason I can’t go visit.” Izuku appreciates Shouto’s concern but it can feel stifling sometimes.

It’s hard enough to patrol without Shouto insisting he hang back, or call the night early.   

 

“Just wait. I’ll be back soon, and we can plan something out, I could send a private car." Shouto suggests, his tone imploring Izuku to stay at home. 

 

“Sho, sending a private car on Captain Todoroki’s dime isn’t a smart move. You’d know that if you were thinking clearly.” He worries his voice is a bit too stern before softening his tone, knowing Shouto is just worried for him and reacting because of it. “Besides, it’s a safe house. What could be safer? I don’t even have an address for the safe house, which means they’re being careful.”  

 

"Who knows what kind of living conditions they’re in right now, it could be dangerous for you? What if there are criminals in the area?”

 

“It’ll be okay. I know you’ve been worried for me but I can handle myself. Superpowers, remember? With or without the suit. Besides, I can’t think of anyone else I’d be safer with than Toga.”

 

That’s a lie, obviously, there is one person...

 

“... Me either.” From the sound of Shouto’s voice, he can tell that Izuku was lying. 

After their conversation last night… well it makes him feel guilty. 

 

“Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’m actually considering going to visit mom on the way. I think I’ve probably taken years off her life, and just a phone call isn’t really good enough to apologize for that.” Izuku admits, pulling on his thick woolen socks before returning back to the living room.

 

“That's a good idea.” The relief is palpable in his voice, but he knows it wouldn’t seem like it to others. Izuku has a long history of trying to discern Shouto’s micro-tells. 

 

“I shouldn’t be gone too long, maybe after dinner if I do see Mom, I'm meeting the girls around noon.” The sunlight sparkles off the snow through the window in the living room. It really is a lovely apartment, such big windows really let in a lot of light. 

 

“Okay. At least let me bring back breakfast before you go?” Izuku smiles, already starting to brew the tea. 

 

“Of course. I’m starting the tea now so you’d better get here soon or it’ll be cold by the time you get back.” Izuku says without thinking.

 

“Thank you, but you know I’ll drink it either way.” Of course he would. 

He did for years, after all, and even developed a taste for it eventually. 

Unfortunately there was a fairly traumatic reason why Shouto Todoroki was fond of cold tea.

A good friend wouldn’t have said something like that without thinking. 

 

Dammit, Izuku. 

 

“See you soon.” Izuku can hear the smile from a mile away and it’s the only thing that doesn’t make him worried that Shouto is mad at him.

 

“Bye.” He squeaks out. 

 

Anxiety sucks.

 

---

 

Luckily Shouto wasn’t too much longer after that, but he’s not surprised it took so long after seeing what Shouto brought back. 

 

“Oh, let me help!” Shouto had three cake boxes stacked on top of each other, though it looked like they’d jostled from their original positions.

 

“If you don’t mind.” Shouto says quietly from behind the tower of boxes. Izuku took the top one off quickly, revealing Shouto’s nonplussed expression. 

 

“Big breakfast?” Izuku asks with a smile, bringing it over to the kotatsu in the corner and turning to reach for the next one in the stack. 

 

“No. One is for your mother, and one is for Toga and Ochako, the one you have is for us.” Shouto said casually as he dropped his boxes off on the kitchen counter instead. 

 

“Sho, that’s so nice of you! Thank you, I’m sure they’ll all be really grateful.” Izuku begins removing the cakes from their box. His was once again his favorite matcha and strawberry, but it looks like Sho got something different than usual. “Ooh, trying something new?” Izuku asks on the way to pour himself some more tea, still warm in the pot, thankfully.

 

“... Churro. It’s cinnamon and sugar, I thought it sounded interesting.” Shouto says quietly, before leaning back into a cabinet in the kitchen and emerging with a stack of neatly pressed bills.

 

“Can you give Toga this too, when you go?” He asks casually.  

 

Izuku often forgot the sheer quantity of money the Todoroki family possessed, though for years he and Tenya both had a habit of reminding the group of their affluence in sometimes shockingly cavalier ways.

This apartment alone expresses that Shouto has money, but Izuku’s own experience of poverty makes him flabbergasted at the stack of money in his hand, eyeing it like it was poisonous.

On the contrary, Ochako is likely going to have a heart attack. She gets a little… intense about money, sometimes. 

 

 “Uh… they will definitely appreciate this, but are you sure this is okay? Was that money meant for something important?” Izuku worried, still staring at the cash like it might run away if he takes his eyes off of it. 

 

“No, just a rainy day fund in case my father froze his cards due to fraud again. I thought they could use it more, if you don’t mind being an errand boy.” Shouto says with a small smile. 

He’s surprisingly mischievous sometimes.  

 

“Of course, I can. You can rely on me.” Izuku says seriously, following him to sit at the kotatsu. 

 

“I know.”

 

They eat in silence for a bit, the cake just as delicious as it always is, but there’s something Izuku can’t help but notice.

 

“So… churro, huh?” Izuku asks vaguely, but he can’t stop the mischievous glint in his own eye.

 

“Drop it, Izuku.” Shouto scolds, his cheeks turning pink. 

 

“I just think it’s interesting, is all! Y’know, didn’t Sero mention-” Shouto’s head falls to the kotatsu with a thump. 

 

---

 

Izuku is carrying the boxes of cakes and his pocket-burning wad of cash on him on the way to the rendezvous point. The Arayama River glistens in the sunlight, a lovely snowy day. 

It’s crazy to think it was already February, so much had happened in so few months-

 

There’s movement on his left, a pattering of tiny little feet, and Izuku suddenly has a bad feeling. Not the same dangerous tingle on the back of his neck but something is wrong. His instincts are screaming at him, but he doesn’t know why. 

Maybe he should’ve worn the suit under his clothes...

 

Then there’s a small girl approaching the street, running from an adjacent alley. She collides into Izuku’s side, and only his accelerated reflexes manage to save the pastry boxes from splatting onto the ground. The girl, however, bounces off of him, and does end up hitting the ground with a thud. 

 

Huh, well I guess that wasn’t really dangerous. Maybe that’s why it felt different this time?

 

“Oh, hey, you took a tumble, are you alright?” Izuku says with a friendly smile, before cataloguing the look of the child. 

Her clothes aren’t necessarily ragged, but they don’t look particularly child friendly or well-fitting, just a smock like nightclothes. Her arms and legs are bandaged, and that’s enough to throw up alarm bells. In any case she isn't dressed for this weather. She's shivering from the cold. 

More footsteps in the distance, this time heavy, careful and measured, blending in with the foot traffic around him.

Izuku approaches with a smile and bends down when he gets close, but notices her flinching when he gets closer. 

 

“Oh, sorry, can I help you up?” He asks kindly, trying to smile extra wide so she won’t be any more fearful of him. 

Her eyes are bright carmine red, just like Kacchan’s, but it’s the emptiness in them that brings him up short, not the likeness. 

 

A little girl should not look so frightened.

Or hopeless.

 

“... I… uh…” She looks nervous, but reaches out for Izuku anyway. Her hand is just about to touch his when-

 

“You should be more careful. You don’t want to cause trouble for people, do you?” A male voice calls from the dark of the alley, but Izuku sees him fine despite the low light. His hair is brown, shining auburn when he steps out into the daylight. He’s wearing a trench coat and a face mask.  

The suspicious feeling of dread still clings to Izuku’s stomach, and with every word the man speaks, it sinks further into his gut, growing heavy and cold.

“Sorry about my daughter here, I don’t know what to do with her. You know how kids are. Always running around and playing rough.” The words alone should not evoke this deep feeling of revulsion and apprehension in Izuku, but every word out of this guy's mouth feels slimy. 

 

A tiny hand buries itself in his sweater. 

 

“Midoriya!” Izuku looks over his shoulder to see Mirio-senpai running towards him. Kurumae is full of coffee shops and storefronts, and even in times like these, the streets are crowded, though the increased foot traffic doesn’t seem to be slowing Mirio down.

 

Oh no.

Why now?

 

The last time Izuku saw Mirio he was throwing Dr. Sasaki’s arm over his shoulder and dragging him to the entrance of the USJ as it burned around them. 

Of course, Mirio never saw his face during the incident, so he wouldn’t have known that. As far as he’s concerned, he sees an underclassman after a long absence, and the shared companionship of losing their mentors.

Not that Izuku was in a hurry to speak to him after essentially murdering Dr. Sasaki and Dr. Toshinori himself through sheer idiocy and neglect.

 

“H-hey, senpai.” Izuku stutters quietly, flicking his eyes between his approaching senpai, the trembling girl, and the man in the mask behind her. 

 

“Hey Midoriya! I thought that was you! Long time no see!” Mirio grins when he arrives. “Oh, hello! I didn’t see you there, what’s your name?” Mirio asks when he sees the girl clinging to his sweater. 

 

“I…” Izuku looks down at the frightened girl, her red eyes brimming with tears then back up to the masked man with a stern look. “I think your daughter is frightened.” 

 

“A reaction to being scolded, I’m sure. Come on, Eri, let’s go.”

 

The girl does not move. 

 

“Aw, that’s your daughter? She’s super cute!” Mirio says hesitantly, clearly mindful of the tension between the three.

 

“Yes. Children can be tricky. So determined to do whatever they want… that sometimes they just don’t listen.” The girl straightens at those words, and her hands let go of Izuku’s sweater as if it were on fire. She whirls on her bare feet (it’s snowing… why is she barefoot in this cold?) and running to rejoin the man in the surgical mask. “Ah good. Done with your temper tantrum?” 

 

The girl nods and Izuku’s blood boils. 

Something is obviously not right. He can feel it clear as day. This girl is not safe with that man. 

 

“E-Eri, are you sure you’re alright?” Izuku calls out to her, as she turns her face from view. 

 

“Sorry to involve you in our family drama. I’m sure you have better things to be doing, seems like your hands are full.” The man says easily, nodding to the boxes in Izuku’s hands he’d nearly forgotten about. 

 

“Oh man, here lemme give you a hand.” Mirio says, taking the top box.  

 

When Izuku looks back towards the alley both the man and the girl are retreating further into the shadows before disappearing completely around the bend. 

 

He doesn't take his eyes off the place they disappeared, but he does greet Mirio. 

 

“Uh… hey, senpai. How are you?” It’s not Mirio’s fault, but he can’t help but feel like letting Eri go back with that man was the wrong move. 

 

“Well, I’m as good as I can be, given the circumstances. What about you? I haven’t seen you since… well before the fire.” Mirio has the social awareness not to say “before they died” or something similar but obviously doesn’t seem to want to beat around the bush either and let the tragedy fade into the background. 

 

“I’m fine. I was actually on my way to visit some friends, so I can’t stay long.” Izuku hedges, knowing that he’s still at least a half an hour from the meeting spot. 

It would, of course, be easier if he could take Black Whip, but the risk of people seeing him is just too high right now, in the daylight. He could lead the police right to Toga if he wasn’t careful.

 

“I can see that!” Mirio laughs, gesturing to the box still in Izuku’s hands that he keeps forgetting about. Mirio adds his box back to the top gingerly. “I just wanted to say I was sorry to hear about Dr. Toshinori.” There’s a sadness in Mirio’s eyes that Izuku isn’t prepared to deal with right now, but he doesn’t want to be rude either. People sidestep them on the street, adding to the pressure. 

 

This isn’t the time or place for this kind of conversation. 

 

“I feel the same way. I’m… I’m sorry. About Dr. Sasaki. I really, really am.” Mirio could never know how true those words are, and how pathetic this apology really is.

Coming from the person responsible for putting him into an early grave, of course.

 

“Nothing for you to be sorry about, friend!” Mirio says brightly, clapping him on the back. 

 

Oh, but there definitely is. 

 

“Actually, speaking of, let me get your number. We can hang out sometime! I’d like to talk to you about something kinda important soon, if you don’t mind? I know classes are cancelled right now, and our programs are sort of on pause, but I don't want to lose contact!” Mirio smiles, handing his phone over with the contact field already pulled up. 

There's a strange back and forth between available hands and the boxes, but they manage to balance the boxes on the flat of Izuku's palm with Mirio holding them steady from the sides, just in case.

 

“Uh, sure, of course.” Izuku takes the offered phone with numb fingers and inputs his phone number. There’s painfully very few coherent thoughts behind the action. 

 

Calm down, Izuku. 

There’s no way he’d be acting so normal if he knew you were the one who got him out that night. 

You’re being paranoid. 

Get it together. 

 

“Awesome! I’ll see you later, Midoriya. I don’t want to make you late to wherever you’re heading!” Mirio waves at him as he leaves but Izuku just can’t shake the feeling that the other shoe is going to drop very, very soon. 

 

---

 

Ochako's chestnut hair is fluttering in the breeze under her hat, as she peeks over the rail at the river. 

Izuku approaches slowly, and doesn't call out her name, but he does settle next to her, setting the boxes on the rail to look down at the partially frozen river cutting through town.

 

"Hi there!" He chirps, before being immediately swallowed up by Ochako's strong arms. 

 

"Where have you been?" Ochako whines, squeezing him like she could wring the answers out. Izuku has to lift the cake boxes over his head so she doesn't squish them between their bodies.

 

"I'm not late, am I?" He asks worriedly, looking into the upper right of his vision before remembering he's not wearing his suit, and that information doesn't normally live there otherwise. 

 

Maybe he has been patrolling a lot lately... 

 

"No, right on time. You've just been... quiet, lately." She says softly, pulling back enough to look at his face but not letting go completely. "I was worried."

 

Another pang of guilt reverberates in his chest as Izuku looks Ochako in her chocolate brown eyes, glossy and full of concern.

 

Shouto and Toga had both mentioned something similar.

He's always worrying his friends... and maybe he owes Shouto another apology. 

 

"Uh... sorry, about that. I'm okay, just, y'know." He shrugs, and her eyes narrow at him but they walk arm in arm through the park anyways. She eyes the boxes in interest, but doesn't ask about them. 

 

"I'm sure. Just remember we're your friends, okay? We love you." Izuku smiles and gently shoulders Ochako in the side. 

 

"I know. How is... everything?" Izuku asks vaguely, not wanting to use any names or say anything where they can be overheard. He's worried about Ochako though. 

 

"Taking a leave of absence from school for now. Things are tough, but we're taking it a day at a time. She is taking it hard, of course, but hasn't opened up yet. Sometimes people need time to bake before you can pull them out of the oven." Ochako says knowingly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

 

Ochako leads him through the garden area and into a more rundown area, where the businesses are boarded up or the shopkeepers regard them with caution. They take a meandering path through side streets and paths, but it looks like a leisurely stroll. Izuku can feel eyes on him from seemingly every direction, but no tingle up his neck.

Toga and Ochako’s “safe house” is a modest one level traditional home, one bedroom, one bathroom. It’s not in the greatest condition, but thankfully not too abysmal either. Outdated appliances, a few boarded up windows and patches on the floor, the smell of cigarettes and mildew abound, though they seem to have made it homey enough for now. 

There’s a few throw pillows on the couch that Izuku recognizes. Ochako had sent him pictures of them in the store when she was buying things to furnish their shared apartment with, over the summer. 

Little bits and pieces of his friends' lives are scattered around; a hairbrush on the table, Toga's favorite cup by the sink, their shoes by the door. 

 

Clearly unable to wait a second more, Ochako bounces on the balls of her feet, eying the parcels in Izuku's hands. 

 

“Ooh, are those from that fancy place over in Shibuya? Oh, that place is so expensive! I always forget Todoroki’s loaded!” Ochako squeals, swiping the cake box and rushing off into the small kitchen, preparing little plates and some tea. 

 

Izuku shakes his head when she gathers a third plate, having had enough sugar for the day, despite her pout. 

 

“Oh speaking of…” Izuku says, making a face, as he withdraws the banded stack of cash from its hiding place in his tattered yellow backpack. 

 

Ochako, as expected, freaks out. She bounces off the walls, practically floating with excitement. 

Comparatively, Toga is more subdued than usual, her eyes keep coming back to the door, like keeping her eyes on the exit will calm whatever fears she’s keeping inside. 

Ochako is clearly trying to cheer her girlfriend up, and the cake is a hit, though Ochako does gripe good naturedly about Shouto’s casual wealth.

Toga is grateful, and there’s a small smile on her lips at the antics of Ochako, but beneath that thin veneer of levity, Izuku feels her tumultuous heart. 

 

“So, a safe house. Isn’t that a thing you only see in the movies? It isn’t quite what I expected.” Izuku admits, both intrigued and concerned all at once. 

 

The universe has a funny sense of humor, because at that moment, a small but persistent leak makes itself known by dripping water into his tea. 

 

It does so steadily. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

 

“Yeah, clearly the glamorous life.” Ochako snorts with a giggle, before following the drips to their origin, a small crack in the ceiling.

 

“Must be the added weight of the snow on the roof slowly melting.” He asserts, making a mental note not to consume the tea now that it has the distinct taste of ceiling in it. 

 

“Mm, must be. Now what’s up? You’re even twitchier than usual, Izuku. I’m pretty sure we’re safe here, or else we’d be at home right now. You have nothing to worry about. I’m sorry for asking you to come out here, I know the neighborhood has a… reputation.” Ochako tries to soothe, but it has the opposite effect. 

 

“Reputation? What for?” Izuku asks with a curious tilt to his head.

 

Toga answers this time, from her spot laying almost upside down off the raggedy old couch. 

 

“Yakuza. It’s how I got the house on the down low, actually. Rent is cheap, mainly because nobody actually wants to live in places like this.” Her tone is oddly calm, matter-of-fact in a way that she usually isn’t. He shares a commiserating look with Ochako, who seems just as distressed for Toga’s wellbeing.

 

“Makes sense…” Izuku says quietly, remembering the shifting eyes and boarded up businesses on the way here. 

His mind is then preoccupied with two very different sets of red eyes and the responding silence is enough to make all three wilt.

 

"Is there something bothering you, Zuku?" Ochako asks gently, setting her hand over his knee.

 

Crap, even though they were essentially hiding out here like criminals, Ochako's first instinct is to reach out to him.

Izuku never deserved a friend like her.

 

"Oh, no, I'm sorry! It's just... There was a little girl I met today, on the way here. She bumped into me, she just looked scared, and her father... I don't know, I I just can't shake this feeling that she's in trouble." Izuku swallows around the words and the horrible nausea that’s been building in his gut since letting Eri leave with that guy. Izuku knows in his gut that the man is responsible for the bandages on her arms. This wouldn’t be the first abusive parent he’s had the misfortune to meet.

Toga's eyes watch him from her place on the couch, evaluating, but she doesn't speak up.

 

"Aw, Zuku, I'm sure she's alright. You know you're kind of a worrywart. Everyone is scared and on edge right now with that masked arsonist on the loose. Maybe she was just scared because of that?" Ochako says before taking another bite of cake, stuffing her round cheeks with it.

 

"... Yeah. Maybe you're right. More importantly, how are you guys holding up? I'm sorry I've been so out of it lately..." Izuku says quietly, watching the tea in the cup run the risk of overflowing thanks to the steady dripping.

 

"We're fine." Toga says tersely, her cake abandoned on the table. 

 

There's a noticeable silence in the room after that before Ochako sets her plate down with finality, huffing.

 

“Okay, out with it, Himi, what was so important you needed to drag Izuku over here? This clearly isn't a social visit, you've barely touched your cake and you're not being very welcoming. So spill the beans.” Ochako huffs at her girlfriend, with a look at Toga that means business. 

Apparently even Ochako didn’t know what the topic of conversation would be. 

He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad at this point.

 

“Sure, would you mind getting him a drink from the fridge first, Chako-baby? His tea is mostly construction runoff at this point. I’d like a minute alone with Zuzu here, anyways.” Toga asks, twirling a strand of Ochako's hair around her finger as she speaks, still slouched with her head hanging off the arm of the couch. 

 

Ochako frowns, but slowly rises from her seat. 

“... fine.” She leaves the room, though it is obvious she’s not happy about it. 

 

“I’m gonna be in a lot of trouble for that, later.” Toga says glumly, but falls further off the couch to flip rightside up. “I’m gonna cut to the chase here, Zuzu. You need to take the boss’ offer and train with him.” Her eyes are sharp and piercing, not even a hint of amusement in them. 

 

“For what?” Izuku repeats, knowing he didn’t get an answer to it from Aizawa last time. 

 

“To kill.” She says the words with finality, like no other information should be needed.

 

“W-what? Are you serious? Why in the world would I want to do that?” Izuku whispers, flicking his eyes to the kitchen where Ochako is almost completely silent, either trying to listen in or give them space to talk, Izuku isn’t sure. 

 

“Oh please.” Toga rolls her eyes, and though it’s clearly in derision towards him, Izuku can admit he’s glad that bored, blank look is wiped away, even just for a moment. “Your mask is plastered all over the city. Clearly the whole ‘laying low’ thing isn’t exactly working in your favor. You need training, and someone competent to watch your back. It’s too dangerous to go out without that anymore. I can’t lose you too.” Her cat-like eyes don't leave his for a single second, she barely even blinks. 

 

Record scratch. 

 

“Y-you… know? About the mask, I mean. About me?” He stutters on the words and tries to word the question ambiguously intentionally, so as not to confess unnecessarily.

 

“I’ve known since the beginning, dummy. Since Stain, since we first met.” Toga says with a half-hearted shrug of her shoulders. "I can practically see it written in permanent marker on your forehead. People like me, like us. I can just feel it.” She explains with her hands in the air in a sort of shrugging gesture.

 

“People like us?” Izuku parrots, completely lost. Absolutely none of this makes any rational sense to him. 

Toga seems vaguely frustrated with his response, and stabs a too sharp knife into the cake, burying her fist with it in the height of the dessert.

He's unsure if this is a demonstration or intimidation, at this point. 

 

“What do you think, Zuzu?” Her nickname for him hasn’t felt threatening since that very first meeting at the mall, all those years ago, but a shiver skitters up his spine at her tone.

 

“I… what’s going on, Toga-chan? You're worrying me. Why would I need to learn how to do that, and how long has that been something YOU do?” Izuku asks imploringly, and the look in his eyes must be desperate because Toga closes her eyes to avoid looking at him, before heaving a sigh and withdrawing her fist from the dessert on the table.

 

“I do what I have to, Zuzu, just like everybody else. I’m going to be running around with the yakuza for a bit. The money Todoroki sent along will help, don’t get me wrong, but cash isn’t the only currency in this part of town. Just… if anything happens to me, I need you to promise you’ll protect Ochako. I need someone I can trust, and with Jin gone… ” She doesn’t finish the sentence, though Izuku hoped she might. She seems to chew on her words and swallow them back down, instead, a performative easiness to her body language. Forced casualness.

 

"Toga-chan... of course I promise to protect Ochako if something were to happen, you don't even need to ask. But... I might not know much about the Hassaikai, but the yakuza aren't a joke. Won't joining them be dangerous for you?” Izuku asks, a concerned pitch to his voice.

 

“I'm just a prospect for now, nothing dangerous. It's the only way we got into this safe house in the first place, even if it is a dump. Not like we have much choice, Zuzu. I can't exactly work at the League right now. I do something for them, they do something for me. Tit for tat. My first priority is keeping Chako-baby nice and safe." Toga says easily, licking the icing off her fingers. 

 

Izuku watches her for a moment, before casting another glance around the room, hearing Ochako rattle around in the kitchen. 

 

"What do you need from me? I could watch your back at night, and Ochako's during the day, if I need to? I don't want you to do this alone." He says seriously, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, trying to show with his body language that he's serious.

  

"Don't bother, it's not the first time I've done stuff like this. You just keep doing what you're doing, and go see Aizawa when you get a chance. I just know you were planning to avoid him if I didn't give you a push." Toga shrugs, leaning back against the couch and away from him.

"I'm not an idiot, Zuzu. I know the yakuza aren't trustworthy, which is why I did my homework. The big shot leader is currently in the hospital, in a coma. His adopted son is the one calling the shots, and from what I hear from the other small fries, he’s a total weirdo. Big germaphobe, not excited about taking territory or getting into scuffles. Wears a face mask 24/7 to ‘keep the filth out’ whatever that means. He’s got an attitude about him, real creepy type, but it's not a dangerous organization as far as Yakuza go, that's why I chose them.” Toga is looking almost bored again, like she's had this conversation already.  

 

Too many details line up with that description, and though he had been a ways away it’s possible… 

 

“Does he have a daughter by chance? Long hair, red eyes?” Izuku asks curiously, tracing the rim of the "tea" with his finger, watching the consecutive drips ripple against the surface. 

 

“No, I don’t think so.” Toga says with a shrug.

 

Silly Izuku, you’re being paranoid again. 

 

He opens his mouth to ask more clarifying questions but unfortunately, Toga has an excuse to stop talking.

 

“All clear?” Ochako pipes up from the door jam, peeking her head out curiously. 

 

“... yeah. I’ve said all I needed to.” Toga says with a small smile, reaching her hand out for Ochako to return. Ochako’s answering smile is big and bright, and her hand grasps Toga’s when close enough, allowing Toga to yank her girlfriend over the back of the couch and into her waiting arms. “Thanks for waiting.”

 

“I’d wait for you forever.” Ochako says, peppering her girlfriend’s face in tiny kisses to draw laughter from Toga involuntarily.

 

Thankfully it works.

Soulmates, for sure, he thinks fondly. 

 

The rest of the visit is uneventful, and Izuku can’t help shooting glances at Toga, hoping to make sense of their earlier conversation. 

 

First things first, this really is the worst kept secret in Japan. 

Second, Toga had said “us”, does that mean she's a vigilante on top of being recruited to the Yakuza?  

Why is she getting involved with them in the first place? Is that why they want her?

Then there’s the other pressing questions: 

What does Aizawa have to do with this?

Teach Izuku to kill? 

Why would he want to kill anyone?

Why would Aizawa even teach him something like that?

For that matter, why is Aizawa the authority on murder in the first place?

Is this the true origin of the thirteen bodies littering Tokyo over the last couple years?

Was Izuku wrong and Kacchan had nothing to do with it at all?

Was it his own guilty conscience keeping Kacchan at arm’s length after what happened at the USJ?

 

The farewells are short and sweet, though when Toga leans in to hug him, her lips graze his ear. Her hot breath sends uncomfortable zips down his spine. 

 

“Go to the League. You’ll find answers there. Remember, in order to protect the ones you love, sometimes you have to get your hands dirty.” She advises solemnly, before another squeeze has her pulling back. 

 

“... I understand.” Izuku says to her softly, though admittedly he doesn’t understand at all. 

 

No, Izuku has no idea what she’s referring to.

Not in the slightest.

But it looks like he knows exactly where to go to find out.

 

---

 

Now only one cake box left, Izuku makes the journey to his mother’s apartment. 

 

It’s a decently long train ride to get there, which allows plenty of time to think about the cryptic conversation with Toga.

Obviously she’s upset about Jin being arrested, and bottling those emotions up tight, but she seemed spooked too.

The quality of the safe house is questionable, maybe Toga is trying to secure something more comfortable for Ochako in the meantime? The Yakuza could be offering to provide that in exchange for Toga's cooperation in joining?

Isn’t that… bad?

The Yakuza are criminals, aren't they? Striking fear into the hearts of little old ladies and salarymen alike. 

Would Izuku be able to restrain her and leave her in police custody if he had to? Would he have to?

It’s obvious the police can’t be trusted.

Murmurs of discontent swirl in the public, whispers of police brutality, unlawful searches and seizures, more members of the community turning up as committing a crime or simply disappearing without a word. 

What kind of system would Izuku be supporting by delivering any more cannon fodder to their doorstep?

Could he even consider himself a friend to Toga or Ochako if he did so?

But what’s the alternative? 

 

“To kill.” Comes Toga’s words in his head. 

 

Is that what she’s getting at? That in order to be a real hero… Izuku would have to take a life?

 

Haven’t you already?

 

Flashes of Dr. Sasaki’s distrustful eyes and the pained whimper he’d caused. Dr. Toshinori's gaunt face bleeding out into the floor of his office...

 

Izuku ambles off the train and walks diligently through the snow to his mother’s home. 

Seeing his mother settles something unruly and painful in his chest. Her cardigan is wrapped around herself tightly to protect from the chill when she opens the door, though any heat she retained was immediately lost when she threw her arms out to hug him. 

 

“My baby!” She wails, dragging him closer into her bosom, deeper into the protection of her arms.

Her soft perfume fills Izuku’s nostrils, and it’s enough to bring tears to his eyes. 

 

“Hi, mom.” He says, muffled, but the shaking in his shoulders gives him away. 

 

They stay like that awhile.

 

Sure, he may not be able to tell her everything, or much of anything at all, really. But just being here, eating katsudon in their tiny living room, and listening to her stories from work is all he needs right now. 

 

This is what he is trying to protect.

Simple, everyday moments like these.

 

Bzzt. Bzzt.

 

Izuku checks his phone to see a text from an unknown number.

 

Unknown Number: Is this the girl you were talking about?

 

In the picture, taken from a strange angle like the person who took it was being sneaky about it, is the same little girl with the red eyes from this morning.

 

Izuku: Yes! thought you said he didn't have a daughter? He said her name was Eri. ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

 

Unknown Number: She's his little pet apparently, nobody can get anywhere near her. He keeps her locked away. She’s harder to get to than a bank vault. Convinced they'll get her "dirty". Gross.

 

Izuku: She was completely covered in bandages earlier… I think he’s been hurting her. 

 

Unknown Number: I do too. Only his top guards are allowed around her, and even then it's never for long. It's suspicious af.

 

Izuku: I can’t just leave her there. But he saw my face, there’s no way I could just walk in...

 

Unknown Number: I’ll keep you updated on what I learn about the org. Maybe we can divide and conquer. I’ll work from inside, so be ready. 

 

Izuku: Please just be careful, Toga-chan. This is serious. 

 

Unknown Number: Don't worry. I've never been caught in my life. ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

 

Even here, sitting in his childhood home, belly full from his mother’s delicious cooking and the added security that comes with having superpowers… Izuku has never felt so uneasy.

Chapter 25: A Promise to Always Be Friends First

Summary:

Katsuki shows growth.

Notes:

I cannot tell you how LIVID I am.

As you might've seen in the comments, I was working on finishing this chapter and was planning to have it posted earlier but halfway through the last scene the archive crashed and burned and destroyed over 18k words that I then had to rewrite. .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·.

Learn from my mistakes, just copy it over, kids.

It's *finally* done, but if there's some weird formatting or the pace sucks... I'm sorry.

Sweat pours from Katsuki’s brow, and he uses the bat in his hands to support his weight, crouched against the linoleum. 

 

“Get up.” Aizawa says, almost bored, his hair pulled back into a ponytail, though sweaty strands stick to his forehead anyways.

 

“Fuck you.” Katsuki grits out, but he pushes himself into standing again anyways, getting back into position. 

 

“This is about repetition. You need to have these moves so ingrained into your muscle memory that you default to it. They could save your life. No matter what weapon is in your hands, it must become an extension of you, of your body. It’s your lifeline.” Aizawa says again, like he hasn’t been chattering in Katsuki’s ears about the same damn thing for hours now. 

 

“I know.” Katsuki spits, swinging the bat around, only narrowly missing Aizawa’s stupid smarmy face. 

 Unfortunately the bastard drops to the floor to dodge, and once he gets there, he strikes, wrapping both his legs around one of Katsuki’s, forcing him back to the floor. 

 

“Match. Again.” Aizawa says when he has Katsuki pinned. He’s not totally unaffected, his chest is heaving and the the knee currently lodged in Katsuki’s solar plexus is far from gentle. 

 

“I know.” Katsuki hisses, bucking Aizawa off and making a grab for that stupid ass hair to drag him backwards, but the old man is fast, he rolls away from Katsuki’s hand, dodging.

 

“You’re not relying on your weapon.” Aizawa chastises, drawing a blade from his ankle and almost burying it in Katsuki’s throat from behind. He’s completely at his teacher’s mercy, on his knees and panting with a short knife once again kissing his Adam’s apple, just like before in that alley with Blondie.

After weeks of work, all the spars, and Katsuki hasn’t been able to pin Aizawa once!

It was pathetic.

 

“FUCK!” Katsuki groans, letting himself go lax.

 

“There’s a disconnect between you and your tool. You’re still trying to grapple, to get your hands on me. You have to trust your weapon. You can’t rely on pure aggression to win your fights for you.” The blade is removed, and Aizawa’s forearm releases Katsuki back to the floor where Katsuki writhes with rage, punching explosions into the floor.

Despite knowing all that, it’s not fucking working. This stupid useless thing feels like it’s going to shatter in Katsuki’s palms. The hilt is blackened with overlapping burn marks in the shape of his hands, it’s one good swing from becoming splinters.

 

“I KNOW!” Katsuki roars, before heaving himself back up again, returning to position for the hundredth time today. “It’s this fucking thing, it feels wrong, like I’m gonna break it. It’s holding me back.” He growls, flinging the wooden bat across the room with malice. It ricochets off the wall before clattering to the floor once more, rolling partially under the couch.

 

“You can’t afford to be picky about weapons, this training is partially about self control. You have to be able to control yourself from blasting through anything you touch. You won’t always have the luxury of weapons customized to your needs. You must be versatile and adapt to your present circumstances. However, despite hours of sweating, the bat remains intact. Your detonation is far less destructive than it was before. That’s progress.” Aizawa acknowledges, looking at the state of the ruined bat on the floor.

It really does look like one hit would snap it at the hilt.

 

“Don’t condescend to me, asshole. I’m going to get this right. Again!” He yells, throwing a hard right hook. Aizawa dodges left, away from his dominant hand, just like he did that first time. 

Luckily, Katsuki was expecting that. 

On the back swing, Katsuki rolls his shoulder and lets off an explosion large enough to redirect his body weight, giving him the momentum to propel him through the air. 

While Katsuki is airborne, Aizawa follows him with his eyes, trying to keep the blonde in his line of sight directly above him. It throws the dark haired man off balance, allowing Katsuki to kick the heel of his boot right into bend of his teacher’s spine, crumpling him to the floor.

With a manic grin, Katsuki flips in the air and lands on Aizawa’s back just as he tries to roll away. 

 

“Match!” Katsuki laughs, victorious, finally. 

 

“Using your opponents' habits against them. Good foresight. By using your explosions as propulsion mechanisms, you play to your strengths by taking the fight to the air… that’s very good, Bakugou.” Despite Aizawa speaking against the floor, there’s a begrudging admiration in his words that’s unusually obvious. 

Pride makes Katsuki’s blood sing as he grins to the ceiling. He’s reveling in his win, but it’s short lived. Aizawa rolls them so he’s once again straddling Katsuki’s back instead, slamming his face into the floor instead.  

 

“... but your opponents will not always fight fair, and the “match” isn’t over until someone is dead. You have to finish the job. Mercy isn’t yours to offer in this line of work. It’s not personal, and it shouldn’t be. This is a mark, a job. The only person who can grant mercy is your employer.” Aizawa says lowly, setting his full weight onto Katsuki.

 

“Bullshit! I’m not a shitty attack dog, the one who decides if I follow through on a kill or not is me! I’m in control here, I’m nobody’s bitch! Get off me, asshole.” Katsuki seethes, roughly dislodging Aizawa from his perch. Aizawa regards him carefully when they both stagger to their feet, and there’s a faint smile on his scraggly face.

 

“What are you smiling about, you senile old man?” Katsuki snarls, yanking the mini fridge open and lobbing a bottle at the older man with too much force to be friendly, before taking one for himself.

 

“You have a point. That was the lesson that made me hang all this up in the first place.” Aizawa informs him seriously, the smile nowhere to be found. He takes a sip of water before sitting on the couch, though he’s pitched forward, not lounging into it like normal. 

 

“Then why are you spouting that crap if you don’t even believe in it?” Katsuki says with obvious disdain. 

 

“I didn’t say I didn’t believe in it. I said it’s what made me quit.” Aizawa says easily, raising an eyebrow at his student. “For the same reasons you gave, actually, though admittedly I didn’t use the same colorful language.” He amends after a beat.

“You ever gonna actually tell me who the fuck you are? Or were, I guess.” Katsuki grunts as he falls into the couch, taking another swig of water. “Not many high school chemistry teachers are killing machines.”

 

“... I went by Eraser. My partner at the time was the one to give me the name. By the time I retired I had over two hundred confirmed kills under that moniker.” Aizawa said quietly, spinning the lid in his fingers.

 

“Partner. As in professionally or do you mean like Mic?” Katsuki asks with a frown. He knew Mic and Aizawa were practically married now, but how long ago was this?

 

“... Both. It was the three of us, back then. Mic was all about intel; listening devices, tech support, recon, that sort of thing. Don’t misunderstand, he can more than hold his own in a fight, he’s just… angry. Too angry. Friend or foe, when his blood gets pumping, it’s like he just goes feral. It became a liability for fieldwork; too loud, too obvious, too messy. Like you, now.” Katsuki glares at Aizawa, but the other man doesn’t look up to catch it.

 

"We had another partner back then, we were a trio since high school. LoudCloud was more focused on keeping us on the move, keeping the peace. The glue that held us together, the backbone we relied upon. Of course, each of us had our specialties, but we were best as a team. Filling in where the others fell short. Call it symbiosis, I suppose. Even if one of us screwed up, the other two could pick up the slack.” Katsuki's throat went dry at the words, remembering Dr. Toshinori saying something similar all those months ago, in his office. 

Someone you could trust to catch you when you fell, to fill the gaps and cracks and make you whole again.

Yeah, Katsuki could understand it a little better now, after working with Deku in the lab, and again after seeing him in the news footage.

The way they had danced together at the party, or the way they orbited around each other in the lab.

Perfect give and take, a push and pull.

To chase and to run.

Could he have that with Deku out in the field?

Would Deku accept the path Katsuki has taken, would he consider him a hero at all if he knew?

Could they be the Wonder Duo again?

 

“So what happened to him? He dump your sorry ass or somethin'?” Katsuki bites out, harsher than he’d meant to.

 

“He died."

 

Katsuki's eyes widened.

Oh, shit. 

 

"Not on a mission, just an accident. I think that was what so shocking about it. Every time you go out in the field, you know there's a possibility that you'll die. We had accepted that, expected it, even,  but an accident? It was sudden and unlucky, the way all deaths are." Katsuki looks at Aizawa then, and instead of his blank-faced teacher, or even the absolute unit that’s been beating his ass for the last few weeks, he just sees a man. 

Beaten and weary of the world.  

A man in mourning and grief.

It was obvious, suddenly, like the pieces had been there all the time.

The mentor Half n Half mentioned in the diary, the deceased community center employee whose death widowed two partners, the one that died in the fire at the League.

It has to be him. 

 

 “Mic and I continued to accept assignments after he died, but the dynamic was different without him. Sure, the missions got done, the money got made, the kills completed, but we weren't okay. Every job took a toll on me, on him, on us. The ideals we used to have as kids were long gone. The world was colder, harsher, and so were we. Then there was this job a few years ago, a hit on a scientist. She was working on some kind of airborne sedative, it was deployed like tear gas but it knocked people out on contact. Her file said she was working with yakuza groups and trying to produce a bioweapon.” Aizawa chuckled, though none of the words felt funny to Katsuki. 

 

“... And I’m gonna take a wild guess and say she wasn’t?” Katsuki prompted, when the air grew heavy and still. 

 

“No. She wasn’t. Her research wasn’t even offensive-capable, initially. She was using her own hormones to synthesize a pheromone-based sedative that would be more effective for women. Most research uses male test subjects, especially pain management or medication trials. On average, those kinds of drugs are less effective for women. She wanted to fix that. Of course, that’s not what her donors wanted to use it for. That’s what the file got wrong. After the initial samples were created, they were refined into an aerosol sedative powerful enough to humanely neutralize targets, many times large numbers of them. Project Midnight was never intended to be used for harm, it was supposed to be used to save women, save people. Many weapons, many tragedies, they all start out with good intentions, Bakugou.” 

 

“So, the bioweapon was a front. Or Mic really fucked up his intel.” Katsuki guessed, and Aizawa stopped fiddling with the top to look at him. “What happened after?”

 

“... I was right there, blade against her throat, and I was just about to finish the job before I caught her eyes. She refused to give me the combination to her research safe, where the samples were kept. Mic was in my ear telling me to get it over with, that the brief was clear. If Kayama wasn’t going to be compliant, I was to remove her from the board and bring the safe back with me so he could crack it back at home base, but… I hesitated. For the very first time in my entire career, I just couldn’t do it. Kayama had tears in her eyes, but she refused to hand over her life’s work. Her defiance, her pride, her belief in a better world… all I could hear was LoudCloud in my head telling me that I was just doing all of this for a damn paycheck.” Aizawa scoffs, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. 

The guilt looked like it could swallow him whole.

 

“Kayama, that’s the chair of the Biology department at Tokyo U… or she was. Guess you really didn’t go through with it.” Katsuki says quietly feeling somewhat awkward about the sudden melancholy air. Her research might’ve gotten destroyed in the end anyways, so much was lost in the USJ fire.

 

“No, I didn’t. We became colleagues, she’s what inspired me to become a teacher. Just knowing that had I gone through with it… that passion, the desire to help, would've been gone. I had completely forgotten those things ever existed. I never took another contract after that.” Aizawa admitted, looking guilty, almost ashamed as he spoke. 

 

“Sounds like you did the right thing, then. You're the one that made the choice not to finish the hit. I didn't kill the guy that attacked Ponytail because I wanted to be rewarded for it, I did it because I saw someone in trouble and my body moved on it's own, I don’t even fucking remember it. Of course, I did freak out after, once I realized what I'd done, but I don't regret it.” Katsuki muttered.

 

“Why not?” Aizawa looked thoughtful at that, scratching his scruffy ass beard.

 

“Because at the end of the day the blood on my hands is there because I helped someone. Every life has weight, but I'll gladly carry that around with me because the world is better off without those bastards in it. Isn't that what's important? The second you give up, when you stop seeing the person behind the kill, and trust that someone else’s words are law? That’s what’s shameful, not mercy. I only kill fuckers that deserve it.” Katsuki says quietly, avoiding Aizawa's eyes. 

They don't speak again for several minutes. His teacher slowly rises from his seat, and Katsuki watches his back when he crosses the room towards the shelving at the far wall.

Aizawa drags it away from the wall, the metal legs causing a terrible screeching noise that Katsuki can feel in his teeth.

Hidden behind the shelving, is a door.

 

“I’ve never been sure that what I did was the right thing. One thing I was certain of, however, was that these would never taste blood again. Even I can be wrong, it seems.” Aizawa says cryptically before opening the door, exposing a closet, backlit with glowing panels, and littered with weapons. 

 

“Holy shit!” Katsuki crows, moving behind Aizawa to get a better look at the armory. 

Swords, knives, guns, explosives, and more elaborate weapons were all stowed neatly on pegs, allowing full visibility. There were pegs and spaces where things seemed to be missing, and Katsuki remembered the dufflebag full of shit Aizawa had lent him already.

In what seemed to be a place of honor, two crossed katanas hung in the center, stored in an x-shaped scabbard.

 

“When I saw you that first night, I didn’t know what to think. You were just a loudmouth kid from my junior class, the hothead responsible for destroying my entire lab... and you were dragging a body around. You carried that corpse on your shoulder like you had some kind of plan, so I followed you.” Aizawa murmured, still staring into the closet. 

 

“Fucking stalker.” Katsuki grunts, though to tell the truth, he’s enraptured. He’s always wondered what really happened that night, and it looks like he might finally find out. 

 

“I watched my top student cut the body of a rapist into pieces with a hacksaw, and chuck them into the trash; none the wiser at being seen, let alone followed. Messiest disposal I’d ever seen, clearly this was your first kill or you’d have been picked up by the police a hell of a lot sooner.” Katsuki cringes, feeling like an idiot. 

 

He definitely would’ve gotten caught. 

Aizawa is the only reason he wasn’t behind bars right now. 

 

“But your stupidity wasn’t what made me help you cover your tracks. You had this look in your eye, like you weren’t even there. Obviously this was your first kill, and you were just a kid. So I took the garbage bag and burnt it in the school's incinerator. Bleached the alley, made sure nothing led back to you. You came to class the next day like nothing happened. You were nervous, but you were still YOU, not some sociopath. I kept an eye on you after that, and when I saw you get better, more professional, more deadly, I made a decision.” Aizawa’s hands found the center of the twin scabbard, petting over the leather reverently. 

Katsuki sucks in a breath, unsure where this was going. 

If Aizawa stabs him, he’s going to be so ungodly pissed off about it.

Rational deception, Katsuki’s fucking ass, Aizawa’s just a dick sometimes.

 

“It was when I saw your mask, actually, on your first real solo run. That’s what made me decide to give this to you, once the time was right.” Aizawa whispered, unhooking the katanas from their mount and turning around to face Katsuki. 

 

“... Me?” Katsuki echoed, eyeing the weapons in Aizawa’s hands before looking up into sleepy, stormy eyes.

 

“You.” Aizawa repeated, moving to place the twin scabbard on Katsuki’s back, latching the leather buckles to strap him into it. It was almost ceremonial, the feeling of Aizawa's hands working over the buckles, smoothing them into place. The retired assassin only steps away once he’s satisfied, and a rare smile crosses his lips.

 

“Why?” Katsuki asks hoarsely, moving his hand to his back to wrap around the hilt to one of the katanas, unsheathing the blade and drawing it slowly to get a feel for the weight in his hand.

The blade is shorter than a traditional sword, about a hundred centimeters, well-balanced, and elegantly curved. The metal glints in the ugly fluorescent lighting, mirroring Katsuki’s own red eyes back in its reflection. Aizawa doesn’t answer aloud, just lets him get familiar with the weapon in his hand. He does pick up the bat from where Katsuki had dropped it earlier. Aizawa raises it, holding it straight out towards Katsuki, a seamless extension of his arm.

 

“Because you can’t blow up half the city and leave fingerprints everywhere in this line of work, that’s how you get arrested or killed. You’re smarter than that, Bakugou.” Aizawa chastises, but there’s a smirk on his face when he moves to strike, using the bat as if it were a sword.

 

Katsuki growls and parries the strike when it comes, but Aizawa continues the movement, attempting to twirl the katana out of his hold. Luckily its twin is already drawn, allowing Katsuki to deflect the maneuver, the blade cutting teeth into the wood occasionally. They slice through the air with a vibrato that has Katsuki snickering. 

The ensuing fight is more intense than any they’ve had so far, more charged than even their grapples had been, though no bodily contact is made for several minutes.  

Unlike before, Katsuki feels the balance of the blades in his hands, and understands more of what Aizawa was describing earlier. The bat had not felt like this, so quick and responsive. There is no drag when he swings the katana down, embedding it into the bat. Aizawa yanks the bat and its embedded blade away from Katsuki’s reach but he isn’t concerned.

Instead, Katsuki lunges in close, making Aizawa reel back, but not before his free hand comes up to pop explosions in the older man’s face, the smell of burning hair acrid in the small room. 

Aizawa flinches from the light or maybe the heat, but either way it’s enough of a window for Katsuki to use his momentum to slide between Aizawa’s legs. They are spread wide, trying to seek the stability needed to regain his balance after the blast. Katsuki takes advantage of that, kicking the back of his teacher’s knees, dropping him to the ground with a hard thud. 

Katsuki pants above Aizawa, both katanas crossed at his teacher's throat from behind, the sound of his coarse facial hair dragging against the blade is audible in the still room. His head tips back to make eye contact with Katsuki, who jeers above him. 

 

“Match.” He declares, high off the adrenaline and grinning like a madman.

Aizawa smirks, letting his eyes shut. 

 

“Match.” He agrees, for once, and Katsuki removes the blades from Aizawa’s neck. 

 

Absolutely nobody can take the high of this win away from him. 

 

---

 

Did Katsuki say nobody? 

 

Maybe he should have just shut the fuck up, because it turns out there’s a few dumbasses who can flip his mood from damn near euphoria to unbridled rage just by showing their ugly mugs at the League.   

Admittedly, he’s on the line doing his damn job when they arrive, Katsuki none the wiser.

It isn’t until…

 

“Excusez-moi, Bakugou-san, you have been requested by a table.” Frenchie calls, distracting Katsuki from his work. 

 

“Hah?! Can’t you see I’m fucking busy, Glitter Bitch? I don’t do fucking compliments to the chef or whatever.” Katsuki barks, agitating the saucepan where his teriyaki sauce is thickening. He knows if he takes his eyes off it for even a minute it’ll immediately fucking burn. 

Even so, Katsuki’s hands don’t slow, first stirring a pot of oden, then tossing freshly steamed edamame in chili oil. The karaage and adashi tofu are popping in the fryers, and he removes the basket from the oil just in time to scrape at the edges of the teriyaki sauce, which caramelizes perfectly in the fold of his spatula. 

 

“Mon dieu, Bakugou, you are so uncouth!” Frenchie whines, and good ole Sato comes to his aid like the pussy-whipped bitch he is. 

 

“I can take over from here while you go see what they want, man.” 

Katsuki glares at the various stages of completion each dish is in, thankfully nothing needs more than to be babysat for a few more minutes now that the teriyaki sauce has been pulled from the stove. The kitchen is about to close for the night, so once these orders go out, he'll be done for the evening anyways.

 

“Drop me another batch of rice with mirin first.” Katsuki grunts, not looking up from his work. 

 

“Damn, dude, you’re a machine!” A familiar (dumbass) voice crows from the entrance to the kitchen, pushing past Frenchie who is taking another round of yakitori skewers out. 

Shitty Hair is positively beaming, with Sparky, Pinky, and Tape Face peeking behind him, clearly too damn stupid to realize he was too fucking busy right now to play babysitter. 

 

“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY KITCHEN!” Katsuki bellows, throwing the ladle for the oden at the invading troupe of idiots, clocking Shitty Hair right in his big ass forehead.

 

“Ow! C’mon man…” Shitty Hair pouts, rubbing the spot where the utensil hit.

 

“Come on, Blasty! We’ve already asked Aizawa, and he says you’re overdue for a break!” Sparky whines, shaking Shitty Hair’s arm like reins.

Katsuki snarls, removing a new ladle from the dish drainer.  He stirs the oden with a grimace.

 

“Yeah, come play with us! You didn’t tell us you were working here with Aizawa of all people. Who knew you were such a teacher’s pet?” Soy Sauce face snickers. 

 

“I guarantee you won’t regret it!” Raccoon Eyes purrs, her eyes sparkling with something mischievous, probably all the new gossip she’s acquiring.

Katsuki groans out loud and considers throwing something heavier this time, before Sato awkwardly approaches from behind.

Despite being a massive guy, he’s a mousy little shit. He’s hunching his beefy shoulders because Katsuki’s already threatened him three times tonight about keeping his gargantuan King Kong ass out of his damn way. 

 

“Uh… Bakugou-san, I dropped more rice, and I put out the senbei, so can I take over till close?” He mumbles, already beginning to wash his hands like he knows Katsuki would insist on it before handing over control of anything. 

 

“Fucking fine!” 

Katsuki ignores the cheers in favor of untying his apron from his waist, thankful he’s still only wearing the tank top from earlier. Between Aizawa’s training and this hot ass kitchen, he’s tempted to starfish into the snow banks out back just to cool the hell off.

He’s trying to keep his hair off the back of his neck when he enters the main room, which is, of fucking course, packed because it’s a stupid Saturday. 

 

“Oh, hell no, fuck this.” Katsuki says immediately, turning to walk back into the kitchen. He’d rather die of heat stroke in there than elbow through a sea of extras for no reason. 

 

“Oh no you don’t, Kats!” Shitty Hair chides, grabbing a handful of his sweaty shirt and ushering him back into the main room. “We’ve got the corner booth all saved for us, don’t worry!” His big toothy smile flashes in the lights of the room, and Katsuki allows himself to be escorted to the far corner. 

Part of him wishes he’d fought back harder when he sees exactly who is perched in the booth, saving it for the group. 

 

Fucking Deku, Half n’ Half, and the frog bitch are chatting to each other when he approaches. The nerd is sipping a coke, chewing on the straw absentmindedly. 

His heart absolutely does not skip a beat when those sparkly green eyes flick over to him. 

It’s obvious he wasn’t aware Katsuki would be in attendance at this little surprise party because those eyes suddenly grow three times their already massive size, and he immediately whips his head towards his cuck of a boyfriend, a betrayed expression on his freckled face. The Ice Prince’s expression doesn’t change but he pats Deku’s shoulder stiffly in apology.

Katsuki swallows bile.

 

“Look who we found!” Dunce Face croons, shoving him into the booth next to Deku. Katsuki snarls at him, feeling cornered and raw.

Deku’s voice cuts through the tension. 

 

“H-Hi, Kacchan. I, uh, didn't know you'd be here?” The uneven galloping of his heart after hearing that nickname after almost seven goddamn weeks of purgatory is definitely unhealthy.

It’s a good thing he doesn’t have a fucking heart condition. 

Katsuki doesn’t answer immediately, but he does flex his fingers in and out of fists beneath the table, trying to breathe and not immediately start screaming, or letting his hands spark. After hours in the kitchen following hours of vigorous exercise, he's sweaty enough that one errant spark would probably catch the whole damn building on fire again. 

 It's a bad joke, he admits. 

The only thing that calms the hurt and rage of being ignored for so long is knowing that just last night Deku was sobbing his fucking guts out on a building, that he'd internalized the loss of Dr. Toshinori too. 

The nerd is probably just as fucked about all of this as Katsuki is, if not much worse.

That plastered on smile is fake as shit, and seeing it makes it all that much harder not to pick a fight.

 

Calm down, Katsuki. 

You’ve been practicing for this shit.

You are not allowed to fuck this up. 

 

“Sup, nerd.” He grits out between clenched teeth, forcing the memories of red and white hair touching Deku so gently out of his head. 

Pikachu and the rest of the squad squish him closer to Deku when they press into the booth, which is clearly too small for this many fucking people. He feels Deku shiver when the exposed skin of Katsuki’s arm is pressed up against his Deku’s, where the sleeves of his sweater are rolled up. 

That scarred, freckled skin is almost painfully cool against his feverish flesh. Deku must’ve just arrived, still cold from outside.

 

“Yer a fucking icicle.” Katsuki grunts, swiping the idiot’s soda and taking a drink from the glass, avoiding the chewed up straw.

 

“Cold out there, sorry. I just came back from seeing Mom.” Deku says softly, with an awkward shrug of his shoulders and an uncomfortable smile plastered across his face.

 

“Bout fucking time. She’s been losing her shit since you ghosted. Your lucky Aunty didn’t have a goddamn heart attack.” Katsuki says, venom dripping from every word.

It's like no matter how hard he tries, he can't soften, can't sand down these ragged edges. He returns the glass to where it had been before, and the sound is sharp.

Weirdly, while Deku does shrink with guilt, his smile simultaneously becomes more genuine, less wobbly at the edges, and he looks up at Katsuki with those same starry eyes he used to.

 

“Yeah, I definitely have a lot to apologize for.” Deku says seriously, not taking his eyes off Katsuki for a second, even as the conversation moves on without them. 

The adoration in those eyes, the attention, it’s like a fucking drug. Adrenaline straight to the heart, or to the dick, Katsuki can’t discern which.

Either way, he’s caught by the balls.

They are hardly the only ones in this room, not even the only ones at this table, but the look they share is so intimate, that it’s like nobody else even exists at that moment, even though Sparky is elbowing him in the side and Shitty Hair’s raucous laughter is drowning out the ambiance.

 

“Not gonna be easy. None of that ‘I’m sorry, Kacchan’ bullshit. You’re gonna have to work for it, Deku.” Katsuki sneers, before roughly ruffling wild green hair. Deku laughs, and the sound could cure depression probably. 

There’s no words exchanged between them for several minutes, letting the conversation pass them by, but it’s as if someone finally removed their boot from Katsuki’s chest for the first time in seven grueling weeks. 

Katsuki stares at Deku, and Deku stares back. He’s watching the strobes of light swim across his face, turning his freckles every color of the rainbow. He looks the same as he did that last time he saw Deku before the knife fight with Blondie, maybe a bit paler but it’s hard to tell for sure in this lighting. There’s a piece of lint tangled in his hair that Katsuki brushes away, and Deku’s breath catches when Katsuki’s fingers drag through his curls suddenly. 

 

“Is that really necessary?” A dull voice asks suddenly, and Katsuki yanks his hands back into his lap immediately but the hateful glare he sends Half n Half’s way is bitter enough to curdle milk. 

 

“Sho.” Deku says warningly, and the Ice Prince raises his hands in surrender. 

 

“I’m just saying, isn’t this the first conversation you two have had in weeks? Bakugou doesn’t seem like the type to touch other people so casually. Your relationship must be something special, if you can go so long without communicating and still be that close. Wouldn't you agree?” There’s a smarminess in the way he says it that makes Katsuki bristle. Deku too, from the shadow that passes over his face.

 

“HAH?! You have something you wanna-” Katsuki begins, only to be cut off by Deku threading their hands together under the table.

Honest to God, Katsuki doesn’t even remember what he was bitching about, he just swings his head around to look at Deku’s profile.

 

“Uh, what’s going on?” Sparky pipes up at the same time, clearly confused like the idiot he is. 

It’s rare for Katsuki to stop mid-rant, admittedly.

 

“Nothing, Kaminari-kun. Sho is being mean to Kacchan, I think. I’m not totally sure why though…” Deku says carefully, furrowing his brow at the two-toned bastard beside him. 

They have some kind of telepathic communication that Katsuki doesn’t follow, but the Ice Prince holds his head high and meets Deku’s pout head on. 

Deku is still holding his hand, and while Katsuki hasn’t figured out why it’s happening in the first place, but he’s loathe to bring attention to it, for fear Deku will move. 

 

“Aw don’t worry about that, our Blasty Boy is tough. I’m sure his feelings will recover. Unless you were putting the moves on ‘his nerd’, of course.” Dunce Face chortles, making air quotes and everything.  

 

Deku drops Katsuki’s hand immediately at the words, and with his now free hand, Katsuki doesn’t hesitate to remove an ice cube from the drink in front of him and immediately shove it down the other blonde’s collar, causing him to let out a startled screech, whining and crying about the cold. 

 

“You so deserved that.” Pinky said sagely with a shit-eating grin, pointing at Sparky with her meat skewer. 

 

“Midoriya.” A familiar deep voice draws the attention of everyone at the table, and Aizawa’s eyes are focused on Katsuki and Deku, and lingering where their arms are still pressed against each other.

 

“Ah, sir! It’s nice to see you again.” Deku bows from his seat, clearly pinned by several bodies and unable to stand without displacing at least four people either way. 

 

Oh well, guess he has to stay right fucking here. 

What a shame.

Maybe the hand-holding thing can happen again.

Friends do that, right?

Katsuki's fingers twitch.

 

“Likewise. I heard you wanted to have a word with me. You seem preoccupied at the moment, however. Is now still a good time?” Aizawa drawls, flicking his eyes to Katsuki who glares openly at the old man.

Of fucking course these two knew each other. Katsuki should’ve assumed as much after running into the Zombie.

Speaking of unlikely meetings, Katsuki remembers his theory from before, about Aizawa’s dead partner being the ferryman for the Ice Prince’s little runaway fantasy. He watches IcyHot out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his reaction to Aizawa, but the expressionless mask gives nothing away. Tape Face leans entirely too close, tittering something in his ear, and Half n’ Half’s lip twitch for half a second.

Disgusting.

What the fuck is going on with that?

 

“Sure! Be right back, guys.” Deku chirps, before slipping under the table like he was made of liquid, hardly gone for a second before popping up on the other side. Aizawa leads him across the crowded bar and towards the back room. Katsuki can only assume Deku was being offered the same training Katsuki was. 

 

Useless fucking hobo-sensei.  

This is the first opportunity he’s had to talk to Deku in seven grueling weeks, and that sleepy bastard has to roll out the enlistment envoy smack dab in the middle of it. 

 

Katsuki is irrationally frustrated that Deku has to be involved at all. He’s already got the suit, OFA, and his tech, so why can’t something just be Katsuki’s for once? At least he’s got a leg up on training, could probably destroy the nerd at hand-to-hand.

Something about that idea brings a mean grin to his lips. Throwing Deku around, how close they’d end up being, sweaty and grappling, wrestling around on the floor, Katsuki pinning those scarred hands to the ground…

 

“Easy, man. Lose the scary face, I’m pretty sure it’s just about that missing waitress.” Sparky whispers into his hearing aid. There’s a small static shock, but it’s the hot muggy breath in his ear that makes him rear back with a grimace.

 

“Fuck off, how do you even know about that?” Katsuki grunts, taking another drink of Deku’s soda to have something to hide his flushed face behind. 

 

“I don’t reveal my sources.” Sparky says innocently, swiping an edamame pod from the center of the table. There’s a few appetizers spread out but everyone’s grubby hands are in the dishes, spreading their nasty germs everywhere. 

 

“Uh, since when?” Tape Face accuses, one eyebrow arched playfully. “You’re like the worst secret keeper ever, bro.”

 

“Nu-uh! I can totally keep a secret!” Pikachu grumbles with his mouth full. At the jeering of the rest of their friends, he petulantly shovels more food into his mouth with his gross hands. He tries to offer a basket of gyoza to Katsuki, but the look on his face has Sparky shifting away from him. 

Katsuki wasn’t going anywhere near that shit, lest he somehow catch the Dumbass Disease obviously incubating in his “friends” who are currently roasting him for being obviously into Deku. He ignores them, because he doesn’t plan on denying that fact anymore.

Knowing his luck, Deku would somehow overhear and they’d be back at square fucking one. 

 

Not a chance in hell is Katsuki falling for that shoujo manga shit.

 

IcyHot is staring at him, looking somehow amused. Tape Face has his gangly ass arm wrapped around his shoulders, lounging together. 

They’re sitting awfully fucking close together for Half n’ Half’s fuckbuddy Deku to still be in the building. 

 

“So Bakugou-san, we haven’t officially met. I’m Tsu.” Frog girl says politely, her big ass eyes never seeming to blink. Her tongue pokes through her lips when she isn’t speaking, and it’s fucking distracting. “How do you know Izuku? You seemed close at the party back in October.” It’s cool of her to pretend she doesn’t hear the idiots heckling on the other side of the booth. 

Katsuki rolls his eyes and shrugs, trying not to think about the party, and what exactly had happened after it. 

 

“I’ve known that shitstain since we were in diapers.” He doesn’t ask how she knows Deku, because he already knows. Instead, Katsuki takes another drink, and finds himself missing the solitude of the kitchen. 

“Really? Childhood friends, then. That’s sweet, I wonder why he didn’t mention it before?” Frogger says curiously, tilting her head the way Deku does when he’s confused.

It’s far less endearing when she does it.

The idiot squad are hollering at each other and laughing about something stupid still, allowing Katsuki to brood in relative peace.

Unfortunately, the universe, or rather one insufferable nepo baby, seems reticent to let the topic die.

“Isn’t it? All those years and he never once mentioned Bakugou to anyone but Shinsou. I wonder why.” Half n’ Half says casually, staring again.

Katsuki feels more than hears Dunce Face’s yip, but he doesn’t care enough to interrogate him over it.

 

“Because it’s none of your business, extras.” Half n’ Half watches him from behind his own drink, but doesn’t respond.

When Katsuki drains the rest of the glass he looks at it in annoyance. He never drinks this sugary shit, and now he has to get another one for the nerd, if he was ever going to return. 

 

Maybe he won’t, maybe Pikachu or Half n' Half embarrassed him into calling it an early night , a pessimistic voice grumbles in his head.

 

Honestly, at this point, that would track. 

It feels like it’s been happening that way for fucking ever, now.  

Get a good look at Deku, a few hopeful sentences, maybe some heavy petting or eye contact, and then the fucker is gone again. 

That course of events looks more and more likely when after a half an hour, Deku still hasn’t returned to the group.

It’s uncomfortable. Katsuki is refusing to engage with the idiot squad, Half n Half seems all cozy with Elbows, though he can feel those mismatched eyes on him more than he should. Frogger just looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

In fact when she excuses herself to the restroom, the loss of supervision seems to be the excuse they were all looking for, because they all scatter. 

The second the song changes, Pinky and her dumbass boyfriend blend into the throng of dancers in the center of the room.

Not even a minute later, Sparky gives some lame excuse about checking his hair and disappears too, leaving him at a table with the two assholes practically playing footsie under the table.

It’s mercifully short lived.

 

“I’m heading out back to smoke.” Tape Face says huskily, flashing Half n’ Half with a lopsided grin. 

 

“I’ll join you. I’ve been meaning to try it. You make it sound enjoyable.” The Ice Prince says with a faint smile, and it’s like Soy Sauce Face won the damn lottery. Gag.

Suddenly off they go, hand-in-hand, like the leads in some cheesy drama.

 

It pisses Katsuki off.

What useless fucking extras.

Not only did they drag him out of the kitchen during a fucking shift, clearly for some harebrained matchmaking set up, it didn’t even work! So instead, like the losers they are, they abandoned him at this table by himself.

He’s gonna make them live to regret it.

 

Curious eyes hopeful for a place to sit begin migrating closer, like fucking hyenas or something. Katsuki’s patented ‘fuck off losers’ glare keeps a blurry two foot barrier around the almost vacant table. 

 

Why was Half n Half being so flirty with someone else given what Katsuki saw the other night?

What, because Deku fucks around IcyHot gets to, as well? Is it one of those open relationship things? Is that what Deku wants?

Could Katsuki do that? Share him with others?

The thought makes something possessive and wrathful beat against his ribcage, which makes him doubtful, but hadn’t he already accepted the idea of a purely platonic or professional relationship if it meant ending the silent treatment?

 

You know what? 

Fuck this. 

 

Katsuki shoves off the table and scrambles out of the booth, pursuing the two who just left. 

He’s getting to the bottom of this tonight, dammit.

 

Katsuki fights his way to the front door, through a sea of sweaty, heavy bodies. It never feels less disgusting, somehow. 

The bell chimes above him, as if to signal his safety. Frigid air is sucked down into his lungs, burning with the cold. The snow glows almost blue under the night sky, aside from the small halos of yellow light under the lampposts. 

 

Katsuki hugs the side of the building, following it into the adjacent alley where the smoking entrance dumps out.

He’s almost murderous by what he finds. 

Half n Half is sucking face with Elbows, pushed up against the brick of the building, not a care in the world. A thin ribbon of smoke curls from the corner of their lips, and the glowing cherry of the blunt held in freakishly long fingers seems the culprit.

 

“OI!” Katsuki hollers, startling them both into looking in his direction. Heterochromatic eyes narrow when they meet his, looking irritated.

 

“Hey man, what the fuck?” Tape Face whines, clearly giving an ‘I was sort of busy here’ expression. 

Katsuki is aware and he does not give a single fuck, thank you very much. 

 

“Sero-kun, I think Bakugou wants a word with me, alone.” Half n’ Half says softly, his arms still wrapped around Tape Face’s neck, craning him down.

 

“Now?” Soy Sauce Face asks him, petulantly.

 

“Now, fuckface.” Katsuki growls, and Half n’ Half sighs deeply before releasing his hold on the beanpole. 

 

“Not cool, man. You’re acting like a dick.” Elbows accuses, bringing the blunt to his mouth again and inhaling. 

 

“Yeah, and that smells like shit. What else is new?” Katsuki retorts, but he’s still glaring at the Ice Prince, not sparing a glance for his dumbass friend just looking to get his dick wet.

 

IcyHot pats at Sero’s jacket, “It’s fine, I provoked him into this anyways. I’ll be back inside shortly.”

The lanky man sighs, before placing another softer kiss on Half n’ Half’s cheek, flicking the roach onto the ground. He gives Katsuki a warning look, and apparently chooses life by vacating the area immediately. 

When the mullet disappears back through the door they came through, all the casualness drops from Half n Half’s attitude. That blank china doll mask is back, apparently all business for this conversation. 

 

“Another conversation in a back alley? You know I have a phone, right? We don’t need to keep doing this.” He says, sounding bored.

 

“Shut the hell up! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Katsuki hisses, closing in the last few steps to throw an accusatory finger in the bastard’s face.

 

“Kissing my boyfriend. Why?” IcyHot quips immediately, crossing his arms across his chest, but making no other move to leave or get in Katsuki's personal space.

 

“Oi, smartass, if you’re cheating on Deku I swear to…” Half n Half sighs, almost theatrically, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 

“You’re supposed to be smart. If I just said I was kissing my boyfriend, and I wasn’t kissing Izuku, what makes you think I’m dating him?” He says it patiently, like he’s talking to a particularly stupid child, and everything about this entitled bastard makes Katsuki want to beat his skull against the wall. 

 

“You certainly looked close the other night. Stripping him and shit, plus I’ve read your fucking diary, so at this point you must be fucking stupid if you think running through my friends while you pine after Deku will yield any result that isn’t my foot up your ass.” Katsuki hisses, shoving the rich punk against the wall. 

 

IcyHot blinks slowly, like he wasn’t expecting Katsuki to actually have evidence to support his claims. 

When will this motherfucker stop looking down on him?!

 

“It was you? You are the one that took the diary? That means you’re the one that broke into my apartment. I can’t decide if that’s better or worse than the alternative... Are you stalking me? Or just Izuku? Both?” Half n’ Half asks, his face still frozen in that impassive mask.

 

“I’m investigating the fires, asshat, and you’re still one of the most likely suspects. Of course I tailed you, you fucking idiot.”

 

“First things first, that’s still stalking, just so we’re clear. Secondly, that diary wasn’t mine. It belonged to my older brother. I thought we covered this already?” IcyHot asks, exasperation clear in his tone.

 

“What? No, it was on your nightstand, I read the whole damn thing, you talk about…” Half n Half cuts him off before he can finish, because he’s a dick.

 

“I was reading it. We’ve been trying to figure out what really happened that night the League burned down, when Touya died. You didn’t think it was strange that the last entry was them running away together and then nothing after that? I suppose the descriptions were vague enough they could have sounded like him, but the timeline doesn’t match up at all…” He continues thoughtfully, bringing a hand up to his chin. 

 

“Bullshit.” Katsuki says on reflex, but it’s weak even in his own ears. “I know what I saw, the other night you were… you were all over him.” A car passes by the alley, illuminating Half n’ Half’s thoroughly unimpressed face.

 

“When I calmed him down from a panic attack? After he’s been practically catatonic for weeks and finally opened up? The one where he kept comparing me to you? Yes, what a romantic evening that was. I’ll treasure it always.” Half n’ Half says, completely deadpan. 

 

“Was that fucking sarcasm? Since when do you know how to do that, you prissy fuckin’ robot?!” Katsuki barks, but his voice sounds more surprised than angry. 

 

“Since my boyfriend, your friend, started teaching me, obviously.” 

 

“Explain.” Katsuki seethes, burying his fingers in the asshole’s ugly peacoat and shaking him roughly. “Right now, explain everything. I’m tired of this shit, what are you to Deku?”

 

“Remove your hands, Bakugou.” IcyHot warns with a chilly voice. “Act like a reasonable person, and I’ll tell you whatever you want, even though it is none of your business. This is pathetic, even for you. You're not a bully on the playground anymore, we're adults now.”

 

Don’t kill him.

Don’t kill him. 

Deku would be so pissed.

Don’t kill him. 

 

Oh, but this guy pushes every single button Katsuki has, the egotistical little…

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and very, very slowly unclenches his fingers and takes a step back. 

 

“Talk.” He grunts.

 

“Izuku was my first friend other than Tenya.” Katsuki goes to open his mouth, whether to argue or ask clarifying questions, even he’s not sure, but the red and white haired teen shakes his head before he can decide. 

“Don’t interrupt, I’m tired of the back and forth. Just shut up and listen.” 

 

Katsuki grinds his teeth together audibly, letting his hands pop, but he doesn’t argue for once.

Just like all those weeks ago, when he did the same thing in front of Blondie, Half n’ Half’s eyes fall to Katsuki’s sparking hands. 

 

“Hm. That’s... interesting.” His head tilts to the side by just a degree or two, but he continues speaking as if he hadn’t paused.

“I did have feelings for him at one point. Back when I was reading that diary for the first time. I was young, gay, and sheltered. Plus, I’m sure you know that he is very easy to love.” Katsuki glares, narrowing his eyes, but as requested, does not interject. 

 

He wants to see where this is going. 

He wants answers. 

 

“Like you, I read those entries and I thought about him when I did. I read about an all consuming first love, the realization that I liked Izuku in a way that was more than just friendship. I saw my own self loathing in those pages. But that wasn’t the only thing I saw. The very real threat of my father finding out, and blaming Izuku for it? I couldn’t take that risk. I saw what happened to Touya and his lover, I could never do that to Izuku. It’s practically a cautionary tale. For a gentle soul like him to be loved by someone like me? That would be a tragedy.” Katsuki stared at IcyHot, but the latter didn’t look up from the pavement. A sudden freezing wind had them both curling their chins down into their jackets and squinting against the cold.  

 

“I knew even then that the old man would never allow Izuku a moment of peace if he found out. He’d be lucky to even see the inside of a cell, if my father didn’t have him disposed of. Just being his friend is risky enough, as close as we are… no, any more than that would just tempt fate. So I made a promise to myself, back then, that I would always be his friend first. No matter what else happened, or who else showed up, that wouldn't change. Even now, when the bastard has no idea about any of this, my Father still manages to threaten him. It’s one thing for me to care for him, to love him the way I do. To pay for the suit and clean him up when the fights get bad, console him, keep him as safe as I can, but it is another thing entirely to shackle Izuku to me just because I can’t let him go. I’m not nearly selfish enough for that, Bakugou.”  

 

The night was quiet when Shouto Todoroki stopped speaking. 

Cars still passed by, the bass of the music still reverberated from inside, but in the snow, in the dark, everything was still and quiet between the two. 

 

“… Get some goddamn curtains.” Katsuki said after a few minutes. “Your living room window is huge, you can see straight inside from the opposite building.” He turns on his heel, ready to leave. 

 

“That’s it? You accost me, break into my apartment, steal from me, scream in my face, threaten me, and after all of that? You tell me to buy curtains.” Half n Half scoffs, not moving an inch from where Katsuki had shoved him against the wall earlier.

 

“Yeah. That’s it. What, do you want me to disagree? Because I don’t. You’re right, your old man is absolutely batshit insane, and I’m glad you realized what a target you’d be putting on Deku. He doesn’t need any help in that department, fucking trust me. Do you want me to tell you that I considered whether you might be the better option for him in the long run? That you could give him things I couldn’t? That I don’t think I’m good enough for Deku, even if by some fucking miracle he even feels the same way? What good would that do either of us at this point?” Katsuki asks seriously, looking over his shoulder at the youngest son of the Todoroki family skeptically.

 

“I don’t know.” 

 

“Me either.”

 

“He saved me.” IcyHot said quietly. “I don’t know where I’d be without him.”

 

“He saves people just by fucking breathing, I’ve never understood it. You aren’t special. Nobody is.” Katsuki sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

“... I think you might be. To him, at least. I don’t see the appeal, personally.”  

 

He tries not to let the weight of that suffocate him. 

Does he really have a chance?

Does he deserve that chance?

 

“Me either.” He repeats, more somber this time. 

 

“Don’t blow it, Bakugou.” Half n’ Half cautions, before yanking the door open and disappearing back through it, leaving Katsuki standing in the snow, wondering if he already had.

 

---

 

“What did you and Deku talk about the other night?” Katsuki asks, circling Aizawa with critical eyes, looking for a weakness in the older man’s guard.

 

“I asked him to join us for training.” Aizawa informs him, dragging his feet across the floor slowly.

It’s bait, Katsuki knows it, but he goes for it anyways. 

As expected, it's a feint, and Aizawa takes the opportunity for a high kick. 

 

“And? You were gone a long fucking time. What did he say?” Katsuki grunted, taking the foot to his chest but yanking the offending leg in the process, trying to throw the older man off balance.

It works, but Aizawa doesn’t go down, instead leading with a strong elbow that Katsuki has to dodge, letting the other man's leg go with a grunt.

 

“He’s on a mission, currently. One he wants to see through, first.” Aizawa declares, trying to sweep Katsuki’s legs out from under him, in return. Katsuki jumps to avoid it, but he lands on his ankle wrong and hisses in pain. 

 

“Fuck, what kind of mission? Is it about the fires? We could take care of that no problem.” Katsuki boasts, despite the pain in his ankle. Aizawa zeroes in on the injury and aims for it with his next kick.

 

“No. Something else.” 

 

Katsuki glowers, throwing a weak punch that Aizawa easily ducks to avoid. When he does, Katsuki uses his damaged foot to kick Aizawa in the face, and a crunching noise indicates he definitely broke something. Between Aizawa’s bleeding nose and Katsuki’s screaming ankle, they both wheeze in pain. 

 

“What’s the damn mission?” Katsuki repeats again, this time angrily.

 

“He didn’t say.” Aizawa deflects, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand and drawing back to stand. “Are we going to train or are you going to keep asking stupid questions?”

 

“You’re fucking lying. You're hiding shit from me.” Katsuki accuses, not taking the bait this time. He matches his teacher’s posture, crossing his arms over his chest.

Aizawa sighs, mutters something about “problem children” and meets Katsuki’s eyes for the first time since arriving.

 

“It’s something he and Toga have been working on. Midoriya wants them to handle it on their own. It’s his mission, his intel, his operation, with limited involvement from me. He specifically asked me NOT to tell you mission specifics, because you would want to be involved and this is something he has to do on his own.” 

 

“That is such fucking bullshit! He’s always doing shit on his own, when does he ever ask for fucking help? Never. What, am I not good enough for the nerd? Is that it?!” Katsuki roars, pacing the room once before punching the wall.

 

“Yes, that’s very levelheaded and mature of you, Bakugou. Punch the inanimate objects and whine about it, that’ll help convince him.” Aizawa rolls his eyes, looking at him with open disapproval.

 

“Fuck you, old man!” Katsuki spits, flipping him off and pacing the room again like a tiger in a too-small enclosure, looking for something to destroy.

 

“Grow up, kid. You can't protect him every second of every day. You have to trust that he can take care of himself. He isn't the weak, fragile victim you're acting like he is. I think you know that.”

 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Katsuki howls, throwing a box to the floor from the storage shelves.

 

“Make me.” Aizawa shrugs before waving him forward to continue the spar.

 

“You’re gonna eat those goddamn words, sensei, just you fucking watch.” Katsuki promises, lowering himself into a crouch. 

 

“Let’s see it then, problem child.” Aizawa smirks.

---

 

In the end, Deku continued to remain distant, or at the very least busy with whatever this top secret fucking mission was, because he didn't reach out to Katsuki after that night at the bar. 

 

That was fine, though.

There was going to be a breaking point, and soon, Katsuki could just taste it in the air.

The other shoe is just waiting to drop, hanging precariously over both their heads. 

This cat and mouse thing they're doing, it's just the appetizer.

And boy is he fucking starving. 

 

Katsuki is used to chasing Deku by now. He could wait, he could be patient. It's only a matter of time.

After all, Katsuki knows Deku better than anyone.

Those conversations with IcyHot were proof that his current pace was unsustainable, Deku was going to crash, and when he did, Katsuki was going to be there. 

Simple as that.

 

As for tonight, though, Katsuki is currently racing through the streets of Tokyo, following the blur of a figure returning to the same neighborhood for the third night in a row.

Deku must know he's being followed, his behavior makes that much obvious. Every night Katsuki manages to make it within a hundred feet of Deku, he suddenly disappears, but not tonight.  

He's always stalwart about ignoring Katsuki surveilling him, which is honestly preferable. The brief seconds of eye contact through the binoculars nearly caused him to hyperventilate that first time.

No longer was he just a kid in a jacket hoping for trouble in the club, no, he was a hunter.

A predator hunting something as dangerous and elusive as it was endangered.

The equipment given by Aizawa helps a lot, the night vision goggles in particular. Even from this distance the suit Deku's wearing is impressive, Dr. Toshinori hadn't been exaggerating. Keeping up with that kind of tech was a feat, and the nerd didn't make it easy.

 

Not that Katsuki would have it any other way.

 

He's accepted it now, believe him, he had to after Half n' Half took his own advice about the damn curtains, and was horrified to discover his own nervousness.

Bakugou Katsuki was not the kind who got nervous, remember, and yet, here he was. 

It naturally worsened after the last fire, just a few days ago, this one destroying a shopping center in Shinigawa, which unfortunately had to happen while Katsuki was working.

 

It was the middle of the fucking day, after all. 

Katsuki hadn't even heard about it until the following day, and there was the nerd, being demonized on the evening news. The reporters were full of shit with their conjecture and outright lies, but Katsuki had to admit the footage was brutal.

Deku swinging his way into the frame, disappearing into the inferno only to emerge sometime later, dragging a damn corpse behind him. The collateral damage was just fuel on the fire, Captain Todoroki was dragging Deku through the mud over it. The public was eating it the fuck up. It was downright nauseating to turn on the news anymore, he didn't know how Deku could possibly stand it. 

The idea of Deku still going out in costume, still saving kittens stuck in trees and doing hero work, well it made Katsuki ansty. If the Captain didn't catch the fucker, the public would burn him at the stake if they could get their hands on him. So he works his shifts at the League, he trains with Aizawa, but beyond that, he's patrolling the streets, following Deku.

 

It was natural, easy as breathing. 

 

Katsuki always lost him somewhere in or around the Taito district, but this time was going to be different.

 

Something was going down tonight, that much was obvious when Deku broke his usual patterns, instead of those inky black ribbons swinging him through town he was much more methodical, more careful. Without the goo that he's been tightrope walking all over for weeks now, he was much easier to pursue, though no less impressive. Instead he was running through the city, inhumanly fast, agile, and crawling up walls, launching from balconies and ledges and air conditioners.

 

Back in Taito, Katsuki manages to track him to a neighborhood known for it's affiliation with the Shie Hassaikai, the crime syndicate.

In the daytime it was a nice enough place, but thanks to the Yakuza presence, it wasn’t as safe and idyllic as it seemed. The second Katsuki crossed some invisible border into their territory, he knew immediately he was being watched.

Whatever Deku was doing here tonight, it couldn't be good. 

Unfortunately, he loses the nerd in the glare of the sunset.

His bike tires squeal across the pavement when he stops, and an old man glowers from his spot in front of a produce shop. 

 

"You. You don't belong here. If you know what's good for you, you'll clear off before the sun sets." The old man warns, whittling something small in his frail hands.

 

Katsuki doesn't reply from under his helmet but he does nod, taking the warning at face value, despite the urge to spit and snarl. He can’t afford to be any more suspicious than he already is and risk Deku’s safety on whatever bullshit mission he was on. He takes another long look at the horizon before revving the engine and turning back the way he'd come.

The glossy black motorcycle was expensive, Katsuki's demand for quality necessitated as much, but thanks to the money he’d been putting back from Ponytail’s payments, it was reasonable enough.

Unfortunately it did eat through a good chunk of his savings, he needs to budget again soon.

 

Rent in Tokyo is not fucking cheap.

 

He had initially planned to buy a bike much later, but it was almost impossible to keep up with Deku on foot in a city like this.

Obviously that issue can’t be fixed completely, not with the way the nerd travels, but Katsuki’s newest purchase evens the playing field a bit, in his opinion. 

 

He's not surprised that the pursuit was a bust, but like Katsuki said before, tonight is different. 

Tonight is about confrontation. 

He waits outside the National Museum in Ueno, on top of the large concrete parking garage. The cameras have been disabled thanks to that jammer Aizawa lent to him.

It’s tall enough to get privacy, but wide enough to easily maneuver.

Removing the motorcycle helmet reveals his mask underneath, and Katsuki settles in to wait.

This garage is close to the border of the district, but also in the same general direction as Half n Half's apartment, so when Deku makes a break for it, Katsuki will spot the nerd first. 

All he has to do is practice that hard fought patience he’s been building brick by shitty brick ever since that night. While he wants to drag that idiot out of the jaws of the yakuza by his hair, he knows that won’t get the result Katsuki is looking for if he does.

So patience it is.

 

---

 

It's hours later when Katsuki finally spots Deku again, the sun long since set.

The night vision goggles were a good decision, because he’s not sure he could’ve spotted him without them. Deku’s silhouette is bathed in poisonous green from the tint of the goggles, nothing like the soft pthalo and jade that he usually glows with.

Clearly whatever he'd gone to do hadn't gone well because his body language screamed disappointment.

Katsuki knows the second Deku becomes aware of his gaze, because his head snaps in his direction. They make impossible eye contact through the binoculars.

The phone is out of his pocket, the message already typed and ready to go. Katsuki definitely hasn’t been agonizing over it for hours, fuck off.

 

Katsuki: We need to talk. Face me. Don't be a coward, Deku.

 

The read notification is instant, and the three dots jump as he types.

 

Deku: Does it have to be tonight? Now?

He shoots a glare in the direction of the green haired idiot, flipping him off despite his heart swelling at finally getting a response after all this time. 

 

Katsuki: Got somewhere better to be?

Deku: Fine 

True to his word, Deku, under cover of night, begins weaving through the buildings, disappearing and reappearing through the gaps in the skyline. He’s still not using the strands from before.

Katsuki takes this opportunity to move to a lower floor, following the slope of the parking garage down one level.

It only takes a few minutes for Deku to cross that impressive distance. When he finally crawls through the open wall and lands in front of Katsuki, it’s almost surreal.

Rationally, he knows this is just soft-cheeked, geeky little Deku... but now the suit hugs lean cut muscle, the backlit lenses of his goggles glowing faintly in the dark. He’s breathtaking.

“You left.” Katsuki accuses, remembering the night at the League.

“You left.” Deku parrots, indignantly.

“You left, first.” Katsuki retorts, folding his arms over his own chest.

Deku sighs, folding his hands as if in prayer, and putting them over his mouth.

“Is that all you wanted?” He asks, sounding tired.

“No, it’s fucking not. You know you’ve always made me sick?” Katsuki asks, trying to keep the shake out of his voice.

“I could tell, somehow.” Deku sighs again.

“You were this skinny, weak nerd. So how is it that you ended up at Tokyo University? Fighting head to head with me over the OFA mentorship? It made no sense to me at first. The last time I saw you, you were falling off a goddamn roof.”

Even through the mask Katsuki watches Deku flinch.

“But ever since we were reunited, you’ve been ahead of me.”

“Kacchan…” Deku tries to reason, taking a step towards him but not coming any closer.

Coward.

 

“You’ve always made me sick and pissed me off,” Katsuki repeats, and Deku’s hackles raise even as his head dips to stare at the ground, “but when Dr. Toshinori died, it helped me understand, I think. You've made what you borrowed your own, huh?”

Deku raises his gaze from the floor to look up at Katsuki. Even through the goggles it’s like he can see his eyes widen.

“I've been thinking about it this whole time. You and Dr. Toshinori were sneaking around, so I bugged his office. I overheard everything about the old man’s health, about OFA, and the creepy fuck who wanted to steal it for himself. And now here you are, in that suit, with all this power. You have OFA now. No point in denying it, I know it’s true.”

 

“I wouldn’t lie about that, Kacchan.” Deku mumbles, fiddling with his gloves and shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“But you did.” Katsuki insists, and watches Deku’s shoulders shake.

“Can you blame me? You saw what happened when you found out. You don’t think I’m good enough, and I understand why, but I have to do this, I-”

“Shut the hell up.” Katsuki interrupts.

Deku falls silent, though his fists clench and unclench at his sides.

This is always how it goes.

Katsuki can never find the right words, and Deku can never hear them.

There’s too much physicality, too much unspoken.

So they aren’t going to talk tonight.

Katsuki has something else in mind.

 

“You and I both wanted to be like All Might when we were brats, right? To be heroes together? Do you remember that promise, Deku?” A tiny hesitant nod, Deku barely looks like he’s breathing, standing statue still. “Someone I'd always thought was useless, was acknowledged by my hero instead of me. That's why… Let’s fight. Right here, right now.” Deku’s goggles shutter like an old digital camera, which must mean Deku is blinking rapidly, trying to process his words.

This is the only way he can get Deku to see, to understand. Words, they just get mixed up in Deku’s overactive nerd brain, but this?

This is a dance they know the steps to.

This is a language they both speak fluently.

“Kacchan, be serious. You want to fight? Now? What about the civilians? It’s the middle of the night, do we really have to fight?!” Katsuki ignores the words, slowly stalking forward, withdrawing the katanas from their sheath, lowering himself into position while the nerd babbles.

“Come on, Deku. Show me how strong you are, that’s what you wanted, right? Prove you’re the hero you say you are. Face me!” Katsuki shouts, and it echoes through the structure.

Deku slowly backs away as Katsuki speaks, but Katsuki follows. He lunges forward with a wide slash of the blade causing Deku to evade him by jumping straight up and clinging to the ceiling of the parking structure. He hangs there, those glowing lenses giving him away in the dark.

 

“K-kacchan…” He says pleadingly, shaking his head, but Katsuki isn’t letting him go that easily.

 

“Even though you were always behind me… No matter how I treated you, you were always stuck to my back like glue. When did that change? When did you start pulling away, pulling in front of me? When did you stop looking at me, Deku?!” Katsuki thunders, using an explosion to gain the extra height needed to grab a fistful of Deku’s suit and toss him back to the ground.

The sound of the blast booms through the structure, echoing back to them.

“I… I didn’t...” Deku croaks, ducking to avoid another vicious slash of Katsuki’s blade.

Come on, nerd. Just a little more...

“You’ve been doing everything on your own. Even though you knew Dr. Toshinori intended for us to be a team, you hid things from me, you lied to me! What, does Dr. Toshinori’s favorite little student not need me anymore, hah? Am I not good enough for you to rely on?!” Deku falters for a second, and it’s enough for the blade to sink into the meat of his bicep, immediately weeping red through his suit.

 

“A-are you okay, Kacchan?” Deku asks softly, though he puts out a hand warning Katsuki to keep back. Katsuki’s incredulous cackle sounds insane even to his own ears, but even bleeding like a stuck pig, Deku can’t put himself first.

It infuriates him.

 

“Don't worry about me! Fight! What the hell's wrong with you? Why did I end up having to chase after someone who was always supposed to stay safely behind me? Why?! Why are you blaming yourself when I’m the reason Dr. Toshinori is dead right now, Deku?!” Katsuki sobs, only just now realizing he was crying. Deku notices too, and freezes in place for a second, barely avoiding another slash across his thigh because of it.

 

“K-kacchan, please, what are you talking about?” Deku sounds horrified, but Katsuki is done with the tip-toeing around.

 

“If I hadn’t lost my shit on that roof that night, so terrified that you were going to get yourself killed, then we could have gone back to the University together!” He bellows, and the echo is mournful in his own ears. “You went alone, Deku! With nobody to watch your back! You have no idea how fucking terrifying that is? I caused the very thing I was trying to avoid… You could have saved the hostages and I could have protected Dr. Toshinori and everything would have been different, but I. WASN’T. THERE! If it weren’t for me… then that wouldn't have happened… Even when I’m training with Aizawa, when I’m in the kitchen at the League, no matter what I can’t get it out of my mind. You’re doing everything alone, when we are supposed to be a team…” The katanas clatter to the ground, but Katsuki is too far gone now to care.

Deku is panting too, probably bawling like a baby under that mask, but his voice comes out steely.

 

“If I'm gonna do this, I'm going all out. I’m not going to be your punching bag, Kacchan!”

 

You'd better not, fucker.

 

Deku is no longer evading, he’s circling Katsuki, locked in. When he throws the first punch, Katsuki doesn’t have time to dodge, it’s too fast. He feels his jaw crack at the impact, but it doesn’t matter, he bodily slams Deku into the ground when he gets his arms around him. The impact against the concrete makes a sickening thud, knocking the wind out of Deku’s lungs.

 

“What’s the matter, Deku?” Katsuki taunts, already feeling the crack in his jaw healing. “I thought you weren’t going to be my punching bag?” His fist makes contact with Deku’s palm as it’s caught. Katsuki sets off an explosion in his palm, causing Deku to let go, shaking out his smoking glove.

 

“I won’t be.” Deku promises, rushing him with a high kick against Katsuki’s chin. He damn near see stars for a second.

 

“Even though you used to be so weak, it's like you're always looking down on me! Am I not enough? Do you not trust me?! Am I that pathetic in your eyes, Deku?” Just like before, Deku falters at the sound of tears in his voice, even though Katsuki isn’t looking for a pin just yet, he swipes Deku’s legs out from underneath him, twisting the nerd’s arm behind his back.

 

“Is... Is that what you thought? That I didn’t trust you, Kacchan? It's because I thought you were amazing… That's why… I kept chasing after you!” Deku growls the words before headbutting Katsuki in the nose. The sickening crunch is loud enough to echo around them, and the pain makes him lost his grip on Deku, who whirls on him. “Is that all you've got?!”

 

It’s hard to think through the pain, but Deku’s words echo in his head, or maybe they echo for real, it’s hard to tell anymore.

 

“You’re... still running from me, even now. OFA, the fires, the USJ, whatever you and Pigtails are doing with the yakuza… I’m always following behind!” He uses his explosions to vault himself into the air, just like that spar with Aizawa.

Deku tracks him through the air and meets him blow for blow.

 

“I want to prove to you that I CAN be a hero! I want you to see me as I am now, not what I used to be…” Deku pants, throwing another punch to his gut. “The image of "victory" I have inside me… it’s you.” Katsuki’s heart soars, but it manifests in Katsuki burying his hands in Deku’s suit and shaking him roughly.

 

“You were always a hero. I just didn’t want to watch you get yourself killed trying to prove it! Throwing yourself off buildings? Charging into fires? You’re even taking the fall for my kills!” Deku’s lenses shutter again, gaping up at Katsuki, completely boneless in his hold.

 

“I… you think that, Kacchan?” Deku whispers, and the quiet around them is almost oppressive.

 

“Of course I do, you idiot!” Katsuki rips his mask off so Deku can see his face, and a trembling gloved hand pulls Deku’s off too.

 

His face is a mess. Red and mottled from the cold, snotty and tear-stained, his lip quivering with the strain of holding back his cries.

He’s never looked more perfect.

Katsuki drags Deku’s face to his, slamming their mouths together with such force that their teeth clack against each other.

It’s painful and uncoordinated, it tastes like blood and asphalt but it’s perfect anyways.

As much as Katsuki wants to spend every minute of every day with his tongue shoved down Deku’s throat, he inches back, their noses still touching. He meets those wide, worshipping eyes, and feels his heart hammering in his chest.

 

It’s now or never.

Katsuki puts everything he has into forcing his tone to soften.

 

“I... I promise that no matter what, you aren't getting rid of me. I don’t give a damn what self-sacrificial bullshit you’ve cooked up in your own stupid head…” Katsuki whispers, his fingers threading through messy curls, tugging gently to raise Deku’s chin, exposing the column of his throat.

He mouths the next words into that vulnerable flesh.

 

“You can’t do this all on your own, you damn nerd. I won’t let you. So when it gets to be too much, when you fall, I’ll be there to catch you. I’ll leave my door unlocked for when you’re ready.” His voice is unnaturally soft, and Deku’s eyes swim with tears when he finally meets those bewildered eyes again. He nods hesitantly, like he's in a trance.

 

Deku looks like his entire world has shifted, and he has no idea what direction is up anymore.

 

Good.

Maybe Katsuki didn't just fuck everything up by kissing him. 

Admittedly he didn't plan to do that, but it's too late to back out now.

 

Katsuki’s hands shake when they finally release those viridian curls, and Katsuki has to force himself to pull away. He tugs the mask back over his features, grabbing the katanas from where they’d fallen in the scuffle. The metal scrapes against the concrete, and Deku slowly sits up, staring at him, dazed.

Katsuki mounts his bike under those watchful eyes, yanking the helmet on last.

 

“Don’t keep me waiting, Deku.”

 

With that, Katsuki kickstarts the engine, and the roar of it is deafening.

Katsuki peals out of the parking garage like a bat out of hell, leaving the smell of burnt rubber and ozone in his wake.

 

It’s up to Deku where they go from here.

It has to be his decision.

He has to choose.

Now he just has to fucking wait for the nerd to realize it.

 

It’s a good thing he has practice being patient.

Chapter 26: A Promise to Be the Last

Summary:

Izuku's visit with his mother, the League, and his refusal to accept help.

Notes:

This is such a monster of a chapter! Can you believe I actually had to split it up because it was even longer before???

Sorry about that, y'all!
I'm sick and just got notice I will have to move in about a week, and while I'm panicking and anxious about renting a uHaul I am also very excited because between you and me, I've been essentially homeless and without running water for almost 2.5 years now! If all goes well I'll have running water in TWO bathrooms!!! How fancy am I? ;)

“Bring Shouto-kun with you next time, I worry about him. And tell him thank you for the cake! He’s such a sweet boy. How did he know angel food was my favorite?” His mother giggles, as Izuku stands at the front door.

 

“I will, Mom. Bye!” Her smile is wobbly as she pat his cheek, wrapping him in a tight hug before finally letting him go.

Izuku sends a quick text to Shouto as he walks down the steps, mindful of the slippery ice patches.

It isn’t until he gets to the bottom, tucking his phone back into his jacket pocket when he hears it.

 

“Izuku!”

 

At the sound of his name, Izuku turns around to face his mother, her cardigan wrapped tightly against the chill in the air. Her face is all pinched up as she creeps down the stairs, until they are face to face at the bottom of the steps to their apartment. The snow is compacted and wet under their feet. At least she’s not barefoot, but those house slippers will be soaking wet by the time she gets back inside.

 

“Yeah, Mom?” He asks with a tight smile, bracing against the cold around them. She slowly descends the stairs, and looks almost sheepish when she reaches the last few steps.

 

“I… I knew that sweater would look good on you. I do wish I’d knit a few scarves… You need more layers, Izuku, you’ll catch your death out in this weather.” His mother tuts, smoothing the lines of his clothing and buttoning his jacket to his throat, avoiding his eyes.

 

Why aren’t they having this conversation inside?

She’s the one who’s going to catch her death out here!

 

“I’m fine, Spring is almost here, don’t worry about me.” Izuku tries his best to smile warmly, but her face crumples anyways.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, no doubt Shouto’s response to his text, but Izuku ignores it. Only his mother matters right now, the crocodile tears collecting in her lashes.

He would stay as long as she needed, of course, it was the least he could do, honestly.

 

“Um. I, uh, forgot to mention something, earlier.” She bites her lip, and he smiles encouragingly for her to continue. “Well… Mitsuki called. She mentioned Katsuki called. Asked about you.” She admits hesitantly.

 

“Oh?” Izuku blanches, trying to force down the bloom of warmth in his chest knowing that Kacchan must be genuinely worried about him if he had reached out to his own mother voluntarily about it.

The guilt sweeps in to clear that feeling away not long after.

 

“Yes… he was asking about our financial situation.” The tears overflow, and pour down her round cheeks in rivers.

 

“Oh.” Izuku frowns, thinking about Shouto’s stack of cash in his hands earlier and suddenly feels nauseous again.

 

“I… I’ve worked hard over the years to provide for you. You’re my baby, my sweet little Izuku. All I ever wanted was for you to be safe, and if I had to work hard to do that? I would…”

 

“I know, Mom. Let’s… let’s go inside. It’s freezing and-” Izuku tries to direct his mother back up the stairs, but she continues as if he hadn’t spoken.

 

“But around the time you started middle school, things just got so tough. After your father left, I was terrified! I didn’t want to rely on anyone else, and end up in the same boat, so I just focused on working, doing my best to care for you the way you deserved… I was busy all the time, just trying to catch up on the bills, and I left you alone too much! You were getting hurt all the time, and then that accident on that roof? Baby, I was so worried. It… feels like that time all over again, over the last few months.” She sniffs, tucking a strand of her hair over her ear, and shivering in the night air.

 

Oh no.

 

Izuku is the absolute worst son in the world.

He is ungrateful, and callous, and selfish.

He cannot do a single thing right by the people he loves.

 

“M-Mom…” He croaks, but she continues again.

 

“You know… I hadn’t talked to Mitsuki in years when we went over for tea that day? Just fell out of touch, like old friends do when they have children. Nothing dramatic. Mitsuki’s so bold and amazing, too, with her work on her business. Practically a celebrity! What would she want to have tea with a worn out lady like me for? But even so, she reached out to me, when she didn’t have to, mind you, and that made all the difference in the world!” She spoke quickly, and only the motormouth Midoriya gene kept Izuku from being completely lost.

 

“Mom, breathe.” Izuku coaxes, trying to get her to inhale again, and still trying to understand why she’s talking about this right now.

 

Why she can’t reminisce on this from the warmth and safety of their living room?

 

“It was thanks to my old friend, that I got to spend time with my special little boy, and I got to watch you grow into such a fine young man! I’m so proud of you, Izuku. You and Katsuki both! Both of my boys. You were so sweet together, you know. Those were my favorite years, Izuku. You and Katsuki snuggled up on the couch, watching cartoons, always getting into trouble! Inseparable. Katsuki used to throw such a fit when we’d have to leave…” She laughs wetly, smiling through the tears, and practically glows before suddenly wilting like a flower.

Izuku doesn’t remember Katsuki being the type of kid to throw tantrums, least of all over him, and squints at his mother in confusion.

 

“When we stopped spending time all together, that was what I missed most.”

 

Me too.

Of course Izuku misses Kacchan, and he misses all of that too.

 

“I’m sorry, mom.” Izuku whispers. He pats her shoulder comfortingly, still trying to gently guide her back towards ascending the stairs and out of the cold. She doesn’t budge.

She just chuckles at him, placing her hand on his chest to stop him, it shakes, whether from the cold or her tears, he can’t tell. Izuku looks up at her, two stairs above him, and the intensity in her eyes startles him into freezing on the spot.

 

“I… I know there’s a lot you don’t share with me, baby, and I accept that. You’ve grown up, you can’t rely on your silly old mom for everything. But… Don’t be afraid to accept help from the other people in your life who love you, Izuku. There’s no honor in that. Self sacrifice is an unlucky generational curse, I think, and it’s own kind of pride. If I had turned Mitsuki down for that tea… so many wonderful things would never have happened. So do me a favor? Reach out to Katsuki-kun soon, would you? Mitsuki’s very worried.” She murmurs, patting him softly one more time.

 

Izuku thinks of all those missed calls, all the text messages he has been avoiding… It makes his chest hurt.

How could he have ignored Kacchan reaching out?

Kacchan lost a lot that night, didn’t he? Izuku is an awful friend for not checking in.

 

No matter how heartbroken he was at the time.

 

“Okay. I’ll do better, mom. Don’t worry.” Izuku chuckles, wiping the tears from his eyes.

She feels his phone vibrate in his jacket pocket again and seems to remember how late it was probably getting.

 

“Oh, I’m keeping you, aren’t I? You’d better get going, huh?” He nods. “Just… don’t be a stranger, okay? University or not, grown up or not, I don’t want this to be your last visit for another five months, do you understand?” She scolds him, but her voice wavers, and her smile is sad.

 

“I promise this won’t be the last one, Mom.” Izuku laughs, and gathers his mother into his arms, careful not to crush her.

 

“It better not be, young man.” She sniffs, another wave of tears fresh dampening the front of his sweater.

 

“I love you, Mom.” Izuku whispers into her hair.

 

“I love you, honey.”

 

Izuku watches her climb the stairs and waves goodbye again, as she closes the door to the apartment before his hand slips into his pocket to check his phone.

 

He sees that the message he’d sent earlier has gotten a response.

 

---

 

Izuku: Just got to Mom’s! She made lots of food, so I’ll eat dinner here. Don’t wait up!

Sho: How is the visit with your mother going?

Izuku: Great! She loved the cake you sent, thank you again! I have to swing by the League, so I might be back later than I thought, sorry! (˶˃⤙˂˶)

Sho: Actually, Sero invited me to go to out to the League tonight, would you want to join us?

Izuku: Oh! Are you sure??? I don’t want to crash your date? (ó﹏ò｡)

Sho: That is not an issue. Tsu and a few of the others are tagging along as well, I’d prefer if you could come, actually. I could use a human shield.

Izuku: Aye, aye captain! You can count on me! (づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ♡

 

---

 

The League is absolutely packed tonight, and it takes Izuku a few puzzled seconds to remember why.

For the past few weeks he hasn’t really been paying attention to the date, or the days of the week… but a quick glance at his phone confirms why Shouto felt he needed a shield.

Not only was it a Saturday, oh no, it was Valentine’s Day.

It completely slipped his mind until now.

 

The bell chimes above him when he gets through the line and is carded by the bouncer, thankfully a familiar face.

 

“Midoriya. I didn’t know we’d be seeing you tonight.” The hulking form of Kugo Sakamata is, as always, menacing at first glance. Those who didn’t know the man very well were often scared of him based on his appearance. Even Izuku had been nervous around the large man, before getting to know him. Now, he held Izuku’s respect, often leveraging his frame and aura for the League’s benefit on its busier days.

His savage scarred features and slicked back hair looked almost painted on. Hidden under his suit jacket was an impressive sleeve of marine tattoos, the largest of which was a killer whale that took up most of his bicep, despite Japan’s social taboo against them.Because of his reputation, Kugo often played the part of the ‘bad guy’ here at the League, on his days off from his firm.

 

“Funny story, I didn’t remember what today was… until now.” Izuku admitted shyly, rubbing the back of his neck and holding out his ID for the man to scan. “How much is the cover?”

 

“Kid, I’m not taking your money. Aizawa would have my hide. Get in there before you freeze to death.” Kugo barks, scanning the ID and tossing it back at him without a second glance.

Izuku smiles appreciatively and bows to the mountain of a man, ducking through the door so as not to delay the line any further.

It’s even more crowded than he thought it would be, and Izuku fights the urge to turn tail and leave. He's never been one for crowds... 

 

“Midoriya!” He turns to his name, spotting several familiar faces waving him over in the corner booth.

Sho and Tsu are the most subdued in the group by far, waving stiffly with largely blank pleasant expressions.

The chaos around them however…

Sero is next to Sho of course, but his long limbs are akimbo trying to get his attention. He whoops when their eyes meet. On Shouto’s other side is a group he hadn’t known were in attendance, and their presence (while appreciated) turns his stomach into knots.

Mina looks as beautiful as ever, her pink hair is twisted into braids this time, decorated with beads and metal jewelry. She’s bouncing in her seat, practically climbing the booth in her frenzy.

Beside her Kirishima is grinning widely, his own spikes looking particularly pointy this evening. His was the voice Izuku heard the loudest.

Kaminari seems to be impersonating air traffic control and trying to direct him towards their group, which admittedly makes him chuckle as he awkwardly crosses the room.

Only one member of their group is missing.

 

Of course, Kacchan wouldn’t be here for something as silly as Valentine’s Day…

 

“Uh, hi guys?” He chirps when he finally makes it to the table, the louder members of their party quickly emptying to allow him to crawl in beside Sho.

 

“Midoriya, long time no see man! It’s been like… forever!” Kirishima says excitedly, clapping him on the shoulder when he passes.

 

“Yeah! We missed you!” Mina pouts for half a second, before it’s overtaken by her cheerful grin once more.

 

“Now we can PARTY!” Kaminari cheers, and the others toast with various liquids scattered on the table.

He instantly feels trapped, squished up between his friends and Kacchan’s. Despite the cold outside, it’s boiling in here, and he takes his jacket off, pushing his sleeves up to get extra air.

 

“Relax, nobody invited him.” Shouto whispers in his ear when he finally settles in next to his friend.

Izuku lets himself breathe, and sends a grateful smile to Shouto.

 

“I see why you needed a shield now. I forgot it was Valentine’s Day…” He admits sheepishly. “I do need to talk to Aizawa at some point…”

 

“Aw man, you just missed him.” Kaminari whines, looking back towards the bar where Atsuhiro is putting on a show, Aizawa is closing out tabs on the POS, looking particularly grumpy.

They mingle for a little while, the extroverts carrying the energy for the table while Izuku’s group of friends remains more subdued.

 

“Ah! Midoriya! Bonjour, bonjour! What can I get you, mon ami?” Aoyama seems to materialize out of nowhere, slipping through the crowd to strike a pose, a new menu in his fingers.

 

Oh, that’s right. Without Jin, there’s nobody to run the kitchen but Sato…

 

“H-hey! Thanks, sorry, I haven’t been by lately.” He bows his head apologetically, leaning over the table to accept the menu.

 

“Can we get the gyouza, the spicy edamame, and hmmm, what else d’ya guys think?” Sero drawls, flipping the laminated menu over.

 

“I’m stuffed from dinner with my mom, but I’ll take a coke?” Izuku asks, having to raise his voice over a particularly rowdy group of dancers begins singing along to the music.

 

“Yakitori, for sure. Ooh, and can I get a Kirin?” Kirishima calls, brandishing his armband. Aoyama nods and winks, writing down the orders before disappearing back into the fray. Izuku had forgotten Kirishima was legally able to drink. He was the only one to hit eighteen already, except for…

 

“Oh! Sho, Tsu I am so sorry I forgot your birthdays!” Izuku gasped, suddenly realizing. He was only late to Tsu’s by a couple of days but Sho… how did he manage to forget something so important when they were living together for goodness sake?!

 

“Don’t stress about it, Izuku, you’ve been preoccupied.” Tsu soothed. Shouto nodded in agreement, patting his shoulder.

Wow, he’s been consistently dropping the ball in every regard, apparently.

 

“I didn’t make a big deal about it on purpose. We can celebrate another time. Maybe over the summer?” He asks softly, as Sero slides his arm around him.

 

“He didn’t tell me either.” The raven haired teen groans sympathetically. “Between me, Mina, and Denks nobody is getting out of party-mode this summer! Not even Blasty!” He whooped, and Sho gave a small smile.

Mina giggles, before standing up and ushering Kirishima to follow. They must have something planned, because Kaminari grins, and Sero asks Tsu if she doesn’t mind letting him out as well.

Aoyama returns with their drinks while they’re switching positions, and Izuku accepts his drink gratefully. Kaminari puts an arm around the blonde waiter and the group bleeds out into the crowd leaving Tsu, Shouto, and himself in relative quiet, beyond the general commotion of the bar.

 

“I really am sorry, you guys…” Izuku apologizes again, guilt heavy in his stomach and not settled by the carbonated drink in his hand.

Tsu waves him off.

 

“This is good enough for me. Besides it doesn’t feel right without Ochako and Toga, I want to celebrate with everyone.” She croaks, somberly.

 

“I wasn’t in the mood either, I would’ve insisted we stay home.” Shouto agrees, patting his shoulder again. “So please, don’t worry about us.”

 

“I’ll make it up to you both.” He swears.

His friends smile back at him, forgiveness and acceptance in equal measure.

 

Suddenly Izuku feels eyes on him.

He scans the crowd for the others, finding Aoyama first. He delivers their food with a grin, but the feeling of being watched doesn’t go away. He’s about to dismiss the feeling as paranoia, when he spots Kacchan and his friends slowly making their way to the table.

His heart skips a beat when he notices those heady red eyes are already on him. His lungs seem to forget that he needs air to breathe.

Izuku turns to Sho, accusation no doubt burning in his eyes. Shouto’s face is carefully controlled, but there’s mischief and pride glittering in those heterochromatic eyes. He remembers his friend’s earlier words and realizes they there chosen extremely carefully.

‘Nobody invited him’, Shouto had said, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t already here. The vague ‘others’ from his text message never explicitly denied Kacchan’s attendance either.

Izuku specifically hadn’t answered any of the attempts Kacchan made to reach out to him, and Shouto has been vocal about calling Izuku a coward for it.

It seems that after Izuku’s little breakdown the other night, Shouto has decided to take things into his own hands.

Seeing that Izuku has figured out his nefarious little plot, Sho pats his shoulder in an apology that Izuku doesn’t believe for a second.

Sero is a bad influence on him.

 

“Look who we found!” Kaminari sings, pushing Kacchan into the booth next to him. Izuku is surprised when, despite his grumbling, he goes willingly.

He’s sweaty, as Kacchan tends to be, but he must’ve been here awhile according to the amount of perspiration clinging to his skin. He looks like some greased up Grecian athlete, and Izuku is mortified to find that he likes it entirely too much.

If Izuku is honest, he’s glad to be forced to interact with Kacchan. Even with the guilt fresh in his mind after that talk with his mom, he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Kacchan had braved a phone call to Aunty Mistuki for him, afterall. It’s just that it's gotten to the point where he couldn’t bring himself to reach out, the overwhelming number of missed calls and texts seem so daunting, and he’s been procrastinating returning them.

Shouto was right, he really is a coward.

 

“H-Hi, Kacchan. I, uh, didn't know you'd be here?” He tries to keep his face polite and engaging, forcing a smile.

Be normal, Izuku.

Come on, be a normal person.

Don’t mess this up.

 

Kacchan doesn’t answer immediately, seemingly deciding whether or not to ignore Izuku on principle.

Izuku would deserve it if he did.

Because Kacchan is far kinder than he pretends to be, he decides to address Izuku despite that fact.

 

“Sup, nerd.” Kacchan grunts, avoiding his eyes.

Kaminari slides in on Kacchan’s other side, followed by Mina, and finally Kirishima.

It’s a bit cramped with all eight of them in the booth, and he fights an involuntary shiver when Kacchan’s boiling hot skin presses up against him.

The cedary smell of Kacchan, the caramel of his shampoo is overtaken by a spicy, savory scent, like he’s been in some kind of greasy, spicy sauna recently.

 

“Yer a fucking icicle.” Kacchan complains, stealing his drink.

 

“Cold out there, sorry. I just came back from seeing Mom.” Izuku says softly, shrugging his shoulders in apology.

 

“Bout fucking time. She’s been losing her shit since you ghosted. Your lucky Aunty didn’t have a goddamn heart attack.” Kacchan admonishes, slamming his glass back down as if to prove his point.

Kacchan is right as always, and it’s nice that someone is finally admitting that Izuku has been insufferable lately.

His other friends baby him too much, forgiving and coddling him when he makes mistakes, but not Kacchan.

Never Kacchan.

He always keeps Izuku accountable, doesn’t sugarcoat things or side-step difficult situations.

Especially when it comes to his mother. If anyone knows how much of an angel his mother is, it’s definitely the blonde. He’d burn the world down for her if she asked him to.

That’s just one of the many things he admires about Kacchan. It makes Izuku’s heart squeeze in his chest.

“Yeah, I definitely have a lot to apologize for.” Izuku agrees heartily, not taking his eyes off Kacchanfor a second, even as the conversation moves on without them. 

He’s missed Kacchan so much, he’s almost delirious being so close all of a sudden. Izuku can feel the twitch of Kacchan’s muscles against his at the contact point between their bare arms. The salt on his skin and those fine blonde hairs are the only barrier from that impossibly smooth skin rubbing his sensitive scarring.

It's electric.

Kacchan hasn’t looked away yet, but his expression is complicated, like he’s trying to figure out a difficult equation. That small furrow between his brows is there, still, familiar and safe.

His hair is frizzier than usual, less fluffy. Those blood red eyes glare at Izuku, offering no quarter.

It’s unfair that he looks so pretty when he’s annoyed.

Even through the din, and the jostling of their friends at the table, and likely whole conversations they’re missing… it’s so intimate, like nobody else even exists at this moment.

Like it’s just the two of them again.

 

“Not gonna be easy. None of that ‘I’m sorry, Kacchan’ bullshit. You’re gonna have to work for it, Deku.” Kacchan purrs, before roughly ruffling his hair. Izukusnorts out an ugly laugh, and feels more of that weight fall off his shoulders.  

Just being near Kacchan makes the colors a little brighter, the music a little sweeter.

Izuku stares at Kacchan, and Kacchan stares back. The strobe lights scatter rainbows and fractals over Kacchan’s handsome face, sliding across his cheekbones, casting deep shadows on his strong features. After everything, Kacchan is the same. Still strong, still determined, still full of that unyielding spirit.

Izuku’s breath catches when Kacchan drags his fingers through his curls suddenly. 

 

“Is that really necessary?” Sho hums from his left, making Kacchan pull back instantly.

Izuku fights the urge to whine about it, instead he turns on his friend with a disapproving look.

“Sho.” Izuku warns, but Shouto just raises his hands in surrender. 

 

“I’m just saying, isn’t this the first conversation you two have had in weeks? Bakugou doesn’t seem like the type to touch other people like that. Your relationship must be something… special, if you can go so long without communicating and still be that close. Wouldn't you agree?” Izuku narrows his eyes, willing himself not to blush and give himself away.

Kacchan is being incredibly kind by not bringing up his avoidance, he’s still talking to him and treating him like normal, and Sho is being a jerk by embarrassing him over it.

If he keeps this up, Kacchan might never talk to him again!

“HAH?! You have something you wanna-” Kacchan starts, but Izuku doesn’t want him to have to defend their relationship in front of everyone, his heart probably couldn’t take it. Izuku grabs that sweaty hand and threads their fingers together under the table.

They can be friends that touch casually, and it doesn’t have to mean what Sho’s implying it does. They used to hold hands and nap together all the time as kids, why not now?

“Uh, what’s going on?” Kaminari asks from Kacchan’s other side.

 

“Nothing, Kaminari-kun. Sho is being mean to Kacchan, I think. I’m not totally sure why though…” Izuku says carefully, furrowing his brow at his friend, fighting to keep his heart rate from going through the roof. 

For days now he’s been under this ridiculous idea that Kacchan is in love with Izuku. Unfortunately, Izuku knows better than anyone that that isn’t true. He’s been rejected already, and he’s entitled to lick his wounds about that without having salt rubbed into them in a public setting.

 Sho is being way too obvious, right now.

“Aw don’t worry about that, our Blasty Boy is tough. I’m sure his feelings will recover. Unless you were putting the moves on ‘his nerd’, of course.” Dunce Face chortles, making air quotes and everything.  

Izuku lets Kacchan’s hand go immediately.

Shit.

He forgot about Kaminari’s weirdly perceptive meddling from the party.

A quick glance around the table, and… yeah, Izuku should’ve expected he was this transparent.

Everybody here definitely knows, if the waggling eyebrows and smug smiles are anything to go off.

Of course anyone with working eyes can tell Izuku is in love with Kacchan, it’s hardly a secret at this point.

Not that their friends know about the tearful confession he made to Kacchan during… well, after the party. If Kacchan wanted him like that, for real, it would have happened already. If their friends keep pushing the blonde over it, Izuku could lose him for good.

Izuku would rather stay casual friends than lose Kacchan completely. That much is obvious after these weeks of self-imposed isolation. If things can get back to normal, then Izuku will never say another damn word about these ridiculous feelings for Kacchan ever again.

 

That means hands to yourself, Izuku.

Kacchan seems to have a different approach, because he shoves an ice cube from Izuku’s drink down Kaminari’s shirt and smirks when the other blonde panics over it.

 “You so deserved that.” Mina grins, pointing at Kaminari with her yakitori. 

 

“Midoriya.” A familiar deep voice draws the attention of everyone at the table, and Aizawa’s eyes are focused onIzuku and Kacchan, and lingering where their arms are still pressed up against each other.

 

“Ah, sir! It’s nice to see you again.” Izuku squeaks, bowing from his seat, before looking at either side of the booth, seeing that he’s stuck for time being.

 

Oh well, he can always go under the table.

After all, Kacchan’s presence simply distracted him, this is why he’s here in the first place.

“Likewise. I heard you wanted to have a word with me. You seem preoccupied at the moment, however. Is now still a good time?” Aizawa drawls, looking bored.

“Sure! Be right back, guys.” Izuku chirps, taking the out. He slips under the table without hesitation. It’s a mass of limbs, down here, obviously, but his agility makes it no trouble at all. Aizawa leads him across the crowded bar and towards the back room.

Izuku is somehow simultaneously relieved and reluctant to leave the others. He has to fight the urge to look back.

This is the first opportunity he’s had to talk to Kacchan in seven weeks, and now that he’s gotten a taste of it again… he’s starving for more.

Izuku follows Aizawa into the back room, his nerves squirming in his abdomen.

“Well?” Aizawa sighs, somehow looking more bored than before.

“Um… well… I…” Izuku fiddles with his hands, looking anywhere but at Aizawa.  

 

“Midoriya.”

 

“IwantotrainwithyoubutIdon’twanttokillanyoneI’msorry!” The long haired man responds only with a slow blink, before settling back into the couch.

 

“Try that again. Slower this time.” He prompts, waving him to continue.

 

“I… I saw Toga-chan today. She said I needed to train with you. She made me promise that I would. But there’s something that I don’t… understand. From what I’ve gathered… you’ve been training her too, right?”

 

“Yes.” It’s a curt response, but Izuku expected as much.

 

“Training her to… to kill people?” He whispers.

 

“Yes.” Izuku expected that too.

 

“Why?”

 

And that’s the one question that matters.

 

Because to be honest, Izuku has been thinking about this a lot over the past seven weeks.

Thinking about it so much, in fact, that he was forgetting birthdays and not answering phone calls.

 

Could Izuku intentionally kill another person?

 

Because now that he’s actually faced death, he’s not sure that he can. Izuku still has nightmares of Dr. Toshinori’s vacant eyes, or Dr. Sasaki’s pained noise when he threw him over his shoulder.

And those were accidents.

How much worse would it be if he killed people on purpose?

Is it even truly possible to be a hero, in the way Izuku once dreamed of? Back when his perception of the world was akin to a kindergartner playing pretend?

 

Wasn't the act of killing someone antithetical to heroism?

 

He read several essays on the topic, and notated extensively in at least two journals, but he still can’t get rid of that little four-year old in his head screaming that it’s wrong.

 

A hero is supposed to save.

That’s the job description, isn’t it?

Any situation where you do not save someone is failure, by design.

So, there has to be a way to save everyone.

 

Sure, there were people he had to fight or had to apprehend, like Stain, but in those moments it had been about survival.

 

That was different.

 

See, Izuku has a pretty good idea why someone like Kacchan would kill another person, especially after investigating the bodies he’s been blamed for.

After all, it’s the most logical and permanent way to solve the problem. Removing them from the world before they can hurt others.

Justice.

Victory.

‘Beating the bad guys’ has been Kacchan’s modus operandi since he was four. Even when they were playing make believe as kids, their games were a constant war against cartoon enemies that Kacchan could commit zany violence against and save the day.

 

It makes sense.

 

Izuku doesn’t have anything against that.

But internally he’s struggling with the concept applying to him.

 

But what’s the alternative?

 

Even if he came face-to-face with Touya Todoroki tomorrow...

What would Izuku do about it?

 

When the police system is disproportionately hateful towards people of color?

Towards gay or trans people?

Towards children?

Towards people who are disabled?

 

The heroes that were supposed to protect people, to be the heroes of justice, were actually the ones committing crimes against those people behind closed doors this whole time.

The police can’t be trusted to be impartial, to follow the letter of the law. The ones designed to protect were the ones that needed to be defended against.

 

How does he confront that, when so much of Izuku’s life had been dedicated to that lie?

 

When he was small, his worldview was so different. The world was both infinite and comically small.

Izuku wanted to be a hero.

He wanted to save people who needed help. He wanted to save people with a smile and give people hope.

Easy, right?

 

But that’s not reality.

Not at all.

 

The reality is that the system is not broken, it is functioning exactly as it was intended to, to take advantage of those who have the least.

And maybe that perspective is what he’s having such a hard time with, compared to Kacchan.

 

His friends, Tenya, Shouto, and Kacchan too, they were from a completely different world.

Where just their names were enough to open doors that Izuku or Hitoshi or Toga or Ochako could never have pried open with all their might.

That comes with it’s own baggage, of course. Tenya’s distrust of Hitoshi, Tensei’s ‘accident’, Kacchan’s rough treatment of others in middle school, Shouto’s forced isolation… all symptoms of a system set up to benefit the few, regardless of the victims it left behind.

 

Take the incident at Aldera, for example.

Despite the optics of it all… Kacchan was never once blamed. Isn’t that… bad?

Of course, Izuku is glad that Kacchan never had to worry about the repercussions of that incident! He knows better than anyone that it really was an accident, just an unfortunate accident, but part of him wonders.

 

What would have happened had the roles been reversed?

If Kacchan had been the one to fall, would the teachers have assumed it was Izuku’s fault? Would they have shipped Kacchan off to mandatory therapy for his ‘attempt’ like they had Izuku?

 

Or what if he’d actually confessed the way he wanted to, and completely different bullies had shoved him off the roof for it? For being gay?

 

Would he have been just another unfortunate case hidden in the footnotes of a file?

Would the system have cared at all?

Would his story be another twisted by the police, by the media?

 

Someone like Touya? Like Toga? Like Magne? Like Jin? Like Hitoshi? Like Shouto? Like Eri?

 

People who should have been protected.

People who were vulnerable, by no fault of their own.

 

Who could have saved them?

What could have?

Ripping the weed out by the root, for the good of the flower bed?

 

He knows that when it comes down to it, some people were better off gone, he could begrudgingly agree to that.

And yet…

 

Izuku still isn’t sure.

So maybe Kacchan has a point.

Maybe Toga and Aizawa have a point.

Maybe if he understood, then he could decide.

Anything to quell the revulsion at the idea of killing someone instead of saving them.

 

So that’s why he has to know.

 

Izuku chews at his bottom lip.

 

“I… want to help people. Save people. I don’t want to take someone’s life.” He admits, looking down at the floor.

 

“Then don’t.”

 

“But it feels like killing is the only option?” He asks Aizawa, whose staring at him.

 

“It isn’t. But it is an option.” Aizawa corrects tiredly, scratching lazily at his chin.

 

“I don’t understand!” Izuku groans, pacing the length of the room, tugging at his lip.

 

“Think of it this way. Murder can be just another tool in your belt, but it’s not the only one. You wouldn’t use a screwdriver where a hammer suffices, right?” The older man asks, following Izuku’s awkward shuffling.

 

“… Right. But how does that apply to this?” Izuku runs his fingers through his hair, threading his fingers behind his head, still pacing.

 

“Having the skills necessary to defend yourself and others is the point of all this. That’s why I want to help you. Why Toga sent you here. Why Katsuki is doing the same. But don’t judge yourself based on the actions of others. There is no universal ‘right answer’ to the question you’re asking, and you’ll drive yourself crazy trying to force there to be one. Just do your best.” Aizawa reasons.

 

“Do my best? That’s it?” Izuku parrots, obviously frustrated.

 

“That’s all anyone else is doing. What did you expect? We’re only human.”

 

Izuku pauses.

 

Logically, he knew that.

But the idea that nobody truly knows what they’re doing, not Aizawa, not Toga, not Kacchan… that everyone is just out there trying their best, it makes him feel a little bit better.

 

Of course.

 

Comparison was the problem, not the solution.

Kacchan is so confident, so decisive, that Izuku just assumed he was doing what was right. But when has Kacchan ever been unsure?

 

“Huh. I… think that actually helps.” Izuku admits, somewhat surprised.

 

“Glad to be of service.” Aizawa says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

 

“I want to train with you… but I have another mission I need to finish first.” He says softly, beginning to pace once more. Aizawa watches him, waiting for him to continue speaking.

 

So he does.

 

If Izuku wanted to save people? Then he would.

Simple as that.

Starting with Eri.

 

He tells the older man all about that frightened little girl, about the creepy yakuza man hiding her from the world, about the bandages on her arms and legs, about Toga’s infiltration of the organization. About the plan that’s been percolating in the back of his brain since he got that text earlier.

 

“This is serious, kid. What you’re planning, it’s dangerous. Reckless, even.” Aizawa scolds, folding his arms in front of his chest.

 

“I know, sir.” Izuku smiles ruefully, scratching the back of his head.

 

“… and I’m assuming nothing I can say will talk you out of it?”

 

Izuku shakes his head.

Aizawa sighs, his head falling into his hands.

 

“What can I do to help? What do you need?”

 

“Um… Not much. Keep Kacchan busy, I guess? Distract him or something?” Izuku stutters out, wringing his hands together.

 

“Kacchan? Are you talking about Bakugou?” Aizawa smirks, his lazy countenance replaced with a shark who smells blood in the water. Izuku’s face heats up, avoiding the other man’s eyes.

 

“Uh… Yeah. We… uh, g-grew up together.” He mutters under his breath.

 

“Then why am I keeping him busy?” Aizawa asks seriously, all amusement and interest wiped from his face. “I don’t enjoy playing silly games, Midoriya. I also don’t make a habit out of lying.”

 

“I’m sorry… I just… I need to do this on my own. Toga and I can handle this together, but I can’t have him getting involved. If Kacchan knew… well, there’s no way he’d let me go alone.” Izuku admits sheepishly.

 

“You’re right about that. Have you considered that he could be useful? He may have a foul mouth and an even worse temper, but he’s talented. Maybe he’d surprise you?” Aizawa asks with a raised brow.

 

“… I have considered it. Nobody trusts Kacchan more than I do, sir. It’s not about his skill or anything like that, honest. I have to prove that I’m not still the useless nerd he thinks I am. I don’t need protecting. I want him to see me as an equal. I want to prove to him that I can be a hero.”

 

Aizawa doesn’t answer immediately. He just sits there, processing the words. It almost spooks Izuku out of his skin when Aizawa speaks again, face now hidden behind a dark curtain of hair.

 

“I’ll keep him busy as best I can, but no promises. That problem child never listens to me, anyway.” Aizawa grumbles, but doesn’t argue with Izuku.

 

“Thank you, sir.” He says sincerely, bowing.

 

“Get out of here. I’m sure he’s still around here somewhere.” Aizawa sighs, dismissing him with a wave.

Izuku smiles, and exits the room, back into the stuffy bar.

 

People are still milling around, but Shouto and Kacchan are missing from the table. There’s a panicky feeling in his stomach, a chill on the back of his neck.

 

Something is wrong.

 

He frowns, trying to weave between bodies to get back to ask the others where the other two have gone, when someone grabs his wrist.

Izuku stops mid-step, and that’s… odd.

It takes a lot of weight to prevent him from moving, a huge amount of strength to keep him pinned to one spot.

 

Who…?

 

He’s tugged into someone’s arms to dance, and when he looks up, it’s into the bloodshot eyes of Shigaraki, grinning with chapped lips down at him.

 

“There you are. We’ve been looking for you, little hero. What luck that we’d find you in a place like this! Feels like there's something to it… something like fate, or destiny.” Shigaraki purrs.

The blue haired man hasn’t changed much from their last meeting here, though somehow he looks even worse. His appearance is haggard, the veins even more prominent under his thin skin. He smells like… chocolate, which might’ve been nice if it weren’t also somehow metallic and coppery.

The hand still gripping at Izuku’s wrist moves his hand to rest on Shigaraki’s shoulder. When he lets go, Izuku sees that he has dried blood under his fingernails.

 

Disgust snakes around in Izuku’s gut.

That acute feeling of danger amps up behind his ears.

 

“Shigaraki. Haven’t seen you around in a minute.” Izuku says in a clipped tone, flicking his eyes left and right to gauge the situation.

 

He’s lost in a sea of gyrating couples, and though there’s a few inches between them, Izuku swears he feels ghostly hands all over him.

 

“Well, from your perspective, we haven't seen each other since before the USJ fire, huh? You’ve certainly been… busy. Oh, and don't make a fuss, okay? Act natural, like we’re old friends.” Shigaraki rasps, sliding his hands down to Izuku’s waist to keep him close.

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Izuku bites out, fighting the urge to wretch.

 

“Why don’t we talk as we dance? We’ve brought you something… special.” Shigaraki chuckles mirthfully, his red eyes promising something awful.

Izuku raises both eyebrows, trying to force himself into looking nonchalant.

 

“Oh? Something like the last… “gift”, you gave me?” He asks conversationally.

 

“Something like that!” Shigaraki croons, and in the dim lighting, broken only by flashing strobes, Izuku swears he sees something dark curling around the man, tender like a lover.

One thin, curling wisp of inky blackness twines around Izuku’s gnarled fingers splayed over Shigaraki’s chest. It almost reminds him of Black Whip.

He bites back a shudder when he feels something small and plastic be slid under his palm.

 

Another flash drive.

 

Izuku closes his hand around it, with a nod.

He moves to pull away, but the darkness doesn’t dissolve, and his hand remains stuck to the other man’s chest, it doesn’t move a millimeter.

 

“Now, now. The last delivery was a gift, this one… however… requires payment.” Shigaraki leers, bringing his face closer to Izuku’s. There’s only a few inches between their noses, and Izuku fights the urge to rear back.

 

“Define payment.” Izuku glares, all imitation of politeness bleeding away.

 

“Nothing as tasteless as you’re thinking. We have no use for money or anything equally common.” Shigaraki dismisses, pulling back to illustrate the point with a roll of his eyes. “We just want to ask a few questions, Izuku Midoriya. Information for information, so to speak.”

 

Izuku couldn’t deny that did sound fair.

He thinks back to the first flash drive, and the value of the information it contained.

 

What secrets does this drive have in store for him?

 

“… What do you want to know?” Izuku asks suspiciously, following Shigaraki’s lead as they sway to the music, all thumping bass and writhing bodies.

 

“Tell us, Izuku Midoriya, the little hero, so just and noble. What meaning is there in killing without conviction?” Shigaraki asks conversationally, as if talking about the weather.

 

“… Psychopathy.” Izuku grits out. The ghostly hands continue to curl around his limbs, but he doesn’t want to give Shigaraki the satisfaction of a reaction.

 

“How disappointing. We thought you might’ve realized how empty things really are, by now. Oh well. Next question.” Shigaraki whispers against his ear, “What exactly did you see the night of the USJ fire?”

Izuku inhales sharply, and chews on the words.

 

“That’s a long story.” He warns, watching Shigaraki’s lascivious grin from the corner of his eye.

 

“Perhaps you’re right. We’re not interested in the NPC’s. Tell us about the man in the screen.” Shigaraki croons quietly, the whisper of lips in Izuku’s ear causing him to shiver in revulsion.

 

“I… don’t know what you mean.” He lies, remembering the disgusting man in the mask taunting Dr. Toshinori as he died.

He feels Shigaraki chuckle under his palm.

 

“Don’t you? Though we don’t blame you for not wanting to discuss it here of all places. Too many players in the lobby. When you’re ready to talk, you know how how to get a hold of us.” Shigaraki sighs, and Izuku feels his hand pull away from Shigaraki’s chest, no longer stuck. The ghostly hands disappear, and they are just two people standing still in the throngs of dancing bodies once more.

 

The drive remains in his palm, but Izuku isn’t naive enough to think that means a damn thing.

 

“If you’re giving this up so easily, then there must be another password, isn’t there? Like the last one.” Izuku accuses, only to watch the cracked skin of Shigaraki’s lips peel further apart as the man smiles.

 

“Of course. It contains some rather salacious information on it, we couldn’t let just anyone get their filthy hands on it, now could we? Wonder how long it’ll take you to break the encryption…” He muses, clearly doubtful that Izuku would be successful.

 

“ What’s on it?” Iz u k u can’t help but ask, and the delight in Shigaraki’s eyes makes him physically nauseou s.

 

“What you have there, it will expose just how fragile all that ‘justice’ stuff really is. Don’t say we didn’t warn you, little hero.” Shigaraki hums, pulling away from him.

 

Izuku looks down at the piece of plastic in his hands, noting that it’s teal instead of red, but when he looks back up again… but Shigaraki is already gone. Like he was never there in the first place.

 

No matter how he strains his hearing, he can’t hear the raspy breathing of the blue-haired man.

The feeling of danger slowly ebbs, but the disgust lingers on his skin.

The drive feels dirty in his palm.

 

Izuku leaves without saying goodbye to the others.

 

---

 

Izuku does not reach out to Kacchan after Valentine’s Day, despite his promises to his mother, but this time there’s a real reason he’s trying to keep his distance.

 

Shigaraki clearly knows about the Taskmaster All for One, Dr. Toshinori’s nemesis. He’s unstable and dangerous. Spending time with Kacchan would put a target on his back, if there isn’t one there already, and Izuku knows himself.

He definitely isn’t strong enough to stay away from Kacchan if they started texting or speaking over the phone. Any attempt at protecting the blonde will be seen as pity.

 

So that’s why it’s better this way.

Just until Izuku gets some answers.

This is the last time he’ll avoid Kacchan, he swears.

 

He just needs time.

 

For now, Izuku is much too busy trying to break the encryption, and staking out the Shie Hassaikai with Toga to think about it too much anyways. Unfortunately, it seems Shigaraki was right to be as confident as he was, because Izuku is unable to do so.

 

Shouto tries as well, but to no avail.

 

He suggests Izuku try to ask OFA to do it, but the idea of introducing a new program to the suit, without any idea of what’s on it?

When Shigaraki is mysteriously connected to the Taskmaster All for One? The one who is obviously willing to kill for access to the program?

 

It’s far too risky.

 

Especially when Izuku doesn’t have access to the University labs anymore to undo whatever damage the suit might sustain.

 

So for now, the drive just taunts him.

Whatever information resides on that drive is currently out of his reach.

 

Toga’s investigation into where exactly the Shie Hassaikai is keeping the young girl is still ongoing. Izuku spends most nights loitering around the compound, which from the outside looks like a normal estate for this side of town. Underneath, however, is an impressive underground bunker system.

Eri is being held somewhere in the lowest levels of the compound, if Toga’s intel is correct. Somewhere behind several locked doors, labyrinthine corridors, and of course, the watchful protection of the current interim head of the organization: Chisaki Kai.

Toga’s knife skills have gained the attention of more senior members of the organization since her initiation, leading to more respect and responsibility within it.

 

Even so, she’s only seen maybe a third of the full facility.

 

It’s much too dangerous to sneak listening devices in, they found that out the hard way. Toga had attempted to wear a wire at one point, but another member had gotten caught wearing a tap for the police and was… disposed of with extreme prejudice. Outgoing signals can’t penetrate the reinforced concrete walls of the Shie Hassaikai past the third level anyway, suggesting some kind of jammer is being used around there. So it wasn’t worth the risk to try and transmit any. They mutually agreed not to test their luck.

 

Luckily Izuku’s advanced hearing let’s him hear a decent distance. It doesn’t extend past the fifth or sixth level, though, where some kind of drug manufacturing takes place. At that depth, Izuku has to fully concentrate to discern the sounds, which means they’re no closer to determining Eri’s precise location.

After the informant was killed, Toga decided to communicate exclusively through coded messages. The burners from before have gone dark, but thankfully OFA has a secured line that ties in to the grid.

 

Speaking of, whatever happened to pay phones?

 

Most of the messages are just a few short lines, relaying him with Toga’s mission status and current location. They haven’t sent her out into the field more than a handful of times, but Izuku knows better than to ask about the specifics of the missions.

It’s better if he doesn’t know what they’re having her do.

 

By monitoring the facility, Izuku has been able to analyze the structure of the organization and make a few deductions.

 

1. The man in charge, Chisaki Kai, is certifiably insane. Despite his temporary governance of the syndicate, he has complete authority over the Shie Hassaikai. Many are fearful or skeptic of the despot, and lament not leaving when they had the chance. The rumors about his obsessive compulsive tendencies aside, he commits homicide easily and often, for even perceived slights against the organization. The sanitation crew are battle worn at this point, and one of the most efficient cells.

 

2. Eri is definitely being abused, though the exact form in which it takes remains to be seen. While Izuku hasn’t once heard the girl’s voice, he has heard chatter between the other members of the organization. They gossip about her condition, and the various odd tasks requested by the young head. Many speculate whether Eri’s purpose is… stress relief, for the unhinged man in charge.

While his appetite for violence is scary enough, Toga worries that his predation on the young girl is taking other more disgusting forms as well. Her bathing routines are both exhaustive and frequent, according to the chatter. Toga insists it makes sense for a germaphobe to be particular about the cleanliness of his toys.

Izuku has to fight the urge to vomit when he thinks about it for too long.

 

3. Toga is highly skilled. Whatever Aizawa taught her, he did a damn good job. She infiltrates the group easily, working her way up the ranks quickly. Izuku barely recognizes her when she speaks, like she’s become a completely different person. He listens as she switches between personalities, accents, manners of speech, all effortlessly. Anyone who meets her trusts her immediately, for better or worse.

 

4. The guards switch out constantly, but there are several elite members of the organization that report directly to Chisaki. These include two administrative heads, and an action squad colloquially called The Eight Bullets.

The other authorities within the Shie Hassaikai include:

 

Hari Kurono, codename Chronostasis, is second-in-command, and apparently a man of few words. Izuku has only heard his voice a handful of times. Kurono is loyal and constantly shadowing the Head.

Joi Irinaka, codename Mimic, is the general manager and treasurer for the organization. Unlike Kurono, Mimic is boisterously loud and aggressive, constantly espousing his support for Chisaki, and the former Boss. He's unfortunately vocal, and disseminates mission assignments, so Toga has run into him several times. She's not a fan. 

The Eight Bullets are not much better, really, just a collection of characters who thrive in the underbelly of the yakuza, and whose loyalty to the current regime is pretty much guaranteed. 

The other members of the Shie Hassaikai, however, are a very different story.

Izuku hears a lot over his stakeouts, and much he wishes he hadn’t. Between the rounds of torture happening somewhere within, he hears conversations. Snippets.

He is appalled to learn that the members of the fearsome Shie Hassakaikai yakuza cell are just… people. People in horrible situations, some who have made horrific choices in some cases, but the initiation efforts pushed by Chisaki mainly prey on homeless youth and those at-risk of homelessness.

 

“Who else would take trash like you, huh? Why don’t you throw your lot in with us? You’d get food, you wanna eat, kid?” A raspy voice asks, not unkindly.

Izuku thinks he recognizes the voice as Yu Hojo, one of the Eight Bullets, thankfully one of the more 'reasonable' members.

 

“… yeah. ‘m hungry. C-could I have a bed, too?” A male voice far, far too young asks hesitantly.

 

“Course, kid. Not gonna be free, though, you gotta work to earn your keep. You scared of a little hard work?” The voice continues, scratching something on a piece of paper.

 

“No, sir.” The mousy voice replies quietly.

 

“Aw, lookit them manners. You’ll do just fine kid. Hey, Setsuno, why don’t you take this one?” Hojo grunts, and a bored sigh answers.

 

“Fine. Don’t know where this trash keeps comin’ from. Haven’t seen this much fresh meat in ages!” Another voice whines.

 

Izuku noticed that too, and it wasn't hard to figure out where exactly all these newcomers were coming from. It appears, in the wake of Captain Todoroki’s cruel policies, that the Yakuza has it’s pick of the proverbial litter.

Captain Todoroki’s push to criminalize homelessness, and his aggressive raids of places like the League, have led many new recruits into the arms of the syndicate. Izuku hears the quiet confessions of fathers attempting to keep a roof over their children’s heads, of drug addicts who were turned away from treatment centers, and more harrowing histories from more disenfranchised recruits.

 

How many of these so-called villains ended up here not by a desire to inflict harm, but out of desperation?

 

Outside of the yakuza, the city seems to wait with baited breath for the spark that will light the next fire.

Hitoshi’s radio show is still doing well, though Izuku doesn’t have the time to listen as much, since his ears are otherwise occupied.

From what he does hear though, Hitoshi continues to champion Izuku’s masked persona on the air waves, despite the continued media attacks against him. Speculative stories have drummed up panic in Tokyo, a fear of Izuku in particular that the lilac-haired teen is attempting to combat. He crowd funds through the station, offering mutual aid and support for his listeners too. Nobody is immune to change in the air, though it seems for the worse.

Poverty is on the rise, and more recruits find themselves at the door of the yakuza, much to Izuku’s chagrin.

 

That’s not the only blow to Izuku’s ego, however.

 

Kacchan seems to be unable to take the hint, and has been following Izuku under the cover of night for days now. It isn’t too terribly hard to avoid the tenacious blonde, especially with OFA warning him of his pursuer more often than not.

Between Izuku’s mobility and his careful use of camouflage mode at just the right moment, Izuku tends to escape Kacchan’s watchful eye. He’s not stupid enough to think that will last forever, though. Kacchan seems to have tapped into that old Deku-sensor he used to have in middle school.

In a city as large as this one, it’s hardly fair that Kacchan is able to sniff him out so annoyingly well, night after night.

 

Admittedly, feeling Kacchan’s eyes on him gives Izuku some strange sort of pride. That Kacchan thinks he’s worth watching, that he cares enough to tail him at all. It reminds him of the chase before the confrontation on the night of the USJ fire, and though the memory is far from a pleasant one, he can’t deny it’s a rush.

It tingles up his spine, tickling the curls that lay pressed flat against his neck.

 

Chase. Run. Compete. Win.

 

He fights the feeling.

Izuku has to keep ignoring him, has to pretend he doesn’t even know Kacchan is there. It’s easier that way.

Now is not the time to drool and obsess over Kacchan. He has a mission, and that mission currently requires he not be caught.

 

Sorry, Kacchan.

Just wait a little longer for me.

 

---

 

It’s a beautiful day, Spring on the horizon as February draws to a close, March promising cool rain in its stead. The snow has melted, and every day the buds on the trees poke out just a bit more. The sky is a gorgeous azure, with puffy delicate clouds rolling peacefully across the midday sun.

 

He’s halfway down the street, on the way to see Ochako at the safe house, when he sees it.

 

The bright blue blaze burning Mikado shopping plaza to the ground.

 

He’s running towards it before he can even consider his promise to Shouto.

He’ll just have to apologize another time.

Because right now?

It’s time to be a hero.

 

Hundreds of people pour from the entrance to the shopping center, and Izuku merges into the stampede to slip into a nearby alley. It takes no time at all to pull on the suit, thankful the biometric case fits in his torn yellow backpack.

 

“OFA, what’s the best way to get in from here?” Izuku asks quietly, surveying the alley.

 

“There is a maintenance entrance on the West side of the building, but camera footage shows it has been tampered with.” Yoichi’s voice answers diligently, bringing up grainy security footage of the side door, which has been barricaded.

 

Izuku wastes no time crossing the alley and climbing the adjacent buildings to get there.

As expected, the side entrance is blocked with cinder blocks, but under Izuku’s steady hands they’re all too easily flung to the side. The door belches thick plumes of foul smoke the second the obstruction is cleared, allowing several civilians to finally push through. They startle when they see him, likely fearing his involvement in their current predicament. Izuku reaches for them anyways with comforting but firm hands, shouting instructions.

 

“Come on, this way! Stay calm, wait for medical personnel to arrive!” He directs the coughing patrons of the mall towards the main strip. From here, Izuku can see flashes of movement, people scurrying and running to escape the inferno raging in the building. The screams and sobs claw at him like he’s stuck a blender in his ears.

 

“M-my… my mother!” A young woman hacks and coughs, clutching onto the front of his suit desperately. “Please, she’s elderly! She-she needs… help…”

Izuku coaxes her to release her strangle hold on the fabric, but lets her rest his palm on his chest, hoping the steady beat of his heart will calm her.

 

“I will find your mother, but I need you to tell me: where did you see her last?” Izuku asks in a calm but firm tone of voice, demonstrating a less frantic breathing pace for her to mimic.

 

“The… uh… the 315 store, I think?” She sobs, but tries to match his breathing.

Thank goodness for Shouto. His calming techniques seem to be coming in handy.

 

“The 315 store is on the third level, on the Southwestern side of the building. All internal cameras have been disabled, so I am unable to locate her.” OFA reports, before he can even ask.

 

That’s been happening a lot more lately.

After their experience at the USJ, OFA has been less engaging with him, less talkative. In fact, the voice has remained largely silent, though the suit continued to perform as expected.

Since the stakeouts around the Shie Hassaikai, however, OFA has been responding without a direct command more often than not. Sometimes Izuku attempts to ask questions, or make requests, and just won’t get a response.

Only to receive answers to questions he hasn’t asked yet.

 

No time to argue with OFA.

 

Izuku ducks into the open door, squinting in reflex against the thick dark smoke, though the goggles protect his eyes from burning. The filter in the mask is working to keep his lungs clear, but he still tastes the char in the air.

Being back in the blaze is more difficult than he thought it would be, honestly. Izuku fights the flashes of his past experiences, of the flames that consumed that apartment building, and the acrid smoke in the stairwells of the USJ, and tries to focus on the present.

Thankfully the interior is largely open, allowing more visibility than he expected. The center of the building is a large bazaar with overlapping booths, and the upper levels are exposed, accessible by a series of escalators that now remain stationary.

The flames encroach from the north side, catching booths and storefronts on fire as it moves. It’s almost deserted, many of the able-bodied patrons already in the process of escaping, Izuku can hear them bottle-necked at the main entrance, stampeding through the open doors. Merchandise burns around him, but Izuku pushes through the aisles before taking the steps of the nearest escalator three at a time.

 

When he finally reaches the third floor, the smoke is significantly worse up here, as expected.

 

“OFA, where-” Izuku starts, trying to squint through the darkness to spy the signage, but he’s quickly cut off.

 

“Follow this path for thirty feet, then take a sharp left, then another 15 feet.” Yoichi says quickly.

 

Izuku frowns, biting his tongue.

 

Later.

He can yell at the AI, later.

For now, Izuku follows the directions and sees the hazy pink of the sign through the smoke.

There he spots the elderly woman collapsed on the floor, and he’s at her side in the next breath. She’s unresponsive, but fortunately still breathing, if only barely. Her heartbeat is thready, and thumping erratically. She’s gathered up into his arms a second later, and Izuku quickly rushes back the way he came, princess carrying the older woman.

He ducks to avoid falling debris, hugging the woman tightly against his chest to protect her face from any particulates.

When he finally reaches the side entrance he kicks it open, and the fresh cool air almost hurts more than the smoke had.

 

“Mom!” The woman sobs, tripping over her own feet in her haste as she rushes to him.

The old woman is frail and light, practically weightless to Izuku, but he estimates she still weighs at least a hundred or so pounds.

 

“Can you carry her to the main road?” Izuku asks seriously, and the woman nods hesitantly after a second of thought.

Izuku gently transitions the woman to her daughter’s arms, tucking the older woman’s arms around her neck. She sags a bit with the added weight, but grits her teeth and stands shakily.

 

“Th-thank you.” She whispers, tears carving lines in the soot on her face. Her eyes shine with gratitude, and it’s so different to the eyes of fear and distrust he’s been used to lately, that he almost chokes up.

 

“Anytime.” Izuku smiles, before jerking his chin at the main road. “Now go, she needs medical attention and I need to see if anyone else is still inside.”

She nods and moves away, but Izuku doesn’t stick around to watch. He is already drawing a deep, clear breath before ducking through the door once more.

Unlike the previous fires, which were all set at night, this was the middle of the day. It’s an escalation for sure. The chances of innocent bystanders getting hurt has jumped dramatically, but luckily it seems that almost everyone had immediately rushed for the exits as soon as the smoke alarms went off.

 

Guess hyper vigilance is good for one thing at least.

 

The retreating footsteps and clamor have subsided, indicating that the delay at the entrance has been sorted already.

 

As Izuku moves through the smoldering wreckage, he hears a strange rasping noise.

 

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Izuku calls, trying to wave the smoke out of his line of sight. He’s on the second floor, trying to move under the fog, clearing the various stalls.

 

“… p… elp…”

 

Izuku freezes in place.

The voice is incredibly faint.

 

“I’m here to help, is anyone there?” He tries again, straining his ears to pick up the noise above the crackling of the flames below.

 

“… help…”

 

Izuku whips his head around.

That voice is not coming from here, not even in this direction.

It’s coming from down below.

 

“Hold on, I’m coming! Can you tell me where you are?” Izuku yells, narrowly avoiding a support falling and crashing right where he had been standing a second prior. His lungs are beginning to burn now, hanging over the ledge that drops to the lower floors.

 

“… help…” He hears sniffling, and spies a man crawling from a turned over wheelchair clear across the chasm. Izuku remembers the idle thoughts he had at the USJ with painful clarity.

 

… people who can’t take the stairs. 

Would they just have to sit and wait? 

 

Izuku fights the panic that erupts the moment he realizes the man’s legs were actively on fire.

 

“I’m coming!” He calls, launching Black Whip to swing over to the man faster.

He hears OFA a second too late.

 

“Ceiling supports are not sturdy enough, disengage.”

 

Unfortunately, as always, OFA was correct.

The structure wasn’t secure enough for that move, and Izuku plummets to the ground when the ceiling support caves. He crashes through a display case, before landing with a sickening thump. He hears the crack of his wrist nozzle when he makes contact.

 

“Damage diagnostics show that Black Whip is nonfunctional, mechanical repairs are required to use this function.” OFA informs him quietly, seeming reluctant to do so.

 

Izuku’s vision blurs and he groans, his head spinning. Glass tinkles around him as he rolls himself out of the wreckage.

He drags himself out of the debris, before teetering on his feet. The vertigo is awful, his balance nonexistent as he sways in place. His vision doubles for a moment before he hears the man screaming.

 

Oh no.

Not again.

 

Izuku stumbles to the escalators again, before taking a shaky jump that allows him to catch the ledge the man writhes behind. Izuku falls to his knees as soon as he’s close enough, and begins patting out the flames as soon as he arrives. He fights the tears stinging in his own eyes as the man howls in pain.

 

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” He chants brokenly, as he works. The man is still moaning when Izuku manages to extinguish the flames, but the damage is… severe.

More pieces of the building are falling away as the fire spreads, and Izuku feels the heat boiling at his back. He gathers the man in his arms and drags him onto his back, latching his hands under the man’s thighs only to hear him wail when he makes contact. The flesh feels… loose and squishy under his touch, almost dripping between his gloved fingers. Izuku wants to readjust, but the second he tries, a large chunk of ceiling nearly crushes them both.

 

“OFA. Out. How do I-” Izuku groans, his head still swimming.

 

“There is an unobstructed stairwell to your left. It is reinforced as an emergency exit, and empties at the South side of the building.” OFA responds immediately, cutting off the rest of the question.

Izuku decides he doesn’t care about OFA not listening, about assuming his requests before he can finish them.

He doesn’t care at all.

He’s too busy limping towards the stairwell, pushing through the door with his hip, suppressing a sob at the familiarity of it all.

A man crying into his back, a man he failed, another stairwell in an inferno, it’s so familiar he can almost hear…

 

“Young Midoriya, you have to keep going. You cannot stop. Keep going. Get up.” Dr. Toshinori’s fatherly voice echoes in his head.

Izuku sobs, forcing himself to pull away from the wall where he’d nearly collapsed.

The flight of stairs feels unforgivably long, he’s just lucky going down is far easier than going up. When Izuku makes it to the bottom, and through the emergency exit, the bright light sears his eyes even through the goggles.

There’s shouting, screaming, crying, the shutter of camera lenses, and the wails of sirens.

 

He doesn’t remember much of what happens after that.

 

---

 

“So it’s broken?” Shouto asks slowly, wiping Izuku’s face with a wet rag.

 

“Yeah.” Izuku sighs, wincing at the sting of the rag across a cut across his cheek.

 

“… what are you going to do? It’s not like you can take it back to the labs.” Shouto asks softly, dabbing at the cut with a cotton ball. The smell of alcohol is burning and noxious in Izuku’s nostrils.

Reminds him of that night in the lab.

The kiss.

The smell of alcohol dissipating into the air.

 

And he thought that had been the worst night of his life?

 

How pathetically short sighted.

 

“I don’t know.” Izuku whispers, letting his eyes close.

 

“Izuku… have you considered that maybe this… might be a sign?” Shouto asks cautiously, pulling away.

 

Izuku opens his eyes to look into worried blue and grey.

 

“… a sign of what, exactly?” Izuku asks acerbically, glowering at the pity in Shouto’s expression.

 

“That maybe all of this has gone too far? Maybe you should just give up the hero thing for awhile. Just until things calm down a bit. The news are crucifying you right now, Izuku. It’s on every single channel.” He says quietly, avoiding Izuku’s eyes.

That’s a funny way of saying Izuku’s failure to save that guy was currently being picked apart by every viewer in Japan. Apparently the man was already dead by the time Izuku got to the bottom floor.

 

Izuku pushes Shouto away with more force than he probaby should have.

 

“What are you trying to say, Shouto? Just say it.”

 

“I’m saying that if I hadn’t grabbed your bag from that alley, everyone would have known who you were. Your wallet was in there, your identification, your phone. You were one lousy pickpocket away from being caught!” Shouto hisses, tossing the tweezers into the bowl with the rest of the glass shards from his back. It clangs against the metal, reverberating through the room.

 

Izuku rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his soot stained chest.

 

“I’m sorry you had to come bail me out, is that what you want to hear?”

 

“No, it isn’t.” Shouto growls. “You swore you wouldn’t go charging into any more fires, but then you did it anyways! You barely made it out! Without the suit, I mean, can you even-”

 

“Can. I. What?”

 

“Can you really be a hero without the suit? Without Black Whip?” Shouto asks icily, glaring at Izuku with an intensity that had never been directed at him before.

 

“Oh, I see. I’m nothing without your suit, right? Without the suit you bought me, I’m nothing. Might as well not even try! You still think I’m weak. That I’m useless.” Izuku laughs without humor, the venom dripping off his words.

 

“What? No, that’s not- Izuku!”

 

It’s too late, Izuku is already on his feet, tugging the mask down over his face, snatching his backpack off the couch, and pushing through the balcony door before Shouto can finish.

 

“I heard you, Todoroki, loud and clear.” He says without looking back.

 

“Izuku, wait!”

 

Izuku isn’t listening.

 

Even without Black Whip, he has other methods of getting around, and he uses them to jump off the balcony, leaving Shouto behind.

 

---

 

He doesn’t go back to Shouto’s apartment after that.

Not when the sun sets, nor when it rises again.

 

Shouto calls, but Izuku ignores them.

Everyone else got the hint eventually, this will be no different.

 

Sure, maybe it’s more annoying to get around without Black Whip, but far from impossible. At least now he doesn’t have to worry about being back by a certain time, doesn’t have to worry about waking Shouto, doesn’t have to worry about anything at all, really.

It frees up more time to watch the Shie Hassaikai. During the day he takes naps on rooftops, tucked behind air conditioners, in the evenings he jumps across the city and listens in on the yakuza.

He tries to fix Black Whip, but he’s not the least bit successful. Using scrap metal and the few hand tools he left back at his Mom’s to try and patch the mechanism works about as well as one would expect.

Part of Izuku wishes he’d just left his gear the way it was. Sure it was crappy and thrown together and ugly, but at least he could’ve gotten it patched up with what he could find lying around.

Now, though, the components are too delicate, too sophisticated for something like that. Izuku would need a welding torch at minimum, not to mention other materials and tools he doesn’t have easy access to, at the moment.

It’s infuriating how useless all this fancy tech is if he can’t even fix it when it breaks.

 

What if Shouto was right?

What if Izuku can’t do this?

 

He’s never hated the suit before.

But he does now.

 

He wished he could do anything without this damn suit clinging to his skin like a greedy ex.

 

“He’s watching you again.” OFA sighs.

Izuku sighs too.

 

Ignoring him doesn’t seem to be working, so Izuku turns his head to the side and glares straight into Kacchan’s eyes through his binoculars.

Even from this distance Izuku can see the surprise in those blood red irises.

He feels a strange giddiness when Kacchan freezes stock still, apparently unaware Izuku knew he was nearby.

 

“OFA, set a timer and engage camouflage mode in thirty seconds.” Izuku grunts, before taking a leap and clinging to the side of another building out of Kacchan’s vantage point.

 

“Camouflage Mode engaged.”

 

Kacchan doesn’t find him again until a few days later.

 

---

 

“He’s-”

 

“I know.” Izuku growls, silencing OFA from telling him something he already knows.

 

Of course he already knew.

Kacchan is following him again, and he’s keeping up far better than he had on foot, now that he’s got a shiny new motorcycle to chase him with.

 

Why does everyone else in his life have to be rich? It’s kind of aggravating.

Unfortunately he doesn’t have time to play with Kacchan tonight.

Because he’s tired of waiting.

 

Tonight is the night, he’s going to sneak into the Shie Hassaikai base, he’s going to kill Chisaki Kai, and he’s going to save Eri.

 

“Deku, it is incredibly ill-advised to execute the raid with-” OFA complains in his ear, but Izuku’s not hearing it.

 

“I don’t recall asking.” He snipes back.

 

OFA doesn’t reply.

 

---

 

It goes horrifically poorly.

 

Izuku manages to sneak down to the second level before he comes across a reinforced steel door, one that he can’t push past.

He’s looking at the seams of the door, and investigating the numerical pad next to the door for greasy or worn down keys when-

 

“Heyyyy!”

 

Izuku spins around, to come face-to-face with one of the Eight Bullets, and Izuku thanks his lucky stars it happens to be the alcoholic.

Deidoro Sakaki wobbles where he stands, swaying towards Izuku with murderous intent.

 

How in the fresh hell did Izuku not hear this guy coming? He has super-hearing for goodness sake!

 

“Whassat mask ya got on?” The man slurs, brandishing a dagger.

 

“What can I say, I’ve got a face for radio.” Izuku quips, sidestepping the wide slashing of the drunken man.

 

“Heyyy, didn’t I – urp… see youse on the news?” Deidoro asks with an exaggerated tilt of his head, bent practically ninety degrees.

 

“I don’t know, do you watch a lot of cooking shows?” Izuku asks sarcastically, clinging to the ceiling when Deidoro launches himself forward.

The man giggles and continues pursuing him, to the point of also climbing the walls, though he’s not nearly as good at it as Izuku happens to be.

 

Maybe because he’s drunk off his ass.

Or maybe it’s the superpowers, hard to tell.

 

This was such a bad idea.

 

Izuku is such an idiot, honestly.

So anxious to prove himself, so reckless that despite the disadvantage of losing Black Whip, that he infiltrated the compound alone.

Without Toga or even Aizawa as back up.

 

Izuku almost blew the whole mission, put Eri in danger… He narrowly avoids the dagger that embeds itself in the wall.

Okay, so despite being a drunk, this guy’s got decent aim. Izuku evades the daggers being thrown at him, but just barely, so he begins to retreat back down the hallway.

 

“OFA, camouflage mode.” Izuku whispers.

 

“Activated.” Comes OFA’s reply, though it’s terse.

 

Wow, even the AI is mad at him.

 

He manages to make it out of the compound without any new piercings, but he manages to put the whole facility on high-alert as he does it.

It isn’t until he’s panting for breath on a roof outside of Taito that he feels it again.

That itch on the back of his neck.

 

Not the one that hurts, the one that tickles.

 

His eyes snap up and way in the distance, Izuku spots him. X marks the spot, as Kacchan’s mask is visible on top of a parking garage.

 

Those blood red eyes are even and hypnotic, even through the binoculars.

 

“Incoming text message from Kacchan: We need to talk. Face me. Don't be a coward, Deku..” OFA reads hollowly.

 

“Thanks. Can you ask him if it has to be tonight? Now?” Izuku whispers.

Izuku watches as Kacchan reads the message, and he can’t help the chuckle that leaks from his lips when he watches Kacchan flip him off.

 

“Incoming text message from Kacchan: Got somewhere better to be?”

Izuku sighs heavily before replying aloud.

“Fine.”

 

Izuku begins the trek to the parking garage, irritated once more that Black Whip is busted. He could have gotten there in half the time if it wasn’t.

When Izuku approaches, he realizes Kacchan isn’t where he was before, he’s on Ground Level Beta, one floor down. He crawls through the concrete wall opening, landing on his feet with a quiet thud.

It’s been awhile since he saw Kacchan up close and personal, especially in uniform. Last time it had been raining, and darker than it was now, so he hadn’t taken the time to appreciate it fully.

The army green pants are baggy, though a utility belt full of fancy looking equipment keeps them lashed firmly to his hips. The orange and brown leather racing jacket is heavy duty but form fitting around Kacchan’s massive shoulders. Sticking out from behind him are the hilts of two swords, clearly crossed in an X on his back, based on the placement. His mask is burnt orange, and so painfully familiar.

 

Kacchan is so amazing.

 

“You left.” Kacchan accuses, his voice gruff and annoyed.

“You left.” Izuku repeats indignantly, remembering Shouto and Kacchan’s absence at the table before Shigaraki snagged him for that ‘dance’.

“You left, first.” Kacchan retorts, folding his arms over his chest like a pouting child.

 

It’s so cute and so aggravating all at the same time.

He folds his hands over his mouth and prays for patience with a sigh.

 

“Is that all you wanted?” He asks, sounding just as tired as he felt.

“No, it’s fucking not. You know you’ve always made me sick?” Kacchan says bitterly.

“I could tell, somehow.” Izuku rolls his eyes under the mask.

“You were this skinny, weak nerd. So how is it that you ended up at Tokyo University? Fighting head to head with me over the OFA mentorship? It made no sense to me at first. The last time I saw you, you were falling off a goddamn roof.”

Izuku flinches.

 

“But ever since we were reunited, you’ve been ahead of me.” Kacchan says lowly.

 

“Kacchan…” Izuku tries to reason, taking a step towards him but not coming any closer.

 

Coward.

 

“You’ve always made me sick and pissed me off,” Kacchan says again, and Izuku glares at the ground, trying not to rise to the bait. “But when Dr. Toshinori died, it helped me understand, I think. You've made what you borrowed your own, huh?”

Izuku looks up at Kacchan in surprise.

“I've been thinking about it this whole time. You and Dr. Toshinori were sneaking around, so I bugged his office. I overheard everything about the old man’s health, about OFA, and the creepy fuck who wanted to steal it for himself. And now here you are, in that suit, with all this power. You have OFA now. No point in denying it, I know it’s true.”

 

Kacchan was the one to bug the office?

That… makes so much sense, actually.

Only the three of them had unfettered access to the office, and clearly Kacchan was outfitted like Inspector Gadget.

 

“I wouldn’t lie about that, Kacchan.” Izuku mumbles, fidgeting.

He can’t believe he didn’t think about the odds of it being Kacchan, and simultaneously Izuku feels like an idiot for thinking he could hide anything from him in the first place.

“But you did.” Kacchan grunts, and Izuku’s mad in a new direction now.

 

“Can you blame me? You saw what happened when you found out. You don’t think I’m good enough, and I understand why, but I have to do this, I-”

 

“Shut the hell up.” Kacchan interrupts.

Izuku falls quiet, but that’s not good enough apparently.

 

“It’s rude, isn’t it?” OFA drawls in his ear. “Being interrupted mid-sentence.”

Izuku cannot believe he’s being scolded by OFA right now, and he fights the urge to snark back.

Kacchan seems to have found his words, however. 

 

“You and I both wanted to be like All Might when we were brats, right? To be heroes together? Do you remember that promise, Deku?” Izuku nods, breath caught in his throat. “Someone I'd always thought was useless, was acknowledged by my hero instead of me. That's why… Let’s fight. Right here, right now.”

 

Izuku blinks rapidly, trying to rearrange the words in his head to make sense of them.

Seriously?

He calls Izuku out in the middle of the night after the most pathetic raid in the history of raids to fight?

 

“Kacchan, be serious. You want to fight? Now? What about the civilians? It’s the middle of the night, do we really have to fight?!”

Kacchan obviously chooses not to hear him, instead slowly stalking forward, withdrawing the swords on his back from their sheath, and lowering himself into position.

“Come on, Deku. Show me how strong you are, that’s what you wanted, right? Prove you’re the hero you say you are. Face me!” Kacchan shouts, and it echoes through the structure and Izuku’s sensitive ears.

He slowly backs away as Kacchan speaks, but Kacchan follows. He lunges forward with a wide slash of the blade that Izuku has to evade. He jumps straight up and clings to the ceiling of the parking structure. He hangs there, staring at Kacchan uncomprehending.  

 

“K-kacchan…” He says pleadingly, shaking his head, but Kacchan apparently isn’t letting him go that easily.

 

“Even though you were always behind me… No matter how I treated you, you were always stuck to my back like glue. When did that change? When did you start pulling away, pulling in front of me? When did you stop looking at me, Deku?!” Kacchan roars, and something amazing happens. Actual explosions pop out of his hands, launching him upwards, enough to grab a fistful of Izuku’s suit and toss him back towards the ground.

 

The sound of the blast booms through the structure, echoing back to them.

Since when does Kacchan have superpowers? Wouldn't Izuku have, oh I don't know, noticed something like that?

Looks like I'm not the only one keeping secrets, Kacchan. 

 

“I… I didn’t...” Izuku croaks, ducking to avoid another vicious slash of Kacchan’s blade.

 

What the hell is Kacchan talking about right now?!

Izuku pulling away from Kacchan?

Izuku not looking at Kacchan?

Is it opposite day or something?

“You’ve been doing everything on your own. Even though you knew Dr. Toshinori intended for us to be a team, you hid things from me, you lied to me! What, does Dr. Toshinori’s favorite little student not need me anymore, hah? Am I not good enough for you to rely on?!” Izuku falters in retreating, just for a second, but it’s enough for the blade to sink into the meat of his bicep, immediately weeping red through his suit.

Not... good enough?

What?

“A-are you okay, Kacchan?” Izuku asks softly, though he puts out a hand warning Kacchan at a distance.

 

What the hell is Kacchan talking about right now? Since when has Kacchan ever been not good enough for literally anything? He’s perfect?!

Is Kacchan having some kind of psychotic break?

That seems even more likely when Kacchan cackles crazily in response.

 

“Don't worry about me! Fight! What the hell's wrong with you? Why did I end up having to chase after someone who was always supposed to stay safely behind me? Why?! Why are you blaming yourself when I’m the reason Dr. Toshinori is dead right now, Deku?!” Kacchan sobs, and Izuku suddenly realizes the other man is crying. Kacchan must be embarassed about it, because he growls, and Izuku barely avoids another violent slash across his thigh because of it.

 

Kacchan never cries. Ever. Just the concept is wrong, horrible. Kacchan should never ever cry.

Izuku would burn the world down to make sure of it.

 

“K-kacchan, please, what are you talking about?” Izuku asks, horrified and confused.

 

How in the world is Kacchan at fault for Dr. Toshinori’s death? Izuku was the one who was too late, too slow, too reckless.

Kacchan wasn’t even there that night? 

 

“If I hadn’t lost my shit on that roof that night, so terrified that you were going to get yourself killed, then we could have gone back to the University together!” He bellows, and the echo is mournful in his own ears. “You went alone, Deku! With nobody to watch your back! You have no idea how fucking terrifying that is? I caused the very thing I was trying to avoid… You could have saved the hostages and I could have protected Dr. Toshinori and everything would have been different, but I. WASN’T. THERE! If it weren’t for me… then that wouldn't have happened… Even when I’m training with Aizawa, when I’m in the kitchen at the League, no matter what I can’t get it out of my mind. You’re doing everything alone, when we are supposed to be a team…” The swords clatter to the ground, but Kacchan is too far gone now to care.

 

Oh, Kacchan.

 

Izuku can feel the tears weeping the tears weeping from his eyes, but he forces his voice to harden. To prove to Kacchan that he will take this seriously.

Kacchan has been suffering.

Blaming himself, even though it was Izuku’s own incompetence that caused all of this in the first place.

He was ridiculous for thinking that Kacchan could have that kind of faith in him, for thinking Izuku could handle it on his own. Keeping Kacchan in the dark, ignoring him, that was the cruelest thing he could have possible done.

Obviously Kacchan had been right that night, because a real hero would have reached out instead of hiding like a selfish coward.

If this is really what Kacchan wants… then Izuku won’t hold back.

We both admired Dr. Toshinori. We’re the same. That's why there might not be any real meaning in this fight. Even so, I know I have to go through with it. Right now, I'm the only one who can accept Kacchan's feelings!

 

“If I'm gonna do this, I'm going all out. I’m not going to be your punching bag, Kacchan!”

Izuku is no longer evading, he’s circling Kacchan, completely locked in. He feels a little guilty when his fist impacts Kacchan’s jaw, and feels the mandible crack under his fist.

Kacchan must not feel it, because he bodily slams Izuku into the ground when he gets his arms around him. The impact against the concrete makes a sickening thud, knocking the wind out of Izuku’s lungs.

 

“What’s the matter, Deku?” Kacchan taunts, all wild grins and sharp teeth. “I thought you weren’t going to be my punching bag?” Kacchan throws a punch, but Izuku catches it in his fist. Kacchan’s hands explode again, and Izuku has to let go, shaking the recoil out of his smoking glove.

 

“I won’t be.” Izuku promises, rushing him with a high kick against Kacchan’s chin. The impact rattles Kacchan, and he almost sees those red eyes roll back in his skull before glaring in reproach.

 

“Even though you used to be so weak, it's like you're always looking down on me! Am I not enough? Do you not trust me?! Am I that pathetic in your eyes, Deku?” Izuku falters at the sound of tears in Kacchan’s voice, it’s impossible not to. Kacchan takes that moment to swipe Izuku’s legs out from underneath him, twisting his arm painfully behind his back.

 

Unfortunately it’s his bad arm, and the tearing of his muscle really, really hurts. Luckily, Izuku is too flabbergasted to really focus on the pain.

 

“Is... Is that what you thought? That I didn’t trust you, Kacchan? It's because I thought you were amazing… That's why… I kept chasing after you!” Izuku growls the words before headbutting Kacchan in his perfect, straight nose. The sickening crunch is loud enough to echo around them, and the pain finally ebbs when Kacchan loosens his grip. Izuku whirls on him. “Is that all you've got?!” His voice echoes through the parking garage, and Izuku wonders if he always sounds so angry, so emotional when fighting.

He almost sounds like Kacchan.

 

“You’re... still running from me, even now. OFA, the fires, the USJ, whatever you and Pigtails are doing with the yakuza… I’m always following behind!” He uses his explosions to vault himself into the air, and Izuku is spellbound, but not enough to lose against Kacchan.

No, instead he meets him blow for blow.

Of course Kacchan would interpret all that as Izuku leaving him behind. He never understands the mental gymnastics Kacchan does in that stupid, beautiful head of his.

That isn’t what he was doing, why can’t Kacchan see that?

 

“I want to prove to you that I CAN be a hero! I want you to see me as I am now, not what I used to be…” Izuku pants, throwing another punch to Kacchan’s gut. “The image of "victory" I have inside me… it’s you.” Kacchan buries his hands in Izuku’s suit and shakes him roughly.

 

“You were always a hero. I just didn’t want to watch you get yourself killed trying to prove it! Throwing yourself off buildings? Charging into fires? You’re even taking the fall for my kills!” Izuku blinks owlishly, gaping up at Kacchan who has him completely at his mercy.

 

But that night… he said?

 

“I… you think that, Kacchan?” Izuku whispers, and the quiet that stretches is suddenly so loud.

All this time, Izuku just wanted Kacchan to look at him, to acknowledge him. To believe in him. To trust him. To be partners together and fight the bad guys… together.

“Of course I do, you idiot!” Kacchan rips his mask off so Izuku can see his face, and Izuku finds himself doing the same, trembling as he pulls his own off too.

 

Kacchan’s panting, his cheeks red with the most incredibly rare blush, a few stray tears caught in his long golden eyelashes. The fluffy blonde hair is frizzy, like it had been that night at the League. Izuku is delighted to realize it’s mask-hair, the static electricity changing the orientation of his normal fluffy spikes. He’s half snarling, the way Kacchan does when he’s embarassed, and his scarlet eyes are smoldering even in the darkness. He’s glaring at Izuku with the most vulnerable expression he’s ever seen the blonde wear.

He’s never looked more perfect.

Kacchan drags Izuku’s face to his, slamming their mouths together with such force that their teeth clack against each other.

It’s painful and uncoordinated, it tastes like blood and asphalt but it’s perfect anyways.

It’s just as perfect as that kiss in the lab, just as perfect as that half-drunken night that Izuku had shamelessly replayed over and over again in his head.

Slowly, Kacchan inches back, their noses still touching. Izuku blinks and he meets those sharp, piercing eyes, and feels his heart hammering in his chest.

 

Izuku might as well be dead, he’s just gaping up at Kacchan like a fish, when he hears Kacchan’s voice actually soften.

 

“I... I promise that no matter what, you aren't getting rid of me. I don’t give a damn what self-sacrificial bullshit you’ve cooked up in your own stupid head…” Kacchan whispers, his fingers threading through Izuku’s curls, dragging gently against his scalp and tugging gently to raise his chin, exposing the column of Izuku’s throat.

He mouths the next words into that vulnerable flesh, Izuku feels both goosebumps and an unbearable heat raise across his skin.

 

“You can’t do this all on your own, you damn nerd. I won’t let you. So when it gets to be too much, when you fall, I’ll be there to catch you. I’ll leave my door unlocked for when you’re ready.” His voice is unnaturally soft, and Izuku’s eyes swim with tears when he finally meets those smoldering eyes again.

Izuku nods hesitantly, hardly aware of even doing so.

 

Those words… he never would have ever dreamed that Kacchan could be so sweet.

Would he really catch Izuku?

Of course he would, he’s Kacchan, he always means what he says. Izuku can fall, he can trust him.

If he can’t trust Kacchan then he can’t trust anyone.

 

Izuku feels like his entire world has shifted, and he has no idea what direction is up anymore. He’s weirdly relieved about it, like he finally got knocked onto the right course.

Kacchan kissed him.

He called him out here to fight and argue, and cry, and he kissed Izuku. Again!

There’s a faint tremor in Kacchan’s hands when they pull away, and Izuku has to fight the urge to hold Kacchan in place, to never let him go.

Kacchan tugs the mask back over his face, grabbing the swords from where they’d fallen in the scuffle. The metal scrapes against the concrete, and Izuku slowly sits up, staring at Kacchan, dazed.

Kacchan mounts his bike, which is really just an unfairly attractive thing to do given the circumstances, before yanking the helmet on last.

 

“Don’t keep me waiting, Deku.”

With that, Kacchan kickstarts the engine, (and Izuku’s heart) and the roar of it is deafening, enough to make Izuku wince.

Kacchan peals out of the parking garage like a bat out of hell, leaving the smell of burnt rubber and ozone in his wake.

 

"Wouldn't dream of it, Kacchan." He murmurs into the empty garage, staring after the tail lights of the motorcycle. 

 

Izuku knows exactly what he’s going to do.

He has no choice.

Izuku is tired of running, tired of hiding.

Patience be damned.

Chapter 27: A Promise to Stick Around

Summary:

Katsuki gets a few surprises, and maybe something more important?
In other words: a few rounds of applause for our boys finally clearing the air!

Smut lies ahead, you've been warned. <3

Notes:

I AM SO SO SORRY, I swear I didn't mean to be gone so long!

Long story short, I moved, there was another tornado, internet had to be installed, and I've been sick (chronically ill gang)

I have the last couple of chapters half written, just need to flesh some things out! I plan on going through and editing the existing chapters and fixing the broken links and formatting that have cropped up, as well as making a few edits for clarity to make sure the story is cohesive!

Thank you guys so much for sticking through to the end with me, I can't tell you how important it is to me.

Katsuki shoves through his front door and throws the motorcycle helmet onto the couch before shrugging out of his uniform jacket and hanging it in the hall closet. The helmet slides into place on the shelf, and his mask follows suit. He’s operating mostly on autopilot, his movements methodical and robotic.

He's still keyed up from the fight with Deku (and the kiss, maybe). 

Keys and wallet go in the bowl, weapons in the back bedroom. He checks the washing machine, decides to re-run the load, adds laundry detergent, presses the button, unlocks the balcony door (just in case, Katsuki doesn’t actually expect Deku to show up, he swears), preps for his next shift at the League tomorrow night, wipes the counters down, pulls some chicken from the freezer to thaw in the fridge. As he goes about his routine, he mentally checks the items off, but most importantly he tries not to think about Deku. 

Methodical. 
Orderly. 

Nothing out of place, nothing at all, but something is just wrong. Like an itchy wool sweater pulled over his whole body, overstimulating and distracting, but what is it? Katsuki can’t seem to settle the fuck down. Probably because he can still feel that impromptu kiss from earlier, just like the first time. The ghost of chapped lips and rough skin...

Well, it was worth a shot. 
A personal best, probably.   

If Katsuki was being honest, he’s done nothing but think about Deku for weeks. Hard not to when he spends hours tracking the nimble little fuck through Tokyo on the daily. 
But it’s different tonight, with the kiss fight still fresh in his mind. 
It was sort of relieving to finally be honest with Deku, clear the air a bit… but somehow the tension felt even heavier, thicker than ever before, like just one more grain of rice could topple the whole thing. 

Is this how communication is supposed to feel? Like they’re dancing on a razor thin tightrope and just a centimeter too far, just a second off beat, could mean tragedy for them both?

Katsuki isn’t even surprised that Deku has been internalizing everything since the USJ. IcyHot mentioned Deku had been practically catatonic, and after hearing him talk tonight, it isn’t hard to understand why. Katsuki can’t even justify bitching about it because he’s the one who put those dumbass thoughts in Deku’s head in the first place.

Deku’s total lack of self esteem, this asinine desire to prove himself, even his reckless behavior! Those are all direct consequences of all Katsuki’s possessiveness and his negging as a brat. It wasn’t just pigtail pulling either. As easy as it would be to say he’d only done all that out of some sick desire to keep Deku safe… that wasn’t the whole truth. Katsuki would have done anything to get attention, to get those eyes back on him. He’d genuinely thought that Deku hadn’t been listening to his words so seriously, or at all.

From what Katsuki saw, Deku had just ignored him or brushed him off, and things only got worse when Deku stopped looking at him. 

What was going through his head back then? 

If he thought so highly of Katsuki, even then, during the worst of it… 

Katsuki grunts as he continues his nightly routine, incapable of sitting down, still ready for a fight that’s already over. 
For a fight he lost years ago. 

Getting hands on Deku again has him feeling unmoored, pumped up full of adrenaline and chomping at the bit for something, anything to take the edge off, because that pansy hand-holding shit at the bar wasn’t nearly enough. 
As nice as that nerd’s fucked up hand felt in his own, it wasn’t enough to sit in a booth, smooshed up against Deku, with all their idiot friends. 

Why wasn’t it enough?

Isn’t that all he wanted? To see Deku, safe and sound, and know he was okay? Then why? Why did Katsuki have to kiss him? 
What the fuck happened to him? Katsuki has an iron will, he’d never allow himself to be dominated by his desires, he has discipline, goddammit! 
Or he used to. 
Before that stupid big brained, well-muscled, asshole with charming smile crash landed and wrecked Katsuki’s whole strictly organized life.   

That itch under his skin still hasn’t been soothed. In fact, it’s worse than ever before. 
Instead of the usual discomfort, it’s like a roaring blaze is slowly creeping through his veins and engulfing each of his vertebrae. Every cell is catching fire and igniting every thought Katsuki’s had since the second his hands left those curls.

They felt… greasy, dirty, now that he thinks about it. He frowns into his kitchen sink as he washes his hands, feeling the particulates on his skin. 

Gross.

When’s the last time the nerd showered?
Ate?
Surely Half n’ Half can handle that much, right?
Then why does Katsuki feel so angry? 

It’s like he can feel that Deku isn’t okay, isn’t being taken care of properly.

That night on the couch, IcyHot seemed to be doing a bang up fucking job playing babysitter, so this lingering doubt makes absolutely no sense.
What, does Katsuki have to physically see that care being given to believe it exists? Was that night he spent watching not enough?
Or is it just not good enough until Katsuki does it himself?

Fuck. 

Katsuki fights the urge to slam his head against his kitchen cabinets. 

“You said you’d wait, so shut the fuck up, and do anything but worry about the damn nerd.” Katsuki grunts at himself, toweling off with the kitchen rag and counting to ten. 

He gets down to four when there’s a low, awkward cough from behind.
Katsuki spins around, palm outstretched, sparking before freezing. 

It’s Deku. 

“You weren’t kidding about leaving the door open.” He mumbles, still standing awkwardly in the open doorway, gripping the knob like he needs something real to hang onto. 

Deku’s here, in Katsuki’s apartment. 
Again, a treasonous little voice wheedles in his ear. 

He’s still in the suit, though the mask is in his free hand, exposing his hesitant expression. 

“When do I ever say shit I don’t mean?” Katsuki retorts, coolly, trying to school his expression into something nonchalant. Deku doesn’t smile but he does nod seriously, as if he expected that answer. From here, he can see Deku’s shoulder is still covered in blood from the cut Katsuki had inflicted during their fight. 

He does not feel guilty. 
Not at all.
Shut the fuck up.

He is pissed Deku let him get a hit in though, fucker should’ve dodged faster. 

Deku slowly steps through Katsuki’s open balcony door tentatively, as if he’s expecting to be kicked out. His shoulders tense and his hands are fidgeting uselessly with the mask in his hands.  

“… Sorry for the intrusion.” Deku mutters, avoiding Katsuki’s eyes.

“Didn’t we just cover that I’m the one that offered?” Katsuki grunts, before turning back around to face the sink. He starts washing a few vegetables he grabs blindly from the fridge, not even sure what he’s supposed to be cooking anymore. 

“… You did. Why?” 

Katsuki freezes, before looking over his shoulder.
Deku is chewing his bottom lip, raising his eyes to Katsuki’s. They’re all doe-eyed, hypnotizing swirls of green, sparkly and wet with unshed tears.

Why, indeed, you beautiful fucking idiot. 

Katsuki doesn’t say that out loud, thankfully.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Deku?” Katsuki asks instead, aiming for derision, for a joke… only for it to come out way more vulnerable than he’d intended it to. He folds his arms over his chest, clenching his jaw to prevent any more bullshit from spilling out.

“I asked you first. Fair is fair, remember?” Deku quips, a wobbly smile tugging at his chapped lips.  

“Tch.” Katsuki closes his eyes, inhales sharply, and tries to find the words. “You’re always welcome here, Deku. Your ugly mug is the only one I’d let in. Fuck, I’ll give you a goddamn key if it’ll shut you up.” He grits out, feeling deeply uncomfortable.

Is that too much? Deku sleeps at Halfie’s, why should this be any different?

Because this isn’t a shitty sleepover, his subconscious answers immediately. It’s different because you don’t ever want him to leave. 

Deku has the fucking gall to snort at him. 

What a rude little fucker. 

“That sounded like it was physically painful for you to admit, Kacchan.” Deku chuckles. 

Katsuki opens his eyes to glare at the nerd, but the expression on Deku’s face wipes away any irritation he might’ve had. 
It’s like everything just gets wiped away, actually. 
Deku’s staring at him with the same warm, sunny smile, and big adoring eyes. Just like he did as a kid, Katsuki can practically hear “Kacchan sugoi” in his fucked up eardrums.
He’s so cute, and yet… 

“You look like shit, Deku.” Katsuki says seriously, watching the smile wilt with a melancholy pang in his chest.

Deku’s hair is definitely greasy, weighed down and darkened in sharper curls than usual. There are deep shadows under his eyes, too. They aren’t quite as bad as Zombie’s, but they are obvious even from across the room. Deku’s skin is pale, and there’s a faint tremor in his fingers Katsuki can spot from here. 

“I know, Kacchan.” 

“Why? Isn’t Half n’ Half babying the shit out of you or somethin’?” Katsuki gripes, trying not to sound as jealous as he feels. He shoves the leeks and peppers under the tap again, rinsing them thoroughly.

Deku looks away, rubbing the back of his neck guiltily. Katsuki’s eyes narrow at the gesture, towel drying the produce with suspicion.

“I… uh, might’ve left? Um, the day of the last fire. We… he… I…” Deku struggles, stuttering over his words and mumbling some stupid shit under his breath that Katsuki can’t make out. 

“Deku.” Katsuki grunts, watching Deku stand up straighter, watches those emerald eyes jump up to meet his.

“We had a fight. So I left.” He whispers, his bottom lip wobbling with the admission.

“After the fire? The one at the shopping plaza?” Deku nods. “Jesus, Deku, that was damn near two weeks ago!” Katsuki barks, completely unable to temper his reaction into something softer, gentler. 

Fuck. 
This is actually impossible.
Luckily, Deku seems to agree, because he smiles for some fucking reason. 

“Yeah, it was kind of ridiculous of me, now that I think about it.” 

Katsuki, trying to temper his rage, pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Where have you been, then? Back at the dorms? With Auntie? Doubt it, not if you look like that.” He asks brusquely, curling his nose. 

It’s really none of his business.

He opens a drawer with more force than necessary and grabs a knife to begin chopping.

Should’ve known IcyHot wasn’t up to snuff. Maybe Deku was bunking with Eyebags? No, he's staying with Aizawa, and Hobo-sensei would've told him if Deku was joining his little household. 

Maybe Blondie and Cheeks, then? 

“Um… don’t be mad, Kacchan…” Deku hedges.

Katsuki looks up from his dicing to see Deku putting up his splayed hands as if to catch whatever Katsuki will end up throwing at him.

It’s not a bad defense, all things considered.

“Depends on what dumb shit is about to come out of your mouth.” Katsuki warns, glowering from his place the kitchen. He has no intention of throwing anything, currently, but he eyes the last orange in the fruit bowl, just in case he does need a projectile. 

Deku shuffles around, taking a few more steps inside, ambling closer despite the danger loitering on the other side of the counter. 

“I sorta… haven’t been anywhere?” Deku says, like it’s a question. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Katsuki seethes, leaning forward against the counter, seriously considering just vaulting it and pummeling the nerd with produce. 
Deku taps the tips of his index fingers together, partially hiding behind them. 

“… I kinda just hung out? The, uh, mission. You mentioned it earlier, with Toga-chan. I’ve been busy with that and I didn’t really have anywhere else to go, so…”

Katsuki is about to pop a blood vessel. He sets the knife down with a clatter against the countertop. 
If he continues holding a weapon he is going to draw blood. 
Again.  

He glares at the half chopped vegetables with scrutiny. 

Who even cares about cooking at this point?

“So you’ve been homeless for two weeks. No wonder you look like shit, Deku, have you even fucking showered?!” Katsuki yells, watching Deku hunch his shoulders in submission, and that’s enough information for Katsuki to know the answer. 

Useless fucking Half n’ Half. 
Stupid self-sacrificing nerd. 

Katsuki counts to ten, and his silence prompts a mutter-storm from Deku that he barely catches beyond the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.

“I’m sorry Kacchan, I was just… the news and that guy… I don’t know if… if you saw but, I failed to save someone again. Sho asked if it was time for me to throw in the towel on being a hero, especially since I busted Black Whip. It felt like… he was saying I couldn’t be a hero without the suit. Thinking back, I think he was just worried about me ‘cause if he hadn’t found my bag, I definitely would’ve been caught, and then I lashed out ‘cause I’m the one who thinks I’m useless without the suit. Not him. Even with the superpowers… I guess I still don’t feel like a hero.” Deku admits quietly, chewing on his bottom lip.

First of all, stupid fucking IcyHot. Katsuki can practically see it all go down in his mind’s eye. Anybody with half a brain would have seen this coming, given everything that’s happened. 
Socially inept fucking moron.  
That must be why Deku hasn’t been using those black strands to get around, too. Without the lab, he must be shit out of luck to repair any of his tech, which means Black Whip is seriously out of commission. Katsuki thinks about the high school lab again, about his own desire to get his hands on some volatile chemicals. 

For some reason, despite literally nothing changing since the last time he considered it, he’s less irate at the idea of asking Aizawa for a favor.

Wait, superpowers? 

“Superpowers?” Katsuki echoes, raising his eyebrow at Deku, a clear signal to continue. 

Deku opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He seems to think better of his methods because he just nods. Katsuki watches as Deku walks straight towards the wall and climbs up it with ease, like his hands and feet velcro’d him to the wall. Deku drops back down once he’s proved his point, before lifting Katsuki’s big ass sectional with one fucking hand.

“Yeah. Since that night I got locked in the USJ. When, well, when you ran? Got bit by a weird spider in the Biology department. Then… voila.” He smiles awkwardly, setting the couch back down softly, hardly a twitch in his muscles, and no visible signs of strain.  Katsuki taps his fingers against the countertop and counts the freckles on Deku’s cheeks to avoid getting distracted. 

Katsuki rubs the bridge of his nose again, but this time he’s fighting off a headache caused by his own self-hatred. 
And maybe the dawning understanding that Deku is not just hot and jacked but really and truly strong… potentially (definitely) even stronger than Katsuki. 
He might’ve been less likely to freak the hell out on that roof if he knew the nerd wasn’t just going in blind, but that’s not a hill he’s willing to die on tonight. 

Deku showed me his, might as well show mine. 

“High School.” Katsuki grunts, letting the explosions pop across his palm so Deku can see. 
The nerd’s eyes sparkle as he watches and he steps closer, though still several feet away. 

“That’s amazing, Kacchan!” Deku gushes, clearly fascinated and fighting the urge to touch.
Katsuki is fighting a similar urge to preen.  

“… Half n’ Half is an idiot for thinking you would listen to something like that. Yer obviously a hero with or without the damn suit. One broken feature doesn’t mean you gotta hang up the whole concept.” Katsuki grouses, dragging his fingers against the countertop, feeling the coolness of the granite and the smoothness of its surface steeling his nerves.

Deku’s lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile.

“Guess he doesn’t know me as well as you do, Kacchan.” Deku breathes, looking up at him with those dewy eyes again.  
His heart absolutely crows at the words.

Damn right I do, Deku. 
Nobody knows you the way I do. 

Nobody ever could.
Nobody should even fucking try.

“Maybe I could take a look at it. Black Whip. Your clumsy ass might just make it worse.” He suggests casually, still avoiding Deku’s eyes.

“I’d like that, Kacchan.” Deku mumbles, looking at the mask in his hands again, his fingers are still trembling and he seems perplexed to notice it.  

Katsuki watches helplessly as Deku's face crumples up, like he’s remembering something unpleasant.
Not too big of a mystery as to what he’s remembering. 

Watching the footage was bad enough, Katsuki hasn’t been able to get the image of Deku dragging that corpse out of the wreckage of the shopping center, out of his head. Seeing Deku now… he bets that under that mask, his freckled face must’ve looked tortured at the time. Pure devastation echoes in those eyes even now.

“Wasn’t your fault, y’know.” Katsuki says hoarsely, and Deku smiles sadly.

“You don’t know that, Kacchan, but thank you. I was dumb. It was too reckless, like always. I shouldn’t have tried to use Black Whip when the building was that unstable. I just saw the guy on fire and knew I had to get there as soon as possible. If I had reacted calmly, if I’d thought it through, maybe I could’ve reached him in time.” Deku murmurs, staring at the mask in his hands with a complicated expression Katsuki couldn’t even begin to analyze. “Actually... I wish you’d been there.”  

“Me too. I plan to be, from now on. No more of this lone wolf shit.” 

Deku looks up at him, the tears collecting in those lashes again. 

“Do you really?” He asked softly, as if expecting Katsuki to take it back. 

He doesn’t.
Instead he changes the subject entirely.

"I talked to IcyHot after you ditched me at the bar. He said there was never anything romantic between you, is that true?" 
Katsuki definitely didn’t intend to ask that, and the whiplash of the conversation is visible on Deku’s face. He blinks rapidly, trying to process the question. Katsuki has no excuse for the complete lack of verbal filter, but admittedly he does want to know the answer, so he doesn’t take it back.

"Of course, it's true? Why would there be something romantic between us? Wait- is that what you were getting at that day in the lab?" Deku asks incredulously, making Katsuki grit his teeth.

Always fucking talking past each other. 

"Obviously." Katsuki huffs, folding his arms together.

"Wait, so… You were just… what? Jealous, or something?" Deku asks with a tilt of his head, uncomprehending.
Katsuki's mouth twitches, and he fights the urge to respond with violence. Or insults.

"I didn't say that." 

He didn't deny it either, and Deku seems to pick up on that, because he nods seriously again.

"Why would you be worried about that after I confessed?" Deku said, still looking adorable confused, his fingers come up to rest on his chin, clearly thinking hard.

"HAH?! What the fuck are you talking about?" Katsuki’s eyes bulge out of their sockets, and his outburst spooks Deku into jolting like he’d been stuck with a cattle prod. 
Then Deku goes completely still, some kind of latent opossum instinct telling him to freeze in place. 

Very slowly, a beautiful, candy apple blush blooms on his speckled cheeks. 

"That... night. The first time... when we... spent the night together?" Deku mumbles, fiddling his fingers together, avoiding Katsuki’s eyes now. He scratches at his cheek, a habit he does when he's embarrassed. Katsuki is irrationally worried he’s going to scratch a freckle off by accident one of these days.

Ex-fucking-scuse me?

“Deku.” The timber of his voice is damn near demonic in his ears, but he quite literally cannot give a fuck. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Deku hides his face behind gloved hands, and Katsuki’s already lurching around the island, through his own barren living room, to yank them back down. His hands enclose Deku’s bony wrists, and they’re nose to nose. Hardly a few inches between them. 

The nerd’s face is flushed, the tears welling up in those big ass eyes, he chews on that ragged bottom lip, and Katsuki could combust on the spot.  

“When… I t-told you I… loved you?” Deku stammers, his voice barely audible. 

Katsuki thinks he’s about to have an aneurism. 

“When the fuck did you say that?!” Katsuki asks urgently, shaking, trying his best for his grip to remain gentle despite the absolute rapture and horror flowing through him in equal measure.

Deku somehow flushes even darker, and Katsuki is somehow nearly distracted with the urge to bite at that soft flesh, just to see if he can burst it like a cherry between his teeth.

“When… we… well. T-towards the end, I guess? Don’t make me say it, it’s embarrassing, Kacchan! It was my first time, so I got carried away… I got the hint when you didn’t say anything, and then I snuck out early when I saw the fire so it never really came up… I just thought that was your way of rejecting me...” Deku whines, trying to tug his wrists free, likely to cover his steaming face from Katsuki’s view.

That’s just flat out not going to happen. 

So much information. 
So many questions. 

Deku’s first time?!

“Hold up. Stop. Pause.” Katsuki practically headbutts into Deku’s forehead, not nearly gentle enough to be friendly, but trying his best to calm his racing heartbeat and get some form of oxygen into his lungs. Deku yips at the contact, it probably hurt, but he obediently waits for Katsuki to collect himself, biting at his lip with a vengeance. 

Can’t have that, now can we?

Katsuki’s finger comes up to trace it, to tug it away from those dangerous teeth, before Deku manages to make himself bleed out of sheer anxiety.

Okay, think, and do it quickly, before Deku vibrates out of his own damn skin. 

“… I never heard you say that. My aids died before we… well, finished.” Deku’s poor abused lip falls open under his touch, a soft ‘o’ of shock.

“Did you mean it, Deku?” Katsuki whispers, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. 

Deku nods minutely, barely moving a muscle. 

Katsuki doesn’t remember leaning forward the last couple of inches, but when his lips meet Deku’s he groans out loud. 
  
It’s a good kiss, don’t get him wrong, but… 

Katsuki pulls back just enough to glare at Deku, knocking their noses together. 
Deku practically whines, looking up at him though thick dark lashes like some kind of incubus, his eyes are fixated on Katsuki’s mouth. 

“You have not showered or brushed your teeth in two goddamn weeks. I am not doing any fucking thing until that is fixed.” Katsuki growls, and Deku’s stupid, beautiful blush blooms across his freckles again. 

If it weren’t for Katsuki’s pathological need for cleanliness he might have caved.

Luckily for him, he finds one last remaining shred of dignity. Katsuki scruffs the nerd and drags him down the hall to the bathroom, abandoning the half chopped vegetables on his counter. 

Whatever, those peppers looked a little soft anyways. 

Deku stammers, tripping over his own stupid red shoes, but Katsuki doesn’t falter.

“Teeth first. Then strip.” He says flatly, opening the cabinet and slamming it closed again once he’s fished out a new toothbrush. He goes through them quickly, as aggressive as he is with oral hygiene, but it just so happens that this one is green.

Deku eyes it and smiles, picking it up carefully, like it isn’t just a fucking toothbrush from the Daiso. Like it means something more… and because it does, Katsuki is avoiding looking at him, already spinning the hot water knob to a comfortable temperature. Well, comfortable for him. According to the idiot squad, his preferred level is known by the nickname “Hell’s Waterfall”. 

Pussies, the whole lot of them.

Katsuki tugs the black tank top over his head, tossing it in the laundry basket and popping the buckle on his belt open. 

At the noise Deku makes an undignified little squeak, and Katsuki turns to see the nerd practically drooling foam on the toothbrush.  His free hand covers his face, but the sneaky fuck is peeking through spread fingers anyways. His suit is half peeled down around him, exposing his shoulders and chest. 

“Something you like?” Katsuki grins wickedly, watching the flush travel the length of Deku’s pale neck in record time. 

Deku chokes on his own spit, likely swallowing toothpaste as a consequence, before he refocuses on peeling the suit down further, unlatching the thin red belt from his own waist.

Every inch of skin that is revealed is another lesson in patience, and Katsuki is, for the first time in his life, absolutely in need of tutoring. 

As more of that taut, well-muscled torso is revealed, Katsuki gets more unfettered access to the patterns that adorn Deku’s skin. 

Deku spins around to the sink and leans over, washing his mouth out and spitting foam and toothpaste into it. 

The curve of his ass is mouthwatering, and the faint dip to his spine as he leans over… 

Last time, it had been dark, with only the moonlight to guide Katsuki’s tipsy eyes. The light of the bathroom is less painterly, but at least Katsuki gets to see more details this way. He catalogs every valley and ridge, building himself a road map to navigate the universe written in that scarred and freckled flesh. 

Before, it was a whirlwind of want, of desperation and need, where every touch, every glance, every breath was cranked up to a thousand, but this might just be better. Deku, tired and filthy and needing Katsuki to make it all better, brushing his teeth in their bathroom while Katsuki prepares their bath. 

It's so fuckin'... domestic, or some shit.

The steam fogging the room makes it hard to breathe, turning everything hazy and the air thick in Katsuki’s lungs. 

“Something you like?” Deku parrots quietly, and Katsuki’s eyes snap up to Deku’s insecure face in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, slowly fogging up. He tracks Deku’s hands as he carefully angles himself to the side, hiding some of the more gruesome scarring.

“Something I love.” Katsuki croaks, like the absolute pathetic lovesick idiot he is. He hadn’t really answered before, and damn it all if he’s going into this under any more misconceptions. 
 
Deku blinks rapidly, eyes filling with tears again. Katsuki turns back to the shower, hiding whatever answering expression he’s unwittingly making. A smaller, but no less powerful frame drapes carefully over his back. 

“That was unfair, Kacchan. You can’t just say nice things like that without warning. Give a guy a heads up.” Deku warbles, and Katsuki tries not to groan at the feeling of those ruined lips speaking against his spine. He feels himself twitching in his briefs, slowly filling out as those lips ghost across his skin. 

“I do what I want.” Katsuki breathes shakily, trying to find that shred of dignity from before.

It’s mysteriously vanished, somehow… 
At least his mouth’s clean right?

Not that he doesn’t plan on dirtying it right back up. 

“Weren’t you the one telling me to strip?” Deku whispers between Katsuki’s shoulder blades. 

Gnarled hands wrap around Katsuki’s waist, and Katsuki sucks in a breath when he realizes those hands almost touch, completely encircling him. Deku has big hands, and the roughness of them is so unlike his own artificially smooth skin. 

"Sounds like something I'd say." Katsuki allows, letting Deku curl around him. 

Very carefully, and very slowly, Deku begins to drag those gnarled fingers against the taut muscles of his abdomen, but they don’t stop there, curling against the fine hairs that curl around his navel, they continue to his hips, to the line of his pants. Deku unbuttons them deftly with a twist of his wrist, and it’s so unfairly attractive Katsuki feels himself twitch in response. If he pays attention, he can just barely feel the cold ball of metal from Deku's piercing. 

The confines of his uniform pants feel restrictive and uncomfortable suddenly, but Deku, thankfully, seems intent to address that issue. 

Ziiiiiiiiiiip. 

The zipper sounds downright lewd as it echoes through the bathroom. 

“You better be fucking naked right now, Deku.” Katsuki warns, closing his eyes and tipping his head back, feeling those hands brush over Katsuki’s hardness through his pants. The touch is fleeting, though, as his uniform pants slip off his hips with the help of crooked fingers. His briefs follow shortly after, pooling on the floor.

“As the day I was born.” Deku tries to joke, but it’s breathy and clearly just as affected by this electric energy and the almost lazy hush of the steam.

“Good.” Katsuki yanks Deku into the spray of the shower, and he hears the smaller male hiss when the scalding water pelts his back. 

“Kacchan! Wait, what about your hearing aids?” Deku cries, trying to use his hands to cup around Katsuki’s ears. 

It’s painfully endearing. 

Truth be told, Katsuki forgot about them, but there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that he’s missing a second of this. Last time he hadn’t had them he missed a fucking confession, who knows what he’ll hear this time. 

“Water resistant. And I’m not the one that needs to get clean anyways.” Katsuki answers honestly, mindful to avoid the spray. Is it a good idea to wear these in the shower? No, no it isn’t, but there’s a 70% chance it’ll be fine and he has a back up pair in the bedroom anyways. 

He was bitter about their interference the first time, so he bought an extra pair, sue him.  

Deku pouts, but doesn’t press the issue, just goes boneless in Katsuki’s arms like it’s the first time he’s relaxed in weeks.
 
Knowing Deku, even that’s probably a conservative time frame. 

Deku’s curls begin to sag with the weight of the water, and Katsuki watches hungrily as Deku tilts his head back to wet them more, and thin streams of water arc down the exposed line of his throat, dripping off the Adam’s apple protruding there. 

“Feels good, Kacchan.” Deku sighs, and he’s being genuine, no teasing or coy smiles, but it lights Katsuki’s insides up like fireworks, anyways. 

He finds himself suddenly parched, so much so that licking broad stripes up that vulnerable neck to collect the droplets clinging to Deku, is almost second-nature. Gathering the nerd in his arms until his toes barely touch the tub is natural too. Deku breathes in short open mouthed pants, and those beautiful eyes are glazed over, with lust or something equally damaging, Katsuki can’t tell for sure. 

Deku’s cock is just as hard as his, stabbing incessantly against Katsuki’s abdomen. When the engorged tip catches on Katsuki’s belly button, Deku actually whimpers. 

“You look ruined already. Barely even had to fucking touch you.” Katsuki teases, squeezing at Deku’s thighs with selfish, indulgent hands. He groans in delight when he feels the flesh spill over his fingers. 

Deku looks enamored, like Katsuki was responsible for hanging the moon, for carrying the world on his shoulders, for catching every single shooting star. Katsuki could do all that and more if Deku looked at him like that while he did it.  

“You know you’re exactly how I imagined?” Deku whispers, caught somewhere between dreamy and awe-struck. 
Katsuki can’t help but smirk, lowering his head, craning it to look Deku more squarely in the eye.

“I’m even better than you imagined, nerd. Now, watch your fucking mouth, before I lose my patience.” Katsuki croons, reveling in the full body shudder that Deku couldn’t hide if he tried. Deku huffs a laugh, but it’s practically a moan. 

“That’s hardly the threat you think it is.” Deku murmurs, dragging the tips of all ten scarred fingers down the planes of Katsuki’s chest.
Katsuki raises an eyebrow, removing one hand to blindly pump soap into his palm. 

“I thought you were a good boy, Deku? I don’t take brats to my bed, remember?” Katsuki growls, the smirk curling into something far meaner.
He hears the nerd gasp, and takes the opportunity to smack Deku’s ass with his soapy hand. The sweet coo he gets in return is heavenly, and Katsuki begins to lather the soap by running his hand over ever inch of skin he can reach. Suds foam between his fingers, but Katsuki never looks away from the debauched face Deku is making. 

“I… I can be good…” Deku whines softly, his lids droopy and subdued. 

“I know you can be, baby, you can be so…” Smack! “So…” Smack! “Good, when you want to be.” Katsuki lilts, alternating between almost syrupy sweet, saccharine touches, indulgent drags of his hands, and quick, harsh slaps across that supple ass.     

Each answering moan is a lightning bolt to Katsuki’s heavy cock, that he ruts lazily into the hollow of Deku’s hip bone. 

“O-only for Kacchan!” Deku mewls, arching up further for more contact. “Good for Kacchan…” He sighs, letting Katsuki’s hands scrub the weeks of solitude away.

“That’s it, that’s right. Only for Kacchan. You’re so fucking filthy, y’know.” Katsuki breathes against Deku’s ear, letting his tongue flick out to catch on the lobe.

“T-then clean me up, Kacchan?” Deku whines, blinking those innocent round eyes up at him. 
Katsuki chuckles, squirting more soap into his palm without looking away. He continues his work, smoothing his hands up and down, before burying his nose into the line of Deku’s jaw. 

“There’s not enough soap in the world to scrub you clean, Deku. Because you’re filthy inside too, aren’t you?” Katsuki grins, feeling the shudder reverberate through Deku’s limbs.
Katsuki’s hands never stop traveling, never pausing anywhere for too long, until both hands cup Deku’s ass cheeks and separate them.

“I-I’m good.” Deku whines again, petulant now. “I’m being good, so be nice to me, or I’ll do it myself.”  Deku’s breath hitches when two of Katsuki’s fingers slip between those cheeks and continue washing him diligently, though the intimate location makes Deku writhe in his hold.

“Tch. That ain’t the threat you think it is.” He mocks, grinning against Deku’s throat, and Katsuki feels the nerd shiver in response. “Besides, you don’t want me to be nice, I-zu-ku.” Katsuki whispers, dragging the name out so his lips drag against that freckled shoulder. His fingers circle that tight ring of muscle almost lazily. He’s not stupid enough to consider breaching it here and now, with only soap and conditioner for lube, but the tease has Deku strung tight like a bow. 

“You wouldn’t be here unless you like it when I’m mean.” Katsuki purrs, before he buries his teeth in that shoulder. Deku arches against him, needily grinding his dick against Katsuki’s taut stomach. 
The friction is apparently just enough. 

Katsuki groans into that wet flesh when Deku stiffens, keens in his ear and thick, hot cum splashes between them.

It’s an ego trip, that’s for damn sure. 
Deku is just so fucking easy.  

“Good boy.” Katsuki grins like a fat and happy house cat, luxuriating in his certainty that this is right. This is what can finally soothe that itch, that maddening blood lust that masquerades under his skin. 

To consume, to bite, to take. 

Deku pants, obviously taken off guard by his orgasm, and now clarity seems to have made him nervous. 
Deku’s face is tomato red, his scarred fingers twitching nervously against Katsuki’s shoulders, as he avoids Katsuki’s gaze. He’s muttering, but between the sound of the shower spray and the echo in the bathroom covers it.

Fuck that. 
If he has enough brain cells to be awkward then Katsuki’s not working fast enough. 

“See, baby? I know exactly what you need, Deku.” Katsuki croons, kissing the savage bite that’s likely going to bruise a beautiful shade of violet.

“Kacchan…” Deku moans, panting open mouthed at Katsuki’s collarbone.

 
Being here with Deku, when they’re both lucid, both sober, both aware that this is real, that it’s finally happening… it’s addictive. 
For years now, Deku has been everything Katsuki never deserved and everything he wanted more than anything else, and here he is.
In Katsuki’s apartment, his home, his hands, his.

Not Eyebags, not Half n Half, nobody but Kacchan.

It’s both relieving and embarrassing all at once. Katsuki is internally mortified by the sheer number of sappy thoughts the nerd makes him yap about in his own damn head.  

It will never be enough. This hunger can never truly be sated. Katsuki could drink the nerd dry, indulge in him over and over, night after night, and Katsuki would never, could never get tired of this. 
Sometimes Deku speaks a language Katsuki can’t even begin to riddle out, but in the here and now, Katsuki can play him like the world’s most erotic instrument. Can play whole symphonies with Deku’s body. He’s happy to be musically inclined if this is the reward.

Was this the piece missing the whole time? 
The physical expression of everything they can't say properly?
Where Deku lets himself be selfish and Katsuki lets himself be doting?

Last time they fucked, Katsuki never thought Deku could actually love him. He thought that was the only time he’d ever get the chance to touch the nerd like that, and every second was heartbreak and nirvana all at once… but this time everything is different.
Now they’re equals, honest for maybe the first time, and Deku needs him. He needs someone to take care of him in a way he didn’t need then. 

So that’s what Katsuki will do. 
He’ll catch him. 

Katsuki loosens his hold. 

“Stop the drain and fill the tub, nerd.” Orders Katsuki, already half turning to grab his shampoo. He glares at it, despite it’s familiar cinnamon scent and good quality. It’s not meant for curly hair, so it’ll likely make those dark curls frizzy and brittle, dry them out, but it will have to do for tonight. Maybe the amount of grease in that rat’s nest will keep it from knotting too much. 
Tomorrow Katsuki will go by the store and get something better for next time. 

Oh and there will definitely be a next time, if Katsuki has anything to say about it. 
Nerd might as well move the fuck in, immediately.
Maybe he can get Deku to agree to that after he's clean and fed... 

Deku has followed his directions, the faucet pouring water from the tap instead of the shower head, though he’s apparently struggling with the tub stopper. Katsuki would normally roll his eyes and make fun of him for it but… well, the view is too damn nice to disturb. 

Deku, bent forward, ass up for Katsuki’s viewing pleasure. His twisted fingers are trying to fight the deluge of water pressure as he cajoles the tub stopper into catching properly. Deku is clearly annoyed by it if the muttering is anything to go by. 

Katsuki just watches his ass jiggle and sway as he tries to fix it, but can’t stay quiet through his own snickering.

“You build superhero gadgets out of scrap metal and you can’t figure out how to stop up a tub drain?” Katsuki taunts with a smirk, letting his hands rest on freckled hips. 

“Shut up, Kacchan, I’m not a plumber.” Deku says through pursed lips. Finally with a half turn of the knob, the metal catches in place and the water slowly begins to lap at their feet.

“Sit your ass down, Deku.” Katsuki says still smiling, pushing on the top of sopping wet hair to lower him. 
Deku resists for a moment, before turning back around towards Katsuki, mischief in his eyes. 

“Okay, Kacchan.” He whispers, before sinking to is knees, far more sultry than Katsuki had intended.
Seeing Deku on his knees, those cheeks flushed with want, and those eyes never leaving his own… Katsuki’s cock twitches again and Deku grins cheekily.

Someone's awfully cocky for a minute man.
 
Katsuki glares at him, but Deku seems content to run his calloused hands up and down the damp blonde hairs on his thighs. 

“Can’t stop being a whore for five minutes so I can wash your nasty ass hair, huh?” Katsuki gripes without any heat, lathering the suds in his fingers and beginning to work it through the strands.  
He’s a little grossed out by the color of the suds, turning taupe in his fingers as he removes the grime and dirt that clings there.
Deku practically purrs in his hands though, letting his head fall forward onto his thigh, just inches away from Katsuki’s very painfully hard dick.

“Sorry, Kacchan… I just can’t help it. Kacchan is too pretty.” Deku sighs, before leaning forward to mouth at the connection between Katsuki’s hip and thigh almost mindlessly. His fingers curl behind Katsuki’s knees, holding him firmly in place with that ridiculous strength of his.

Stupid nerd.
Stupid praise kink. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Katsuki pants, more affected than he ought to be. He fights for control, because of course he does, dragging his nails against the base of Deku’s skull. He feels the breath against his hip stutter when Katsuki begins scrubbing at the coarser hairs at his nape, and is rewarded with a quiet moan.

That wicked little mouth works quickly, never lingering anywhere too long, one broad lick here, a ghost of lips there, as he slowly migrates closer and closer to where Katsuki really wants him. 
When he feels hot breath on his tip, heavy and dark, his fingers tighten in wet tresses, tugging Deku closer, urging him to get on with it. 

“Impatient, Kacchan.” Deku muses, his hands flexing in their spots on the back of Katsuki’s legs, as if re-evaluating his hand placement.

“No, you’re just a no-good, rotten tease-” His insults lapse, however, when those chapped lips kiss his tip almost chastely. 
Of course, he’s excited to see Deku gag on his cock like the little slut he obviously is, but there’s something… so uniquely Deku about the action that his heart flies to his throat.

Even in the calm before the storm, the eminence of getting facefucked by his middle school bully, the superhero Deku is demure. Pure. Sweet.
Ready for anything and everything Katsuki can throw at him, willing to swallow every ugly, disgusting part of him and do it gladly.

Katsuki is, for once, speechless.

Deku seems to notice, the cheeky analytical bastard, because he meets Katsuki’s eyes with nothing short of adoration and a fair bit of challenge. He gives one of those unfairly beautiful 10,000 watt smiles, despite the dick dragging against his freckled cheek, smearing pre all over his skin. Deku doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he’s a fan, nuzzling into it like a cat. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

“How can you look that innocent and that fucking lewd at the same goddamn time?!” Katsuki croaks, eyes wide. 
At least the nerd has the decency to blush. 

“I’m tired of holding back, Kacchan.” Deku mumbles against his cock, before tentatively licking at the bead of pre-cum there.
Katsuki pulls Deku’s hair in retaliation. 

“That’s MY line, dumbass.” His voice is breathy, almost whiny and Katsuki growls when he hears it. Deku, on the other hand, is enthused, and before Katsuki can formulate his revenge, Deku strikes like the little viper he is.

All at once he’s surrounded by tight, wet heat, the softness of a tongue snakes around him, delicately tracing a prominent vein, and all higher thought immediately vacates the premises. 

“Oh fuck, Deku!” 

Deku fucking chuckles around his cock and he’d be irritated by the nerd’s blatant rudeness if it didn’t make Deku's throat vibrate around him. 

His cock steadily disappears into that rough bitten mouth, over and over again until Deku finally works himself flush with Katsuki’s short coarse blonde hairs at the base. He’s fully sheathed in Deku’s throat, when Deku suddenly stills completely.

Katsuki opens his eyes, unsure of when he’d even shut them, and meets tear filled green ones. He’s captivated by those eyes, by the feeling of heat and wetness, and shudders out a breath. 

Deku looks fucking drunk, his pupils steadily swallowing up any trace of iris left untouched. Crystalline tears dance at the edges, not quite falling, but lingering on dark feathery lashes. His freckles are stark against the pretty rosy blush brightening his face. He seems perfectly content where he is, not even a bob of his throat against the intrusion. 

“F-fuck, you look…” Katsuki doesn’t know how he plans to finish that sentence so he gives up, easily and without a fight. His hands, which have long since stalled from their work to actually wash Deku's hair, tremble.  

Painfully slowly, like the world’s most erotic magic trick, Deku withdraws, revealing inch by inch of Katsuki, hard enough to cut diamonds. He doesn’t go far, but the angle unveils Deku’s spit-slick chin, a strand of saliva still linking them together. Katsuki’s thumb wipes a trail of drool from the corner of his pouty lips. 

Too soft and adoring for the current situation, in his opinion. 

“Watch me, Kacchan. Use me. Wanna be good for you.” He whispers against Katsuki, all manner of virtue and sin wrapped into one infuriating package.

“You’re gonna regret saying that.” Katsuki vows, feeling that thin shred of dignity tear against the sheer desperate need bubbling up in his gut.
He winds those foamy strands around his fingers and forces himself back down Deku’s throat, who practically mewls in pleasure. Deku's eyelashes flutter, and he falls forward, splashing in the water which has now risen to his chest. 

Katsuki wishes he was gentle, loving, soft the way Deku deserved, but his movements are rough, his desire all-consuming, and Katsuki chases his orgasm like a man possessed. 
Deku, for his part, seems content to go along for the ride, caught between the pistoning of Katsuki’s hips and the domineering hand yanking him forward to meet every thrust. Those tantalizing tears finally fall, and Deku moans in rapture from around the protrusion, and it’s bliss.

As promised, Katsuki does not look away, hell, he tries not to even blink, doesn’t want to waste a second of this visual.

Of Deku, his Deku, those damn freckled cheeks and crocodile tears, strong and capable and smart and heroic and good… just let’s himself watch Deku come apart and fucking choke on his dick. 

It’s hardly romantic, not with the cut off gasps and gurgles, and the loud shlick-shlick noises bouncing off the tiled walls. 
It’s so fucking good it rides the line of pain. 

The tears pour down his ruddy cheeks, and there’s snot and drool and the ever-rising water level but Katsuki doesn’t care, couldn’t stop if he wanted to. 

“Ha- is this all it takes to shut you up? Just shove a cock in your mouth and fuck your perfect little throat? I'll remember that. You’re gagging for it! Like it that much, nerd? Hah? I can’t hear you, Deku, speak up.” Katsuki groans, licking at one of his canines as he focuses on slowing his thrusts and making them deeper, harder, scraping the words out with his dick alone.

Deku lets out a plaintive wail in answer, the stars in his eyes almost look like hearts from here, staring at Katsuki with rapture. 
It’s so similar to their first time, to the worship he felt then that his orgasm creeps up on him from out of nowhere.

"Gonna, where do you-" He pants, grinding himself deep, not letting Deku answer the question before it stops mattering.  
Deku audibly gags when the cum floods his mouth without warning, but Katsuki holds him there, too fucked out to even realize it until crooked fingers scrabble against his calves and pat at him to be released.  

“Oh shit, sorry.” Katsuki releases his hold on Deku’s hair, clumsily backing up and nearly collapsing against the back wall. The tub is overflowing, and has been for a minute, but his brain cells have yet to come back online. Damn it, he was too rough, didn't let Deku answer, what if he didn't want to swallow, he should have pulled out before-

“Are you okay, Kacchan?” Deku croaks, his voice completely ruined. 
That’s what brings him back to the present, because it sounds like Deku’s been gargling rusty nails. Katsuki huffs a laugh that devolves into guffaws.

“Y-your voice!” He barks out a laugh when Deku pouts up at him, crossing his arms petulantly, splashing more water out of the tub as he does so.

“It’s your fault!” He rasps, and Katsuki wheezes into the tile wall in response. 

“Hell yeah it was.” Katsuki grins, holding out a hand to help Deku to his feet. 

Deku looks down at the hand offered to him incredulously, and tilts his head in the way he does when he’s confused. 
It’s familiar, in an odd way, and in the back of Katsuki’s mind he can almost see their positions reversed, the rush of the water more natural, the bright lights replaced by the sun, and that pudgy speckled little face reaching out to him in concern instead of befuddlement. 

Deku must remember too, because like the crybaby he is, he tears up and shakily takes the offered hand like it might disappear if he moves too quickly. Those scarred, gnarled fingers latch on tight and Katsuki, for once, doesn’t fight the soft smile that creeps across his face.

Katsuki moves, trying to wrap his arms around him, but Deku yips out a noise, and angles himself away. Katsuki grumbles about it, until he sees a ribbon of jizz floating and bobbing along in the ever rising water. 

“Did you seriously get off on me fucking your face?” Katsuki asks incredulously before Deku whines, covering Katsuki's mouth with a scarred up palm. 

“Shut up, leave me alone with my shame!” Deku warbles with his destroyed voice, and Katsuki’s smile is vicious as he leans around him to turn off the faucet and unstop the tub. 

“Not a chance, Deku. Your shame belongs to me now, you little freak.” Deku buries his face in Katsuki’s chest at the words as he snickers.

Somehow a lot of the fire has fizzled away from this encounter, but Katsuki can’t bring himself to be disappointed by it. Deku is sagging into his chest, his eyelids drooping, and the faint tremor to his hands suggest it’s been too fucking long since he’d rested. Katsuki will definitely blow the nerd’s back out tomorrow, but it looks like Deku’s about to fall asleep standing up. 
So they stay like that awhile.

It’s chilly as they watch the water drain, hanging onto each other for stability, for warmth, just because they can. 
Once the dirty water is gone, they finish their shower, never more than a few inches apart. Rinsing the dirt and blood and sweat from Deku’s hair is disgusting, and he makes sure to chastise the nerd for letting it get this bad.  
The bathroom is practically flooded by the time the nerd is sufficiently clean, but Katsuki doesn’t care. Doesn’t regret it even a little bit. 

Fucking worth it for the best head of his life (sure, technically it was the only head of his life but if he has anything to say about it, it’s the first of many). 
Nerd’s mouth is godly.

Once they’re done, bundled in fluffy red towels, Katsuki tosses Deku over his shoulder, ignoring the squawks of protest and breathless giggling, he takes him straight to the bedroom. 

The energy is different in here, and Katsuki can tell they both remember what happened last time they were in here. 

All the good, all the bad. 

The nerd gets antsy, bashfully fidgeting and awkward, insisting that he can take the couch, but Katsuki continues to ignore him.

A few months ago, Katsuki might overthink that polite offer, assume Deku was trying to leave, to sneak out in the early hours of the morning… and while that insecurity isn’t completely soothed, he knows better than to assume Deku’s feelings at this point. 

He throws on a pair of sweatpants before ducking back to the kitchen, speedily tossing out the wilting vegetables he’d abandoned earlier, only to return with a first aid kit he keeps in the cupboard. 

Deku is snuggled onto his comforter, clad only in a ratty old pair of basketball shorts that fit far too snuggly against those thighs for such a baggy clothing item.

Focus, Katsuki. 
There’s time for that later. 

The slash of his sword nicked Deku’s shoulder pretty deep, and the wound weeps if the nerd moves around too much (and when has that fidgety fuck ever stayed still for five seconds) so Katsuki stitches the cut up after cleaning it out. Deku whines and flinches away from the alcohol pads but Katsuki doesn’t let him wiggle away, sitting square on his lap to pin him down. 

With his freakish strength Deku could probably buck Katsuki off easily, but he knows better than to do so. Katsuki’s mind wanders to how that might feel, riding the nerd into overstimulated oblivion, to draw it out, to feel Deku settle into his stomach and bouncing on those thick thighs…  

“Kacchan?” Deku mumbles drowsily, his voice still rough, letting his head fall forward onto Katsuki’s other shoulder as he finishes up. Katsuki doesn’t startle but his cheeks heat up.

Katsuki only grunts in answer, trying to focus on tying off the thread of his stitch instead. His finger pads are chemically smooth, so there isn’t a lot of traction to keep it from slipping through his fingers and it’s fucking annoying… but he tunes back in when he feels Deku’s fingers dance over his bare hip. 

It isn’t a sexual touch, nothing teasing or flirty, but it’s impossibly warm. 

Intimate. 
Loving. 
Like Deku physically cannot keep his hands from touching him.

Clingy little fuck. 

“Can we talk some m-more tomorrow? There’s… ahn, lots to tell Kacchan.” Deku rasps around a yawn.

Fucker looks adorable, all sleepy-eyed. He’s resting more heavily on Katsuki now, his head lolling to the side to bury his nose into the crook of Katsuki’s neck. 
His fingers are slower, dragging sluggishly now.

Katsuki smiles to himself, knowing Deku can’t see as he wraps his arms around the nerd.

“Yeah, Deku. You just gotta promise me one thing first.” He murmurs into damp curls, scooting the first aid kit further down the bed with his foot. 

“Mmn?” Deku mumbles drowsily, smacking his mouth. 
Huh, Katsuki should’ve made him brush his teeth again, he probably has spunk breath.

“Promise me you’ll still be here in the morning, you'll stick around?” Katsuki whispers, and only closes his eyes tightly when it comes out broken and pleading. 

“Promise, Kacchan.” Deku sighs, and hardly a few seconds later, his eyes drift closed, and he slumps completely boneless into Katsuki’s waiting arms.

 

---

Katsuki wakes suddenly, panicked. Birds chirp outside, light streams through the window, but his eyes are blurry and not focusing properly. He scrubs a hand down his face, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes as he gets his bearings. He usually wakes up early, but the sun is so bright for some reason. Katsuki's eyes flick to the clock on his nightstand and he blanches at the time. 

It's nine in the morning! 
 
Was it all a dream? Deku creeping in through the balcony, the confessions, the shower, the warmth of skin against his own…  

Deku.

Where?

A light snore from under the covers answers the question. Katsuki peeks under it, and is besotted to see Deku still asleep, completely dead to the world. He’s curled halfway into Katsuki’s arm pit and koala’d around his extra pillow. He must’ve burrowed under there to escape the early morning light. Katsuki can just barely feel the tiny puffs of breath exhaling against his rib cage.  

Deku is here.
He didn’t leave.
He didn’t sneak out.
He didn’t chase down a fire and burn to death.

He’s here. 

In Katsuki’s bed, on a sunny Wednesday morning, drool pooling under his lax face.
Katsuki breathes, and slowly lets the doubt and insecurity bleed away. 

He stayed. 

Really, Katsuki shouldn’t be all that surprised, after everything that happened last night. Between the fight, the kiss, the… er… other stuff. But somehow that anxiety had curdled in his stomach all night long, the idea that he’d wake up alone… again. 

Heartbroken, again. 

Katsuki lets himself curl around the muscular frame of his childhood friend, lets his nose bury itself in curls that smell like his own shampoo, instead of spearmint and salt, and just enjoys the feeling of Deku’s steady snores in the safety and security of his bed. Deku nuzzles further into his hold, seeking out more contact, and a sleepy smile stretches his face when he gets it, his cheek resting against one of Katsuki’s pecs. Content and warm and happy even in his dreams.  

And if, in the quiet, in the bliss of the morning, Katsuki lets a few tears fall in sheer relief?

Nobody has to know.

 

---

 

He must’ve fallen back asleep at some point, but it couldn’t be for long because when he wakes again, Deku has barely twitched, still completely unconscious and showing no signs of changing that any time soon. 

How long has it been since Deku slept?

Katsuki remembers the deep bags under his eyes, the exhaustion that clung to him last night. Katsuki thumbs under Deku’s eyes, relieved that they’re much less swollen and dark now. 

“Dumb nerd.” He breathes. 
Watching Deku’s deep, steady breathing, Katsuki remembers what he had wanted to do the last time the nerd graced his bed and slides off the mattress with a mischievous grin.

Gonna knock breakfast out of the goddamn park.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t exactly prepared to play host to someone else’s taste buds. The nerd likes grease, and sugar, and disgustingly complex carbohydrates, and that’s not allowed over his threshold.  

Thankfully he has enough eggs left to make two heaping plates of pancakes, though Katsuki’s have protein powder and bacon in them to stop them from being too sweet. Deku’s are extra light and fluffy, a bit of cinnamon and honey in them like Aunty Inko used to make.  Katsuki’s disappointed that he doesn’t have maple syrup or butter to drench them in.

Maybe he should keep some disgusting sweet garbage around for Deku… 

So instead he makes a quick strawberry syrup.

He really should’ve strained it first, though, the seeds will be annoying and gummy. 
Dammit, does he have time to redo it?

“Kacchan?” A rumbly voice yawns from the hall, and Katsuki looks up to see Deku, still shirtless, rubbing at his eyes. He's still in Katsuki’s shorts, and that stupid piercing glints in the sun from the windows.  

Clearly he does not have time to make another batch. 

Deku’s hair is, just as Katsuki predicted, incredibly fluffy, frizzy like a dandelion. It looks ridiculous, but between the hard planes of muscle, the badass scarring, and the dopey look on his face… Katsuki finds himself speechless instead of mocking. 

Pathetic. 

“Morning, nerd.” Katsuki replies tersely, trying to keep the butterflies locked in his stomach where they fucking belong. Stupid cute idiot and his stupid fluffy hair and his muscular fucking-

“You made breakfast?” Deku says, his eyes wide and transfixed on the stacks of fluffy pancakes. 

“Comes with the service.” Katsuki grunts, only a little bitter about not getting the chance to do this the last time. 
Deku seems to realize that too, always so good at seeing right through him, because he smiles apologetically before sitting on the bar stool. Katsuki slides the plate over, before dumping the second-rate syrup over them. 
 
Guess it’ll have to do for today.

“Sorry, again, Kacchan.” He says quietly, but there’s a pout to his lips, a downcast look in his eyes.

“Oi. What the fuck is wrong with you? Do-do you suddenly not like pancakes or somethin’? Spit it out.” Katsuki huffs, definitely not worried or anything, but bustling around the kitchen to clean up his mess and avoid that kicked-puppy expression on Deku’s face.

Shit, what had he done wrong?
Too much salt in the batter? 

No, fuck you, those pancakes were perfect, he made sure. 

Katsuki had half a mind to check the milk in the fridge again, but it wasn’t supposed to expire for another couple weeks… 

Had he misunderstood?

Was this too much? Sure, they’d confessed and whatever but maybe- Oh. Katsuki hadn’t technically confessed, had he?

Maybe Deku thought this was a physical thing only on his part?
 
Goddammit.

“Oh, no! They look lovely, and I’m starving, so it’s definitely not that! Kacchan is always so impressive in the kitchen, I’m sure they’re amazing!” Deku says hurriedly, shoveling a full pancake into his gob to prove the point. 

“Then what is it?” Katsuki asks, washing the dishes aggressively, pushing every insecurity down into a molten ball in his stomach.
Deku mumbles around his full mouth like the slob he is. 

“Swallow first and then speak the hell up.” Katsuki hisses, scrubbing at the spatula hard enough to snap it between his fingers. 
Ugh, he needs metal utensils, this plastic shit is not cutting it. Wood is unhygienic, never clean enough-

“Ahn… they are delicious, Kacchan, as expected. I guess, I just… well it’s a little embarrassing…” Deku mutters, occasionally talking around another bite like he was never taught fucking manners. “You said… it ‘came with the service’. I guess I was just wondering… how many people have gotten ‘the service’? Not that you have to tell me, of course! It’s not my business who Kacchan… s-sleeps with, but I can’t help but feel a little jealous, okay maybe a lot, and obviously I’ve only ever been with Kacchan but you’re so confident and attractive, I’m sure you’ve had more than your fair share of-” Katsuki is caught between laughing, screaming, and fucking the nerd into next year.

This culminates in him spinning on his heels, slamming his hands down onto the counter, and leaning over the island to look directly into those big ass eyes.      

“Try that again. Without the babbling, this time. What exactly do you want to know?” 

“H-How many people…  have you ‘slept’ with, Kacchan? And… made breakfast for?” Deku mumbles out, fidgeting and rapidly breaking eye contact, but constantly dragging his gaze back to Katsuki’s face. 

“How many do you fucking think?” He’s not sure what makes him even ask, but he wants to understand what is not clicking here, what more he has to say to get the nerd to understand. This cannot keep fucking happening and obviously communication is gonna be a thing they need to have going forward.  

“Um… the uh, normal amount? M-maybe?” Deku cringes, unsure. He continues eating the pancakes, and gets a blob of bright red syrup down his bare chest. Katsuki watches it, fascinated, and nearly combusts when it drips over a nipple slowly. 

Gross?

Katsuki frowns, mildly perplexed.

Since when has Deku being sloppy been a turn-on?
He thinks back to that first time, to the tears and the begging and the noises… okay, so maybe that’s been a thing for awhile. 

Disgusting that it goes this fucking far though, he’ll never forgive the nerd. 
He refuses to compromise on his cleanliness standards. 

“N-not that any amount is ‘normal’, that was rude, I just don’t want to imply that Kacchan is promiscuous, that was silly of me, Kacchan isn't a fan of people touching him, and would only settle for the best, I'm sure. I just mean that you’re so confident and erm… good at it? I know I don’t have a wide frame of reference, clearly, but Kaminari-kun only said you two kissed at prom-” Deku mutters, petering out as Katsuki watches with burning cheeks.

Fuck.
Okay.

'Good at it', he says.
Heh.

Wait.
Dunce Face?!

“He said fucking what?” The explosions pop against the counter top and thankfully aren’t enough to do much damage but he does scorch them. 

Well there goes my fucking security deposit.

“ At-at the party, Kaminari-kun told Toshi about it, and I kinda overheard. Er… he said you asked him to call you Kacchan and you kissed? He didn’t know I could hear though! Superpowers, y’know? I’m sorry if I violated your privacy, he did say you were very drunk, and I-” Deku babbles, talking with his hands and yammering on and on about fucking Pikachu of all people.

Katsuki will murder that idiot later.
He grits his teeth and counts to ten in his head before he threads his fingers together and regards Deku seriously. 

Okay, communication time. 

Fuck. 

“Forget about that idiot. You said I was the only person you ever slept with.” Katsuki says directly.
Deku practically steams, his face lobster red, but he nods furiously.

“Why?”

Deku blinks for a few seconds, apparently too confused to be embarrassed anymore. 

“Why what? Why is that statement true?” He asks, perplexed.

“Yes, dumbass. Why am I the only person you’ve ever slept with. I know you’ve had opportunities. Half n Half and Eyebags would violate the Geneva Convention to get you in the sack.” He says it like a statement, because quite frankly it is, and if he’s understanding the events of last night properly, Deku is just a fucking idiot. 

“B-because I love Kacchan.” Deku answers automatically, like the answer is obvious, there’s no uptick in question, and it settles some of the insecurity that usually swims through his veins. Katsuki ignores the absolute giddiness in his fucking stomach about hearing that said out loud, and resolves to continue hearing it as often as possible. 

Thankfully(?) he doesn’t address the statement about the other extras.

However there is something he needs to say out loud.

Something Deku deserves to hear.
This needs to be as direct as possible.

“Yes. That. So why do you think I was any different?” He asks seriously. 

“Different from what?” 

Katsuki sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

For someone so smart, Deku could be more oblivious than Dunce Face sometimes.

“Listen up, because I know you need things to be as crystal fucking clear because your anxious nerd brain is too fast for its own good."

Deku pouts, but doesn't interrupt, thankfully.

"Deku, I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I resented you because of how vulnerable you made me, and I tried to change that or demand shit on my terms. I was fucked in the head because then, after all of the shit I did to toughen you up or whatever, I blamed you for everything you 'made' me do. For everything you weren't. I know better now, that was my issue to deal with, you didn't deserve any of that shit. I was selfish. I didn't even know you and Aunty were struggling, and... fuck." He hangs his head.  "I’m sorry, Izuku. For everything. I know I don’t deserve you, but no matter what happens I don’t think that will ever change. For better or for worse, you’re it for me, Izuku. I'm all yours, in whatever ways you want me.” He tries to keep his tone matter-of-fact, to match the sincerity in Dek… in Izuku’s own confession that had unfortunately gone unheard.

The nerd seems to freeze, he doesn’t even seem to be breathing, and his blinking seems to have completely stopped, staring open mouthed at Katsuki like his entire world just ended.

That does not inspire confidence, but Katsuki pushes through, because he's not a fucking quitter. 

“Even if you told me to fuck off right now, you wouldn’t get rid of me. Someone needs to watch your ass, and I need to keep you from getting your dumbass killed pulling some stupid stunt. Don’t think you’re weaseling out of telling me about this shit with the yakuza, with OFA, just because of this feelings bullshit, either. I know you have shit you've been keeping under wraps, and we're done with that, you hear me? You're going to tell me what the hell is going on and we're going to be the team Dr. Toshinori wanted us to be. Oh, and you live here now, get used to it, nerd.” Katsuki grunts, withdrawing to clean their plates as Deku processed his many declarations.

He hadn't meant to say quite that much, but whatever, ball is in Deku's court now.

Katsuki isn't worried about being rejected, necessarily, because even if he was, he'd just convince the nerd somehow.

Heh, maybe his dick could be used for good, could probably get him to agree to anything if Katsuki timed it right...

The tears are rather sudden, and torrential. Izuku sobs a startling wounded noise and then Katsuki has an intrusive concern for his floors flooding in the bathroom and in here. 

Well he already lost the fucking security deposit on the counters, guess it's not that big of a deal. 

“Deku. Breathe.”

The nerd in question blinks through his tears, suddenly realizing he hadn’t answered Katsuki yet. 
And then the word vomit starts. 

“Kacchan, you can't just say stuff like that! I wasn't prepared, you jerk! Oh my god, I... I don't even know where to start. I love Kacchan, I always have. I don't know what you mean about 'deserving' me, and we should probably talk about that more later, but I forgave you for all of that a long time ago, Kacchan. I didn't want to make you feel bad for not realizing we weren't exactly at the same level. Sure it sucked and it hurt, but we were just kids." Deku rubs his shoulder absently, where some of the worst scarring is. "I can't stand not being near you. That night on the roof... before everything happened, I... I was so excited to be heroes with you. Show you I could hold my own, that you didn't need to worry, but obviously that kinda backfired." He scrubs his hands down his cheeks and stares at the counter with a furrowed brow. "There's a lot we need to go over, about the fires, about D-Dr. Toshinori, about OFA, about Shigaraki and the drives, about Eri..." He gets quieter as he goes, devolving into muttering and fidgeting, his fingers drumming the counter. 

Katsuki is still trying to process that apparently, in Deku's infinite kindness and dumbassery, he's already forgiven Katsuki before he even had the guts to apologize.

Endlessly accepting, painfully patient and forgiving.

So damn hopeful. 

That was a good way to describe Deku, Katsuki thought, the Symbol of Hope.

And here Katsuki was, trying not to cry in his kitchen over subpar syrup stained dishes.

Always a step behind.
Well, at least he could watch Deku's back from here. 

Definitely still going to surpass him, though, even with OFA. 
After all, Katsuki's going to be a hero. One that's worth standing at Deku's side. Aizawa and Ponytail believe in him, they've never seen him as a monster, and now that he knows Deku doesn't either... well maybe this is what he's meant for. After all, there's many things Deku should never have to do, but would need to be done. Katsuki could toe that line between hero and villain, never let those scarred hands become bloodstained or vengeful. 

Keep Deku as safe and as pure as possible. 
Well, outside of the bedroom, of course.

"To answer your question, by the way, the answer is just you, Deku. You think I'd let any random extra have my cooking? Let alone my cock? Get real." Katsuki grins, eying him up and down as Deku chokes, seemingly on thin air.

"K-Kacchan?! Wha..." Deku splutters, his eyes wide and surprised.

Katsuki just chuckles, ignoring the stuttering questions in favor of crossing the room and walking down the hall towards the guest room. 

He hears when Deku slides off the stool, unthinkingly following after Katsuki like a duckling.

Just like he used to.

Once he flings opens the door, Katsuki watches Deku's eyes widen. 

The guest room has sort of become his home base, the room that holds most of his files and investigative materials (and sure, maybe a few tasteful All Might collectables). 

"Kacchan sugoi..." Deku whispers, eyes raking the room, cataloguing everything. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm the fucking best." Katsuki dismisses, fondly.

They're burning daylight, and there's too much ground to cover in the investigation for Deku to get all worked up. 
Even now, the nerd is toeing inside with wide, wonderstruck eyes, his fingers twitching and fidgeting against each new thing that catches his attention in the space.

It's familiar, the same face he made as a brat when they went inside comic book stores, or watched All Might cartoons, or saw fireworks, or the beach, or...
Deku's bottom lip is tugged between his teeth, gnawing on it subconsciously, something awed in his expression, an inherent praise that Katsuki fucking thrives on. 

The thought almost makes him smirk, maybe Deku getting worked up wasn't such a bad idea...
  
Unfortunately there's a maniac setting shit on fire, a corrupt police captain calling for Deku's head on a pike, and a hundred or so other things to deal with, so Katsuki unfortunately can't get distracted with his new favorite hobby of making Deku cry on his dick. 

Speaking of the nerd, Deku is still surveying the board in front of him like it holds the secrets to the universe.

It is pretty badass, Katsuki admits with no small amount of pride. 

Amassed on cork and covered in pages of materials, research, and photos, this whiteboard outlines all that Katsuki knows about their situation. 
There's all the information Ponytail provided him with, including proof of Enji Todoroki's corruption, a few photo copied pages of the diary, even a character breakdown of IcyHot (which Deku furrows his brows at) including his connection to both Captain Todoroki and his not-so-deceased big brother, Touya as the potential arsonist. There's a few security images of some of the shadier dealings going down within the Police Department, too, and thanks to Aizawa's tech they weren't even that hard to get. There's a map of Tokyo in the center, marking the location of each fire and a few theories about why they were chosen. On another section of the board is information about OFA, about Deku, about Dr. Toshinori, connected to the map via string connecting to the USJ fire. Deku's comings and goings are at the bottom, including information he's gathered about the Shie Hassaikai, though it's frustratingly vague. In fact, of every yakuza sect he could uncover in the last month, this one in particular was closed off, no information in or out. 

All of this is centered around a sticky note with a question mark over it, "TASKMASTER" scrawled above it in red.
Each of his targets are written in red, and confirmed kills in black, scattered across the board.

Regardless of his involvement with the fires, with Dr. Toshinori's death, if that bastard thinks he can get his greedy fingers on OFA, on Deku? That means the fucker needs to die.  
Despite all the information present, there are too many empty spaces around the details he hasn't uncovered. 

In fact, there's a painful amount of blank space, ready and waiting for things Katsuki isn't sure of, can't confirm, or doesn't know yet. 

"Obviously it isn't finished but between the two of us-" Katsuki starts but quickly bites his tongue as Deku stalks forward, wrapping his arms around Katsuki's middle before burying his face in his back. 

"Kacchan." Deku hums. 

"Fucking what?" He huffs, ignoring the heat in his cheeks and ears.  

"You're so amazing, so perfect." Deku sighs into the muscles of his back through his tank top. 

"I know all of that, you damn stalker. You know, we actually have shit to do-" The arms wound around his middle loosen, as if to release him, but before Katsuki can turn around to mess with the nerd, they slide slowly, dangerously across his abdomen. Those big hands cover his waist and he can feel each finger digging into his sides, along the divots of his ribs. 

They don't let him go far at all.

"Did you mean it?" Deku asks lowly, and it's so much deeper than his normal speaking voice that Katsuki freezes, the energy in the room suddenly changing with just that one sentence.
 
"Mean what? " Katsuki answers cautiously, trying to crane his neck back to look at Deku's expression. 

"Earlier, you said I could have you however I wanted you. Did you mean that?" Deku ghosts his lips over a sensitive spot below his ear, the timber of his voice reverberating in the stillness. 

Well fuck, Katsuki did say something like that, hadn't he?

At the time he'd meant whatever role Deku wanted him in, a friend, a lover, a partner, a teammate... but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't painfully curious.
Wasn't willing. 
Wasn't hoping for something like this not even five minutes previous. 

Deku continues mouthing over his skin, settling into Katsuki's every sense slowly. He smells faintly like strawberry syrup, but the sweetness is cut by the saltiness of his skin. Summer incarnate, ozone like a thunderstorm, washing away the cinnamon of Katsuki's shampoo. 

Clean and fresh and stormy, healing and ravaging all at once, so uniquely Deku.

It's fine if it's Deku.
Only him. 

"When do I ever say shit I don’t mean?" Katsuki says again, parroting his words from last night. Those rough fingers tighten into his ribs again, probably hard enough to bruise but Katsuki just arches into the feeling. 

Okay, so maybe the nerd isn't the only one down for a little pain. 
Deku always gives as good as he gets, after all. 

"Let me enjoy this. Just be good." Deku says hotly, grazing his nose down Katsuki's back again, like he did last night before they stepped into the shower. 

"Don't tell me what to fucking do." Katsuki counters with a grin towards the ceiling, reveling in the flex of gnarled fingers. 

When his chest slams onto the desk, Katsuki is momentarily surprised, he hadn't even felt the perspective change until he was already there, a gnarled hand holding his shoulders flush to the table top. 
 
"Oi, what do you-" He barks, trying to thrash, but a hand in his hair stops him from doing more than hissing. The lips at his ear have him practically writhing against the wood. 

"Behave, Katsuki. I'm busy." Deku admonishes. 

Has Deku ever actually said Katsuki's real name before? 
It's so... different. 
He's Kacchan, not Katsuki when it comes to Deku, but the way he says it? Almost... possessive. Dangerous.
Like he wanted to fight, he wanted to bite and be bitten back, wanted to bleed over an altar and have the same done for him in return.

Katsuki could get used to it.  

Once confident that Katsuki wouldn't try to buck him off, Deku loosens his fingers from Katsuki's hair, before patting at his head like a dog. The comparison is only proven when Deku sighs contentedly and praises him, still using that unfairly serious voice. "Good boy, Katsuki." 

As much shit as he gives Deku for his own praise kink, the groan that comes out of his own mouth is mortifying.
Thankfully Deku doesn't acknowledge the noise, barely seems to even notice. 

Katsuki isn't mildly disappointed, shut the hell up. 

One scarred hand pets at his hair, meandering and gentle, smoothing the spikes around his ears with one slow movement. Katsuki's lower half is pinned against the desk, biting into his hips, despite his hands clinging to the edge, almost white knuckled. Katsuki feels Deku's firm weight against his back, hooking his chin over Katsuki's shoulder. 

Confidently, in a way Deku almost never is, the hand in his hair slips down his back, snaking between every vertebrae of Katsuki's spine, lighting him on fire from the inside out.  
The other hand, mysteriously absent until now, comes up to Katsuki's hip, rubbing calming, claiming circles on the jut of the bone. 

"You did so well, Katsuki. This is amazing. So much effort went into this, it's very impressive. Always the smartest in the room, ahead of everyone else. Just naturally better than the rest of us, a god on his throne..." Deku mutters, rocking his hips against Katsuki's ass appreciatively.

The whine escapes before he can tamp it down, too preoccupied with Deku's tentative touches.

Tentative, no, that's not right.... not tentative, not hesitant, but languid.

Slow.

Savoring.

Reverent.

As soon as he thinks that, Katsuki feels it. 
A hand tugging the sweatpants he's wearing down centimeter by centimeter with one goddamn crooked finger. 

"Always knew you'd be good at anything you put your mind to. Look at you, Katsuki, you're so amazing, so perfect." Deku breathes in his ear.

"S-shut up, you creepy motherfucker." The husky praise makes Katsuki lightheaded, his thoughts a jumble of Deku, stimuli, and anticipation. Thankfully this position allows him to hide his face, because he's humiliated and hot and ever so slightly spreading his legs, allowing Deku access to whatever the hell he's planning. 

If it were anyone else, Katsuki would have exploded their face off and pissed on their grave but Deku has always been the exception, hasn't he? 

So for maybe the first time in his entire life, Katsuki relinquishes control, allows himself to be poked and prodded by curious fingers, allows Deku to whisper compliments and warm, gooey praise into his skin.

It's swelteringly hot, the sweat has him feeling sticky, their exposed skin stuck together, decadent like honey or caramel. 

Deku ruts against him, barred from skin on skin contact only by threadbare basketball shorts. The material is silky smooth, gliding over his heated skin. He doesn't tense again until those fingers finally crook and drag idly against his entrance, and though he is willing (so fucking willing) the feeling brings white hot shame, and an unnamable panic to the surface. 

"Shhh, I got you, Katsuki." Deku murmurs, feeling his apprehension and petting his side soothingly. 

"Fuck you, I don't need your pity." Katsuki hisses, cornered and volatile, and-

"Not pity, never pity." Deku interrupts seriously. "I just want to tell you how amazing you are, how lovely. You're so pretty like this, you know that? Dreamed of this, Katsuki. You're doing so well for me, never thought I'd get to have you." Deku purrs against his trapezius, nipping lightly at the skin and letting his hot breath draw goosebumps to the surface. 

Katsuki breathes deeply, trying to force calmness back into his posture, to will himself pliant. 

It's just Deku. 
Calm down, it's just-

All progress on calming himself down is lost to the ether when those fingers, now somehow slick and cold, press against him again, and do not immediately retreat. Instead they linger, pressing against him almost insistently, but painfully, achingly still. 

Shit, guess it's now or never.

"Hah, get... get on with it, if you're going to. Don't have all day." Katsuki pants, trying to inject some steel or acid into his tone. 

"Is that really what you want?" Deku smiles the question into his neck, nuzzling into the shorter fuzz at the nape, peppering him with chaste kisses. 

Clingy dork.

"I just fucking said-" The burn cuts him off this time, stealing all the words from his throat, leaving only a stuttering gasp where they had once been. 

Those crooked, awful, skilled fingers slip into him almost too quickly. It hurts, and the intrusion is new, confusing, he isn't sure if he likes it or not until they just keep going, dragging and petting against his insides like they had in his hair. 

Reverent again. 

"F-fuck." Katsuki whines, trying to swallow his moans, tensing up and gritting his teeth when the burn is sharper for it. 

"Ease up, come on, Katsuki I know you can do it. You can do anything you set your mind to." Deku whispers, sounding so fucking genuine it hurts. "Let me show you how it feels when you're inside of me."

Holy fucking shit, this nerd is going to be the death of him. 

So Katsuki breathes again, tries to will himself to relax, and is rewarded for this feat by a sharp bright light behind his eyelids when Deku dances over something inside him. It feels like nothing else, pure pleasure, unbridled and unfettered and way too fucking much. 
  
He hopes Deku didn't notice, hopes he can salvage whatever scraps of his dignity are left, keep his sanity in tact... but Deku has always had a sharp eye for Katsuki, always plucked at his frayed edges with analytical curiosity, and an insufferable ease.

This is no different. 

"See? I knew you could do it, Katsuki." Deku drags a fucking fingernail across that spot, uncharacteristically mean and obviously intentional. Katsuki feels hot, embarrassed tears sting at the corners of his eyes. The noise that spills out of his mouth is almost inhuman, and Katsuki shudders, panting into the air, unseeing. 

"Aw, it's okay, Katsuki, if you can't do it." Deku sighs theatrically, clicking his tongue as if disappointed. "I should have known it would be too hard for you, I'm sorry." The bastard does not sound sorry at all, doesn't pause his ministrations even once, stroking that spot in him lazily.

Katsuki knows it's a goad, an appeal to his competitive side, a challenge for him to overcome, because those soft, supportive circles against his hip have never once stopped. A firm presence reminding him of who exactly is behind him at this moment, and why Deku would be the only one to be allowed there. The use of his first name helps to reaffirm it too. This is just a game, as mental as it is physical. If Katsuki really and truly wanted to stop right now Deku would back off immediately and never mention it again, but... he doesn't want to. 

And Deku knows that. 

Super strength or whatever the fuck aside, Deku would never hurt Katsuki and Katsuki never does anything he doesn't want to. 

This is no different. 

It's just them. 
  
Katsuki chuckles wryly, putting every ounce of bravado he has left into twisting his spine to lock eyes with Deku, an open mocking grin on his lips and a shaky middle finger hanging precariously in the air. 

"You talk too damn much, nerd. I can take anything your sorry ass can dish out." He swallows the noise building in his throat when Deku gives him one of those blinding smiles, still petting softly inside and out, always a goddamn gentleman.

"I expected nothing less, Kacchan." The words are so fond, so sunshine warm and full of love that Katsuki almost experiences whiplash from the casual destruction of Deku removing his fingers, leaving him empty and cold. It's jarring, and a panic bubbles in his gut, intense and tragic in a way he hadn't anticipated.

Logically he knows Deku isn't going anywhere, wouldn't leave him like this, wouldn't abandon him, right? He proved that this morning, so why? Why does- 

Before Katsuki can sort through these thoughts, can figure out how he feels about them, to categorize and ruminate, the blunt heat of Deku's cock replaces the missing fingers.

A shout is punched out of him, escaping through gritted teeth, but as far as Katsuki is concerned, only the soft panting of Deku in his ear and the vulgar sounds of his own body acclimating to Deku's intrusion exist in this room. The stretch is slow, methodical, like every centimeter is accounted for. Knowing Deku, they are, every movement strategic and careful, a firm constant pressure, carving him open.

Katsuki can practically feel it in his throat, what the fuck?
Deku isn't that big, why does it feel like his whole body is having to make room?

"Oh fuck."

It takes a second to realize the words came from Deku, not himself. 
Something about innocent Deku cussing out loud because of him does something to his body, because Deku moans, unashamed and loud in his ear. 

"You tightened up, Kacchan, it feels too good, so good, so amazing." Deku warbles, and Katsuki knows he's already crying before the first hot drips land on his sweaty lower back. 
If they were in any other position Katsuki might've rolled his eyes, but as it is, he's too fucked out to care, hung on some kind of precipice. Some never-before reached state of being, lax and full and overwhelmed. It's the most beautiful torture when Deku begins rocking against him, dragging his cock through his walls and rubbing against every part of him. "Kacchan is so beautiful and strong and brave. Don't deserve this, too amazing. It's wet inside, so tight! How does it feel for Kacchan? Is it good?" He starts mumbling, humping against him like a damn dog. 

Deku doesn't shut the hell up, mumbling and muttering filthy praise and horrible, amazing narration of every minute detail until he works up a rhythm, punishing and impossibly fast. Deku's slamming against him, fast and hard, too quickly for Katsuki to keep up. Every drag rewires his brain, every squelch somehow disgusting and thrilling, Katsuki's own noises clawing violent wounds into his pride. 

"Fuck, Deku!" It's the first words Katsuki can remember saying in an embarrassing amount of time, and the whiny quality has him hiding his face in his own forearms, but it seems to be just what Deku wanted. He growls, and since when does the nerd growl? It would be funny if it weren't so mind numbingly hot. 

He continues pumping his hips, once, twice, three times. 
And then pulls out completely. 

"Wait, no! Come back, I-" The agony in his own voice is surprising, so similar to the removal of those crooked fingers from before, but Deku doesn't leave him for long. Without even a word, Deku just picks him up like he weighs absolutely nothing, and spins him around to slam his back against the desk. Katsuki's legs are spread, Deku shackling his ankles in those mangled hands. Katsuki should be humiliated, being seen like this, tears on his face, pressed into a mating press on his own fucking desk and likely would be if it weren't for Deku's desperate, crying face above him. 

Oh. 

Everything will be okay. 
This is just Deku, and that makes it better than okay. 

Because those wild green eyes are overflowing with pitiful tears, his cheeks are bright red again, his expression contorted in need and desperation. 
So he relents, winds his arms around Deku's craned neck, allows himself to just feel, to trust that Deku would be there to pick up whatever pieces are left of Katsuki after this. 

He trusts Deku that much. 

"Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan..." That name, his name, is a mantra on Deku's lips, his eyes focused only on Katsuki's face. If it were Katsuki he would have poked fun, would have watched the place they were joined, teased the nerd for his reactions, but Deku doesn't do any of that. He doesn't smirk, he doesn't look like a predator, he looks happy... Katsuki's orgasm is so surprising, so shocking, that the noise he makes is almost wounded. 

It sets off some chain reaction, Deku gasping and stuttering on his name, his thrusts erratic and so lightening fast that it feels like Katsuki will shake apart like a broken washing machine. The warmth when Deku finishes, molten hot like a miniature sun pumps him full, washes over him like a blanket. It fills him, all the cracks and divots of his soul, every rough edge and hurt feeling simultaneously smoothed. Deku's mangled hands shake as he threads their fingers together, latching on like he needs it. 

"Izuku." Katsuki says, just to say it. Just to feel it on his tongue again. 

"Kacchan." Deku cries into his chest, his shoulders shaking and his smile watery.

They stay like that awhile, until Deku's cries bleed out into sniffles, and Katsuki's back starts to ache. 

Katsuki watches, uncomprehendingly as the nerd leans forward, still balls deep inside him, and swipes the green dry erase marker. It's his color, obviously, designated for Deku, with his movements and patterns the only things in that color on the board. Without a word, or perhaps with too many for Katsuki to parse through, Deku begins muttering, filling in the gaps of the board with impressive speed and detail. 

"You've got to be fucking with me." Katsuki groans, fighting a smile as his nerd blinks down at him, seemingly just now realizing he was otherwise engaged.

"S-sorry, Kacchan!" He chirps with an embarrassed smile, retreating a few inches to slip himself free. It's not as startling as it had been, but Katsuki cringes at the feeling of Deku's spend beginning to leak from him. "Sh-should I-"

Katsuki waves him off, limping to the bathroom, and leaving Deku alone with the board and his chicken scratch handwriting.

Truthfully, he's grateful for the privacy. 

After getting his guts rearranged and what feels like a brand new perspective on life, Katsuki probably would have rioted if Deku insisted on following him, coddling him. Katsuki intends to take a few minutes to himself, but finds himself frowning at the unceremonious pile of impossibly expensive hero suit littering in the bathroom floor, instead. The belt is only an inch away from a puddle of standing water from last night. He rolls his eyes, before yanking it out of the floor and tossing it on the couch in the living room. 

After salvaging Deku's entire fucking livelihood from the bathroom floor, Katsuki removes his hearing aids and hops in the shower. Cleaning himself out is mortifying, and no small amount of gross, in his opinion. As nice as it had been, Katsuki decides he's definitely making the idiot wear a damn condom next time. 

When he's finished, toweled dry and looking into the mirror above the sink, he audibly snorts. 

Katsuki looks the same, but at the same time, he doesn't. 

He's still himself, obviously, he didn't lose anything, no pieces are gone.

In fact he feels more complete. 
His skin is flushed, whether from the heat of the water, or leftover from the exertion he can't tell. 

There's a light in his eyes he doesn't remember being there, and he can't help but compare it to the way he'd looked following his first kill. 
It's a different bathroom, a different sink, a different everything, really. That empty, vacant face and those blood stained hands feel like they happened in another lifetime. 
In the here and now, there is no horror, no shame. 

Just a peaceful expression, maybe the softest he's ever seen himself look, a faint wry smile tugging at his lips. When Katsuki regards his hands, he only remembers Deku's sliding into them, threading together perfectly. 

Katsuki isn't healed, he isn't somehow magically a better person because he got his back blown out, but maybe this was good for him. 

Being vulnerable, actually letting Deku in, maybe that was the first step.

   

---

 

Katsuki catches himself up to speed when he returns, Deku finally finishing his own additions and observations onto the board.

It's almost comical, both the difference in their handwritings, and the style in which they notate. Deku has poured hundreds of words onto the board, practically a stream of consciousness around Katsuki's succinct bullet-notes, filling in the gaps with context. 

Dr. Toshinori and Aizawa might have had a point.  

In the bottom left, previously left open, Deku has drawn a long, meandering arrow towards the Shie Hassaikai and listed what he's picked up from his investigation with Blondie. 

As he sees Katsuki reading, Deku rambles about some brat he ran into, about the weirdo new leader, and an impressively detailed map of the first two floors of their base. Deku cringes when he admits that he swore Aizawa to secrecy about the mission specifics, and even more so as he recalls his piss-poor attempt at a raid last night. Katsuki doesn't hesitate to tear him a new one, chastising him for his recklessness, and making the idiot fucking pinkie-swear he won't pull any more suicidal missions without Katsuki on stand-by. 

Fuck you, pinkie swears are sacred.

It takes hours to go through everything, to mesh their individual experiences together and get on the same page. Katsuki unearths a few Campos notebooks for Deku to go nerd-crazy in, and Deku is lost in whatever information superhighway lives in his head.

Katsuki, on the other hand, is stunned to read the report of the USJ fire, damn near feral when he reads about All For One's involvement in Dr. Toshinori's death, and the mysterious lackey doing his dirty work in that office. Deku has drawn a line from OFA to the Taskmaster with an offshoot to some whacko journalist, with the same last name as OFA's creator. 

"Who's this chucklefuck?" Katsuki asks, tapping his finger against the name. 

Deku looks up from his seat, chewing on a pen cap like the gremlin he is.

"Oh. He's a reporter I met at the League, but there's something... wrong, with him? I don't know if it's something like my spider bite or your lab accident, or if it's something to do with the rest of this." Deku gestures back at the board as a whole before curling his fist under his chin in thought. "I only met up with him by chance because he asked Toshi about me on Halloween, and Toga-chan was working with him on Jin's case before he was arrested. Hm... now that I think about it, that is more suspicious now that Jin has been arrested, maybe he set Jin up? I don't know what he'd get out of that besides a stab wound courtesy of Toga-chan though... Ahn, but she's out on a mission right now, I can't exactly ask her for more details. He gave me some valuable intel a few months back, including crime scene photographs of your hits." Deku says distractedly, leaning forward and turning sideways to write in a thin column of space. 

Katsuki glowers, crossing his arms, but Deku doesn't continue, keeping Katsuki in suspense.

"And?" Katsuki bites out, somehow defensive and guilty all at the same time. 

That was one particular grey area he didn't want to hash out with the nerd, his penchant for homicide. 
If there was one thing capable of ruining his mood, it was that.

"Huh? Oh, Shigaraki said I would find it more interesting than he did?" Deku admits with a frown, waving a hand back towards the door. "In my belt, there's two flash drives. Red, I've already gone through, you're more than welcome to do the same, of course. He gave me the password without much fanfare, but the teal one is still encrypted, and I don't have the password. On Valentine's Day, when I left the bar early? That's when I saw Shigaraki again, when he made the drop, but this drive comes with a catch. He's offered up the password, same as last time, but in exchange, he wants to know more about the USJ Fire, specifically about All For One. Sho and I couldn't crack the encryption, and without lab access..." Deku trails off.

Deku doesn't even seem to care about the murders, apparently misinterpreting Katsuki's prompting as interest in this blackmailing piece of shit instead.  

Katsuki isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"And you're actually considering it?" Katsuki asks derisively, before he can think better of it.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't exactly trust him, but his information has proven valuable." The nerd devolves back into muttering, theorizing about the reporter, why he's volunteering information, what he could possibly get out of it, and why Shigaraki would know or even care about the Taskmaster in the first place.  

Deku descends back into his creepy little mind palace, chattering with himself and adding clarifying notes to various parts of the board. Katsuki, however, moves to the living room, to where he'd relocated Deku's suit, and paws through the nasty ass pockets in the belt for the mysterious hunks of plastic.  

The red one is unprotected, just as Deku said, and he reviews its contents with a sort of detached objectivity. Any lingering doubts about Deku's half-baked acceptance of his side gig goes out the window when he sees his own crime scene photos. 

They're brutal in the light of day.

Katsuki peers over the top of his laptop, watching the nerd in question stare at the board, pulling at his lip and muttering to himself.

Look, Katsuki doesn't regret these kills.

They happened, the fuckers definitely deserved it, and just like he told Aizawa, there's an accountability he has to take for them, but he is surprised that Deku is so unphased by it all? 

"Does it bother you?" He asks, and immediately wants to blast himself in the face.

"Does what bother me?" Deku looks back at him with a furrowed brow.

Katsuki can't bring himself to say it, so he just turns the laptop screen to the first guy, the information broker who was bothering Stabby the first time he set foot in the League.

"I... I don't know? Maybe? I talked with Mr. Aizawa about it, and it helped. " Deku answers honestly, looking torn. 

Katsuki can't say that's not fair, but finds himself wanting to defend his actions anyways.

"I do my research, they aren't just randoms. I'm not a fucking serial killer." He says a little too loudly.

"Oh, no, Kacchan. I'm sorry, I wasn't clear. I know that. They were all dirty cops or dangerous criminals, I know you wouldn't... not like that. I meant... well, I'm sort of struggling with it? For myself, I mean. I don't think I... I don't think I can?" Katsuki has to fight to try and understand the hesitant words, like Deku is stringing along sentences in his head but missing chunks of them when they leave his mouth.  

"You don't have to." He says seriously.

He means it too, if he has anything to say about it, Deku would never have to. 

Deku looks at him with a smile, wringing his hands together.

"That's what Mr. Aizawa said too. It's just... if the police aren't trustworthy, what am I supposed to do with the people I arrest? If we ran into Touya tomorrow, what would I do? I wouldn't take him to his father, but killing him doesn't feel right either? That little girl, Eri. Chisaki is doing something to her, something awful, and I think the only way to be sure he won't hurt anyone else is to... well, you know." Deku sighs, sitting down in the chair opposite him heavily.

Katsuki understands what Deku is trying to say. 

Imagining Deku blood soaked and chopping up the bodies of opportunistic criminals? It just doesn't make sense, he isn't that kind of person. He wouldn't brutalize people the way Katsuki had.

Deku would lose something, something vital in his worldview, if he went down that path.

Katsuki finds himself clicking through the photos again, remembering every name and face. He doesn't feel remorse, just a strange acceptance.

It's all the answer Katsuki really needs, reaffirms the decision he's already made.

His hands are already stained, what's a few more skeletons in his closet, if it keeps Deku his squeaky clean self?

"I wouldn't worry about it, now. Get back to work." 

Deku smiles at him and nods.

 

They fall back into companionable silence, and Katsuki drags his focus back to the other files on the flash drive.

Deputy Hawks' file is a bit of a surprise, and so is the security still of the two of them, at the League.

While the new building might not be a one-for-one recreation, Katsuki has spent enough time at the League the last few weeks to easily recognize the side entrance.

Hawks and Touya sneaking in the back of the League. The diary. Captain Todoroki's wayward son meeting a charity case at a police event. The Community Center employee helping them make a getaway. Aizawa's dead partner. 

All of these pieces fit. 
But in what order?

What actually happened the night the League burned?

Who set the fire? 

Katsuki moves to the teal drive, shoving it into the USB more roughly than he probably should. 
It doesn't take near as long to decrypt as Deku made it sound like it would. 

Sure, he uses one of those fancy master-keys from Aizawa's duffle to run through potential password matches, but he rolls his eyes when he sees what worked.

'NoxusEmpire'

A fucking League of Legends reference.

"Oi, nerd. Get over here." Katsuki barks from his spot, opening the files for them to review together for once. 

"You got it?! Kacchan is so amazing!" Deku says brightly from behind him, and then scarred arms are draping over Katsuki's shoulders, and a chin buries itself in his hair. 

"Of course I did, dumbass. I'm the fucking best." He grunts, clicking to widen the window. 

Red and green eyes widen almost comically as they watch the first video queued up. 

 

"Oh my god."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 28: A Promise to Come Through for You

Summary:

Izuku finally rests, recovers, and the boys work on their communication issues.

Notes:

Update as of 9/9/25:

Hi everyone!
Sorry for the absence, I don't really have an excuse this time.
I had sort of lost my motivation for this project and then the more I re-read the last chapter the more I felt it wasn't quite where I wanted it to be. I kept getting concerned at the word count increasing and the looming deadline, so I had tried to be more brief, but the inconsistency in the pacing has me wanting to redo the first few chapters instead of making this one suffer for it. Apologies if you've read it already, but I needed to restructure some things.

As you can see, the chapter cuts off earlier than last time. This is by design <3
Thank you for your patience

--
I learned absolutely no lessons, and despite writing 90% of this chapter in one program, and 10% of edits in another, I tried to copy it over and edit one last time... only to somehow lose a good chunk of work on a few sections?

Like some of our commentors have realized, we are SO close to the end here, and it's sort of speeding away from me like a runaway train, the chapters just keep getting LONGER!

I'm so anxious to bring this to a close, but I wanna make sure it's satisfying too!
Thanks for hanging in there with me <3

It doesn't take long for Izuku to arrive at Kacchan's apartment. 

The last time he was here, he hesitated. He stood on this balcony, hand on the knob, and chickened out like a coward. 

Not this time. 

Izuku takes a deep, trembling breath, and opens the door. He doesn't step through, still unsure if he's allowed to do so. Maybe Kacchan hadn't meant it, maybe this was too soon?
The cool air at his back is calming, soothing, as if trying to blow Izuku through the door like a child making wishes on fluffy dandelions. 

Speaking of fluffy dandelions... 

Kacchan is in his kitchen, his blonde hair still flattened a bit from its time behind the mask. Izuku takes his own mask off, if only so he can accurately see the bow of Kacchan's back. Izuku is struck by just how handsome Kacchan can be sometimes. There's a line of rigidity down his spine, and his wide shoulders are hunched as he washes his hands in the sink. 

He's... muttering to himself? 

“You said you’d wait, so shut the fuck up, and do anything but worry about the damn nerd.” He hears Kacchan grunt to himself, twisting a kitchen rag between frustrated fingers. 

Izuku almost chokes on his air, his eyes bulging out. 

Kacchan was worried about him this much? Enough to chastise himself for it?

He... cared?

Of course, he cares, Izuku corrects himself with a scolding tone. Kacchan had even called Aunty for his sake, and that was practically a trial by fire for the blond. Kacchan's been following him around for weeks, hasn't he? Longer than that, maybe. Plus training with Aizawa, too. Their conversation earlier seemed more special than ever. 

It all gave him so much hope. 
So much stupid, optimistic hope.  

Izuku knew Kacchan expected him to be competent, and sure, they'd... well, y'know.

But somehow, until this moment, Izuku hadn't really noticed. 

In the last seven months, in the wake of the bite, in the sting of his own rejection, of that night on the roof, with the fire at the USJ and the loss of their hero, every strained word between them... it just never quite sunk in before.

Kacchan was... trying.

So Izuku needed to try too.  

Hoping the other was wearing his aids, Izuku exaggerates an awkward cough to try and get Kacchan's attention.

It works, and Izuku doesn't know if that's a good thing or not. 

Kacchan spins around on his heel, a sparking palm outstretched towards the intruder, the other still brandishing the shiny knife. 

Those ruby eyes widen, as if he was the last person Kacchan had expected to see, despite all the evidence to the contrary. 

“You weren’t kidding about leaving the door open.” Izuku mumbles, trying to convince himself that this was a good idea, still standing in the open doorway. His fingers flex on the handle, gloved hand gripping the knob but careful not to leave finger divots in the metal. Izuku needs something to hang onto, something real, something tangible that will ground him. The urge to run is so strong, to evade the incoming weight of everything unsaid and the confines of what already has been.  

But he already made this choice, otherwise he wouldn't be here, not in Katsuki’s apartment. 
Again, a treasonous little voice wheedles in his ear. 

“When do I ever say shit I don’t mean?” Kacchan retorts coolly, the surprised expression fading into something nonchalant. 

Izuku nods seriously. 
Right, this is Kacchan. He doesn't just say things. From now on, Izuku is going to do his best to actually listen to the words and take them at face value. In addition to seeing the action behind them as a whole, he will make no assumptions on Kacchan's intentions. His Kacchan-translation skills from childhood are slowly being revived in his brain like some sort of seance.

He feels guilty for abandoning Kacchan the way he has. 
Kacchan needed him, and Izuku wasn't there.

Not anymore. 

He takes a deep breath before slowly stepping through Kacchan’s open balcony door, hoping that was the right move. His shoulders hurt, one tense from the tear of his tendons, and the other still bleeding sluggishly. Izuku worries about bleeding on the carpet. 

“… Sorry for the intrusion.” He mutters, avoiding Kacchan’s judgmental eyes.

“Didn’t we just cover that I’m the one that offered?” Kacchan grunts, terse as ever, before turning back around to face the sink and continuing whatever he was doing before Izuku interrupted.

No time like the present, he supposes.

“… You did. Why?” He tries to keep his voice neutral, polite, but there's a stiffness to Kacchan's back that proves he wasn't as good at acting casual as Kacchan was.

Because Izuku has to know. 
Why is Kacchan doing all of this? Why is he trying so hard?

Kacchan's shoulders still again, before he looks over his shoulder with a complicated expression.

Only half of his face is visible, the cut of his cheekbone and strong nose casting shadows on the other half of his face. His eyes trail the length of Izuku almost appraisingly,  thoughtful. 

“Why are you looking at me like that, Deku?” Kacchan asks instead, and Izuku is stunned that the voice holds very little derision, not even a whisper of a joke… sincere and confused, like a child. Kacchan folds his arms over his chest, clenching his jaw, as if the vulnerability in his own voice was uncomfortable for him to hear.

“I asked you first. Fair is fair, remember?” Izuku reminds him with a small smile, feeling the knot in his chest loosen incrementally. 

He's not being kicked out. Kacchan isn't insulting him, he's trying to meet Izuku at his level, and by god does Izuku want them to finally make it there.  

“Tch.” Kacchan closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. He thinks through his answer carefully, measuring every word with importance.  “You’re always welcome here, Deku. Your ugly mug is the only one I’d let in. Fuck, I’ll give you a goddamn key if it’ll shut you up.” 

Izuku fights the urge to laugh. 

Was it that that easy?
Could Izuku have come two weeks ago? Sooner? Early in the semester?
Where did this newfound familiarity come from?
What more has he been missing out on?

What if Izuku never wants to leave? What then, Kacchan? 

Would you keep me forever?

He snorts at the thought.

“That sounded like it was physically painful for you to admit, Kacchan.” He chuckles wryly, but he doesn't feel as poised to run anymore. The lure of the balcony door is no longer breathing down his neck, and he can't believe he had somehow convinced himself he ever wanted to leave in the first place.  He lets his fingers slip from the knob, and allows it to close softly with a click behind him.

“You look like shit, Deku.” Izuku flicks his eyes to Kacchan's when he speaks. The smile on his face grows sad and self deprecating. 

Sure, Izuku might not have had access to a mirror for two weeks, but even he can feel that his hair is definitely greasy, matted with dirt and oil, almost plastered in a helmet to his forehead. Of course he had to show up in this condition, stinky, dirty, bloody, and hungry like some wild animal while Kacchan stands in his immaculate fancy kitchen, as beautiful and strong as ever.

The distance between them feels insurmountable again.

“I know, Kacchan.” His voice is apologetic.

“Why? Isn’t Half n’ Half babying the shit out of you or somethin’?” Kacchan snipes, sounding disappointed. The water runs again, and Kacchan's forearms flex as he washes something in the basin.

Izuku looks away, trying to hide the way he recoils from the accusation.

He had been, actually.
That's why Izuku had to leave.

Being babied wasn't something he appreciated, and he knew Kacchan felt the same. His disapproval was familiar.

“I… uh, might’ve left? Um, the day of the last fire. We… he… I…” He struggles with his words, stuttering over his words like a middle schooler again. He's aggravated with himself, with his choices, with his thoughts, with his behavior. Every decision was cyclical, every choice backwards. "I was a burden on him anyways, always putting people out. He was good enough to give me a place to stay but I just... I couldn't..." 

“Deku.” Kacchan grunts, a reminder of the conversation at hand, pulling his attention back to him, where he watches Izuku carefully with those blood red predator's eyes. 

“We had a fight. So I left.” Izuku whispers, shamefully, his bottom lip wobbling with the admission.

“After the fire? Wait. The one at the fucking shopping plaza?” Kacchan's face pinches into a scowl. Izuku nods guiltily, wringing his hands. “Jesus, Deku, that was damn near two weeks ago!” Kacchan snaps, clearly disappointed in him again.

On the one hand, Izuku's surprised to realize how many days have passed since he left Shouto's, but he lived each of those days, as uncomfortable and frustrating as they were, and quite frankly it sucked. He gained nothing from it but a sore back and filthy appearance.

Kacchan is right. 
Two weeks Izuku spent practically homeless, all for what? For him to throw his own plan out the window because he was trying to prove something?

At least Kacchan is honest with him. 
It makes him smile a tiny bit. 

“Yeah, it was kind of ridiculous of me, now that I think about it.” For weeks he'd avoided it, thinking about Shouto, about their fight. He wanted to prove that he didn't need anyone, that he could do it all alone, and yeah, muggers got rounded up, the investigation progressed, but one look under the mask and Izuku was a filthy mess.

Kacchan knew it too, before Izuku even had.

Kacchan pinches the bridge of his nose.
He really must stink if Kacchan can smell it from over there. Izuku looks back at the door one last time, before turning back to Kacchan.

No use running anymore.

“Where have you been, then? Back at the dorms? With Auntie? Doubt it, not if you look like that.” Kacchan snaps, curling his nose up in disgust. He opens a drawer with more force than necessary, the sound startling Izuku as Kacchan grabs a knife to begin loudly chopping a vegetable.

Somehow, Izuku can just feel that Kacchan won't like his next words. 

“Um… don’t be mad, Kacchan…” He hedges softly, milling about the room but careful not to move too quickly or touch anything with his greasy fingers.

Kacchan looks up from the cutting board with a heady glower, his eyes darting around for something to throw. Izuku raises his hands in defense, ready for anything. 

“Depends on what dumb shit is about to come out of your mouth.” Kacchan warns him seriously. Izuku appreciates the honesty. He shifts from foot to foot for a second, trying to steel his nerves, before taking a few more hesitant steps closer to the kitchen. 

“I sorta… haven’t been anywhere?” Izuku admits slowly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kacchan growls, but despite the danger lurking there, Izuku's eyes snag instead on the corded muscles flexing as Kacchan leans forward against the counter.
He fidgets with his fingers, trying to hide the interest in his expression. 

“… I kinda just hung out? The, uh, mission. You mentioned it earlier, with Toga-chan. I’ve been busy with that and I didn’t really have anywhere else to go, so…” Izuku tries to explain, but with every word Kacchan seems to bristle. He looks like an angry fluffy dog, and Izuku has to pinch himself to stop the smile from twitching across his face at the comparison. 

That would definitely get him blown up. 

A remarkable show of restraint, Kacchan sets the knife down with a clatter. 

“So you’ve been homeless for two weeks. No wonder you look like shit, Deku, have you even fucking showered?!” Kacchan yells at him, the furrow in his brows deep and dark now, watching Izuku with those boiling red eyes.  He seems to know the truth just by looking at Izuku because his eyes narrow impossibly more. Izuku is reminded of a snake for a moment, thin slit-like eyes appraising him.

But he doesn't speak again, just staring in that calculative way, picking Izuku apart piece by piece in his mind. Izuku tries to explain again, to give context to his decision, though the justifications sound weak in his own ears.

“I’m sorry Kacchan, I was just… the news and that guy… I don’t know if… if you saw but, I failed to save someone again. Sho asked if it was time for me to throw in the towel on being a hero, especially since I busted Black Whip. It felt like… he was saying I couldn’t be a hero without the suit. Thinking back, I think he was just worried about me ‘cause if he hadn’t found my bag, I definitely would’ve been caught, and then I lashed out ‘cause I’m the one who thinks I’m useless without the suit. Not him. Even with the superpowers… I guess I still don’t feel like a hero.” He admits quietly, chewing on his bottom lip and avoiding Kacchan's eyes out of cowardice.

It's quiet for a moment, Kacchan clearly going over his words with a fine-tooth comb.

“Superpowers?” Kacchan echoes, raising his eyebrow at Izuku pointedly, a signal for him to continue. 

Izuku opens his mouth to explain again, but he isn't sure where to begin. Instead, he remembers the awe in Dr. Toshinori's expression, the surprise in Shouto's heterochromatic gaze that first morning after the lock-in. So he nods, and sets out to demonstrate, climbing around the ceiling only to cringe at the smears of dirt he leaves there. He'll make a point to wipe them off later, but for now he wipes it against his hip a bit before lifting the couch up with it when he's sure he won't damage it. 

“Yeah. Since that night I got locked in the USJ. When, well, when you ran? Got bit by a weird spider in the Biology department. Then… voila.” He tries to smile, but he knows it's awkward and wobbly. Kacchan reacted so poorly to the suit that first night, what would he make of this?  

As if in response to his thoughts, Kacchan rubs the bridge of his nose again.

“High School.” Kacchan grunts, outstretching his hand, only for small pops like fireworks to crackle across his palm where Izuku could see.

It's beautiful.
It's fireworks on the beach and crackling bonfires side by side with a bossy, diminutive blonde. 

It's incendiary and bright, sparkling and dangerous, so perfect for his Kacchan. 

“That’s amazing, Kacchan!” He gushes, desperately fighting the urge to touch the pretty explosions. Kacchan would scold him, but he wants to know how they feel?

Do they fizz against the skin like bubbles in cola?

Do they feel like those sparklers they played with at festivals back in their old neighborhood? Or like a hot stove? No that heat source is too consistent... 

“… Half n’ Half is an idiot for thinking you would listen to something like that. Yer obviously a hero with or without the damn suit. One broken feature doesn’t mean you gotta hang up the whole concept.” Kacchan complains, dragging his fingers against the countertop, as if he could claw through the granite with intent alone. He glares at the counter, clearly scrutinizing Shouto's reaction. 

Izuku knows any defense of his friend would only rile Kacchan up more, but he can't help but feel that warmth flood his chest.
His lips quirk up in the ghost of a too-honest smile.

He doesn't want me to give up being a hero. 

He believes in me.

“Guess he doesn’t know me as well as you do, Kacchan.” Izuku breathes, letting himself really look at Kacchan for a moment. He's tapping his fingers against the countertop now, but his eyes are on Izuku, wholly focused and serious as ever. A warrior, a God in his element, cool and composed and amazing at anything he tries.

How could Izuku ever love anyone else?

Kacchan's just so amazing.  

Nobody knows him the way Kacchan does. 
Nobody ever possibly could.

“Maybe I could take a look at it. Black Whip. Your clumsy ass might just make it worse.” Kacchan suggests casually, but there's an easy pride in the way he rolls his shoulders back, almost preening.

“I’d like that, Kacchan.” Izuku murmurs, letting his eyes fall to his mask in his hands again. 
For the first time, Izuku notices his fingers are trembling, and even when he notices it, he can't quite get them to stop. 

There are things Kacchan still doesn't know, though. 

His failures.
His excuses.
Examples of his cowardice, his recklessness. 

His loneliness. 
OFA wasn't the companion he wanted out there, especially as odd as it had been acting with him. 
Running through the city with Toshi, piecing together evidence with Sho, coordinating with Toga and Aizawa on the raid... 
None of that could ever be a replacement for the hero partner he'd been missing since he was still potty training. 

Izuku tries to keep his face neutral, but he breaks spectacularly quickly under the assessing stare of the only person he wants to be beside. 

The other half of the Wonder Duo.

“Wasn’t your fault, y’know.” Kacchan chokes out, and Izuku smiles sadly at his clumsy attempt to comfort him.

“You don’t know that, Kacchan, but thank you. I was dumb. I was too reckless, like always. I shouldn’t have tried to use Black Whip when the building was that unstable, rookie mistake. I just saw the guy on fire and knew I had to get there as soon as possible. If I had reacted calmly, if I’d thought it through, maybe I could’ve reached him in time.” Izuku admits softly, almost wistfully, staring at the mask in his hands. “Actually... I wish you’d been there, would've probably gone better.”  It's dry, a self-deprecating sort of joke, but Kacchan doesn't chuckle.

“Me too. I plan to be, from now on. No more of this lone wolf shit.” Izuku almost hurts his neck whipping his head up so fast. He's mortified to feel the tears collecting at the corners of his eyes, a sniffle threatening him with snot. 

Would Kacchan really do that for him? Be with him, the voice in his ears to push and prod him into doing better? Not just for the citizens, for the criminals, for this unseen war going on behind the scenes... but for himself? For Kacchan?

“Do you really?” He asked softly, fully expecting Kacchan to take it back or qualify it somehow. To respond with bluster or mocking, maybe call him nerd or roll his eyes... 

He doesn’t.
Instead he changes the subject entirely.

"I talked to IcyHot after you ditched me at the bar. He said there was never anything romantic between you, is that true?" It's another deliberately casual question, Kacchan almost sounds bored. 

It does bring him up short, admittedly.

Why is it that Kacchan always brings up Sho in moments like this? Here they are, making progress, getting things out in the open, and Kacchan is hung up on Sho of all people! Or Toshi, based on his behavior at the Halloween party.

It's almost like... no, that's ridiculous. That would make no sense.
Get a grip, Izuku. 

He probably knows Shouto paid for the suit, and obviously they're both investigating the fires. He probably thinks Shouto is a leak or something. After all, Kacchan seemed so distrustful of his friend in the lab that day... 
 
"Of course, it's true? Why would there be something romantic between us? Wait- is that what you were getting at that day in the lab?" Deku asks incredulously, the tendons in his neck standing out as he grinds his teeth together audibly.

"Obviously." Katsuki huffs, folding his arms together.

"Wait, so… You were just… what? Jealous, or something?" Izuku asks with a tilt of his head, uncomprehending.
Kacchan's mouth twitches, but instead of insults, he squares his shoulders and meets Izuku's gaze with a defiantly raised chin.

"I didn't say that." 

Of course Kacchan didn't come out and say that, but... he didn't deny it either, and Izuku knows Kacchan. 

Years apart didn't change that, not the way he thought they would. 
That's as close to an admission as he's likely to get, so he nods seriously again.

This isn't some sexy, mysterious stranger.
This is Kacchan. 

The Kacchan that would argue with their mothers when it was time for Izuku and his mom to go home, insisting his mother was too tired to take the train reliably, convinced they'd miss their stop and end up in Nagoya or somewhere equally wild. The one who told Izuku about every festival, every All Might marathon, who made the decisions on when to go camping, and where, and what to pack, and then lead them on little adventures through the woods. Insecure, desperate to prove himself, ready to explode at the drop of a hat. The little boy that put band-aids on Izuku's scratched up knees and chewed up fingers with the care and precision of a field medic. The one that loved orange creamsicles and had oddly neat, perfect handwriting. The one who committed thirteen assassinations, who trains regularly with a retired assassin, and that can apparently make explosions with his hands. 

The one staring at him now in this kitchen, with a look like he was expecting to be rejected.
Or maybe dismissed. 

Things may have changed, evolved, but there's nothing Kacchan could do that would make Izuku not know him.

It's comforting, but still, Izuku does not understand one thing.  

"Why would you even be worried about that after I confessed?" Izuku asked, trying his best to keep his voice innocent, to cast no aspersions and make no assumptions beyond the facts, his fingers coming up to rest on his chin, waiting for an answer that would make sense.

If all signs point to this being mutual, why would Kacchan reject him the next day? Because Izuku had left? Would everything have been different if he'd had the guts to come inside that afternoon? 

But then why does Kacchan look so hurt, so surprised?

"HAH?! What the fuck are you talking about?" Red eyes practically bulge out of their sockets, and his volume spooks Izuku into jumping in place, somehow not expecting the outburst. 

Oh.
Oh.
Oh no. 
Kacchan clearly didn't know.

There's only one explanation.

They're stupid. 
They're both complete idiots. 

He can feel his cheeks burning with mortification. 

"That... night. The first time... when we... spent the night together?" Izuku mumbles, too embarrassed and shy to come out and say the words out loud, regardless of everything they've done. His cheeks feel hot and flushed, and the skin of his cheek is dry, itchy. 

“Deku.” His voice is impossibly deep, lower than usual. It's clipped, blunt as a hammer. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Izuku hides his face behind gloved hands, humiliated and trying to hide the ridiculous tears building in his eyes again. He hears Kacchan before he feels him, but the hands wind around his wrists like bands of iron. Izuku feels himself be yanked around, his thirteen year old self flinching internally at what can only be incoming violence... until he comes nose to nose with Kacchan, barely a few inches between them. Cherry red eyes burn like coals, his pupil a tiny dot that slowly expands as he watches.

There's no room for miscommunication here. 
Izuku can cry about it later, after it's all on the table.

“When… I t-told you I… loved you?” He stammers out, his voice barely audible. He wishes he had the working brain cells to make it more romantic. The confidence to weave his words with praise and flowers, but it sounds like defeat instead. 

Kacchan reacts about as expected. 

“When the fuck did you say that?!” Katsuki asks urgently, shaking, squeezing harshly at Izuku's wrists. 
It actually grounds him, a bit, funny enough. An anchor on the energy in his muscles desperate to flee. 

Kacchan looks genuinely scared, but not the way he had on the roof at Aldera, but something... something dangerously akin to hope.
That's what gives him the strength to answer.

No more running away, right? No more hiding, no more cowardice or stubbornness. 

Honesty time. 
Just be truthful.

“When… we… well. T-towards the end, I guess? Don’t make me say it, it’s embarrassing, Kacchan! It was my first time, so I got carried away… I got the hint when you didn’t say anything, and then I snuck out early when I saw the fire so it never really came up… When I saw you next, you were yelling about Shouto so I just thought that was your way of rejecting me...” Izuku whines, now trying to tug his wrists free, desperate for the ability to cover his steaming face.

Izuku thinks he might just combust into flames on the spot if Kacchan keeps looking at him like that.  

“Hold up. Stop. Pause.” Kacchan slams his head into Izuku's forehead, not gently, but it's familiar. Izuku makes a pained noise when their skulls smack together, but when he opens his eyes, he's transfixed. Kacchan is breathing shallowly, too quickly, and he has the tiniest, softest smile on his face. 

It's almost like the ones he makes in his sleep, peaceful and warm. Kacchan has a nice smile, always has, even if he prefers meaner, sharper grins, these tiny soft smiles are Izuku's absolute favorite. He stares at Kacchan's parted lips, and the urge to brush his own against them is so tempting.

Kacchan's mouth just looks so soft? Izuku knows he felt those lips on his just a few hours ago, remembers how rough and demanding they could be, despite their softness. He finds himself biting at his own roughened lips, dragging his teeth against the cracked skin there. 

How does he keep them so smooth? 
Imagining Kacchan applying lip balm religiously throughout the day almost makes him laugh, but there's an insecurity niggling at him, a direct comparison of how 'not good enough' he really is. 

When he feels Kacchan's smooth finger come up to drag it away from his teeth, Izuku's heart falls to his stomach. Kacchan's finger traces idly at his bottom lip, as if he too was inspecting Izuku's worthiness. As if asking himself if the great Bakugou Katsuki could really settle for the cracked and broken nerd in front of him. 

“… I never heard you say that. My aids died before we… well, finished.” Kacchan murmurs, and Izuku feels his mouth go lax in shock, but the finger doesn't retreat, just moves slowly over his lip softly, so painfully softly. He can barely breathe.

“Did you mean it, Deku?” Kacchan whispers, and Izuku can almost hear the fear under it, the understanding that if Izuku lied right now, if he hid from Kacchan, if he ran away... that would be it. This would be over, and he'd never know what laid on the other side. 

He can be brave, can't he?

So he nods minutely, barely trusting himself to move a muscle. 

He keeps his eyes open, watches Kacchan's hungry gaze blow out into a thin ring of cherry red before he's being kissed within an inch of his life.

Kacchan groans into it, and it vibrates Izuku's whole frame. 

Kacchan really is an unfairly good kisser, it's quite a dilemma, because there is nothing Izuku wants to do more than this. He could spend hours like this, trading breaths and swipes of tongue, of feeling those shoulders shake ever so slightly under his scarred palms, of feeling Kacchan's jackrabbiting heartbeat under his defined pecs. 

He stops then, because he hates Izuku and wants to see him suffer or maybe beg. 

To prove him right, Kacchan pulls back just enough to glare, knocking their noses together, and Izuku whines his displeasure. 

“You have not showered or brushed your teeth in two goddamn weeks. I am not doing any fucking thing until that is fixed.” Comes a growl from those soft kissable lips, and Izuku is caught between irritability, desire, and embarrassment.  

On one hand, get over it?
On another... his mouth probably tastes disgusting. 

Luckily for him, Kacchan doesn't seem to be giving him the choice. He drags Izuku down the hall to the bathroom. 

It's a funny parody of the first time Kacchan dragged him through this hallway, though less fun this time around. 

“Teeth first. Then strip.” Kacchan says flatly, opening the cabinet and slamming it closed again once he’s fished out a new toothbrush.

It's green, his color. 

Izuku couldn't fight the smile if he tried, picking it up carefully. 

Kacchan had an extra toothbrush waiting, in his assigned color. 
Waiting here, for him. 
Kacchan wanted him here. 

He hears Kacchan turn the stream on, the squeak of the handle making his teeth itch. 

Of course Izuku is here staring awestruck over a toothbrush while Kacchan is busy taking care of them. He chides himself, before removing it from it's packaging and following the verbal instructions wordlessly. Izuku shrugs his shoulders out of the suit, releasing the armature at the back so he doesn't get toothpaste on the suit. He slips his arms free one at a time, juggling the toothbrush between hands as necessary.

He tries not to make it obvious that he's checking Kacchan out, but soon it becomes too much. 

Watching Kacchan's muscles ripple as he removes his tank top, the dog tags he wears clacking against one another as they fall back to sit between the valley of his pecs. He shouldn't be looking, he knows that, and tries to cover his eyes, but he just can't help himself, peeking through his fingers as he continues watching with baited breath. Kacchan was right, he really was a creepy stalker. The shame joins the other heat pooling in his gut as Kacchan slips a hand back into the tub, probably to test the water temperature before withdrawing again to unlatch his belt. 

It's... well it's the hottest thing Izuku has ever seen, honestly. 

Kacchan's hands drag against the leather of his belt, tugging the extra out of the way, the veins standing out on his forearms as he does so. The skin is paler there, especially the inside, creamy thanks to the winter sun stealing the warm tan that the Bakugou family build up over the warmer months. Kacchan's thumb arches to release the pressure of the buckle, and the nose is both sharp and loud in the echoey quiet of the now-steaming bathroom. 

“Something you like?” Kacchan leers at him, grinning wickedly, as if knowing exactly what he was thinking.

Izuku chokes on his own spit, trying not to gag on the toothpaste foam as he does so, before doubling his efforts on peeling the suit down a bit further, unlatching the thin red belt from his own waist. He resolutely keeps his eyes on the tiled floor now, trying to pretend he's alone, that critical eyes aren't evaluating every inch of him. 

In an effort to escape them, Izuku spins around to the sink and leans over to wash his mouth out thoroughly. 
Maybe if it's clean enough, Kacchan might kiss him again.  

When he leans up again, trying to see what has Kacchan so quiet, he sees the reflection of himself in the mirror. He does look bad, nasty dark circles under his eyes, an oily sheen to his skin, paler than he had been, a bit of windburn at his cheeks, thanks to all his time in the winter air. His lips are jagged and cracked, almost bloody, flushed red like the rest of him.

The steam fogging the room makes it hard to breathe, turning everything in the mirror hazy and the air thickening in Izuku's lungs. Behind his haggard form is Kacchan, still watching with those eyes. They don't look reproachful, though, no criticism curves his mouth downward, and the furrow that lives between his brows is almost nonexistent. 
Maybe that's what emboldens him, because when he sees that Kacchan's eyes continue roaming, almost hungrily (now focused entirely on his ass of all things!) he tries to tease. 

“Something you like?” Izuku parrots quietly, and Kacchan’s eyes snap up to his face in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, slowly fogging up. Izuku tries to hide some of the worst scarring from view, twisting at the hip and peeking out of the corner of his eye to see Kacchan over his non-ruined shoulder.

“Something I love.” Kacchan corrects him with a deep, heady rasp, like the absolute dreamboat he is.  
 
Izuku blinks rapidly, eyes filling with tears again. 

Leave it to Kacchan to absolutely demolish him with just three words. 

Kacchan seems to get shy, turning towards the shower and clenching and unclenching his fists. Izuku meets him halfway, pressing his bare chest against the planes of Kacchan's back. There are a few moles here and there, nothing like the smattering of marks that cover almost ever inch of Izuku. They are rare, and random, and Izuku hopes to find and catalogue them all, letting his mouth flit between them as he speaks. 

“That was unfair, Kacchan. You can’t just say nice things like that without warning. Give a guy a heads up.” He complains, feeling a rumble in Kacchan's chest as he does.

“I do what I want.” Katsuki reminds him, but his voice is softer, breathier. Izuku practically melts into the touch now that he knows its welcome, taking inventory of every muscle, every twitch, every square inch of skin allowed to him, but his mind is too frazzled to retain anything.

“Weren’t you the one telling me to strip?” Izuku whispers between Kacchan’s shoulder blades, greedy as always for more of the blonde.
 His hands shake a bit as he lets them come up to settle on Kacchan's waist. It's so deceptively small, his hip to shoulder ratio is insane, honestly. Shouto had called it 'Dorito' points, and the statement makes Izuku shudder to subdue an ill-timed chuckle. 

Very carefully, and very slowly, mindful of Kacchan's reaction, Izuku lets his gnarled fingers ghost against the taut muscles of his abdomen. He feels them tense and relax again before curling into the fine hairs that curl around Kacchan's navel. They're so soft, golden and downy. They're nothing like the wiry hairs that poke at Izuku through his suit, the ones Kacchan can likely feel poking into his lower back. His hands continue their investigation, falling to Kacchan's trim hips, and eventually, to the band of his pants. He thumbs the top of Kacchan's cargo pants. Without the belt, they hang almost loosely, like the way he used to wear them in Middle School. He unbuttons them carefully, trying to keep his hands from shaking too much, because Kacchan really is so unfairly attractive. 

Izuku is losing his mind.  

When his fingers slide forward, dragging imperceptibly over the growing bulge there, Izuku lets the zipper slide down slowly.

Ziiiiiiiiiiip. 

The noise is pornographic in the heat and the haze of the bathroom. 
He feels his face heat up in response. 

“You better be fucking naked right now, Deku.” Kacchan growls, but doesn't shake Izuku off. Instead he just tips his head back. Izuku takes that as assent, letting himself pet over Kacchan's front, both intimidated and incredibly curious, remembering the size of it, how it felt inside... his ministrations, coupled with the loose fitting fabric, encourage the trousers to sag, slipping off Kacchan's hips. The briefs underneath aren't quite so willing, the elastic thwarting Izuku's desire for bare skin, but they prove no match for his probing touches. Soon, nothing stands between them, no barriers remain, left discarded and abandoned, pooled in a puddle around them on the floor.

“As the day I was born.” He tries to joke, to undercut the pleading tone in his voice, but he sounds wrecked even to his own ears. He pants into the steam, feels the wet heat draw sweat to his brow, to his nape, before dripping down his spine. 

“Good.”   

Izuku doesn't remember his own hang ups with the tub, with Shouto's cold, careful bath when Kacchan yanks him into the spray of the shower. He's too preoccupied with the frankly boiling heat of the scalding water pelting at his back before he remembers something even more pressing. 

“Kacchan! Wait, what about your hearing aids?” Izuku cries, trying to use his hands to cup around Kacchan’s ears, trying to divert as much water as possible. 

Sure, Kacchan might come from money, but he isn't wasteful. Plus this is likely his only pair, right?

Mm, but Kacchan is always prepared...

“Water resistant. And I’m not the one that needs to get clean anyways.” Kacchan dismisses, though he leans away to avoid the spray. 

Izuku pouts, knowing from experience that water-resistant does NOT mean waterproof, but doesn’t press the issue, just goes boneless in Kacchan's arms. It's just like he thought it would be, the way they curl protectively against him. No part of him is cold, instead he feels like every part of him is instead melting like a candle. 
 
The water feels good, in a way he hadn't really let himself feel in too long. It wets his curls, and he leans back into the spray to soak them completely.

“Feels good, Kacchan.” He sighs, allowing the tension to finally bleed out after months of rigidity. 

Izuku is both thankful and impressed that Kacchan could get him in here without even a complaint.  

It was similar to the panic avoidance of the phone calls and texts. Izuku just couldn't force himself over the hump. The tasks became too daunting, too overwhelming. Izuku has felt stuck for so long, his own executive dysfunction and task avoidance becoming his undoing and yet without even thinking about it Kacchan managed to have him languishing in the very situation he'd been avoiding so ardently.

As expected, Kacchan is amazing, goading Izuku into overcoming the things he's been anxiously avoiding for weeks. 

He knew it likely tasted gross, that the wet wipes and quick scrubs he'd been settling for were not nearly good enough for this sort of attention to be pleasant for Kacchan, but he relished in it anyways.  

Izuku gasps when he feels Kacchan begin to lick across his skin, feeling Kacchan's sinful tongue dip into the cords of his neck, and broad swipes over the swell of his larynx. Those strong arms flex around him, dragging him upwards and pressing him against the length of Kacchan's naked form, his toes barely skimming the tub. 

He breathes in short open mouthed pants, staring at Kacchan's face in amazement. His eyes are dark, captivating. He looks like he wants to eat Izuku whole, just swallow him up like some big bad wolf. The imagery is easy to conjure, the prowling, animalistic nature of Kacchan more apparent than ever. His body crowds against Izuku, craning over him despite the arguably slight height difference. He just feels larger than life, somehow, star of nightmare and dream alike, power evident in every luxurious swipe of tongue. Drips of water are scattered through his spikes and hang off the tip of his nose. 

He's almost surprised when he feels Kacchan's cock drag against his hip, and it's the only thing that makes him realize how hard he is, too. Until now, he hadn't really noticed, but suddenly he's overcome with desperation. He ruts experimentally, and when the swollen tip glances off Kacchan's navel, he actually whimpers out loud. 

“You look ruined already. Barely even had to fucking touch you.” Kacchan teases, squeezing meanly at Izuku's thighs with almost worshipful hands. In exchange, Kacchan groans in his ear, apparently satisfied with his handfuls. Kacchan's taunting grin, the familiarity of this position to his daydreams, the easy, perfect vulgarity that spills out of that wicked mouth... it's all perfect. 

“You know you’re exactly how I imagined?” He confesses dreamily, watching the grin stretch into a smug smirk, watching Kacchan lower his head, craning it to look Izuku more squarely in the eye, no escape, no quarter. Nothing but burning red eyes that seem to see to his very core.

“I’m even better than you imagined, nerd. Now, watch your fucking mouth, before I lose my patience.” Kacchan croons, and Izuku knows Kacchan can feel the full body shudder that he couldn’t hide even if he tried. 

Izuku huffs around a laugh, but it’s practically a moan.  

“That’s hardly the threat you think it is.” Izuku murmurs back cheekily, dragging the tips of all ten scarred fingers down the planes of Kacchan’s chest. His nails are bitten to the quick, and it's hardly a threat, but the give of supple flesh under his fingers has him wanting to tear into Kacchan like he had claws. 

Perhaps another time.

Kacchan just raises an unimpressed eyebrow, removing one hand to blindly pump soap into his palm. 

“I thought you were a good boy, Deku? I don’t take brats to my bed, remember?” Kacchan growls, the smirk curling into something far meaner, far more dangerous.
It promises so much, and his intake of breath doesn't go unheard, if the firm slap he feels is anything to go by.

Kacchan alternates between lathering him up, scrubbing soap over every inch of him, and just dragging his hands over him. Every muscle, every divot, every scar, thumbing around his piercing, every ache is smoothed over by those silky hands. As if that weren't enough, Kacchan never once looks away, poking and prodding at him to gauge reactions to different stimuli. Studying him like a bug under a microscope... but then, Izuku has never looked at a bug quite like that before.

“I… I can be good…” He whines softly, acquiescing to the demanding touches, to the unveiled interest he'd thought he'd imagined that night all those months ago.

Izuku thought he'd let his feelings cloud that night, convince him of a lie, but Kacchan's touches are evidence of it all. Every hushed word, every moan, every teasing remark, the sensation of worship... Izuku's imagination would never have been so kind to him, he realizes. 

“I know you can be, baby, you can be so…” There's that petname again. Does Kacchan-

Smack! 

Oh.

“So…”

Oh my god. 

Smack! 

Maybe Izuku is a deviant? Some kind of degenerate, at least. Because 'sweetness' and 'softness' have nothing on the force of nature that is Kacchan.

“Good... when you want to be.” Kacchan lilts, alternating between almost syrupy sweet, saccharine touches, indulgent drags of his hands, and quick, harsh slaps across his ass.     
Izuku feels any lingering embarrassment or insecurity bleed away with every touch. His thoughts go fuzzy and warm, focused entirely on the cycle of alternating touches winding through him like a weed. The softness gives way to sultry pressure, and then the spark of hurt is ready to be soothed again by fingers soft as rose petals. 

Distantly, he can feel Kacchan rutting almost lazily into the hollow of his hip bone, an insistent heat burning through to his core. 

“O-only for Kacchan!” He answers with a stutter, arching up further for more contact. If he had any higher functioning he'd be mortified at the wanton display, too eager, too desperate. Luckily for him, he's exhausted and Kacchan knows just what he needs right now. “Good for Kacchan…” He sighs, letting Kacchan’s hands scrub the weeks of solitude away.

“That’s it, that’s right. Only for Kacchan. You’re so fucking filthy, y’know.” Kacchan pants into his ear, only to lave against the lobe. Tingling electricity and molten lava mix into a fizzy, bubbly goo in Izuku's abdomen.

“T-then clean me up, Kacchan?” Izuku whines. Kacchan is the one scrubbing at him, distracting him. Izuku can barely think, let alone remember what shower steps they're on? He knew he was smelly, that's why he was here, so why can't Kacchan just hurry it up?
 
The blonde chuckles, squirting more soap into his palm without looking away. It's unfairly attractive, how damn good he is at everything. Izuku would have knocked over every single slippery bottle if he tried something like that. Kacchan continues his work on bathing Izuku, smoothing his hands up and down his sides, before burying his nose into the line of Izuku's jaw. 

“There’s not enough soap in the world to scrub you clean, Deku. Because you’re filthy inside too, aren’t you?” Kacchan grins against his skin, Izuku can feel the threat of teeth and shudders helplessly in his childhood friends arms. What use was super strength, a suit, a degree, anything at all? Izuku was putty in Kacchan's hands, and the smarmy bastard knew it. 
Kacchan's hands never stop traveling, never pausing anywhere for too long, until both hands cup his ass cheeks and separate them.

Izuku realizes the double entendre a little late, and burns at the implication.

“I-I’m good.” He whines again, petulant now. “I’m being good, so be nice to me, or I’ll do it myself.” Enough teasing, enough, just get the hell on with it! Izuku’s breath hitches when two of Katsuki’s fingers slip between his cheeks and continue washing him, seemingly uncaring at the intimacy of the location.

“Tch. That ain’t the threat you think it is.” Kacchan mocks him, grinning against Izuku's throat, and all Izuku can do is shiver in response. “Besides, you don’t want me to be nice, I-zu-ku.” Kacchan whispers, dragging his real name out so that every syllable lets those devilish lips drag against his shoulder. His hands haven't stopped, either, massaging against Izuku almost lazily. 

It's... dirty. 
Izuku can't decide if he wants more or wants it to stop immediately?

“You wouldn’t be here unless you like it when I’m mean.” Kacchan purrs, apparently intent on helping him decide, by burying his teeth in Izuku's shoulder. 

It's a surprise, a reminder of the real world beyond this bathroom, through the billowing steam and bubbling heat. Kacchan marks his teeth in his flesh, and Izuku is distantly reminded of a dog and it's favorite toy, the fearsome wolf and his cornered prey. 

Somehow, through it all, this is what reminds him of who, exactly, is chewing him up, consuming him whole. 

Kacchan as a little kid, biting and snarling at old ladies who tried to squish his cheeks.
Kacchan, the hard hands of a young man still growing into his strength, pushing and prodding at him, domineering and mean.
Kacchan, careful and precise, his measurements always perfect, his hands steady and his eyes sharp, but laughing at him from across the lab for turning a screw the wrong way.
Kacchan, victorious and wrathful, shadowing criminals and ending them, splattering the streets with blood and viscera.
Kacchan, drunk and wild, littering him with the hickeys and bruises that covered Izuku for an entire week before eventually fading. 

Izuku arches against his Kacchan, grinding his dick against that taut stomach. 
The friction is apparently just enough. 

Kacchan groans into his neck when Izuku stiffens against him, and thick, hot cum splashes between them. 

It's relief, it's comfort, it's mortifying, it's exhausting.

“Good boy.” Kacchan murmurs into his wet curls, squeezing Izuku into his body like he could absorb him if he pressed hard enough.

Izuku knows his face is probably tomato red, his scarred fingers twitch nervously against Kacchan’s shoulders, but he avoids Kacchan’s gaze. 

He cannot believe he just did that. It was just a bath, you absolute weirdo? Sure, Kacchan is pretty and his voice and his words and his touches... but come on! They kissed once! Once! But of course, Izuku is just so wound up, so touch starved that a few teasing touches and some of Kacchan's patented filth in his ear, and teeth in his skin was all it took?

How embarrassing!

“See, baby? I know exactly what you need, Deku.” Kacchan croons at him, kissing the savage bite that’s likely going to bruise, by the throb of it.

He isn't sure how Kacchan always seems to know what he needs to hear. Izuku never knows that, never knows what he's craving, what he's feeling, what he wants, what he needs... but Kacchan does. Always has, and probably always will. 

He lets himself relax again. 
Kacchan will take care of it. 

“Kacchan…” He pants, open mouthed at the fine collarbone in front of him.

Izuku loses time a little, unsure of how long they stood there, basking in the hot deluge washing away the stress and fear (and other unsavory fluids). 
 
He notices when Kacchan loosens his hold, though. 

“Stop the drain and fill the tub, nerd.” He orders, already half turning to grab a bottle. 

Izuku glares at Kacchan, irritated his cuddles have stopped, but does as bid anyways. No use complaining, he's way too tired for all that. 

He pulls the plunger up, diverting the water from the shower head. It sprays a few more weak spurts before the faucet begins to roar below. Izuku fumbles through the stream, finding the stopper and trying to force it to catch. The stupid plug isn't latching though. He turns it clockwise, but no luck. Counterclockwise is similarly unhelpful.  

Okay, well those are the only two ways the damn thing turns so one of them is gonna have to work, eventually. 

He hears Kacchan laughing at him but resolves to ignore him.

What a jerk.

“You build superhero gadgets out of scrap metal and you can’t figure out how to stop up a tub drain?” He taunts with a smirk, before letting his hands rest on Izuku's hips. 

“Shut up, Kacchan, I’m not a plumber.” Izuku says through pursed lips. Finally with a half turn of the knob, the metal catches in place and the water slowly begins to lap at their feet.

“Sit your ass down, Deku.” Kacchan says still smiling, pushing on the top of sopping wet hair to lower Izuku into position.

He gets an idea, then. 
A nasty idea.

He resists for a moment, before turning back around towards Kacchan, mischief in his eyes. 

“Okay, Kacchan.” He whispers, trying to inject some sort of coy attitude into the words before slowly sinking to is knees.

As expected, Kacchan's eyes widen and all the humor at his expense goes out the window. 
It's strange, a bit, seeing Kacchan so responsive, so obvious with his desires, if the twitch of his dick means anything at all. Izuku grins triumphantly. 

He really shouldn't have been so cocky about it, in hindsight. 
 
Kacchan glares in response, but Izuku is a man on a mission, content to rub his calloused hands up and down the damp blonde hairs on Kacchan's thighs. 

“Can’t stop being a whore for five minutes so I can wash your nasty ass hair, huh?” Kacchan admonishes him without any heat, lathering those cinnamon smelling suds in his fingers before beginning to work it through the strands.  

It feels heavenly. 

All the tangles and knots are worked through one by one in Kacchan's skillful fingers. The smell of nostalgia and safety saps some of his remaining energy, and he just wants to curl up and sleep for a year. His head falls forward, pillowed on Kacchan's thighs, which of course brings his goal into sight.

He'd never forgive himself if he fell asleep without making Kacchan squirm a bit.

“Sorry, Kacchan… I just can’t help it. Kacchan is too pretty.” Izuku sighs, hardly even exaggerating, before leaning forward to mouth at the connection between Katsuki’s hip and thigh. Izuku wonders if he should fold his hands behind Kacchan's knees or up higher? He settles for where he already is, knowing he could easily catch Kacchan if he slipped. It's a bit dangerous to do these activities in a bathroom, of course. Most household accidents happen here or in the kitchen, though surely sex isn't the number one factor in that. 

Or maybe it is? Hm, maybe he should look up those statistics for next time. 
There's gonna be a next time, right? A bit presumptuous, but his thoughts simply pass on through, too tired to be collected or analyzed.

His fingers curl behind Kacchan’s knees, holding him firmly in place, just in case.

“Shut the fuck up.” Kacchan pants. Izuku must've been mumbling again. Kacchan drags his nails against the base of Izuku’s skull which lulls him further into warm, soupy goodness as the water level steadily rises around him, submerging him in warmth.

He doesn't lose focus though, employing Kacchan's previous technique of watchfulness and careful, ever moving touches. Of course, his goal is obvious, and Kacchan keeps twisting his hips, as if he could lure Izuku where he wanted him. Izuku sucks in a nervous breath when he comes face to face with it. It looks a bit angry, the head red and swollen, but Kacchan winds his fingers into his hair, tugging him closer, urging him to get on with it. 

“Impatient, Kacchan.” Izuku muses, trying to feign confidence. He considers his hands again, tries to calm himself down. Sure, this was the first blowjob he was ever gonna give, and sure, he can think of nobody else more deserving of such an act but... what if he's bad at it?

“No, you’re just a no-good, rotten tease-” Kacchan growls, and Izuku gets a spark of competitiveness that forces him forward, desperate to make Kacchan shut up for once. 
He's not exactly well-versed, though, so he settles for a kiss to the tip. It's hot against his lips, spongey. It's not the same silky smoothness of Kacchan's hands or even the velvet feeling of his torso, but real and raw and heady in his eye line. 

Truth be told, Izuku was expecting a reaction, but when he looks up, disappointed in the lack of one, he realizes that was even better.

Kacchan looks absolutely beside himself, mouth hanging open in surprise, a faint pink blush dusting his cheeks, and his eyes softer than Izuku had ever seen them outside of their drunken night together. 

Note to self, the way to Kacchan's heart is apparently through his dick. 

It emboldens him a bit, and he smiles up at Kacchan, happily. The... er, penis drags against his cheek, and that's both hot and kind of gross, but Kacchan actually trembles in his hold, and its that reaction that encourages him to nuzzle into it like a teddy bear. 

“How can you look that innocent and that fucking lewd at the same goddamn time?!” Kacchan's voice actually breaks on the words, his eyes almost comically wide. 
Izuku blushes, and the incredulity in Kacchan's voice brings back a tiny bit of the hesitancy from before. If Kacchan wasn't still petting at his hair, thrusting in almost subconscious tiny shifts of his hips into the corner of his mouth, Izuku likely would have been too flustered to continue.

“I’m tired of holding back, Kacchan.” Izuku mumbles against Kacchan's cock, before tentatively licking at the bead of pre-cum there. Kacchan rewards him with a tug at his hair. 

“That’s MY line, dumbass.” His voice is breathy, almost whiny and Kacchan growls when he hears it. Izuku, on the other hand, is absolutely enthused, and decides that now is as good a time as any. Any loss of composure on Kacchan's part is a victory to Izuku, anyways.
 
It's strange at first, stretching his mouth around the intrusion. It's even bigger than he thought, and he frowns a little as he tries to make sure he doesn't accidentally drag his teeth against it. 

“Oh fuck, Deku!” 

Izuku giggles around the weight in his mouth, Kacchan is just so cute sometimes.
 
It takes a few minutes of adjusting, of tentative licks to the underside and consistent pressure to finally reach the hilt, his nose being poked at by the coarse blonde hairs at the base. It's the first patch of hair on Kacchan's body to have a rougher texture, he thinks mildly. The stretch in his throat is kind of amazing, though. He feels weirdly at peace, letting his mind run as he settles in. 

He wonders why that is? 

Is Kacchan's hair naturally soft and fine? The spikes on his head are, clearly. Being blonde has the advantage of his hairs being less visible anyways. Even comparing their arms, Izuku's wiry hairs are far more noticeable than the soft flaxen down of Kacchan's. But then, these definitely aren't soft? They are a bit poke-y, tickling at his nose. Pubic hairs tend to be coarser, generally, and underarm hair too. Maybe because they grow in friction heavy environments? Has he felt Kacchan's underarm hair? Would Kacchan let him? Is that weird? It's not for any unsavory reasons, obviously, but does that make it better? Or worse? 

Kacchan opens his eyes and looks down at him with an expression that's damn near fond. He breathes out slowly, a gentle rock to his hips as he does so.

“F-fuck, you look…” Kacchan doesn’t finish that sentence, much to Izuku's continued disappointment. Izuku feels Kacchan's hands tremble in the strands of his foamy hair.  

Taking the hint, Izuku works on pulling back, letting it slip from his lips slowly, so the drag was its own stimulation. He doesn’t go far, mainly because from his bottom lip a strand of saliva still links them together. Kacchan, ever the clean freak, thumbs a trail of drool from the corner of his lips as he finally breathes unobstructed. 

Too soft and adoring for the current situation, in his opinion. 

“Watch me, Kacchan. Use me. Wanna be good for you.” He whispers against Kacchan, opting for honesty at this point. Plus Ultra, right?

“You’re gonna regret saying that.” Kacchan vows, winding a fistful of hair into his fingers and forcing himself back down Izuku’s throat. If he had any dignity left, he would have complained, whined, even pinched at Kacchan for the act, but in the here and now, he hums, enjoying the sensation. He's tired though, and the sudden movement is compounded by one of his arms giving out, dropping him forward, knocking his nose against the V of Kacchan's body. Water laps at his chest, still rising.

Look, Izuku isn't the innocent little baby that people like to portray him as. He's a healthy dude, he's had fantasies, he's thought about this before. Hell, he's thought about this exact situation, power dynamic and all, even with this recipient, (though the location is new, he hadn't considered the bathroom a very sexy place before tonight). 

He wasn't exactly prepared for the reality of the situation, however. 
Izuku isn't sure how someone could possibly prepare for this.

Kacchan is rough, his desire all-consuming, and he chases his orgasm like a man possessed. His thrusts are hard and fast, filling and retreating before he can really get a good breath in. His head goes fuzzy, and the excess saliva in his mouth helps him not cough too much. Kacchan's hand is heavy and demanding in his hair, yanking him forward to meet every thrust.
He feels tears cascade, and at first Izuku finds himself wishing he wasn't such a crybaby, but then he gets a look at Kacchan's face.

It's contorted in raw pleasure, the faint blush from earlier now darker, especially at the tips of his ears. Kacchan doesn't even seem to be blinking, but his chest heaves with every breath. His muscles jump and shudder when he sucks, or when he tries to swallow, and it makes him moan. 

Kacchan is just so amazing.  
So pretty.
So handsome.
So strong. 

Izuku looks up trying to meet Kacchan's eyes, so painfully in love, just in time for Kacchan to smile, open mouthed.

“Ha- is this all it takes to shut you up? Just shove a cock in your mouth and fuck this perfect little throat? You’re gagging for it! Like it that much, nerd? Hah? I can’t hear you, Deku, speak up.” Kacchan groans, licking at one of his canines as he slows his thrusts, making them deeper, harder, grinding into Izuku's throat like he can bury himself there.

Izuku chokes out a quite frankly pathetic noise, staring up at Kacchan with rapturous adoration. 
It’s so similar to their first time, to the worship he felt then that his orgasm creeps up on him from out of nowhere.

"Gonna, where do you-" Kacchan pants, grinding himself deep, not letting Izuku answer the question before it stops mattering.
  
Izuku audibly gags when the cum floods his mouth without warning, salty and bitter, and he has to hurry to swallow, feeling some of it be inhaled into his nasal passages when he wasn't fast enough. He chokes a bit, the urge to cough tickling at the back of his throat. Kacchan continues to hold him there, seeming too fucked out to even realize he had Izuku trapped. Izuku pats at Kacchan's calves, two or three times in quick succession to indicate he needs to be released.  

“Oh shit, sorry.” Kacchan thankfully releases his hold on his hair, clumsily backing up and nearly collapsing against the back wall. At least Izuku isn't the only one struggling. 
The tub is overflowing around them, and has been for a minute, but his brain cells have yet to come back online. 

Izuku looks up at Kacchan who seems to be struggling, his eyebrows are furrowed and he looks worried. 

Did he regret it that quickly?

“Are you okay, Kacchan?” Izuku croaks, his voice completely ruined. 
All concern evaporates when Kacchan huffs out a laugh that devolves into guffaws.

“Y-your voice!” He barks out a laugh when Izuku glares up at him, crossing his arms, splashing more water out of the tub as he does so.

“It’s your fault!” He rasps, and Kacchan continues wheezing into the tile wall in response. 

“Hell yeah it was.” Kacchan agrees with a grin, holding out a hand to help Izuku up. 

He looks up at the hand offered to him incredulously.
 
It’s familiar, in an odd way, and in the back of Izuku's head he can almost see their positions reversed, the rush of the water more natural, the bright lights replaced by the shining sun, and that grumpy little face scowling at him petulantly for reaching out. 

Kacchan must remember too, because he rolls his eyes when Izuku tears up and shakily takes the offered hand. When Izuku is standing, though not a hundred percent stable, he sees a soft smile on Kacchan's face that has his whole face heating up. 

Don't smile at me like that when you just... Izuku can't even think the words without his cheeks burning.

Kacchan tries to wrap his arms around Izuku, but he tries to tilt his hips away, avoiding friction on his oversensitive skin. Kacchan grumbles about it, until he spots something floating and bobbing along in the ever rising water. 

“Did you-” Kacchan starts to ask, but Izuku is faster, covering his big mouth with a scarred up palm. 

“Shut up, leave me alone with my shame!” Izuku warbles with his destroyed voice, and Kacchan’s smile is downright vicious as he leans around him to turn off the faucet and unstop the tub. 

“Not a chance, Deku. Your shame belongs to me now, you little freak.” Izuku buries his face in Katsuki’s chest at the words, trying to bury himself alive in his favorite place. He cannot believe he came, practically untouched, because Kacchan was being rough with him. 

It was definitely pathetic, and it was going to give Kacchan a big head, which was already pretty ginormous. They'd need to alert the weather service if the condition persisted.

Somehow a lot of the fire has fizzled away from the encounter, but Izuku really doesn't mind, boneless and warm against Kacchan's soft skin.  

They stay like that awhile.

It’s chilly as they watch the water drain, hanging onto each other for stability, for warmth, just because they can. 

Once the dirty water is gone, they finish their shower, never more than a few inches apart. Rinsing the soap from Izuku’s hair is frustrating, the water cooled off signficantly due to the length of time they've been in here. Apparently an orgasm only buys Izuku a few minutes of peace and quiet because Kacchan complains at him about the state of his hair, and how he should take better care of himself and blah blah blah. 

Izuku's eyes are barely open through the tirade, all higher brain functions have been officially turned off, thank you very much.  
He misses the peace he had when Kacchan was in his mouth, maybe that's weird? Should be unpack that? Is that a kink?

Too tired, will worry more later.

Once they’re done, bundled in fluffy red towels, Kacchan bodily tosses Izuku over his shoulder, ignoring his protests and breathless giggling, before he takes him straight to the bedroom. 

The energy is different in here, and Izuku can tell they both remember what happened last time they were in here. 

All the good, all the bad. 

Izuku feels guilty for intruding again, just expecting Kacchan to drop everything to take care of him. He offers to sleep on the couch, but Kacchan doesn't even dignify him with a reply, scathing or otherwise, in response. 

He just throws on a pair of sweatpants before leaving the room. Izuku follows his lead, sleepily opening drawers in the dresser for something to sleep in. He doesn't want to borrow Kacchan's underwear without asking, but there is an old pair of basketball shorts in the bottom drawer that Izuku doubts Kacchan will miss too much. 

Kacchan returns a few minutes later with a first aid kid, but Izuku is already half asleep, curled into a comforter that smells like caramel and cinnamon. 

Kacchan has no pity for him, dragging him to sit upright as he doctors the wound he inflicted on Izuku's other shoulder. He tries to tell him it's fine, but Kacchan just rolls is eyes and slaps an alcohol pad on the wound, which hurt. Kacchan doesn't let him wiggle away from the sting, sitting square on his lap to pin him down as he sews the wound closed. 

If Izuku wasn't exhausted, he might just physically overpower Kacchan and demand to go to bed, but he's too tired for that and accepts his fate. Kacchan settles himself a few times, attempting to find a good perch, and it revives Izuku's baser urges. It's Kacchans fault really, so handsome and moving around on his lap like that. Would Kacchan be willing to do that with him? Kacchan is hardly willing to accept things that he feels are beneath him... but it feels somewhat unfair in that light. He never really considered topping Kacchan before, but now he kinda just wants to prove he can do it?

Maybe he should ask.

“Kacchan?” Izuku asks quietly, letting his head fall forward onto Kacchan’s other shoulder as he finishes up. 

Kacchan only grunts in answer, focused and intent on the stitches. Ah well, distracting him is rude. Izuku settles for letting his fingers dance over Kacchan's bare hip. 

He can settle for this for now, his sleep addled brain just telling him he needs to touch, to feel Kacchan's warmth, to know he's there.

“Can we talk some m-mmore tomorrow? There’s… ahn, lots to tell Kacchan.” Izuku struggles around a yawn, slumping more heavily against Kacchan now, his head lolling to the side to bury his nose into the crook of that neck.
 
His fingers are slower, dragging sluggishly now.

Izuku smiles when Kacchan winds his arms around his waist, pulling them flush together. 

“Yeah, Deku. You just gotta promise me one thing first.” Kacchan murmurs into his hair, still damp from the shower. Izuku hears some more movement, but is too tired to investigate further. 

He'd promise Kacchan the world if he wanted it.
He's already promised him everything else.

“Mmn?” Izuku mumbles drowsily, smacking his mouth. It tastes... not great. He probably should've brushed his teeth after their little tryst in the shower.
Tryst is a funny word, Izuku thinks idly. So is cannoodle. Boink. 

Sex has so many funny euphemisms. 

“Promise me you’ll still be here in the morning.” Kacchan whispers in his ear, soft and loving. 

“Promise, Kacchan.” Izuku sighs happily. His eyes drift closed, and he slumps completely boneless into Kacchan's waiting arms.

What a silly Kacchan. 
Of course Izuku would still be here in the morning.

There's nowhere he'd rather be, after all. 
He's tired of running away, of hiding and avoiding. 

Izuku plans on sticking around from now on. Come what may. 

Everything he has left is right here, that steel center, that one unique thread, unlike all the others. 
In the web of everything, one golden thread spiraling through it all.  

Don't worry, Kacchan. 
Death herself probably couldn't keep them apart at this point. 

He simply wouldn't allow it. 
Not in this universe, at least.

 

---

 

Izuku first wakes up to both a painfully bright light and an uncomfortably cold bed, much to his own annoyance. His consciousness, ever rambling, prattles on into the void as his senses slowly ebb into wakefulness. 

A deeply selfish and borderline obsessive part of him had hoped that Izuku wake up buried in those strong arms, to feel that frustratingly smooth skin in the light of day, to riddle out why it feels so velvety smooth to the touch, polished like stone but rippling and alive under his fingertips. To examine, to understand. Izuku would wake into the sweet warmth of the morning pressed close to warm, solid flesh and smell burning caramel and cinnamon, maybe get a glimpse of that innocent sleeping face one more time...

Maybe it's for the best he wakes alone.

Because Izuku stumbles into awareness slowly, each sense coming back online one by one. Now he can smell something fruity on the air, sweet. Buttery. He drags himself from the soft cocoon of sheets on Kacchan's bed and lets his nose alone lead him towards the kitchen.

“Kacchan?” Izuku calls in a croak, his voice still a little gruff from last night, coupled with his usual morning raspiness. He scrubs at his eyes as he pads through the hall towards the general direction of the kitchen, trying to remove the crusties from the corners of his eyes so that the world is less painful to behold. 

It doesn't help much until he remembers why seeing is such a blessed comfort. 

Kacchan is such a domestic vision in the kitchen, it's almost a little unfair to the time-honored institution of house wives. His hair is a little messy, but the natural tufted spikes are only slightly wonky, nothing like his own bird's nest that Izuku is now anxiously detangling between shaky fingers. This whole thing is like something out of Izuku's most secretly guarded fantasies, it's almost worth waking up late for. Kacchan's stirring at a pan with one steady hand while his other gradually twists the dial on the stove to turn the eye off. Each move is polished, smooth, easy and natural. His muscles coil and tighten and relax, and Izuku finds himself staring until hips twitch to turn and Kacchan faces him for the first time. 

Kacchan looks at him, one deliberate yet unimpressed sweep up and down, but doesn't say anything. 

Wow, he must look even worse than he thought.

“Morning, nerd.” Kacchan says eventually, short and terse, no inflection. 

“You made breakfast?” Izuku asks, despite the obvious. He's admittedly impressed, as he finally processes the perfect stacks of pancakes on the counter, a handful of berries resting on top, like something out of a cooking magazine. Unreal. Kacchan in an apron, cooking him a gourmet breakfast after rearranging his worldview (and a bitter part of him laments it wasn't his guts) now looking effortlessly competent and powerful. 

It made his heart actually flutter.

Embarrassing.  

“Comes with the service.” Kacchan grunts, something acrid in his tone. 

Izuku wilts a little, but is sure to smile politely anyways as he takes up valuable room in Kacchan's kitchen, perched on a stool by the counter to ogle while the other continues his work.

Useless as ever, I see.
  
Kacchan slides a plate over, the plate squeaking slightly against the granite, making Izuku wince. Kacchan retreats only to return a only a second later with all the grace of a patissiere and a saucepan of beautiful homemade syrup to drench over top, now glistening and decadent. Kacchan really is amazing, they look even better than the ones he dreamed about. 

Who cares about maple syrup and whipped cream when he could have this?

Kacchan is always exceeding expectations flawlessly, he muses.

Is this what it means to have natural grace? The surety of the movement, the perfection in the plating. 
It looks delicious, gooey and perfect. He loves strawberries. 

Did Kacchan know that? 

They'd had a homemade strawberry syrup on a vacation to Hokaiddo once, when Aunty and Uncle invited them up for an event. The trip was a bit of a disaster, if memory serves, with Kacchan leading them into all sorts of trouble and Izuku just along for the ride, one hand buried in Kacchan's shirt and a guilty wobble in his chin as they caused childish mischief. Their hotel had a very homey breakfast bar, with a strawberry syrup Izuku had absolutely loved. He didn't think Kacchan had noticed, since he and Aunty Mitsuki had been busy loudly bickering over all the breakfast offerings being too sweet, while Uncle Masaru quietly sipped his steaming coffee and gave him a conspiratorial wink when he noticed Izuku's gaze.

Maybe that trip wasn't such a disaster, in hindsight.

In a way, this is all better than he dreamed it could be, honestly.

This is a glimpse at the honor of seeing a domestic Kacchan in his element before eventually being shown the exit. Arguably more vulnerable for Kacchan than the act of sex itself.

That much is clear when Izuku finally meets Kacchan's eyes and the glare brings him back to the present.

Kacchan looks agitated, his jaw flexing and set rigid. 

Izuku remembers again the concept of a free continental breakfast before check-out. The exact premise he was gushing over so fondly a second ago.

Is that what this was? 

Oh.

He wants Izuku to hurry up and eat, then go. 

Eat and get out. 

Message Received.

Izuku wars between flustered awe, putrid disappointment, and mindless guilt. 

Is this just the average expectation of what it means to experience Kacchan's official go-to 'morning after' routine? Does Kacchan make breakfast for everyone he sleeps with? He regrets leaving early last time, for several reasons, but maybe the lack of breakfast after the first time was for the best.

Izuku would've probably cried his heart out if he'd seen experienced all of this back then.

How self important to assume this was anything but the standard, and that the strawberries are further proof of Kacchan's excellent memory, not... fondness.

Of course Kacchan would go all out for all his... guests. 

There's something sour in his gut at the thought, and suddenly the pancakes don't look quite so tasty anymore.

What a shame he ruined them for himself. 

“Sorry, again, Kacchan.” He says quietly, poking at them with his fork.

“Oi. What the fuck is wrong with you? Do-do you suddenly not like pancakes or somethin’? Spit it out.” Kacchan huffs. Izuku is surprised to hear the blonde stutter, he's normally very clear in his speech, it's so unlike him. He's also surprised Kacchan could tell he was upset, though maybe he was more obvious than he thought? Kacchan doesn't wait around for an answer, immediately turning away and moving through the kitchen to clean up after cooking, not even taking a bite of his own stack. 

It's a shame, they look good too, steam rising across from him. 
There's no syrup on them, and they smell... savory? Smoky, maybe. But not burnt, no they looked just as nice as his own stack, if not more dense? Bread-y, almost. 

So the strawberries and buttery consistency were intentional choices, at least. Those are two separate batters, entirely, not to mention the strawberry syrup too. Too lost in his own thoughts, Izuku misses the rising ire of the blond. 

The pressure to speak ramps up when Kacchan gets more frustrated with every single movement, slamming cabinets closed and scrubbing at the counter with prejudice.

“Oh, no! They look lovely, and I’m starving, so it’s definitely not that! Kacchan is always so impressive in the kitchen, I’m sure they’re amazing!” Izuku hurries to say, going so far as to shovel a full pancake into his mouth to prove the point. 

Damn it, they /are/ amazing.

He fights the urge to tear up or make an audible noise of pleasure. 

“Then what is it?” Kacchan asks, washing the dishes aggressively. It reminds him of watching Kacchan brush his teeth as a kid, grumbling about germs and telling them to die. 

Somehow it's less funny right now.

"I was just wondering..." He mumbles around his fork, but Kacchan makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat when he hears it. 

“Swallow first and then speak the hell up.” He hisses, scrubbing at a spatula hard enough to snap it between his fingers. 

Probably for the best, honestly. Wood utensils can carry bacteria, and they soak up water during washing so... focus, Izuku.

“Ahn… they are delicious, Kacchan, as expected. I guess, I just… well it’s a little embarrassing…” Izuku admits quietly, trying to force food in his mouth to have an excuse to stop talking. “You said… it ‘came with the service’. I guess I was just wondering… how many people have gotten ‘the service’? Not that you have to tell me, of course! It’s not my business who Kacchan… s-sleeps with, but I can’t help but feel a little jealous, okay maybe a lot, and obviously I’ve only ever been with Kacchan but you’re so confident and attractive, I’m sure you’ve had more than your fair share of-” He's cut off by Kacchan spinning on his heels, and slamming his hands down onto the counter. He all but curls over the island, stone faced, to look directly into Izuku's eyes, like a challenge. Like he's said some magic release word that has Kacchan staring him down with full focus.

Izuku has got to figure out what it was and use it exclusively from now on.      

“Try that again. Without the babbling, this time. What exactly do you want to know?” His tone is clipped, enunciating ever word carefully, but there's a weight to his speech, his voice deep and low. 

“H-How many people…  have you ‘slept’ with, Kacchan? And… made breakfast for?” Izuku mumbles out, fidgeting and rapidly breaking eye contact, flicking from agitating the food on the plate with his fork and back to Kacchan’s face to gauge his reaction. Izuku is mortified and morbidly curious and hopelessly jealous and definitely anxious...

“How many do you fucking think?” Izuku frowns at that. 

Kacchan doesn't seem... mad, necessarily, or at least not any more than usual, but almost frustrated? Confused? Exasprated? It wasn't the goad or jeer he was expecting, or even the sultry purr.

It is a rather rude question, maybe he's just uncomfortable?

“Um… the uh, normal amount? M-maybe?” Izuku cringes, unsure if that's a rude way to answer or not. 

Obviously most people have some sort of contact with other people their age, right? 

What is "normal" though? Is there an average, or some kind of aggregate percentile he could check?
His social circle is hardly 'normal' by any metric, but even they've dabbled. Sure, his friends are varied and diverse people in their experience levels, but Kacchan's friends are definitely wild types.

Chako and Toga-chan hardly count, they've been hopelessly in love for years, and after Toga-chan confided in him about one of their anniversaries... well, Izuku never wants to think about that again, actually. Izuku is sure that Tenya and Mei have at least kissed, having walked in on them in the garage more than once, and they're... well, them! 

Even Shouto made out with that one guy from Ketsubutsu, even if it was to piss off Endeavor at that charity gala. 
Then again, after Valentine's Day, all decorum vanished. If he had to listen to his stoic friend was waxing poetic about Sero's "stroke game", one more time Izuku might just combust, and he was sure to tell him that. That only makes it more entertaining to Shouto, of course, much to Izuku's abhorrence. Izuku had sent a text to chastise Sero for corrupting him and only gotten a winky emoji back. 

As Izuku considers all of this, he continues eating the pancakes, and gets a blob of bright red syrup down his bare chest. 

It's been quiet for too long, and Izuku rushes to try to fill the silence with something other than his messy eating noises.

“N-not that any amount is ‘normal’, that was rude, I just don’t want to imply that Kacchan is promiscuous, that was silly of me, Kacchan isn't a fan of people touching him, and would only settle for the best, I'm sure. I just mean that you’re so confident and erm… good at it? I know I don’t have a wide frame of reference, clearly, but Kaminari-kun only said you two kissed at prom-” Izuku mutters, trying to keep the whine out of his voice and petering out as Kacchan just... stares at him like some kind of circus act.

That had been its own little stab of disappointment, and he didn't want to fault Kacchan for it.
He was under no obligation to Izuku, it's ridiculous, but it's both a point of pride and a sore spot for his possessive streak. 

“He said fucking what?” Explosions pop against the counter top as Kacchan yells, color high on his cheeks.

“Er… he said you asked him to call you Kacchan and you kissed at Prom? He didn’t know I could hear though! At-at the party, Kaminari-kun told Toshi about it, and I kinda overheard. Superpowers, y’know? I’m sorry if I violated your privacy, he said you were very drunk, I-” Izuku rushes to explain, trying to make sure Kaminari-kun doesn't get a pissed off Kacchan coming after him later. He forgot that was supposed to be a secret, really, this super hearing thing is slowly driving him crazy, and living with the sounds of the annoyed passerby and idle chatter has him mildly overstimulated or soothed depending on the occasion. 

Kacchan takes a deep breath before closing his eyes, tapping into some hidden reserve of not-anger. 

It's not long before his eyes open, pinning Izuku to the spot. Kacchan leans against the counter, and threads his fingers together the way he does when he's trying to figure something out. 
Suddenly Izuku remembers the detective games they used to play in primary. Or when Izuku claimed he had a secret All Might card he hadn't shown the blonde...

“Yeah, that's how it happened."

Izuku sucks in a breath that feels like an eternity. 

Kacchan had kissed Kaminari. 

Obviously, Izuku knew that already, he's admitted it, come to terms with it. 
It was different to have that confirmed in real time, and said as bluntly. There's a horrible, ugly feeling in his stomach, like the bottom fell out of it, leaving only a yawning chasm in its wake. 

Apparently Izuku wasn't as cool with it as he led himself to believe.  

"You said I was the only person you ever slept with.” Kacchan says, as if those things are related at all? Izuku's eyes bug out a bit, and he practically steams like a lobster inside his own skin, but he nods furiously.

“Why?” It's not harsh, it's pure curiosity, bewilderment. 

Izuku blinks for a few seconds, now too confused to be embarrassed. 

“Why what? Why is that statement true?” He asks, perplexed, tilting his head and furrowing his brow to demonstrate how uncomprehending he is. None of these questions seem related at all, if he didn't know better, he'd think Kacchan was messing with him.

“Yes, dumbass. Why am I the only person you’ve ever slept with." He says it like a statement, not a question. A demand for information, than a request. "I know you’ve had opportunities. Half n Half and Eyebags would violate the Geneva Convention to get you in the sack.” Kacchan says harshly, rolling his shoulders back and looming over the counter.

Again with this preoccupation with Sho and Toshi! Izuku has half a mind to argue that point, because it's really and truly ridiculous. He wondered what the hell Kacchan was seeing when it came to those two. Sure, he and they were close, they were best friends, of course. They'd seen each other at their lowest and that forges relationships of steel, but that was hardly romantic?

Well, not that Izuku hadn't... considered that, per se. 

Shouto was sweet, and kind and truly beautiful, inside and out. 

Oh Izuku really needs to apologize to him, too. Talking with Kacchan last night made him guiltier by the second, realizing he'd probably been giving Shouto panic attacks over his complete disappearance after their fight. At least his courses were still happening, still pursuing his law degree, oh no, did Izuku disrupt his studies? Izuku would be preparing for his own midterms if his classes weren't in limbo with the building being rebuilt. 

That night where Shouto comforted him was proof of their friendship. On paper, it would be easy to love Sho. Calm, steady, sardonic, and peaceful. Just being near the guy was enough to have Izuku relaxing, breathing deeply and feeling lighter. He was comfort, and safety, and all the right things... Only, Izuku didn't want that. He didn't want softness or peace, not in the way he was supposed to. He wanted to fight, to play, to compete, and that just wasn't something he had with his heterochromatic friend.

Hitoshi, on the other hand, was probably his worse half, for all intents and purposes. He essentially forced Izuku to acknowledge his feelings by his blatant sarcasm and apathy, much to his own appreciation. Izuku had simply... refused to feel any negative emotions, at all, after getting into high school. So focused on having a "good time" or his brand new dynamics with friends, that sometimes he wouldn't feel anything at all, suppressing the despair that lived in his gut. That gnawing hole of "Kacchan" that ate away at him every day they were apart. 

So instead, Izuku had thrown himself into being the 'fixer'. Helping Toga and Ochako navigate their relationship by proxy, helping Tenya after Stain, and of course, between a traumatized Shouto, and a lonely Hitoshi, he was always helping, always there. 

Because he knows what it's like to need someone.

Anyone. 

So of course Izuku was there for them. There was a deep love there, watered by the tears of similar struggles. Hitoshi's bullying as a foster kid, Izuku pretty much raising himself there for awhile, Shouto's complete sequester from the world. 

Forgotten by the system, abandoned by his family, and left in the bureaucracy to fester, Hitoshi was an acquired taste.
Beaten down by his father, an antisocial mask forged in public appearances, isolation, and politics, Shouto was too. 

Izuku had spent so much of his life lonely. 
He hadn't wanted to be a burden, and when he wasn't with Tenya, or on "dates" with Ochako, or curled up on his twin bed with Shouto, he was out walking the city, instead, looking for trouble. 

Soon Izuku got used to hearing his friend's drawl through the phone and jabbering back and forth about everything and nothing. Observations, hypotheses, current events, online discourse, you name it. Shouto would listen in, impassive and thoughtful while they'd rant for hours. It's sort of funny that Hitoshi decided to do that professionally. He missed listening to Toshi complain. Maybe he can catch the show tonight? 

If he was actually honest, now or then, Izuku would realize that he needed Hitoshi's teasing and witty banter as a replacement for Kacchan. He'd needed someone to trade barbs with, someone sardonic and bitchy in the way Izuku was, sometimes. Izuku was jaded in ways that "sunshine" people aren't allowed to be, letting his analytical mind wander and mutter into rants. It's calming, talking about comic book heroes and his favorite timelines. 

Izuku needs to apologize for that argument on Halloween soon, damn. It feels like it's been forever since he'd seen his friend.
For someone who worries so much about hurting others, Izuku sure does accidently fuck up a lot.

Hitoshi was a good friend, and it was so easy to love him. Tall, dark, handsome, and rude, anyone with functioning eyes could see that he was attractive, and as staunchly as he'd ignored it, the attraction was decidedly mutual. Toshi certainly got around, and was vocal about doing so despite, and sometimes thanks to, his prickly personality. Izuku drew the line at that kiss, but the promise of more had been an unfortunate moral taboo given his feelings for Kacchan. 

It wouldn't feel right to indulge in that attention. 

Prom was their last chance for any of that, and they both knew it, spoken aloud or not. 
Speaking of, after seeing Hitoshi was also bewitched by Denki Kaminari, that emptiness in his stomach only intensified. 
Not that he blames either of them, Denki is objectively pretty, that isn't the point. 

Shouldn't Izuku be the jealous one, here?
Kacchan keeps bringing up Sho and Toshi when Kaminari exists, draped over his side at that party. 
Kacchan must be really possessive, apparently. 
He tries not to feel giddy about that, because it kind of pisses him off too. 

Sure, he had two very handsome, very amazing, very brilliant best friends who he'd be lucky to fall in love with.
But somewhere in his chest, Izuku knew all this conjecture was pointless. 

There was no 'reason' that Izuku hadn't fallen for Sho or Toshi, and if there were, it was currently glaring at him after making him pancakes and interrogating him in his stupidly well-appointed kitchen. 

Izuku was too fixated, too obsessed with the man in front of him. 

The one so effortlessly funny, biting and intense, yes, but clever, so very clever. From blunt and deliberate jabs to specifically designed phrasing for Izuku to stumble into simply by knowing him too well? Kacchan was brilliant, both in is work and his personality. Even teasing him in the lab, the easy way they bicker and banter, the excessive skinship and tousles over tools those first few months back together, bleeding easily into amiable comfortability over time. That magnetic push and pull they seemed to have, like they were dancing. 
Kacchan's laugh, so similar to his mother's cackle, but deep and resonant like Uncle Masaru's. Kacchan wasn't just impressive, he was home. His vitality, his vibrancy, he was just... how could Izuku settle for anything else?

Did Kacchan not know that? Izuku's been staring at him in wonder for so long... did Kacchan just never notice? 
No, he definitely noticed, he made fun of Izuku for it, so why...

Well, Izuku did get better at it over time. Being sneaky with his glances, of course he still blurted half his thoughts out loud, and those were all glowing too, so Kacchan definitely knew how he felt, right? Sure, he didn't hear the confession. Huh. Ironic that his own mumbling habit coincides with Kacchan's hearing issue, that is new in the context of their relationship.  But surely Kacchan is aware of his greatness, right? Just because he can't hear Izuku's constant praise wouldn't affect Kacchan's self esteem, that's ridiculous! 

“B-because I love Kacchan.” Izuku answers automatically, seriously, because the answer is obvious. Everyone and their mother knows that he's in love with Kacchan, might as well take out a billboard and make it official. 

“Yes. That. So why do you think that I was any different?” He asks seriously. 

“Different from what?” Izuku asks, lost. 

What are they even talking about right now?

Kacchan sighs sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose to illustrate his irritation.

“Listen up. I know you need things to be crystal fucking clear because your anxious nerd brain is too damn fast for its own good. I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I resented you because of how vulnerable that made me, I tried to change that or demand it on my terms. I was fucked in the head because then, after all of that shit, I blamed you for everything you made me do. For everything you weren't. I know better now, that was my issue to deal with, you didn't deserve any of that shit. I was selfish. I didn't even know you and Aunty were struggling, and... fuck, I’m sorry. For everything. I know I don’t deserve you, but no matter what happens I don’t think that will ever change. For better or for worse, you’re it for me, Izuku. In whatever ways you want me.” Kacchan's tone is serious, matter-of-fact. He might as well have been reading from a safety manual, not a drop of emotion in any word. 

Kacchan is serious about this. 
Kacchan never says anything he doesn't mean, after all. 
That means he genuinely believes all of that.
Izuku tries to force his brain to process, but isn't terribly successful.

Kacchan continues, despite that. 

“Even if you told me to fuck off right now, you wouldn’t get rid of me. Someone needs to watch your ass, and I need to keep you from getting your dumbass killed pulling some stupid stunt. Don’t think you’re weaseling out of telling me about this shit with the yakuza, with OFA, I know you have shit you've been keeping under wraps. We're done with that, you're going to tell me what is going on and we're going to be the team Dr. Toshinori wanted us to be. Oh and you live here now.” Kacchan grunts out the words, withdrawing once more to clean their plates as Izuku sits in open-mouthed shock. 

That was probably the most amount of words he's ever heard Kacchan say at once. 

And he said...

That he was sorry. 
That he wants to be partners.
That he wants to be heroes together.
That he wants...

He said he loves me.

Izuku doesn't even realize he's crying until Kacchan snaps his head to look at him. 

“Deku. Breathe.” An order, probably not the most comforting in the world, but it does the trick.

Izuku rasps in a shuddering breath before suddenly realizing he hasn’t actually answered yet. 
And then the word vomit starts. 

“Kacchan, you can't just say stuff like that! I wasn't prepared, you jerk! Oh my god, I... I don't even know where to start. I love Kacchan, I always have. I don't know what you mean about 'deserving' me, and we should probably talk about that more later, but I forgave you for all of that a long time ago, Kacchan. I didn't want to make you feel bad for not realizing we weren't exactly at the same level. Sure it sucked and it hurt, but we were just kids." Izuku rubs his shoulder absently, where some of his worst scarring is, remembering the hellish recovery, the nerve pain, and the trauma he worked through around it all. "I can't stand not being near you. That night on the roof... before everything happened, I... I was so excited to be heroes with you. Show you I could hold my own, that you didn't need to worry, but that kinda backfired." He scrubs his hands down his cheeks and stares at the counter with a furrowed brow. "There's a lot we need to go over, about the fires, about D-Dr. Toshinori, about OFA, about Shigaraki and the drives, about Eri..." 

Suddenly Izuku feels like he's woken up from some long dream. He cannot believe he's been withholding that much information from Kacchan, all this time? What was he thinking?!

Holy shit.
Oh my goodness, they almost died. 
What if Shigaraki or All For One had tracked him down? 
What if the Shie Hassaikai had picked him up while he tailed Izuku into their territory?

That was so unbelievably dangerous! And after all the grief he gave Shouto about not confiding in him? 

What a hypocrite you are, Izuku!

He's distracted by Kacchan laughing at him, and looks up with a glare to see him crossing the room and walking down the hall towards the guest room in the back. 

"Kacchan?" Izuku asks softly, slides off the stool to follow after Kacchan, just like he used to. 

Once they reach the end of the hall, Kacchan hovers a second before he flings opens the door. 

Izuku's eyes widen, and he walks into one of the coolest rooms he's ever seen. 
Sure, the walls are the same flat white as the rest of the apartment, the floor a muted grey woodgrain, but what was important was everything else.

There are a few rare All Might collectables in various places of honor, scattered through an analyst's wet dream. Photographs, files, even a string board on the far wall! How professional! A military style duffle bag is open on the far table, spilling out spy gear and tech Izuku is just itching to get his hands on.  

"Kacchan sugoi..." Izuku whispers, eyes raking the room, cataloguing everything. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm the fucking best." Kacchan dismisses, almost fondly. 

Izuku pads inside, taking in everything at once, and he's so preoccupied that the faint tingle of something incoming is the only thing that stops him from getting smacked in the face with an old Campos notebook Kacchan tossed at him. A mechanical pencil is the next projectile lobbed his way, but Izuku doesn't so much as look up before grabbing it this time, still surveying the board in front of him like it holds the secrets to the universe.

It is so incredibly impressive that Izuku somehow falls in love with Kacchan all over again. 

Amassed on cork and covered in pages of materials, research, and photos, this whiteboard outlines all of Kacchan's leads. 
The information across the board appears color coded, and Izuku finds himself uneasy at not knowing what red means. 
 
There's proof of Captain Todoroki's corruption, a few photo copied pages of the diary Shouto said went missing, even a character breakdown of him! Half the information is just rude observations and assumptions on Kacchan's part which Izuku furrows his brows at. The connection to both Captain Todoroki and his not-so-deceased big brother, Touya is included. It's clear that Kacchan knows Touya is the arsonist, or heavily suspects him, and Izuku is just so impressed at how much Kacchan had figured out on his own! With no help at all from Izuku, he adds with ire towards himself. He could have given Kacchan so much more to go on, if he'd been more rational. 

There's a few security images of some of the shadier dealings going down within the Police Department, too, and Izuku is struck by how... professional Kacchan is. 
He shouldn't be surprised, Kacchan's the best, obviously, but this? This isn't some college kid with a bone to pick, this... this is a hero's lair. The gear in the corner is reminiscent of military gear, even guns and weaponry in the open closet.  

But his eyes find the board again. 

There's a map of Tokyo in the center, marking the location of each fire and a few theories about why they were chosen, and Izuku notes with a smile that they're generally on the nose, actually, though a few details don't quite line up perfectly, it's nothing he can't fix. 

On another section of the board is information about OFA, and by extension, himself, all written in green. Of course, his smile grows. His comings and goings are notated at the bottom, a basic schedule to when he could generally be expected to be at certain places. His friends are listed in a column listed as "Known Idiots", though they are referred to by unflattering specific nicknames, like usual. He wants to heckle Kacchan for that, but thinks better of it. 

If a villain were to break in, none of them could be tracked down based off of insults, at least. It's a sort of code, all its own.  

He reads the information about Dr. Toshinori and Izuku fights to keep the smile on his face as he reads about his mentor. It aches in his chest to do so. 
This section is connected to the map via string connecting to the USJ fire, and to the floating web beyond, but it's surprisingly blank, with few, if any details. 

There's a pang in his heart, knowing that Kacchan has either avoided investigating it, or all evidence was destroyed through the flames and subsequent construction. 

There's another section for information about the Shie Hassaikai, though it's also largely blank. Izuku isn't surprised.  
After all, he's heard exactly what happens to narcs and informants that are discovered in that organization. His failed raid last night aside, they have to get Eri out, as planned in a few days. 

Above the map, but in a position of importance is a sticky note with a question mark over it, "TASKMASTER" scrawled above it in red.

There's holes in the research though, information Kacchan couldn't have had access to, noting his awareness and making note to correct a few details about the Holders, and all of that more later. Izuku itches to fill him in, to show Kacchan the rest of the board, to work with him on riddling out the rest. He always makes Izuku see things in different perspectives, to show him sides that provide context, that fill the gaps where he falls short.

Izuku loves him so much it kind of hurts.

"Obviously it isn't finished but between the two of us-" Kacchan starts but Izuku is faster, wrapping his arms around Kacchan's middle and burying his face in his back. 

"Kacchan." Izuku hums appreciatively. 

"Fucking what?" He huffs.  

"You're so amazing, so perfect." Izuku sighs into the muscles of Kacchan's back through his tank top. Izuku himself is still shirtless, he realizes, and smothers a smile into black fabric. Izuku hasn't "forgotten" to wear a shirt in his entire life, but here? Apparently he's not too insecure about his scarring anymore, because he hadn't noticed even once.   

Kacchan really is amazing. 

"I know all of that, you damn stalker. You know, we actually have shit to do-" Izuku loosens his hold, and Kacchan immediately tries to turn to face him, but Izuku had other plans. Instead, he slides his hands slowly, dangerously across Kacchan's abdomen, rising the hem of his shirt enough for a few fingers to glance over bare skin. He spreads his hands again, letting his fingers fall into the natural handholds of Kacchan's sides, along the divots of his ribs. 

He doesn't let him move much at all.

"Did you mean it?" Izuku asks lowly and he feels Kachan freeze in his hold, all the energy in the room suddenly changing with just that one sentence. The pressure in the room seems to still, buzzing with energy, a mutual intake of air.
 
"Mean what?" Kacchan asks cautiously, trying to crane his neck back to look at Izuku's expression, but Izuku doesn't pay him much mind for now. 

"You said I could have you however I wanted you. Did you mean that?" He ghosts his lips over a protrusion of Kacchan's spine, thankful the husk from last night and his morning voice make his voice sound impactful. 

It's about trust.
Respect.  

Izuku knew that wasn't quite what the other had been getting at, but his vagueness works in Izuku's favor for once. 

If Kacchan shook him off, if he said any word about it at all, Izuku would back off, no questions asked... but Kacchan hasn't moved more than a twitch so far, and his usually combative demeanor is mysteriously absent. He seems curious, interested in where this will end up going. 

Izuku is too. 
How much would Kacchan let him get away with? 

Izuku considers his sleep-addled thoughts from last night as he continues mouthing over Kacchan's heated skin, basking in the feeling of drowning in all that is Kacchan. He smells like cedar musk, cinnamon shampoo, and the char of the bacon from earlier. He has absolutely no right to smell so good, it's practically a public health hazard.
Heady and deep and mouthwatering, comforting and dangerous all at once, so uniquely Kacchan.

He'd buy a candle of it to huff if he could. Bottle it up and soak his entire life in it. Eau du' Kacchan.

"I always mean what I say, Deku." Kacchan confirms, a faint tremor in his voice that Izuku doesn't call attention to. Instead, he tightens his hold on Kacchan again, grinning into that broad back when Kacchan arches back into the feeling, into him, his weight pressing against Izuku's torso. 

Of course Kacchan would want to fight for it, would want to feel like he earned it. 

It's so predictable. 
Might as well poke the bear a little, while he can.
 
"Let me enjoy this." Izuku instructs, grazing his nose down Kacchan's back again, just like he did last night before they stepped into the shower. 

"Don't tell me what to fucking do." Kacchan counters, just like Izuku expected he would, but his voice has no ounce of disgust, the smile audible in his voice. 

Can't let him get too comfortable, Kacchan wouldn't forgive him for holding back, after all.  
It's not difficult at all to force Kacchan forward until his chest slams onto the desk. There's a moment of stillness where Kacchan seems to process the new position before he begins to complain.  
 
"Oi, what do you-" He barks, trying to thrash, but a hand in his hair stops him from doing anything more than hissing. Izuku leans over to brush his lips against Kacchan's ear, and he salivates when Kacchan shivers. 

"Behave, Katsuki. I'm busy." Izuku admonishes, ladling condescension into his tone. He gets a small jolt of pleasure using Kacchan's real name, he isn't sure he's actually said it out loud before, and the haughtiness of it all has him smiling unabashed into blonde locks. 

Expectations versus reality and all that.

He expects more of a fight, honestly, but Kacchan remains still, if not relaxed. Izuku loosens his fingers from Kacchan's hair, before patting at his head appreciatively, like a well-behaved dog. He's doing so well, behaving way better than Izuku would've assumed given they haven't talked about this. Despite all that talking, there's so much they haven't even begun to discuss. 

That does give him some pause, weren't they supposed to discuss this kind of thing, especially, ahead of time?
He remembers practically choking on a dick last night and a petty part of him decides that if Kacchan wanted to stop he would've said so by now. 

One way to make sure, at least. 

"Good boy, Katsuki." 

Kacchan actually groans into the desk, stiffening and arching into the wood. He freezes afterwards, expecting a reaction, but Izuku is too busy grinning to tease him for it, knowing it would drive Kacchan absolutely nuts to get exactly nothing for his efforts.

Izuku is, for what feels like the first time, in control.  
It's nice to be out of costume and still feel good about himself for once. 

In charge, confident. 

To prove the point, Izuku begins petting Kacchan's head, meandering and gentle, smoothing the spikes around his ears with one slow movement. He has a tiny bit of bedhead, a few spikes pointing in different directions than usual. Izuku coaxes them back into position, still keeping Kacchan's lower half pinned against the desk. It probably hurts a little, the hard edge of the desk biting into his hips, despite his explosive hands clinging to the edge, almost white knuckled. 

Izuku lays against Kacchan's back, going so far as to hook his chin over his shoulder. 

He watches the side of Kacchan's face for a reaction, slipping the hand that was running through fluffy hair down his back, snaking between every nodule of Kacchan's spine. They are languid touches, doting and relaxed, unhurried. Every fidget, every twitch and microexpression is being catalogued away, and a hypotheses whirring and buzzing with every errant touch. The ability to touch, to know, is exhilarating. 

Approximately how many centimeters in length are his arms? The deltoids are immaculate, of course. His back is so broad! Much more obviously muscled up top, with wide, bulky shoulders. Kacchan must bench quite a bit, maybe more than Izuku's bodyweight. No, definitely more than that. He has such a trim little waist, the circumference is droolworthy. Izuku's hands are pretty big, they look nice wrapped around the smallest part of Kacchan's torso, his thumb pressing into the hollow of the blond man's spine curiously. He's cut very well, his muscle to fat percentage couldn't possibly be more than 8%, though clearly he's well-hydrated, supple. As expected of Kacchan, he's in perfect condition. Dip him in plasticine and make a thousand life-size action figures of him, Izuku would collect them all... he finds himself noticing the feel of Kacchan's skin again. It's just slightly less smooth and silky compared to Kacchan's hands, and as Izuku's calloused touch wanders even lower, there's a sudden demarcation in texture in comparison to Kacchan's torso. He aches to know why. 
 
His other crooked hand, comes up to rub calming circles on the jut of Kacchan's hip, riding the line between impossibly smooth and natural flesh under his thumb, as he looks up at the proof of Kacchan's intellect. 

"You did so well, Katsuki. This is amazing. So much effort went into this, it's very impressive." Izuku trails his lips peacefully back and forth between Kacchan's shoulder blades. He let's the statement hang in the air a bit, relishing in Kacchan's almost unnoticeable little gasp. It's hard to tell if he's talking about Kacchan's physical work or the Holy Grail of investigative work on the board in front of him. "Always the smartest in the room, ahead of everyone else. Just naturally better than the rest of us, a god on his throne..." Izuku lets the praises flow from his lips like honey, syrupy and thick on his tongue. He flicks his eyes back to the man in front of him and the board, unsure which to pay attention to, and rocks his hips against Kacchan's backside appreciatively to illustrate the point.

Kacchan deserves all the praise, it really is so cool. So much research and analysis, and he realizes now that Kacchan was working at the League, and curses himself for not realizing that sooner. 

So helpful, so selfless. So competent in the kitchen, Kacchan is just so cool. 

A whine eeks out of Kacchan unbidden and something victorious crows in his chest. Izuku tries not to lose his cool. Something about Kacchan of all people whining? Well, it wakes something in his gut. Something mean and heavy and only Kacchan himself could yank that particular thread in him.  
He can hardly wait, but forces himself to go slowly, tugging the sweatpants between them down centimeter by centimeter with one single finger. 

"Always knew you'd be good at anything you put your mind to. Look at you, Katsuki, you're so amazing, so perfect." Izuku breathes into Kacchan's his ear, reveling in the shiver he earns.

"S-shut up, you creepy motherfucker." Despite the words, Kacchan's voice is breathy, no trace of the hotblooded anger or bored apathy that usually tinges those kinds of insults. Kacchan is losing composure, an idea that has Izuku doubling his efforts when he feels Kacchan ever so slightly spread his legs, giving Izuku easier access. 

What a tease.
He can't believe Katsuki Bakugou is bent over a desk for him of all people, by choice, by desire. 

Where a trained killer and peak specimen is here, spread out for him.
But not just a killer, not just a specimen, but more than that this is Kacchan. 

Mean, selfish, jealous, stingy Kacchan.
And he's just Deku.
Izuku is so very lucky. 
What alternate universe has he been allowed privy to?
Certainly not this one?

But for maybe the first time in his entire life, Kacchan appears to relinquish control, allows himself to be poked and prodded by Izuku's curious fingers, allows Izuku to whisper compliments and unfettered honesty into his pliant form, with barely a dismissive comment to show for it. It's the greatest promise in the world. Unspoken and ardent. Willing and assuring. 

There's so much trust there Izuku knows Kacchan can feel the beaming smile when his lips make contact to the back of a neck slowly dampening in sweat.

Izuku ruts against Kacchan, barred from skin on skin contact only by the threadbare basketball shorts he's still wearing for some reason. 

Kacchan doesn't tense up at all until Izuku skims his fingers idly against his cheeks, not pausing until they pet over his entrance. Izuku feels the change immediately. Where the spitfire blond had been soft and relaxed, if not a bit impatient, now he was rigid, breathing shallower, and his jaw was practically welded shut.  

"Shhh, I got you, Katsuki." Izuku comforts quietly, patting at Kacchan's side soothingly, but withdrawing slowly. This was a treasured gift, and he had no problem waiting if needed. Kacchan must be feeling Izuku's gentle retreat

"Fuck you, I don't need your pity." Kacchan hisses immediately, rearing backwards to argue before Izuku applies more pressure to his back keep him still. It's a bit counterintuitive, Izuku knows, to back off only to push harder, but Izuku can tell Kacchan needs a nudge. Needs something to bank off of, a push to allow himself to pull, an ebb and flow. Give a little, get some back. 

Reciprocity.

"Not pity, never pity." Izuku corrects him, seriously. "I just want to tell you how amazing you are, how lovely. You're so pretty like this, you know that? Dreamed of this, Katsuki. You're doing so well for me, never thought I'd get to have you." Izuku purrs against a particularly supple muscle in his back, his teeth sinking in just barely nipping at the skin and letting his hot breath draw goosebumps to the surface. He just has to be honest, just has to assure him that he's the best thing in the world. 

Probably many worlds.
All of them.
He's the best.

Kacchan listens beautifully, docile in a way he has literally never seen before, in all their years together. Something new. He breathes deeply, and slowly begins to relax. In the meantime, Izuku retreats a bit again, letting Kacchan find his bearings again and snagging a jar of petroleum jelly from the nearby table, he doubts this was it's intended use, but there's no way in hell he's disengaging enough to scrounge up the lube from the bedroom. 

Is this how he keeps his skin so soft? 

Any progress on that front is immediately gone when he presses against Kacchan's entrance again, his fingers now suitably lubricated. He doesn't move them away, or closer, just lets them stay as they are, desensitizing Kacchan to the red-alert signal his body is throwing up.

He's about to ask if Kacchan is okay, if he wants to stop when Kacchan decides to speak up. 

"Hah, get... get on with it, if you're going to. Don't have all day." Kacchan grouses. 

Izuku doesn't want to hurt Kacchan, and has been mindful of every possible body language cue possible to make sure this was wanted, that he hadn't misunderstood, but Kacchan always means what he says. His concern is soothed.  

"Is that really what you want?" Izuku smiles the question into his neck, already knowing the answer, nuzzling into the shorter fuzz at the nape, peppering him with chaste kisses. 

So brave, so amazing. 

"I just fucking said-" Izuku cuts him off, only a stuttering gasp where words had once been. 

So predictable.

Izuku isn't a pro at this, obviously, and he hopes it's not too uncomfortable. Izuku knows how his own fingers feel, but the sensation is so different without the burn of his own hole to keep his wandering fingers in check. Does Kacchan touch himself here often? Somehow Izuku has trouble imagining that, though do so with feverish abandon once the image blooms into his mind. With explosive hands maybe this form of stimulation is less risky? Or more so? 
Kacchan squirms but makes no noise, so Izuku continues his ministrations, petting at Kacchan's insides gently the way he had his hair. 

It's tight, but any discernable texture feels almost nonexistent as Izuku's fingertips are practically scalded in Kacchan's burning heat. It's so hot it almost stings! 

Goodness, does Kacchan have a fever?

"F-fuck." Kacchan whines again, and boy is that just the biggest ego trip of his life. 

Kacchan, trying to swallow his moans, tensing up around his fingers? He'd never believe it if he weren't currently living it. He definitely didn't expect this when he showed up on Kacchan's balcony last night. Never could have imagined that everything he wanted, and things he'd never had the guts to even dream about could come true if he just... trusted Kacchan. 

That's what this was.
An exercise in trust. 
Kacchan trusted him. 
He wanted to prove that Kacchan could rely on him too, like Izuku had by actually showing up, by letting Kacchan take care of him in that state. 

"Ease up, come on, Katsuki I know you can do it. You can do anything you set your mind to." Izuku whispers, encouragingly, doing his best to let every ounce of love and affection drip from his words. This wasn't pity, this wasn't Izuku thinking Kacchan couldn't handle it. He just... wanted him to feel good, and he has no idea how good it could feel. He wants to provide that for Kacchan, let him touch even a fragment of what he's felt. Soothe that self-hatred if only in the way that he craves himself. "Let me show you how it feels when you're inside of me."

Kacchan takes another shaky breath, and begins to relax incrementally again around the questing digit. Izuku feels something smooth and bowed against his fingers and realizes what it is when Kacchan jolts like he'd been electrocuted. He remembers all too well how mean Kacchan had been with his own the first time and winces in sympathy before a guilty smile tugs at his lips.

Plus Ultra, right?
  
Kacchan freezes, as if sensing his impure thoughts.  

"See? I knew you could do it, Katsuki." Izuku intentionally drags a fingernail across that spot, delighting in the keen that comes out of Kacchan's mouth, uncharacteristically sincere and obviously unintentional. Kacchan trembles in is hold, panting into the air. 

It's adorable. 

"Aw, it's okay, Katsuki, if you can't do it." Izuku sighs theatrically, trying to subdue the grin in his voice by clicking his tongue as if he were disappointed. "I should have known it would be too hard for you, I'm sorry." Izuku knows Kacchan can't resist a challenge, and serves one on a silver platter with every condescending word. 

He doesn't stop, of course, still stroking that spot almost lazily, as if indifferent to its existence. He doesn't pause his other touches either, appraising and calculating, hoping Kacchan feels the love there, the support and gratitude he has for Kacchan even attempting this, the appreciation for the beauty that he is. The worship of it.  

Even if they stopped right now, Izuku would be coasting on this high for days. 

The use of the blonde's first name is foreign in his mouth, but he tries to commit, to give Kacchan some kind of shield to hide behind, a role to play in this impromptu game of theirs. 
No matter what name he uses, no matter what they do to each other, at the end of the day, it's just Deku and Kacchan. 

Just them, like always. 

This is just another piece of that.
  
Kacchan always manages to surprise him, to impress him, because he just chuckles wryly. He twists back to look Izuku in the eye, and those blown out red eyes stare through to his very soul. There's an open mocking grin on his lips as he holds up a shaky middle finger in Izuku's direction. 

"You talk too damn much, nerd. I can take anything your sorry ass can dish out." Izuku is so in love with him. So in awe of him, that he forgets his own character, his carefully constructed mask falling away and openly grinning like an idiot. Kacchan makes a hollowed out noise when Izuku continues petting him softly inside and out, always the badass.

"I expected nothing less, Kacchan." Izuku lets the words be fond, baked in sunshine and full of love.

Kacchan seems completely taken off guard when Izuku removes his fingers, stiffening again and taking in a gasp of air that almost sounds hurt. Izuku frowns, honing in and watching for any other sign that Kacchan is reaching a limit. He seems fine, his breathing deep and even, and there's no signs of trauma around the entrance, slick with lubricant now and a lovely flushed pink, nearly the same shade as the tips of his ears. That's adorable. Kacchan's legs aren't shaking, though maybe there's a faint tremor when his dick grazes his upper thigh on the way into position. Izuku watches carefully as he lines himself up, completely ready to bail if need be, but once he settles there, Kacchan relaxes again. 

This is it. 

It's kind of indescribable, unlike anything he's ever felt before. He finds himself distracted by the heat and the pressure and the softness of it all. The sheer amount of heat is surprising, and after this, Izuku is going to have OFA scan him for a fever, because it's molten inside of Kacchan, accepting him almost eagerly. He's crying out and tossing one of his hands back at an odd angle to fist in Izuku's hair. The clench of hair being tugged by the root sends a flash of pleasure through him, but he's incredibly careful not to buck forwards despite it.

He counts to ten before slipping further, another ten, another inch, another set of ten, another inch, incremental but steady. Nothing too sudden, nothing too drawn out, Izuku can't afford to be less careful with something as precious as Kacchan. Izuku fights to keep himself in control, to not go too far too fast, to keep an eye on Kacchan's body language, to listen for any whispers of hurt or regret. 

He finds none, just the low hum of the air conditioner and soft gasps. More than no protest, there's a few encouraging shifts of Kacchan's hips, doing his best to help Izuku along. Something about that, it tears at him. 

"Oh fuck."

It takes a second to realize the words came from himself, not Kacchan, as hard as he was listening.
However, Kacchan tightens impossibly around him, and Izuku can't fight the moan that tears out of his mouth if he tried, it all happened far too fast.  

"You tightened up, Kacchan, it feels too good, so good, so amazing." Izuku warbles, fighting the tears that are already pouring from his eyes. He uses his one free hand that isn't rubbing circles into Kacchan's side to try and catch them, but he misses a few, and they land on Kacchan's sweaty lower back.
 
Kacchan trembles in his hands and Izuku begins to rock softly, trying to get him used to the sensation.

"Kacchan is so beautiful and strong and brave. Don't deserve this, too amazing. It's wet inside, so tight! How does it feel for Kacchan? Is it good?" He starts mumbling, only half aware of what words are coming out of his mouth as he speeds up his thrusts, utterly consumed by the sight, the sound, the feeling. With Kacchan, with love, with everything.  

"Fuck, Deku!" It's the first words Kacchan has said since answering his challenge, and to Izuku's fanatical glee they're whiny and pleading, genuine and so fragile that it flips some sort of primal switch in Izuku's brain. He wants to know everything. He wants to see everything and write it all down. He wants to make graphs and charts, chronicle the analysis of all things Kacchan.

He continues pumping his hips, once, twice, three times. 
And then pulls out completely. 

"Wait, no! Come back, I-" The agony in Kacchan's voice is quite frankly heartbreaking, and Izuku realizes with no small amount of sympathy, what that sad, hurt noise earlier had been. Izuku obviously remembers that feeling, being so empty and cold and lonely, and it devastated him to cause Kacchan to feel the same way. Izuku should've known better, honestly, but that's okay, he has absolutely no plans of leaving Kacchan alone. 

No plans of being anywhere but right here, don't you worry, Kacchan. 

He slides his hands under corded muscle and easily flips the blonde over to finally see his face, to hear his sounds better. He knows Kacchan is a very private person, with walls as high and formidable as mountains... but Izuku misses him, needs to see him. 

Maybe Kacchan will forgive him one day for being so selfish.  

Izuku thumbs over the protruding bone of one akimbo ankle, marveling at the fuzz of blonde hairs catching the light from the window, and the normality of the skin's texture. He finds his lips caressing the knob in a chaste kiss.  He feels human like this, just normal skin, not polished stone or hardened scar, just himself, just perfect. 

How is every square inch of Kacchan perfect? It's almost egregious. Kacchan has always been that way though, glowing, gilded in golden light wherever he went, haloed by his crown of fluffy hair, almost translucent in the right light... the sun. 

Izuku's own personal sun. 

His gnarled, unworthy hands wind around each limb for leverage, sliding him back into his previous home, greeted by Kacchan's teary, flushed face beneath him.

What a pretty sight.

He's so beautiful, so proud, so vulnerable and strong. Those carmine eyes glint in challenge past the brimming tears, and it steals the breath from Izuku's lungs. If he had told himself just a few weeks ago that he'd be buried inside Kacchan, finally able to touch and care for the brash, unruly blonde he'd chased after for, conceivably, his entire life? 

Well, he likely wouldn't have believed it. 

Honestly, this whole debacle was a deeply buried fantasy that had burrowed into his brain far younger than it ought to have. 

It's incredibly silly to think about it now, when pressure and pleasure and his body reacting without thought, but they'd been in middle school, before the worst of it, when they still occasionally spent time together, even if it had to be begged for or bartered. Back when "skinny nerd" became more prominent, when he started looking down on him physically. They were in Kacchan's bedroom, that was probably the last time he'd been allowed to be in there, now that he thought about it. 

Kacchan was ignoring him, of course, huffing and rolling his eyes at every attempt to make conversation, so Izuku let the silence consume them. His hands fiddle nervously with the sharp puzzle box. Later, he's realize this was a common pastime before his tinkering days because he was unable to stop fidgeting.

This particular puzzle was special, though. His favorite, despite its painful lessons.

Izuku's shaky fingers thumb a part into the right position and the mechanism clicks loudly, drawing Kacchan's attention from the ceiling for the first time since arriving. 

"What are you doing over there, shitty nerd?" His voice drawls, voice thick with condescension and weary interest.

Izuku squeaks at the attention, and mumbles out his explanation.

"Oh, uh, it's, um, a puzzle box. It, um, it's pointy, and if you put a piece in the wrong place, it'll pinch you or slice your finger if you're not careful. It's, um, about persistence. If even one little, uh edge isn't lined up, the whole thing has to b-be um, redone." He says quietly, wincing when another corner bites at his fingers. This particular puzzle being particularly difficult, has resulted in several shallow cuts on his hands. He's getting better at it, though, he doesn't mess up as much as he did at first. 

"Why bother? If it hurts to even fucking solve it?" Kacchan's face pinches up in irritation and confusion, his lip curling in rebuke. 

Izuku opens his mouth to answer, before realizing Kacchan has already lost interest in him. He's already plucking a book off his shelf to ignore Izuku in favor of.

"Some things are worth suffering for." He says softly, almost a whisper.

It's the closest to a confession he was willing to get, and he's unsurprised to get a dismissive grunt in reply.

Because that puzzle, for all its harsh edges and painful reminders, suddenly reminded him of the boy lounging in the bed across from him. 

The blonde wood, the red painted accents, the intricacy, the intensity. 
He wanted to know, he wanted to tear it apart, to see how it worked and put it right back together, again and again. 

What would it be like to take his beloved Kacchan apart? To understand, once and for all, to get confirmation of what he knew was there. He craved to lick the pieces, clean him up and put him back together, shiny and new, even better than before. Brave and smart and amazing... because it's Kacchan, how could it be anything short of perfect?

In the present, Kacchan is looking at him with an expression Izuku has never seen before. New. Awed and soft, a smile on his lips despite the way they're ever so slightly parted. Kacchan winds his around Izuku's neck, pulling him somehow even closer.  

An exercise in trust. 
That's what he'd thought earlier.

With a face like that, Izuku knew he'd won. 
He'd earned something, an accolade, a fealty. 
He'd do anything to keep that prize. 
Maybe even villainy.  

Izuku worries what that means, in some distant, non-primal part of his brain. 

"Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan..." Izuku can't think, can't string a single thought together that isn't Kacchan. He stares at Kacchan's eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his hair, every tiny insignificant little part of him, he memorizes it, but when he gets to those eyes... those blood red eyes, he's hooked. He's completely hypnotized, overwhelmed with pleasure, with love, with happiness... Kacchan's orgasm is so surprising, so shocking, that the noise he makes is almost wounded. 

Izuku feels his heart squeeze when Kacchan does.

It sets off some chain reaction, Izuku gasping and stuttering on the name one last time, his thrusts erratic and so lightning fast as he tries to chase his release before Kacchan gets too oversensitive. He swears he can see new colors when he finally finishes, searching until he finds Kacchan's smooth palms and threading their fingers together. It feels like the world is disappearing, and the only thing that will keep Izuku real, keep him grounded to this mortal plane, is the man in front of him, beneath him.

"Izuku." Kacchan calls, but it sounds satisfied, peaceful.  

"Kacchan." Izuku answers, crying into Kacchan's chest, like the loser he is. Somehow no matter what, Izuku ends up crying by the end. 

They stay like that awhile, until Izuku's cries finally fade out into sniffles, and he finds himself re-reading the board in front of them. He doesn't realize he's gotten distracted until he hears Kacchan speak.   
 
"You've got to be fucking with me." Kacchan groans.

The phrase takes him by surprise, his own mind flustering him.  Izuku looks down, realizing he's been adding notes to the board... while still seated firmly inside his lover. 

"S-sorry, Kacchan!" He chirps with an embarrassed smile, retreating a few inches to slip himself free. 

Kacchan cringes when he pulls out, and Izuku worries aloud. 

"Sh-should I-"

Kacchan waves him off, limping out the door, leaving Izuku alone with the board.

Izuku watches the door for Kacchan's return, and gets anxious when he doesn't return immediately. 

Did he do it wrong? 
Did he miss a sign? 
Is Kacchan angry with him? 
They really should've discussed that kind of thing before jumping into it, shouldn't they?
Also maybe he should go back to therapy.

Izuku hurriedly fills in the blanks on the board, growing more nauseous and concerned the longer Kacchan is gone. 
When the blonde returns unceremoniously from the shower, Izuku lets himself finally breathe. 

Duh, of course he would want to shower the sweat and... other stuff off his body. 

Kacchan stands with his arms crossed, reading over Izuku's contributions thoughtfully.

It's almost comical, both the difference in their handwritings, and the style in which they notate. Kacchan's strict, bulleted statements were sleek and to the point, where Izuku just rambled around them, listing anything he could think of that might apply to the topic at hand. The board is entirely filled though, as if Izuku's thought jumble somehow filled in the gaps of Kacchan's investigation seamlessly.   

Dr. Toshinori and Aizawa might have had a point.
They were actually better at this together.   

When Kacchan zeroes in on the bottom left, previously left open, it gives Izuku the opportunity to fill him in about Eri, on Chisaki's strange behavior, and sketches out the first two floors of their base, stressing that there's at least four more levels after that which he hasn't actually seen but has heard about. Izuku cringes when he admits that he swore Aizawa to secrecy about the mission specifics, and even more so as he recalls his piss-poor attempt at a raid last night. Kacchan doesn't hesitate to tear him a new one, stretching his cheek and chastising his recklessness, which he admits he deserves. He could've ended up dead, or worse, putting Eri in harm's way, with that kind of harebrained scheme. A lecture is getting off easy, honestly. He does pinkie-swear Kacchan that he won't be that dumb again without him specifically as back-up. 

Izuku agrees with a smile, wrapping their little fingers together with all the sincerity of a blood oath. 
Pinkie swears were sacred, obviously.

Just like promises.

It takes a long time to go through everything, to catch Kacchan up to speed on his perspective, and then to mesh their individual experiences together and get on the same page.  

"Who's this chucklefuck?" Kacchan asks after awhile, tapping his finger against Shigaraki's name. 

"Ah. He's a reporter I met at the League, but there's something... wrong, with him? I don't know if it's something like my spider bite or your lab accident, or if it's something to do with the rest of this." Izuku gestures back at the board as a whole before curling his fist under his chin in thought. "I only met up with him by chance because he asked Toshi about me on Halloween, and Toga-chan was working with him on Jin's case before he was arrested. Hm... now that I think about it, that is more suspicious now that Jin has been arrested, maybe he set Jin up? I don't know what he'd get out of that besides a stab wound courtesy of Toga-chan though... Ahn, but she's out on a mission right now, so I can't exactly ask her for more details. He gave me some valuable intel a few months back, including crime scene photographs of your hits." Izuku hedges, before suddenly remembering that conversation with Mirio after meeting Eri for the first time. While he wasn't sure he had the emotional bandwidth to figure out what his upperclassman had wanted to talk to him about, it didn't stop Izuku from turning sideways to write a reminder down on a thin column of space. 

"And?"

Izuku startles a bit, trying to remember what he was talking about. 

"Huh? Oh, Shigaraki said I would find it more 'interesting' than he did?" Izuku admits with a frown. He still doesn't know what that meant, exactly. Maybe Shigaraki knew they were close? How could be possibly? Well, how did he get his hands on any of that. School rosters aren't exactly encrypted files, it wouldn't be hard to trace them back to Aldera, especially the roof incident, though Kacchan's name wasn't even included in the official report. They had both been publicly announced as OFA recipients, anyways so it wouldn't actually be that hard now that he thinks about it. He counts his lucky stars that Kacchan didn't suffer because Izuku was playing information peek-a-boo without him. No, from now on Kacchan needs to have access to everything. He's going to be armed with as much information as Izuku can physically provide him. He waves a hand in the general direction of the door. 

"In my belt, there's two flash drives. Red, I've already gone through, you're more than welcome to do the same, of course. He gave me the password without too much fanfare, but the teal one is still encrypted, and unfortunately I don't have that password. On Valentine's Day, he was there, that's why I left the bar early. When he made the drop, he was civil, but clearly a potential threat, this drive comes with a catch. He's offered up the password, same as last time, but in exchange, he wants to know more about the USJ Fire, specifically about All For One. Sho and I couldn't crack the encryption, and without lab access..." Izuku considers the loss of Black Whip again with a scrunch of his face. 

If Kacchan had access to a few specialty tools they can open the casing easily, and obviously the methacrylate can be synthesized with chemicals he already had access to...

"And you're actually considering it?" Izuku hears the judgement in his tone, and he can't even disagree with it. 

"Don't get me wrong, I don't exactly trust him, but his information has proven valuable..." Izuku admits with a shrug and sigh, as if to say 'what can we do about it?'. 

What he doesn't understand is how Sihagaraki fits into all of this. 
Why does he want to know about the Taskmaster All For One? 
Is he working for him? 
If he was, why was he helping Izuku? 
Those previous files weren't anything that could be traced back to All For One intrinsically, though the man has connections. 
But so would any other reporter, obviously.

Why would Shigaraki even care to know about the fire at the USJ at all, presumably he'd been there if he was the lackey who... killed Dr. Toshinori. Izuku considers the man's enhanced physical strength, remembers being caught at the League, the dark formless void that curls around him... but it doesn't feel right. There's too many inconsistencies, too many assumptions, and while Izuku had heard the mysterious companion's presence, they hadn't spoken at all, which is more than he could say for Shigaraki's general disposition. 

"Does it bother you?" Kacchan asks suddenly, after a while, startling Izuku.

"Does what bother me?" He asks with a tilt of his head. 

Kacchan frowns and turns the laptop screen around, where Izuku sees the crime scene images from the first of Kacchan's hits. 

Oh.

That.

"I... uh I don't know? Maybe? I talked with Mr. Aizawa about it, and it helped. " Izuku answers honestly, but none too excited to open this particular wound at the moment. It really did help, the idea that everyone is just doing their best, they don't have all the answers, and nobody is expecting him to be the exception.

It doesn't change much, but it did take some of the pressure off. 

Kacchan scowls, pulling himself up a little taller in the chair.

"I do my research, they aren't just randoms. I'm not a fucking serial killer." He snaps, something hard in his expression.

"Oh, no, Kacchan. I'm sorry, I wasn't clear. I know that. They were all dirty cops or dangerous criminals, I know you wouldn't... not like that. I meant... well, I'm sort of struggling with it? For myself, I mean. I don't think I... I don't think I can?" Izuku knows he's barely making sense, that Kacchan is struggling to piece them together, but there's so much context, so much surrounding the homicides themselves. He has never once thought Kacchan was a sociopath or villain, it didn't even really occur to him that Kacchan might feel defensive. 

"You don't have to." He says seriously. 

The words are flat, as if he was just stating a fact, and it warms Izuku's heart that Kacchan ended up parroting his mentor's words without realizing. 

"That's what Mr. Aizawa said too. It's just... if the police aren't trustworthy, what am I supposed to do with the people I arrest? If we ran into Touya tomorrow, what would I do? I wouldn't take him to his father, but killing him doesn't feel right either? That little girl, Eri. Chisaki is doing something to her, something awful, and I think the only way to be sure he won't hurt anyone else is to... well, you know." He sighs, exhausted from the wait of his own morality and slumps into a chair.

It's been weighing on him lately.

It's one thing to hand in muggers, and he usually just discourages non-violent crime like a chiding parent, but when it comes down to it, Izuku's playing catch and release with dangerous madmen. At some point, he either has to accept the horrors within the system to put away the worst of the worst (which has it's own consequences, since the Captain would be none to happy to see his eldest was still alive) or put on his big boy underwear and take care of the problem himself.

It just... felt wrong.

"I wouldn't worry about it, now. Get back to work." Kacchan says lamely, tapping on the keyboard some more, having turned the laptop back around at some point. 

Izuku gives him a grateful smile, and hopes that Kacchan knows Izuku appreciates him not calling him a coward.

Izuku adds more information where it feels unclear, especially about the reasons he was becoming doubtful that Shigaraki was the accomplice that night. He traces the patterns and the observations he's made for the past seven months with the end of a marker, the web growing more tangled with every addition. 

The answer is here, somewhere, it has to be. 

All of these pieces fit together somehow. 
But in what order?

What actually happened the night the League burned? 
Who dealt the killing blow to Dr. Toshinori? Did Shigaraki know? Was he involved? What is his goal? 
How do Aizawa and Mic fit in, as owners of the League? As assassins? As Toga's surrogate family and mentors? As Hitoshi's?
Who was Touya's mystery guy? Is it really Deputy Hawks? If it were, how would he end up in the Department and under Endeavor's thumb, no less?
Does Jin's arrest have anything to do with all of this? Is it just a way to get Toga off the board as a player?
Giran was Kacchan's first kill based on the police reports, and according to the files, Jin was one of his clients, but why was he involved to this extent? He keeps popping up in places he shouldn't...

"Oi, nerd. Get over here." Kacchan barks from his spot at the desk, opening the files on the two drives for them to review. 

"You got it?! Kacchan is so amazing!" Izuku gushes, remembering how many different passwords and programs he and Sho had tried. He leans up to set an arm across Kacchan's shoulders, and burying a chin in that soft, if not still slightly damp, hair. 

"Of course I did, dumbass. I'm the fucking best." He grunts, clicking to widen the window. 

"Oh my god."

 

---

 

There were quite a few interesting files on that drive. 

First, a less blacked out version of Giran's file. 

As it turns out, the information broker had hacked into a hospital's registry files in order to erase any record of Jin Bubaigawara's diagnosed Dissociative Identity Disorder, the mental disability that would have made him ineligible to foster Toga all those years ago. It seems he was in cahoots with none other than the illustrious Shie Hassaikai to do so, and Izuku is irritated that he didn't consider that earlier. 

Unfortunately, despite the deal working out as intended, the system had a hidden recovery pathway that backed up changes when edits were made from unapproved terminals. This flagged Jin's file, and jeopardizes not only his parole, but his legal claim to Toga-chan.

"Kacchan, these are dated early last year. Toga-chan didn't turn eighteen until last summer, she could've been removed from his home back then!" Izuku realizes with dawning horror. "Toga-chan didn't mention the legal issues Jin was dealing with until this fall, almost a whole year later. Did Jin keep it from her? That seems unlikely, Jin wasn't particularly great at keeping secrets, especially from Toga-chan. If there was any chance she'd end up with her birth family, or back in the system, he would've told her." Izuku says confidently.

"So the weasel must've been working on this awhile. Kept them out of the loop to save his own oily skin." Kacchan surmises, clicking through the files and reading them quickly. Izuku leans over too, before pointing at a rapidly ascending line of text.

"Wait, there!" They read through the information again and again. "So... It looks like Giran was in the middle of trying to negotiate a way to fix the problem he caused, he even submitted an injunction against the hospital, claiming it was a hacking attempt and that Jin's record was falsified, but the date of that hearing... coincides to a few days after Kacchan got his assignment." Izuku trails off softly. 

Kacchan didn't go into detail on the how or why of how he got his targets information, but he did tell Izuku about the confrontation between Giran and Toga-chan at the League the first time he visited. 

"So it's my fault the dude's rotting in solitary." Kacchan says, deceptively deadpan. 

"No, Kacchan. It's obvious something is off, here. You got the hit three days before that hearing was scheduled to happen, and you saw a confrontation between Toga-chan, Jin and Giran. That sounds like Giran finally let them in on what was up once he had a plan to fix it. Giran had his hands in a lot of pots... oh, look at this. He's been in contact with the Deputy..." Izuku points out, bringing up a blurry surveillance camera still, zoomed in on Giran and Deputy Hawks talking on what looks like a pier, maybe on the bay? 

"That fucker again." Kacchan bites out, adding the new information to the board.

"Do you think Toga-chan figured it out? That he messed up and got Jin into trouble? Knowing Toga-chan, she would be, uh, not very happy about that." Izuku worries his lip with his teeth, and the skin cracks under the pressure.

"Why don't you just fucking call and ask? You two are all buddy-buddy secret agents or whatever, right? She almost slit my throat just for looking at you." Izuku quirks an eyebrow at that. Toga-chan is apparently a knife fighter, and from what he's overheard she's truly terrifying, but he's yet to see her fight in person. 

He was unaware the two were acquainted in that way, and the irrational spike of competitiveness is almost instantly dismissed.
 
"Ugh, but Toga-chan is still on a mission, she likely won't be back for a few days still..." Izuku whines, looking back at the board again. 

"Where is Blondie, exactly? You said she was on loan to the yakuza, and having fought the bitch, I'm sure she's making money hand over fist, but what exactly do they have her out doing?" Kacchan asks with a furrowed brow. The implication turns Izuku's stomach. 

What, indeed.
He hears the gurgles and the voices, the screams. The hushed conversations, the shouted orders. 

He's not sure if knowing for sure is something he can handle at the moment. 

"... I didn't ask." Izuku admits, biting his lip when Kacchan looks at him with a raised brow. 

"You didn't ask?" He parrots, his tone mocking, as if he doesn't believe that's even possible. Kacchan knows him unfortunately well. Luckily, he's acctually telling the truth because Izuku kows exactly what he's avoiding this time, thank you very much. 

"I didn't want to know, okay? Without Jin, without the League, Toga-chan is on her own. It's Ochako or nothing, and she's got a warrant out, where else does she go? She'd do anything to keep Chako safe, and with everything else going on... Look, the yakuza are recruiting in record numbers, aiming for those most vulnerable thanks to Captain Todoroki's quite frankly disgusting anti-homeless initiatives. If she didn't fall in with them, she's not likely to make it very far without being arrested, just like the others, or she could wide up dead like Magne. Whatever she's doing, she's good at it, and she's doing it because she has to. To survive. I can't, or won't hold that against her, will you?" Izuku asks seriously, staring at Kacchan, unsure what to expect. 

Of course Kacchan kills too, enacts vigilante justice and paid contracts. 
Colleague or rival agent, hero or villain, comrade or enemy. 
Kacchan tends to see things in black and white.

"I didn't fucking mean it like that, Deku. I just... she seems kinda caught up in this shit. If Giran met up with the Deputy, he might've sold her out to save his own ass. Between the yakuza, the cops, and Blondie being her charming fucking self, I'd just feel better if we had eyes on her. How long would it even take for us to hear if something went south?" Kacchan asks with a roll of his shoulders. They had been kinda cooped up in here, Izuku realizes with a glance around, the room dimmer now that the sun had apparently set, it's light now only fluorescent. Kacchan had brought them some leftover curry earlier, but even that brainfood was long gone. 

"We send encoded messages back and forth every couple of days, she's due for a check in tomorrow. Toga-chan tries to keep me updated on her general location, expected drops, stuff like that. We have a procedure in case she doesn't show up, and I need to protect Chako..." Izuku frowns, pinching at his bottom lip. "If everything goes to plan, we're supposed be executing the raid on Friday to bust out Eri." 

"The kid locked in that yakuza hellhole?" Kacchan confirms with a tilt towards the section of the board where she's mentioned.

Izuku nods solemnly. 

"You have a plan?" Kacchan asks, and Izuku fights the urge to roll his eyes. 

"Nah, I thought we'd just wing it." Izuku snarks, chewing on the end of his marker. 

"Well that's what you did yesterday, asshole, so don't be a dick, I'm much better at it than you." Kacchan flicks him in the forehead and Izuku glares before smiling. 

"You've had years of practice, of course you're better at it." He teases, and Kacchan grins wolfishly in return. He looks deranged. Izuku loves it.

"And don't you forget it, nerd."

Never, Kacchan. 

More time passes, more scribbles in varying colors, until the board looks more like a jumble of ancient runes than any legible kanji.

"There's something pissing me off." Kacchan starts, pacing the room but not moving his eyes from the board.

"Other than everything?" Izuku wheedles, and Kacchan rolls his eyes in his direction. It's nice to poke fun at him without losing a finger.  

He lets his eyes rove up and down Kacchan's built frame. They flick between him and the desk he'd been bent over earlier.

"Cheeky fuck, shut up, I'm trying to solve a crime over here. Keep it in your pants, nerd." Despite saying that, Kacchan looks at him lasciviously, licking his canine almost as a warning.

If it's a threat it feels like a naughty one.  

Izuku makes a zipping gesture in front of his mouth, mindful not to tease Kacchan about that not being what he said earlier...  

"The girl. The one we're rescuing." Kacchan starts, and Izuku has to bite down to stop himself from smiling because Kacchan had said 'we'. "What's going to happen after we get her?" 

Izuku reads through the notes again, as if he didn't write them himself, but allows himself time to structure his response.

"I assume you mean where will she go?" Izuku clarifies, not looking at Kacchan. 

"Yeah. Not exactly looking to be a dad right now, are you, nerd?" There's a humorous thread through the question, but the mood is not lighthearted.

"I don't know. One step at a time. All I know is that she's not safe in the hands of the Shie Hassaikai, so getting her out of there is the first priority. Maybe one of her caretakers there is trustworthy, or maybe Toga-san will know someone who can forge her some documents..." Izuku has, admittedly, been trying not to think about what happens after. With so much happening at the present, it's hard to plan for the future. 

He can't exactly drop her off at an orphanage or contact the police about an abandoned child.

If the choice is leaving her with Chisaki Kai or dealing with the logistical fallout of her rescue, he'll gladly figure it out later.

"Speaking of... how do you plan to deal with that asshole?" Kacchan asks, his tone is vacant, as if he doesn't care one way or another, but Izuku knows he's asking for a reason.

"I'm going to do my best, Kacchan. The mission is to save Eri. If he fights back against me taking her, then I'll do what I have to." He squares his shoulders and meets that scarlet gaze that peers over the laptop. 

"Deku, I know you're soft on these organized crime bastards, you heard some sob stories, got yourself all invested in their lives and shit, but sometimes... sometimes you have to make the hard choices in order to protect someone." There's a strange weight to his voice, like that answer alone was enough to make a decision about something. 

"I know, Kacchan. Don't worry, I won't freeze up when the time comes. When I was fighting Stain, I had no problem thinking I might have to kill him when Tenya was in trouble. Maybe the secret is adrenaline, instinct, or something, I don't know. I promise I'll come through for you, Kacchan." He tries to give a confident looking smile but Kacchan just looks livid.

"When you were fighting WHO, Deku?" Kacchan glares, as if daring Izuku to repeat himself.

Izuku might've forgotten that Kacchan might recognize that name, and that he didn't already know about all his teenage escapades.

"Oh... um...you see... Wait, what time is it?" Izuku looks at his phone, pleased to find it later than he'd initially realized, meaning he had an excuse to get out of this conversation without lying or facing Kacchan's wrath. "Perfect timing! Here, let me see how far Toshi's segment has gotten, maybe he'll mention something about Jin..." Izuku leans over and finds the college website, going through menus to find the radio station, pleased he gets to actually listen this time. 

"Aw fuck, Eyebags? Do we have to listen to his shit?" Kacchan groans, curling his nose and making no bones about his disgust for the sleepy eyed DJ. 

"Oh get over it, Kacchan, it's really very good and informative! He says nice things about me on the air, and it honestly helped a lot the last few months." Izuku confesses softly, navigating through the drop down trying to access tonight's stream.

"Oi, he talks about you on the radio?!" Kacchan snaps, practically yanking the laptop closer to see for himself. 

"He doesn't know it's me, calm down! He's a fan of my hero persona. I guess I really should come up with some kind of name..." Izuku mumbles, tapping the play button. It buffers, trying to catch up to the current broadcast in progress.

"What, too good for Deku now?" Kacchan grumbles under his breath. Izuku shoots him an exasperated but fond look. He presses a quick kiss to the snarl of Kacchan's lip. "I told you once before, that's your name for me. We were supposed to pick new ones eventually, remember?" He grins at Kacchan's blush, only to hear the dulcet tones of Hitoshi Shinsou begin to play from the laptop speakers. 

"-course he's making the streets unsafe! Any shmuck with half a brain can see that Captain Todoroki's policies are driving homeless youth into the arms of organized crime. LGBT hate crimes are on the rise, there's been three just this week! That's insane! Reports of mysterious deaths or arrests of mentally ill community members who cannot advocate for themselves, not to mention BIPOC being arrested or detained on erroneous charges? This is a police state, and good ole Cap himself is leading the charge on purging the streets of anyone who doesn't fit his xenophobic standards." Toshi's angry voice comes through the speaker.

Kacchan looks mildly impressed at the tirade and Izuku swallows his smile, knowing Kacchan would deny any admission of it anyways. 

There's a beat of silence before a faint click indicates the caller has hung up on the other line. 

"Oh come on. If you can't defend your argument, why even call? Look, I love bullying idiots as much as the next guy, maybe even more, but what's it gonna take to have someone call who actually wants to talk?" Toshi grumbles to no one, only for a new call to come in a few seconds later as if in direct reply to the statement. 

"Caller, I certainly hope you're more entertaining than the last guy, talk about a snooze fest." Toshi gripes, his rasp reverberating through the mic as Kacchan's lips twitch. 

"I certainly hope I am, dude!" Izuku swivels in his seat to stare at the computer despite there being no video playing, just audio. 

Kacchan is staring at the computer in much the same way. 

"Was that-"

"Shhhh!" 

Kaminari's voice pipes up again a second later. 

"Hi, there Mindjack. You're like my favorite voice on the radio these days, did you know that? Hope it's uh... okay, that I called? You wanted someone to talk to, right? Well I'm alllll ears. Or I guess I only have two?" Kaminari says with a chuckle, somehow charming and awkward simultaneously.  

"Oh is that so? Many have tried to use flattery on this show, few have succeeded. I'm everyone's favorite disc jockey, of course, what makes you so special, Mr. Number One Fan?" Toshi quips easily, and Izuku can almost hear the crooked smile stretching across his face. 

Oh his friend has got it BAD.
Izuku is going to crucify him, he is estatic. 

"Oh Kacchan, this is adorable." Izuku murmurs with an excited look at the Kacchan in question, who just rolls his eyes. 

"I dunno, I've heard I'm a pretty good kisser. Good taste in music. Electrifying personality. Kinda unlucky in love, though. You, uh, you wouldn't do that to me, would you, M-Mindjack?" There's an awkward, nervous giggle on the other side, and then the line is absolutely dead silent. 

The kind of silence that makes you cringe.

"Toshi, come on, answer him, come on, you can do it." Izuku whispers under his breath, bouncing his knee anxiously until Kacchan puts a hand on his leg and forces it to still. 

"You heard 'im. Answer. What are ya scared of, Hot Topic?" Izuku cuts a look at Kacchan, pleased beyond measure that he's trying to be encouraging, and doing something as nerdy as talking allowed when the others can't hear them. He lands somewhere between fond and exasperated again. Even Kacchan's encouragement is aggressive.

"Uh, hey, s-sorry there was some feedback, but uh I've been known to break a few hearts, caller. Think you can keep up with a wild card like me?" Izuku has never in is life heard Toshi so flustered. He manages to claw control back about half way through, blending into that familiar easy, haughty energy that makes him both frustrating and painfully attractive.

"Nice save, Troll Doll." Kacchan mutters. Izuku elbows him. 

"Hm, I'm sure I could give you a run for your money. In fact, I've got a question for ya! Unless, of course, you're a chicken?" Kaminari teases, but his voice is strung tight, like he's rationing his air or something. 

"Chicken? You wish. Lay it on me, what confounding conundrum have you brought before the great Mindjack this lovely evening? Before you open your mouth, I'll have you know that I tar and feather prank callers." Toshi rasps, his octaves dipping into something flirty towards the end, far from the mildly threatening one he was likely aiming for. 

"Oh!" Izuku covers his mouth with his hand, the secondhand embarrassment eating through him like acid through a tissue. He's been on the receiving end of that tone before, and he just knows Kaminari is panicking, over on his end.

"Shut up, nerd, just listen." Kacchan swats at him, eyes not leaving the screen, despite the utter lack of substance on it. 

What an unlucky break for Toshi that this was the show Kacchan listened to...
He'll have to apologize later if it goes badly, but as it stands, he can't afford to miss a second of it. 

"Are you seeing anybody, O Great DJ in the Sky?" Kaminari asks, the smile audible even through the mild distortion of the poor quality speakers. 

"I'll have you know, I have two working eyeballs, so I see everybody, Sparky." Toshi teases, and Izuku's eyes widen at how... endearing Kacchan's nickname for Kaminari could be, said like that.

"Ugh, gross, now it's ruined forever! What a bastard, can't even come up with his own fucking nickname..." Izuku hears Kacchan grumbling to himself and pats his shoulder in support but his ears are straining to catch Kaminari's next volley in this flirting warfare.

"Fair, fair. I have an astigmatism, myself. Anyways, are you single?" Kaminari seems unphased by the previous misinterpretation of his question, deciding instead to double down. 

It's almost impressive.

"Pikachu, you fucking idiot..." Kacchan sighs, as if sitting here listening to their friends flirt is causing him physical pain. Izuku knows he's secretly a total drama queen though, it obvious he's dying to know what happens, otherwise he would've left the room already. 
 
Toshi is mysteriously quiet for just a handful of seconds too long to be natural. 

"In a manner of speaking." He says quickly, as if remembering he had to speak out loud to be heard.

"You do have a way with words, you could probably make a cereal box sound sexy." Izuku squeaks again, still covering his mouth with his hand. That was almost... smooth! Kaminari's voice took on a teasing lilt, full of dirty promises. 

"Why did you ask?" Toshi asks suddenly, ignoring the compliment and abandoning the flirting entirely, proving he's well and truly panicking. These last two sentences were probably the fewest words he's ever said on air. Izuku barely takes a breath.

Kaminari's voice loses a bit of it's confidence and he chuckles again. "I thought you were supposed to be smartest man in radio. I really gotta come out and say it? That's homophobic." 

"Are you asking me out? Live? On the air?" Toshi's voice is almost breathless. 

There's a horrible silence, not even Kacchan takes a breath as they stare unblinking at the useless monitor.

"I-If that's like, cool with you, or like, whatever? I don't wanna like... oh man, this is your job, I probably shouldn't have-" Kaminari starts stuttering, pulling away from the receiver and sounding suspiciously like he's about to cry. 

"Toshi, I swear I'm going to kick your ass if you make that little ball of sunshine cry..." Izuku warns the laptop, as if Hitoshi could somehow hear him through the technological ether.

"I'll hold him down." Kacchan agrees with a rumble in his chest. He takes out his phone, setting it on the desk top, as if expecting a call soon. 

Looks like someone cares about his "band of idiots" more than he lets on, Izuku thinks with a smile.

"Of course it's cool, Sparky. Made my night, hell, probably my year with this call. However, real quick, for the audience out there, this is not a tactic that will generally work. Please do not call into the station with your desperate pleas for this siren of the airwaves to capitulate to the masses. I happen to know this particular fan very well in the wide open world out there. I wouldn't have said yes to any other random caller, but for you, Sparky, well, I guess I'll make an exception. Only because you're my biggest fan, one time offer." Toshi purrs into the microphone, his tone teasing and obviously dripping with smugness.

"R-really?" Kaminari sounds shocked, almost gobsmacked, like he didn't actually anticipate his little plan working. 

"Really, Sparky. Why don't you come by the station later and we can talk more about it. Hate to get stalked on our first date, you understand?" Toshi sounds so sincere that it makes Izuku blush. He doesn't think he's ever heard Toshi sound like that before, and he's so happy about it he almost cries. 

"Fuckin' sappy nerd." Kacchan sighs, rolling his eyes, but still leaning over to ruffle his hair and press a kiss to his cheek. "Don't ever tell them we have the same anniversary date or I swear I will never forgive you and you'll live to regret it." Kacchan says seriously, before flicking him in the nose and leaving the room without another word.    

Izuku's already texting Toshi that exact piece of information before he can hear the bathroom door close.

Chapter 29: A Promise to Come Back Home

Summary:

Confessions of two dumbasses in love, domestic bliss, proactive communication, and eye-brow raising codependency.

Notes:

I swore I would update, and look! I did it!
The chapter count is definitely gonna change though, but I have a pretty good idea how things are going to go from here on out.

I appreciate everyone sticking around, and for those who are excited for updates, please harass me in the comments about it or I will forget / stress out about it until months go by!

Let me know how you like the adjustments I made to the posted chapters <3

 

Katsuki moves through the files, growing more and more agitated with each click.

 

He isn't exactly surprised to find out that greasy little fuck he killed was more mixed up in this than originally anticipated. The fact that he's mixed up with the yakuza Deku's trying to take down also isn't exactly shocking, but it's definitely not a coincidence. Something about the bastard had rubbed Katsuki wrong from that first time he saw the guy touch Blondie so casually back at the League. Part of him wishes that he'd let the bastard live, if only for the chance to get some answers about what the fuck was actually going on here.

 

Doesn't this city have millions of people in it? Why are all these assholes in the same places, talking to the same people, doing the same shady shit?

Maybe that's the real mystery, here.

 

Whatever.

 

Red eyes flick back towards the board, now almost too full of his and Deku's observations to be legible. It's practically a solid wall of text in random chunks and just looking at it pisses him off. He thought he'd feel better with Deku's nerdy point of view all filled in, and admittedly it does put some of his own observations in better perspective, but ultimately the same questions remain unanswered.

Deku pulls his attention back to the laptop with a start.

"Kacchan, these are dated early last year. Toga-chan didn't turn eighteen until last summer, she could've been removed from his home back then!" Deku murmurs, still looking over his shoulder at the laptop. "Toga-chan didn't mention the legal issues Jin was dealing with until this fall, almost a whole year later. Did Jin keep it from her? That seems unlikely, Jin wasn't particularly great at keeping secrets, especially from Toga-chan. If there was any chance she'd end up with her birth family, or back in the system, he would've told her." He says, a note of steel in his voice.

 

"So the weasel must've been working on this awhile. Kept them out of the loop to save his own oily skin." Katsuki replies brusquely, still clicking through the files and reading through them quickly.

 

"Wait, there!" A scarred digit pokes the screen as Deku leans over, pointing at a random line of text. A silent snarl tugs Katuski's lip up, hating the finger smudges that will now muddle the screen, though he does pause his scrolling.

They read through the information, but no matter how many times he re-reads the section, Katsuki can't wash down the disappointment curdling in his chest.

 

"So... It looks like Giran was in the middle of trying to negotiate a way to fix the problem he caused, he even submitted an injunction against the hospital, claiming it was a hacking attempt and that Jin's record was falsified, but the date of that hearing... coincides to a few days after Kacchan got his first assignment." Deku trails off awkwardly.

It's strange to know how much of this really was his fault.

Katsuki was the one who killed this creep, and in doing so, he ruined Jin and Blondie's lives. As if that weren't enough, Katsuki then took his job when the guy got tossed into the prison system, one designed to punish, not reform.

"So it's my fault the dude's rotting in solitary." Katsuki lets the words that are eating at him leave his lips, even knowing that Deku wouldn't let them go unanswered.

 

"No, Kacchan. It's obvious something is off, here. You got the hit three days before that hearing was scheduled to happen, and you saw a confrontation between Toga-chan, Jin and Giran. That sounds like Giran finally let them in on what he was up to once he had a solid plan to fix it. Giran had his hands in a lot of pots... Oh, look at this. He's been in contact with the Deputy..." Deku points out, thankfully not actually touching the screen this time. A blurry surveillance camera image is enlarged, zoomed in on Giran and the Deputy himself talking on what looks like a pier.

 

"That fucker again." Katsuki growls, rolling his shoulder back and leaning over to add the new information to the board in one of the only blank spaces left. He has to write in smaller print to make it fit.

 

"Do you think Toga-chan figured it out? That he messed up and got Jin into trouble? Knowing Toga-chan, she would be, uh, not very happy about that." Deku hedges, chomping at his lip.

 

"Why don't you just fucking call and ask? You two are all buddy-buddy secret agents or whatever, right? She almost slit my throat just for looking at you." He's definitely not still irritated about that, fuck you.

 

If dumbass Deku thought Blondie was a more trustworthy confidant than Katsuki, then that was just fucking fine.

 

"Ugh, but Toga-chan is still on a mission, she likely won't be back for a few days still..." Deku whines, looking back at the board again in dismay.

 

"Where is Blondie, exactly? You said she was on loan to the yakuza, and having fought the bitch, I'm sure she's making money hand over fist, but what exactly do they have her out doing?" Katsuki asks, trying to keep his face from showing his apprehension.

It's not that he doesn't trust her, it's just... this is all far too convenient.

The only piece of this puzzle that's still alive and kicking and on their side was off doing who knows what at the beck and call of the same yakuza sect they're simultaneously trying to steal from and hopefully take down. They don't even have a firm location on Blondie right now. Katsuki trusts Ponytail, but the fact that the hit came precisely when it did... something else was definitely going on here, and he'd feel better if all the chess pieces were accounted for.

 

Are they sending Blondie out hoping (or more likely making sure) she won't come back?

Do they have something else on her, a way to keep her in line?

Are these assignments just meant to keep her occupied, away from Tokyo and the rest of this mess?

His instincts scream that there's a pattern, that there's some common thread he just has to pull in order to stitch this festering wound closed, finally.

 

"... I didn't ask." Deku mumbles, but there's something off about his voice. Something intentionally vague.

 

"You didn't ask?" Katsuki parrots, his tone mocking.

 

Since when does Deku not ask a thousand goddamn questions about literally everything?

He's either lying, or deliberately hiding something.

The thought instantly makes him scowl.

 

"I didn't want to know, okay? Without Jin, without the League, Toga-chan is on her own. It's Ochako or nothing, and she's got a warrant out, where else does she go? She'd do anything to keep Chako safe, and with everything else going on... Look, the yakuza are recruiting in record numbers, aiming for those most vulnerable thanks to Captain Todoroki's quite frankly disgusting anti-homeless initiatives. If she didn't fall in with them, she's not likely to make it very far without being arrested, just like the others, or she could wide up dead like Magne. Whatever she's doing, she's good at it, and she's doing it because she has to. To survive. I can't, or won't hold that against her, will you?" Deku's rambling finally peters out, and despite the hardness of his voice and the defiant jut of his chin, when Katsuki meets his eyes, he sees fear there.

Whether it's fear of Katsuki, of his reaction, or fear for his friend, Katsuki doesn't like it one bit.

 

"I didn't fucking mean it like that, Deku. I just... she seems kinda caught up in this shit. If Giran met up with the Deputy, he might've sold her out to save his own ass. Between the yakuza, the cops, and Blondie being her typical charming fucking self, I'd just feel better if we had eyes on her. How long would it even take for us to hear if something went South?" Katsuki makes an active effort not to yell, to be logical and direct. 

 

Sure, it makes sense that Deku would be just as protective of Blondie as she had been of him, but it'd be pretty fucking hypocritical if Katsuki was judging the girl.

He tries to swallow his rage down, rolling his shoulders and trying to dislodge the chip forming there.

 

"We send encoded messages back and forth every couple of days, but she's due for a check in the day after tomorrow. Toga-chan tries to keep me updated on her general location, expected drops, stuff like that. We have a procedure in case she doesn't show up, and I need to protect 'Chako..." Deku frowns, pinching at his bottom lip like it'll help him think better. It's wickedly endearing. "If everything goes to plan, we're supposed be executing the raid on Friday to bust out Eri."

 

"The kid locked in that yakuza hellhole?" Katsuki confirms with a tilt towards the section of the board where she's mentioned. While the nerd wasn't confident enough in what was happening to the rugrat, the idea that anybody would put hands on a little girl has him balling up his fists and hoping they're wrong about the kind of life she's had to experience so far.

 

Deku gives a slow, deliberate nod, as if he can feel the rage pooling in Katsuki's guts with just a look.

 

"You have a plan?" He asks, only half joking. He watches the twitch of Deku's jaw and just knows the nerd is about to get all snarky with him.

 

"Nah, I thought we'd just wing it." Deku says with a roll of his eyes, chewing on the end of his marker like an anxious dog.

 

"Well that's what you did yesterday, asshole, so don't be a dick, I'm much better at it than you." Katsuki flicks him in the forehead with a sneer, and fights a real smile as Deku tries to hold a glare before it melts into a sunny grin.

It kickstarts Katsuki's cute aggression, and he has a sudden urge to take a bite out of a freckled cheek and bully Deku until he cries.

 

"You've had years of practice, of course you're better at it." Deku bats his lashes like a little shit, and Katsuki lets a mean smile carve his features, a far cry from the warmth radiating from deep inside his chest.

 

"And don't you forget it, nerd."

 

He preens a little when Deku blushes and breaks eye contact.

It's a good thing too, because if the nerd kept up his backtalk Katsuki probably would've settled the score from earlier. See how Deku likes being bent over a desk like a bitch in heat.

 

Unfortunately, as it is, they have more important shit going on than going at it like bunnies, which is such a shame.

 

Katsuki makes a quick curry for lunch, nothing particularly noteworthy, but Deku is grateful, practically licking the bowl clean.

 

The investigation is moving at a crawl. They have almost all of the pieces, but there's something missing, there has to be.

 

First, we have the original fire when the League burnt down, leaving behind two bodies in its ashes. One, who apparently isn't as dead as he ought to be, because he just so happens to be setting the fires tearing through Tokyo like crepe paper. If that weren't enough, he's the Police Captain's  presumed to be dead, son.

The Police Captain that's singlehandedly waging war against the lower social classes and disenfranchised while simultaneously running a smear campaign on Deku.

We have Dr. Toshinori's death, masterminded by his nemesis, resulting in, you guessed it, yet another fucking fire.

We have Jin's arrest, Blondie's undercover operation, Giran's involvement and the suspicious timing of his death. We have the Deputy, seemingly in the middle of it all, despite not fitting in the story in any official capacity.

Not to mention the creepy journalist, holding on to far too much information to be a non-player, and according to Deku, reeks of something evil.

If that wasn't the weirdest character, enter the clean freak yakuza head, and the little girl he's holding hostage.

Then there's him and Deku.

A lab experiment murderer for hire and a lucky fuck with a supersuit programmed to save the fucking world by the greatest scientific minds in their history.

What do any of these things have in common? What is he missing?

 

He has a fucking migraine, only exaggerated by the harsh light cutting in from the window and Deku's incessant fucking mumbling. 

The sun dips below the edges of the surrounding buildings, bathing the room in bronze light and casting deep purple shadows around the room.

Deku continues going over the files, muttering to himself and flipping between pages of documents as if the answers to their questions are hidden somewhere within.

They actually might be, so Katsuki doesn't push him on it, even if he rolls his eyes when he sees Deku open the same image three times in fifteen minutes.

 

"There's something pissing me off." He starts, trying to get Deku's attention while still pacing the room.

 

"Other than everything?" Deku chirps, like the sassy little shit he is. He feels those eyes on him, burning trails up and down his body, only to watch them linger on the desk he'd been ass up on earlier.

 

"Cheeky fuck, shut up, I'm trying to solve a crime over here. Keep it in your pants, nerd." Despite saying that, Katsuki leers at him with a hungry once over. The urge to bite those freckled thighs or eat Deku out until he's crying is so fucking tempting, but they really do have to figure this out. He'll be damned if he's too horny to do his job properly.

As much as he'd love to christen their new relationship by hooking up on every available surface, there's unfortunately other shit that needs handling.

Deku's eyes glint with mischief but he mimes zipping his lips with a faux innocent smile.

It is such damn shame.

 

"The girl. The one we're rescuing." He tries to keep his voice free of judgment, but this has been bothering him for a few hours. "What's going to happen after we get her?"

 

Deku is quiet for a beat too long, and Katsuki watches him scan the board. It's a stalling tactic, clearly, but Katsuki waits somewhat patiently with his arms crossed over his chest.

 

"I assume you mean where will she go?" Deku asks, but he doesn't meet Katsuki's eyes and that bugs him.

 

"Yeah. Not exactly looking to be a dad right now, are you, nerd?" He's trying really hard not to be a dick, tries to make it funny, but the ire in his tone is apparently obvious enough when Deku straightens in his seat, though he's still not looking directly at Katsuki.

 

It's not like he'd tell Deku no, it just feels like something they should have a fucking conversation about.

The nerd would definitely be the type to somehow pick up a kid and spoil her rotten on principle, opening his big ass heart for a brat who needs him.

So, if they're going to do this, they'd damn well better do it right. Shitty brat'll have the best fucking parents two college guys could possibly be, which isn't exactly an inspiring concept, but Katsuki never backs down from a challenge.

 

Shit, his folks would cream themselves for a grandkid. They'll probably need to move apartments so the brat has her own room...

 

"I don't know. One step at a time. All I know is that she's not safe in the hands of the Shie Hassaikai, so getting her out of there is the first priority. Maybe one of her caretakers there is trustworthy, or maybe Toga-chan will know someone who can forge her some documents..." Deku's voice shudders, but he keeps speaking anyways, eyes forward and fixed on some invisible point in the distance.

There's equal parts relief and disappointment unfurling in Katsuki's chest, and he'll have to sort those complicated feelings out later. If Deku's not thinking about it right now, then Katsuki won't either. Leave the worrying to the nerd.

He's much more concerned about the other unspoken issue with Eri's rescue.

 

"Speaking of... how do you plan to deal with that asshole?" Katsuki keeps his voice smooth and even, assuming nothing of Deku's intentions this time.

 

"I'm going to do my best, Kacchan. The mission is to save Eri. If he fights back against me taking her, then I'll do what I have to." He squares his shoulders and the eyes that gaze steadily at Katsuki are bottomless but hard as stone, like a jade dragon sitting in judgement.

Katsuki sees the turmoil in them, though, the indecision, the worry, the guilt.

Their conversation earlier, about Deku not knowing if he had what it takes to kill, comes to the forefront of his mind, but Katsuki knows deep in his soul that he won't let things get that far. Deku's caring to a fault, he's been listening in for weeks, probably knows what brand of tea these bastards drink, and he's too close now to be objective.

 

But that's what Katsuki's here for.

 

"Deku, I know you're soft on these organized crime bastards, you heard some sob stories, got yourself all invested in their lives and shit, but sometimes... sometimes you have to make the hard choices in order to protect someone."

 

Like kill a crime boss to keep a certain self-sacrificial nerd safe.

 

"I know, Kacchan. Don't worry, I won't freeze up when the time comes. When I was fighting Stain, I had no problem thinking I might have to kill him when Tenya was in trouble. Maybe the secret is adrenaline, instinct, or something, I don't know. I promise I'll come through for you, Kacchan." Deku smiles, a wobbly and pathetic looking thing, but it only serves to piss him off more.

 

"When you were fighting WHO, Deku?" Katsuki glares in challenge, daring Deku to say it again.

 

Of course he recognizes that name. Stain, a notorious serial killer who made a name for himself by releasing manifestos of his desire to clean up the streets from false heroes, back when he was active, he had a penchant for targeting law enforcement and community leaders. He was disturbingly consistent until around the time of Katsuki's accident or so, and then he just disappeared.

Or apparently, was apprehended by a goddamn teenager.

The idea of Deku as a, what, sophomore at the most? Going up against one of the most violent murderers in Tokyo's recent history makes his blood flash boiling hot and chillingly cold almost simultaneously. 

 

"Oh... um...you see... Wait, what time is it?" Deku babbles, flapping his hands around as if to distract Katsuki from his words, lunges for his phone on the desk. His shaky fingers tap out the code and hone in on the screen with what looks like relief.

It's a shitty transition, one he's not dumb enough to let slide, but Katsuki honestly doesn't think he wants to know everything right now. He'd probably sock Deku in the jaw on reflex, and he doubts Deku would let him kiss him afterwards if he did.

 

Although, their fight in the parking garage did lead to Deku coming over so maybe...

 

"Perfect timing! Here, let me see how far Toshi's segment has gotten, maybe he'll mention something about Jin..." Deku hunches over the laptop again - it's a wonder that shrimp pose hasn't fucked up his spine - and types the address for another college's website, clicking through menus and a hyperlink to a streaming site.

 

"Aw fuck, Eyebags? Do we have to listen to his shit?" Katsuki grouses, his nose curling in distaste. Fucking Hot Topic grinds his gears almost as bad as Half and Half does. So fucking touchy with HIS Deku and intentionally infuriating.

Ragebaiting asshole...

 

"Oh get over it, Kacchan, it's really very good and informative! He says nice things about me on the air, and it honestly helped a lot the last few months." Deku confesses softly, sounding so goddamn fond it immediately rekindles that jealous rage in his gut.

 

"Oi, he talks about you on the radio?!" Katsuki snaps, practically yanking the laptop closer to see for himself.

 

That zombie eyed fuck is so dead, Aizawa can kiss his ass.

 

"He doesn't know it's me, calm down! He's a fan of my hero persona. I guess I really should come up with some kind of name..." Deku mumbles, tapping the play button. It buffers, trying to catch up to the current broadcast in progress.

 

"What, too good for Deku now?" Katsuki grumbles under his breath, but Deku obviously hears him anyway if that cheeky little smile is any indication.

Lucky super-hearing bastard.

He's mollified only slightly by Deku pecking him chastely on his top lip, but is already speaking before Katsuki can react and maybe - definitely - claim his lips more forcefully.

 

"I told you once before, that's your name for me. We were supposed to pick new ones eventually, remember?" He grins at Katsuki, another one of those bright, shining smiles that make him look so much like the starry-eyed brat he used to be. The fond nostalgia and urge to kiss Deku breathless is only silenced by hearing the irritating, grating voice playing from the laptop speakers.

 

"-course he's making the streets unsafe! Any shmuck with half a brain can see that Captain Todoroki's policies are driving homeless youth into the arms of organized crime. LGBT hate crimes are on the rise, there's been three just this week! That's insane! Reports of mysterious deaths or arrests of mentally ill community members who cannot advocate for themselves, not to mention BIPOC being arrested or detained on erroneous charges? This is a police state, and good ole Cap himself is leading the charge on purging the streets of anyone who doesn't fit his xenophobic standards."

 

Katsuki's eyebrows raise, a little impressed despite himself. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, honestly, as he generally tries not to think about Eyebags at all.

Katsuki barely remembers his set from the Halloween party, as hammered as he'd been. The measured anger in Zombie's voice reminds him distantly of that phone call in Dr. Toshinori's office at the beginning of the semester: the deliberately chosen words meant to hurt, that hateful hiss wrapped up in a velvet voice as melodic and sweet as a lullaby.

 

It's just as creepy hearing it on the laptop speakers as it had been on Half and Half's shitty cellphone speakerphone.

There's a beat of silence before a faint click indicates the caller has hung up on the other line.

 

"Oh come on. If you can't defend your argument, why even call? Look, I love bullying idiots as much as the next guy, maybe even more, but what's it gonna take to have someone call who actually wants to talk?" Eyebags huffs out just in time for a new call to come in a few seconds later.

 

"Caller, I certainly hope you're more entertaining than the last guy, talk about a snooze fest." He complains, and whether it's Zombie's annoyance or the wording, Katsuki fights a smile.

 

"I certainly hope I am, dude!"

 

No fucking way.

Katsuki feels more than hears Deku swiveling around in his seat to stare at the computer despite there being no video playing, just audio. Maybe if they both stare hard enough, they'll see this trainwreck unfold live.

 

"Was that-"

 

"Shhhh!"

 

Sparky's voice pipes up again a second later, as if to answer the almost-question.

 

"Hi, there Mindjack. You're like my favorite voice on the radio these days, did you know that? Hope it's uh... okay, that I called? You wanted someone to talk to, right? Well I'm alllll ears. Or I guess I only have two?" The dumbass says with a flirty chuckle, dialing up the charm to eleven. He only uses that voice when he wants something, and it doesn't take an OFA recipient to figure out what that 'something' is.

 

It's tall, dark, annoying, with ugly bags under its eyes, and too handsy with Katsuki's boyfriend.

Oh shit, wait are they boyfriends? They fucking better be.

He makes it a point to remember to ask Deku about that later, after this fiasco is over.

 

"Oh is that so? Many have tried to use flattery on this show, few have succeeded. I'm everyone's favorite disc jockey, of course, what makes you so special, Mr. Number One Fan?" There's a lilt to that voice now, almost playful.

 

Ew.

 

Deku is practically vibrating in his skin, and his smile is impishly excited.

 

"Oh Kacchan, this is adorable." He murmurs, turning towards Katsuki with little hearts in his eyes.

 

"I dunno, I've heard I'm a pretty good kisser. Good taste in music. Electrifying personality. Kinda unlucky in love, though. You, uh, you wouldn't do that to me, would you, M-Mindjack?" Sparky fucking giggles, clearly anxious about shooting his shot, but the dead air space after it is almost painful.

 

Every second of silence feels like nails on a chalkboard.

 

"Toshi, come on, answer him, come on, you can do it." Deku whispers encouragement, bouncing his knee anxiously until Katsuki cups his knee and forces it to still.

 

"You heard 'im. Answer. What are ya scared of, Hot Topic?" Katsuki grunts, stalwart in avoiding Deku's gaze burning a hole in his cheek.

 

"Uh, hey, s-sorry there was some feedback, but uh I've been known to break a few hearts, caller. Think you can keep up with a wild card like me?" Eyebags sounded bewildered at the start, but easily transitioned back into the DJ persona he's cultivated thus far. It's a weak save though, and Katsuki refuses to let it slide without acknowledgement.

 

"Nice save, Troll Doll." Katsuki mutters just before Deku elbows him in the ribs.

 

Fucking ow.

Superpowered shithead.

 

"Hm, I'm sure I could give you a run for your money. In fact, I've got a question for ya! Unless, of course, you're a chicken?" Sparky sounds like he's talking through his teeth, or refusing to breathe. Actually that makes sense, Sparky's probably worried about hyperventilating into the mic.

 

"Chicken? You wish. Lay it on me, what confounding conundrum have you brought before the great Mindjack this lovely evening? Before you open your mouth, I'll have you know that I tar and feather prank callers." Katsuki grimaces, uncomfortable, because it almost sounds like Zombie is flirting back and that's just gross.

 

"Oh!" Deku squeaks and covers his mouth with his hand, strung tight like a bow, and if Katsuki removed his hand from Deku's knee it would probably start thumping at the ground like a shitty rabbit.

 

"Shut up, nerd, just listen." Katsuki admonishes, his eyes not leaving the screen, despite the utter lack of substance on it. He feels like he'd miss something if he did.

He's only a little irate with himself for being so interested, but regardless of how this ends, Katsuki plans to mock the absolute shit out of Hot Topic for it.

 

"Are you seeing anybody, O Great DJ in the Sky?" Katsuki rolls his eyes, hearing the sly grin from a mile away.

 

"I'll have you know, I have two working eyeballs, so I see everybody, Sparky." Katsuki leans away from the screen with disgust.

 

"Ugh, gross, now it's ruined forever! What a bastard, can't even come up with his own fucking nickname..." Stupid Zombie, there's no way in hell Katsuki can call Kaminari that now, it's forever tainted by Hitoshi Motherfucking Shinsou crooning it over the airwaves like some god awful pet name. Deku's heavy hand pats at his shoulder absently, but he's obviously focused mainly on the computer, straining to hear what could possibly come next.

 

"Fair, fair. I have an astigmatism, myself. Anyways, are you single?"

 

Denki Kaminari, ladies and gentlemen.

Katsuki actually fucking kissed this idiot? Alcohol really is the devil.

 

"Pikachu, you fucking idiot..." Katsuki sighs, aggrieved, because sitting here listening to these idiots flirt is causing him physical pain. He ignores the shit eating grin carving Deku's cherubic face, knowing Katsuki well enough to know he'd have already left if it really bothered him that much.

 

Stupid nerd, being so observant.

It's quiet again, the silence feeling heavier over the radio than in person.

 

"In a manner of speaking." Eyebags blurts out suddenly.

Katsuki narrows his eyes at the screen again, not liking that answer one bit.

 

"You do have a way with words, you could probably make a cereal box sound sexy."

Deku squeaks again, still covering his mouth with his hand as if he could keep the words in his mouth with a physical barrier. Katsuki chooses to focus on that instead of hurling up the curry they'd eaten earlier. The purr in Spa... er, Dunce Face's voice making him nauseous.

 

"Why did you ask?" For a DJ, Zombie isn't being very vocal, but based on the nerd's reaction, this is atypical behavior, showing he's well and truly affected by Dunce Face's flirting attempts.

 

Katsuki can hear Dunce Face deflate a bit, already preparing for rejection based on the sound of it. "I thought you were supposed to be smartest man in radio. I really gotta come out and say it? That's homophobic."

 

If that was supposed to cut the tension, it failed miserably because Eyebags inhales audibly before asking, "Are you asking me out? Live? On the air?"

 

The silence is almost fucking oppressive, and he and Deku sit in it like frogs being boiled alive. Deku's hand is still firmly banded around his mouth, and Katsuki's fingers are still clutched around a knobby knee with a grip that's probably too tight for comfort.

 

"I-If that's like, cool with you, or like, whatever? I don't wanna like... oh man, this is your job, I probably shouldn't have-" Dunce Face is panicking, and it's obvious. His voice gets further away, and- oh fuck no, if this bastard makes Dunce Face cry on air Katsuki's going to have to kick his ass, Deku's friend or not.

 

"Toshi, I swear I'm going to kick your ass if you make that little ball of sunshine cry..." Deku warns the laptop, as if he could hear the words going through Katsuki's head.

 

His heart galumphs painfully in his chest at their similar thought process, and he's definitely eating Deku out later as a reward, but for now he simply replies with: "I'll hold him down."

 

Katsuki adjusts himself as he takes out his phone, setting it face up on the desk top. He doesn't think the other idiots listen to this show, but just in case this goes badly, the Squad will be on route expeditiously. He refuses, once again, to acknowledge Deku's smug little face.

 

"Of course it's cool, Sparky. Made my night, hell, probably my year with this call. However, real quick, for the audience out there, this is not a tactic that will generally work. Please do not call into the station with your desperate pleas for this siren of the airwaves to capitulate to the masses. I happen to know this particular fan very well in the wide open world out there. I wouldn't have said yes to any other random caller, but for you, Sparky, well, I guess I'll make an exception. Only because you're my biggest fan, one time offer."

 

Asshole just keeps repeating the name, all fond and disgusting. Katsuki wishes he'd just choke on it and die, but at least he doesn't need to track the Zombie down to beat his ass.

 

"R-really?" Dumbass sounds absolutely shocked, like he didn't actually anticipate his little plan working.

Neither did Katsuki, if he's honest.

 

Says a lot more about Eyebags than anything.

 

"Really, Sparky. Why don't you come by the station later and we can talk more about it. Hate to get stalked on our first date, you understand?" The softness in Mind Fuck's voice is officially too disgusting to stomach any longer. Katsuki makes the executive decision to bail, but when he looks over at Deku, the nerd has tears gathering in his waterline. He looks like a proud dad, and the same fondness he just rebuked threatens to pour out of his own mouth.

 

"Fuckin' sappy nerd." He sighs, knowing his reputation is going to be absolutely decimated if Deku keeps this shit up, especially around the extras. As it is, they're home alone, so he tousles evergreen curls and presses his lips to a freckled cheek as he stands up.

"Don't ever tell them we have the same anniversary date or I swear I will never forgive you and you'll live to regret it." Katsuki threatens, turning his back to Deku and watches the little shit immediately lunge for his cell phone right as Katsuki passes the doorframe.

 

He'll kick his ass over it later.

 

---

 

Living together over the next couple of days is... well, it's kind of awesome, actually.

 

Of course Deku is a complete and total slob, his supersuit is a judgmental dick, and he's pathetically clingy, like always. He hogs all the blankets, he never gets up on time, and for the record it's definitely his fault they can't fuck in the shower anymore. If he hadn't been so damn squirmy, Katsuki wouldn't have slipped and almost knocked himself out.

Now, because of his clumsy ass, there's a House Rule about fucking in the shower, so they have to bathe separately, which is lame.

While Deku's bruised ass was certainly his own fault, Katsuki kissed it better anyways because he's a good fucking boyfriend like that.

 

Or, at least, that's what he's hoping he is.

They haven't explicitly say it, and Deku never mentioned the "anniversary" comment he made after the Shitheads confessed, but ever since, Deku's been acting weird.

Or at least, Katsuki thinks he is, in these random quiet moments.

No rambling, no fidgeting, just- quiet.

 

Which is fucking weird.

 

Deku's never quiet unless something is wrong.

Sure, he's always been spacey, lost in his own head.

Forgetful, shit like that.

 

Maybe it's unrelated.

It's just that lately, every time Katsuki has had to leave for work, Deku gives him this fucking sad-eyed puppy look and Katsuki literally feels himself take psychic damage over it and it's pissing him off.

A quiet voice, one he's trying to get better at listening to, whispers in his ear that maybe the anger is just covering for something a little harder for Katsuki to deal with.

 

So fine.

 

Maybe it kind of breaks his heart every time he has to see those weepy puppy eyes.

Maybe when Deku gives him that sad little smile and tell him to have a good shift, he feels fucking guilty.

Maybe he thought about taking a sick day once or twice, and that was just stupid.

 

Katsuki Bakugou is not codependent, alright, get that through your thick skull.

He's just so tired of pretending that spending time with Deku hasn't been his favorite activity since he was three.

 

But whatever.

 

In a completely non-selfish desire to get the nerd to knock it the hell off, the solution is obvious.

Deku clearly needs to get out of this apartment for a bit.

He didn't want Deku thinking he was trapped here or something, but the idea of him running off into danger still lingers in the back of Katsuki's mind like a buzzing insect.

Safehouse or not, Katsuki wasn't exactly super thrilled about the idea of Deku wandering around Tokyo, but seeing as the jackass is a superhero, the nerd wouldn't listen to his concerns anyways, so Katsuki doesn't waste his breath. Thankfully, despite the fact that he's the most wanted fuck in the country, Deku hasn't done much more than a trip to the local grocery shop.

Mr. Saotome is good people, and Katsuki knows the route well. He mentally cringes a bit when he remembers that it passes one of the earlier crime scenes, though luckily mostly of the debris has been cleaned up by this point. Of course he'd prefer Deku just lay low, here in Katsuki's house, for the foreseeable future, where he knows where he is at every single moment of the day, but he's not that much of a possessive psychopath to just expect that kind of shit, especially without even talking about it first.

All that to say, Katsuki thinks after this he'll invite Deku to sit with him while he's at work. The League might not be the most lowkey place for a fugitive to hang out, but with Sensei hanging around, Katsuki can't think of another neutral location for the nerd to get some social engagement that isn't blasting him at every opportunity.

Sure, maybe there's a selfish incentive for this little field trip, but he refuses to feel bad about that.

Because Deku is a fucking magnet for shit going wrong, and every second that Katsuki doesn't have eyes on him...

Look, no matter what his bitch ass therapist says, it's not anxiety or paranoia when he's right, goddamn it.

Katsuki swears he's never been this fucking anxious in his life, though, and he wonders if somehow he absorbed all of Deku's fucking nerves through some kind of skin-to-skin osmosis or something.

 

It's the only explanation for why he's freaking out right now. Katsuki has committed literally a dozen murders, but the simultaneous dread between asking if he and Deku were officially 'boyfriends' (fucking barf, what are we, fifteen? ), and potentially arranging an outing has him angrily cleaning the kitchen spotless, despite the curls of steam wafting off two bowls of katsudon cooling on the counter.

 

Katsuki wishes he knew how Aunty gets the pork so crispy without over-drying them, or the ratio of her sauce, because his looks a little thin in comparison...

He scrubs a little harder at the dish in his hand.

 

"Oh, Kacchan made katsudon? It smells amazing!" Deku literally cheers as he enters the room, raising the hem of his - no, of Katsuki's shirt just an inch. The nerd has already made a beeline for the kitchen, bustling between the cabinets on the far side and the dining set to set the table. He's relaxed about it, humming some nonsense tune under his breath while dutifully putting everything in its proper place, the way Katsuki likes it. Deku moves through his (their, he corrects himself harshly) kitchen in a practiced fashion, opening the right cabinets and fishing out Katsuki's preferred dishes, even pausing to find a particular set of chopsticks he knows the blond prefers.

Katsuki watches him quietly, scrubbing paused in the sink as Deku hip checks him with a smirk before a large scarred hand reaches into the drying rack to secure his own pair of shitty plastic chopsticks. They're an old All Might design from the Daiso, the ones with tiny red, blue, yellow detailing, though they're worn down with use, obviously well-loved.

 

The fondness that overwhelms him is borderline nauseating.

 

Suddenly Katsuki's taken off guard, this mundane moment stealing his breath and bad mood away all in one fell swoop of his gut.

It's probably unhealthy just how much he loves Deku; craves him, adores him, despises him, and is just so fucking into him it's almost certifiable.

His thoughtful, infuriating, endearing fucking nerd is walking around in Katsuki's clothes - which, fuck yes, the nerd looks excellent in Katsuki's clothes, positively delicious, even- but he doesn't have time to drool after the nerd tonight.

This is too important to get distracted.

 

Look, living together these past few days has been, fucking-

It's been perfect, okay?

 

Not perfect in the way that everything always goes well all the time, or that they didn't snipe at each other or play around or make messes. Deku is significantly less clumsy than he used to be, surprisingly. If he's honest with himself, maybe the shower sex thing was sort of his fault. If Deku had been the one holding him up, he doubts he would've dropped Katsuki, but the stupid curl shampoo made the tub slicker than expected and he doesn't have Deku's weird sticky thing, so fuck off.

 

Anyways, even when things don't go exactly to plan, Katsuki doesn't mind it all that much.

Sure, he bitches and complains, and bosses the nerd around, but it was almost all bluster.

 

That's what's so fucking weird about it.

 

Katsuki has never had roommates, always declined sleepovers with the idiots, and he's never had to live with anyone but his parents before, so admittedly he doesn't have a lot of experience. He doesn't enjoy other people. He hates extras getting in his way, fucking with his shit, breathing his air, getting their nasty germs on everything. The idea of someone doing that shit 24/7 could give him an aneurism.

 

Fuck, he's just like the Hag.

Which is it's own fucking issue.

 

The Old Hag has always been particular about things, severe in the same way Katsuki was when the dumbasses used to crowd him in the lab. And while there was a lot of overlap between their expectations, their cleanliness, "the execution of a standard of perfection" was always there.

 

Which is just nagging bitch-speak for "do it perfect the first time or else".

 

The apple never falls far enough away from the tree, as if seeing the weepy rambling nature of the Midoriyas wasn't proof of that enough. And so, like his bitch of a mother, his environment was perfectly curated, perfectly executed to his own standard, unbending.

 

But for some reason, Deku seems to be the exception to that rule.

There was nobody he wanted to fuck around with more than Deku, maybe because he's the only motherfucker on the planet whose very presence doesn't agitate and frustrate him.

Katsuki isn't a fucking animal to be handled, but if he was... then Deku's effortless touch just gentled the shit out of him.

It's not even just little shit like leaving his crap around the apartment, or the grocery store being out of his preferred brand of dashi, it's the things that once would've driven Katsuki to literal homicidal rage.

The suit thing, for example.

Katsuki doesn't need a fancy supersuit to get shit done, and it's not a surprise that the thing doesn't fit him properly, not with how much leaner Deku is up top, but he can't say he isn't disappointed when the damn thing just fucking ignores him like he's not even there. 

The nerd is clearly confused and irritated too, bickering with the AI in his ear like a real person, insisting that Deku should have admin privileges by now, that he should be able to designate Katsuki as a user, that Dr. Toshinori himself had designated Katsuki a recipient before... well, before.

Robo-Dickwad doesn't seem to care though. 

Deku gets quiet after that, and Katsuki doesn't push him on it.

Yeah, he cusses up a storm and tells the voice assistant to kiss his ass, that he doesn't need fancy tech to be a hero, but even he is surprised at how chill he was about it all.

Maybe it's Deku's lack of judgement, aside from the occasional teasing comment, (and believe him the sassy little shit has tricked him into shenanigans more than once with that bratty attitude) or his own brand of endless patience that made the little stuff so much easier to let go of.

Sure, it was sort of annoying to find things out of place, but it didn't feel like nails on a chalkboard the way it normally would.

 

Speaking of, there's proof of Deku scattered around the apartment now, despite his lack of belongings. As much as he bitches at Deku for being a slob, he's somehow the most tolerable amount of messy a person can be. It doesn't feel quite so empty in here anymore. Katsuki himself is less actively angry, less keyed up, the burning under his skin mysteriously absent.

The measured strength in his movements, the rigidity in his bones he's lived with his whole life, that tension that has always existed between his shoulders-

- it all just seems to evaporate when there's a lone mug on the coffee table beside a throw blanket and a video game controller.

 

Signs that Deku was here, relaxing.

At home.

Safe, comfortable.

 

Of course the peace of that image is tempered with the idea of it suddenly disappearing.

Of Katsuki not being up front about his intentions, of Deku moving back in with Half & Half, or moving back to the dorms, or really leaving this apartment at all were all practically intolerable.

 

So he was going to make sure.

 

Be brave.

Be up front with what he wants.

What he's expecting as far as... ugh, Commitment.

 

Sure, Deku has apparently had the hots for him for awhile, and while he's not exactly comfortable with how quickly Deku seems to forgive him for- well, fucking anything actually- he isn't dumb enough to make a big deal out of it. Katsuki's issues aside, there was a more rational reason to be concerned.

 

Deku was a self-sacrificial little shit.

 

If it came down to it, Deku would leave if he thought it would protect Katsuki in the long run. Even with his healing factor and general badassery, he's Deku's weakness, and the very concept of that makes his lip snarl silently. Katsuki's not some damsel in distress, he's not the Lois Lane to Deku's fucking Superman, okay? He's a trained (ish) assassin in his own right. Nevertheless, Deku would intentionally and consistently put Katsuki's wellbeing above his own, both in a fight and in the day-to-day.

 

Martyr complex having asshole.

Deku might even try to pull that Lone Hero vigilante bullshit on him next like he did Half & Half, motivated by whatever anxious bullshit roosts in his thick skull.

Ignoring the fact that Katsuki is doing the exact same fucking thing at this moment, brooding over shit he's making up in his own head and scowling into murky dishwater and soap suds.

 

He's thankfully jarred out of his obsessive rabbit hole when Deku calls him from near the table with a confused little tilt of his head.

The neckline of Katsuki's shirt hangs off him, exposing a freckled musculature underneath and a bit of scarred collarbone.

The sight of him swathed in Katsuki's colors, in his clothes, ill-fitting as they are, just begs the question.

Isn't that a thing boyfriends do? Boyfriend shirts, or whatever?

 

"Kacchan, are you okay? You look flushed." Those perceptive emerald green eyes are suddenly much closer than they'd been before, and a calloused palm is cupping his cheek while crooked knuckles rest on his forehead. That analytic gaze begins flitting around his face, categorizing his expression. "You don't necessarily feel hotter than usual, though, maybe that's a side effect of your accident. Before I thought I felt..." Deku's bottom lip is tugged between his teeth as Deku continues rambling about Katsuki's potential for having a fever and the last vitals OFA took off him.

The damn butterflies in his stomach are gnawing at his internal organs like the obligate carnivores they are.

 

"I'm fine, shitty nerd, fuck off." He swats at Deku to get some breathing room, and despite the harsh words and dismissal, Deku doesn't retreat. If anything, he narrows his eyes, sets his shoulders, and digs in his heels. Stupid determined Deku, noticing Katsuki's mood and worrying after his health (as unnecessary as that may be, because he's a fucking adult and he doesn't get sick because he fucking takes care of himself unlike a certain someone).

"Kacchan, what's wrong?" This is spoken as a demand, all the well-meaning curiosity traded for a spine of steel and a demand to know.

Katsuki also does not retreat, he simply makes a tactical decision to get some distance, that's all.

Deku watches him with an attention that makes Katsuki's throat dry. He yanks the fridge open, making the contents rattle with its force, before snatching a bottle of green tea and, completely sidestepping Deku, snags the bowls off the counter and leaves the room.

He's shadowed immediately, and once the bowls are deposited on the table, Deku's heavy hand locks around Katsuki's wrist like a manacle.

 

"Kacchan." That's his serious voice, his hero voice.

 

Now or never, and Katsuki isn't a coward so, fuck it.

 

"Are we... boyfriends?" He chokes out the words, wincing internally at the abruptness of his own voice and avoiding Deku's eyes completely by glaring into the wood of the table instead, feeling zero percent confident and defensively angry about it.

 

What the fuck happened to him?

What happened to the stoic, cool badass who didn't give a shit about anything?

 

Well, he supposes that was never actually who he was.

All this suffocating insecurity has always been there, hidden under layers of rage and emotional constipation.

He just can't hide it as well as he used to.

The mask doesn't fit properly around Deku, like he's compelled to be his most embarrassing, humiliating, disgusting self at all times in the nerd's presence.

 

"O-Of course? Unless you don't- don't want to be?" His voice is uneven, and when Katsuki raises his eyes to look, Deku's face is all pinched up in... confusion? Anger? Disappointment?

The grip he has on Katsuki's wrist slackens considerably, where Katsuki could slip himself free if he wanted.

 

But he doesn't want to, obviously.

 

"Duh, of course I fucking want to be, you idiot." Katsuki snaps on reflex, before taking a deep breath and softening his tone intentionally. "I just wanted to be sure. We didn't fuckin' talk about it, or whatever. I don't want to- fuckin'- Look I know you said you'd stay awhile and we do all that mushy shit, and we rail each other into the mattress but-"

 

Deku kisses him sweetly, softly, gently enough that Katsuki doesn't even care he was interrupted. His lips are softer than they were at the start of all this, less bitten down and cracked since Katsuki started throwing chapstick at him with prejudice. Feeling the proof of his care in this way settles something unruly in his chest, aloe to his own burns. Proof he can do something right, something to help instead of hurt.

 

"You're right, we didn't talk about that. If- if Kacchan wants, then... Yes. We're boyfriends. Partners. Lovers. I don't really care what you call it, but I'm yours for as long as you'll have me, Kacchan." Relief pulses through his chest, Deku saying just the right words to temper him into something vaguely human once more.

 

It's quiet enough in the apartment to hear the steady rumble of the rain outside, pattering against the glass.

 

Katsuki has never liked the rain. Dreary, too wet for running around outside, chilling him to the bone, obscuring the world in heaviness, driving people of all sorts back to the safety of their beds except those unlucky enough to be stuck in it and all the bitchier for it.

 

Deku's sort of like the rain, though.

Revitalizing, cooling and nourishing, dousing Katsuki's wildfire thoughts like the force of nature he is.

Even the hurricanes of Deku's rage, or the monsoons of his grief, the thunderstorms of his anxiety, they all lighten bit by bit into something a bit more like this moment.

Just the sounds of a peaceful evening shower, the nerd's soft smile, a scarred and calloused hand in his own, feeling just as right now as it did back when that hand was smaller and covered in All Might band-aids.

 

A relentless sort of comfort.

 

"And you'll... you'll stay. You're going to Halfie's tomorrow to talk and get your shit, but you'll fucking come back, right?" Katsuki confirms, meeting Deku's eyes again and losing the last of his tension at the nerd's expression.

 

"Of course. You don't have to worry about that. I owe Sho an apology, and frankly I could use some underwear that actually belongs to me, but I'll be coming back. I'll stay as long as Kacchan wants. I'll come back home." His voice is painfully soft, imploring in its sweetness.

 

It sounds a bit like a promise, when he says it like that.

 

The idea that Katsuki would ever, could ever, stop wanting Deku here is as ridiculous as deciding to stop breathing, but he doesn't argue the point. If the nerd said he'd stay until he was ordered to leave, then that's all Katsuki needs to hear, because he has no intention of doing that.

 

"Wasn't worried, shitty nerd." The sudden release of breath Katsuki lets out calls him a liar before Deku can, but the nerd just smiles, his eyes crinkling a bit at the corners in the wake of his joy. There's no judgement or pity in his expression, just warmth and love.

 

"Nn. Okay, Kacchan. Let's eat before it gets cold." Those softened lips skip up to peck at his nose, before rough hands retreat from the side of his face and Deku turns on his heel, sliding a bowl into his gnarled fingers. He sits in his seat, happily shoveling pork in his face like he hasn't eaten in years.

Deku praises him endlessly for the food, cheeks stuffed full like a chipmunk. When his mouth isn't preoccupied with eating, he's already off on a tangent about a random documentary he watched earlier in the day.

 

"No really, Kacchan, it was fascinating! It turns out that the male Red Widow spider will demand to be eaten by the female after mating, even placing himself in her mandibles if she spits him out! Isn't that kind of romantic?"

 

"Only you would find cannibalism romantic, nerd." Katsuki rolls his eyes.

 

"First of all, I bet Toga-chan would disagree, but I wasn't necessarily talking about that. The male is more than willing to die for love, it's his job to be consumed by his partner to nourish her and their brood. That's kind of sweet, I think. Oh! And I learned that spider silk is electrically conductive, so I wonder if- " Deku continues rambling about spider facts, and potentially upgrades to his suit based off them.

Katsuki lets his commentary fade into the background, as he's distracted by the cheeky little shit accidentally kicking at him under the table, though it doesn't seem like he's noticed yet. He's all excited and twitchy over his nerd facts, so when Katsuki manages to trap a meandering foot between his ankles, he decides to hold it hostage for the rest of the meal.

 

Like he said, it's fucking perfect.

 

---

 

Deku's been a ball of sunshine ever since Katsuki brought up letting him tag along to the League.

He's excited, even more than Katsuki had anticipated he'd be given the circumstances, and he's not sure why that bothers him so much.

 

At the moment, Deku is mumbling under his breath, attempting to put his sneakers on while walking. The black tee shirt he borrowed falls looser on him than it does on Katsuki, but the nerd has it tucked into some unfairly snug jeans, belted despite the fabric clearly struggling to encase thick thighs. He looks too fucking good in Katsuki's clothes, and it's a real problem.

 

To address that problem, Deku's supposed to go see the Ice Prince tomorrow afternoon to grab some of his stuff and start to move in officially, but he's been putting it off for some reason. Katsuki essentially has two schools of thought on this.

1. Deku was dragging his feet because he didn't want to live here, or was embarrassed about moving in officially.

This feels petty and weird, and Deku has given no indications that he's regretting his new living situation, so Katsuki is actively ignoring this.

2. Deku is avoiding Half & Half out of guilt, conflict avoidance, and general shame. 

This one is far more consistent with Deku's emotional state, and while Katsuki certainly wasn't going to push him on it until he absolutely had to, the idea of Deku over at Halfie's place for any length of time leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It's almost a shame Deku is so adamant on being responsible, and apologizing for his latest disappearing act.

 

Although it's probably better for his libido in the long run if Deku starts wearing his own clothes again.

Katsuki scowls at the thought as he selects one of his heavier leather jackets from the coat closet and holds it out towards Deku, who looks up with a shy grin and gratitude on his lips.

 

This will be the first time Deku rides his bike with him, and simultaneously the first time Katsuki has willingly let someone ride bitch.

 

Deku fawns and oohs and ahhs at his bike, and Katsuki pretends it doesn't stroke his ego to feel Deku's little gasp when the engine roars to life.

Riding with someone else on the bike feels strange, as if the weight of Deku at his back is adding to the drag, like he's wearing a heavy ass backpack tugging him into reclining a bit. It gives him the eerie feeling of falling, like he could slip right off the seat, so Katsuki makes an effort to lean forward despite the comfortable warmth at his back.

For his part, Deku mostly behaves, though his crooked fingers curl into Katsuki's belt loops and he feels a nose bury itself into his shoulder blades at a stop light or two.

If he grins like a maniac under his helmet, that's nobody else's business but his own.

 

The extras are beside themselves with excitement when he pushes Deku into the least annoying front of house staff and begins his shift with a curt warning.

"This is my boyfriend. Fuck with him at your own peril. If you see the Old Man, send him to the kitchen."

 

Catching glimpses of Deku throughout the day is grounding at best and distracting at worst.

It's not uncommon for Katsuki to spend a decent portion of his workday stressing about the nerd while he's cooking, while he's prepping the ingredients, while he's organizing the freezers or dry storage, pretty much any monotonous task he convinces himself that another fire was in progress across town or that Deku was out on another of his suicide missions, but today those worries are soothed with the random flashes of unruly green hair, or the sound of snorting laughter from behind the bar.

He watches with flustered amusement as Deku easily carries their entire dishware collection over his head after emptying the dishwasher without seeming to realize just how heavy that must actually be. Deku rolls silverware with a few of the extras, and pops into the back at regular intervals to dutifully inform Katsuki of the progress on the shift's checklist.

 

If Katsuki steals a kiss or two, then that's just him executing his rights as the chef.

 

When Katsuki first started filling in for Jin, there was a wariness from the other staff members, a noticeable distance between him and them. In the wake of their favorite waitress and cook suddenly disappearing off the schedule, and Katsuki's general prickliness, he wasn't surprised.

Deku seems to have none of these problems, as the staff swarm around him like he's the sun and they're orbiting bodies. They praise him for his strength, as he carries in bags of flour for Sato and saves them all from half an hour of cleaning when his quick reflexes manage to save a pitcher of sangria from hitting the floor.

It's like he's been right there this whole time.

Aizawa shows up around 3:00pm, informing him that he was stealing the nerd into the training room for a couple of hours. When they emerge again, just in time for Katsuki to hit his stride in the dinner rush, they have clearly been going all out. The curls are plastered to Deku's forehead with sweat despite the mild temperatures, and Aizawa looks like he got hit by a bus.

He's a bit jealous, if only because he could use a good spar and it looks like Deku gave Hobo-sensei a run for his money.

 

Oh well, he'll just have to get the nerd under him some other way.

 

"Bakugou." Aizawa grunts from the doorway, lifting the small curtain to get a good look at the blond running his kitchen.

 

"Sensei." He acknowledges, but doesn't lose focus as he works. The takoyaki on the griddle is just starting to crisp up at the edges, and he watches it carefully while he ladles donburi into bowls.

 

"Bring Midoriya with you from now on. I'll have him help you with the prep in the afternoons so you two can get some training time in before dinner starts." Aizawa declares, already slipping from the door jam without listening for an answer.

 

"Not a chance in hell, that nerd's a disaster in the fucking kitchen." Katsuki snorts, finishing the plating and slamming his hand on the bell to alert the French Fuck to come run his food.

 

"I'm sure he can manage." Sensei leans back into the doorway, letting Invisalign through to grab dishes in the window.

 

"These aren't for you, check your fucking tickets." Katsuki growls at her before meeting Aizawa's eyes. "I'll stay late to prep if I have to, and he can help out wherever else, but he's not touching my line. Didja even fucking ask him first? He's got shit to do tomorrow."

While picking up his stuff at Halfie's isn't exactly an emergency, Deku's been psyching himself up to run that particular errand, and if he weasles out of it, he'll keep being an avoidant idiot about it and feel worse later. Plus, he also plans on swinging by the safe house to check on Round Cheeks and reassure her that her girlfriend isn't dead in a ditch somewhere.

 

Not that he knows that for sure.

 

The raid was originally scheduled for Friday, but they had to make a few logistical changes when Blondie missed her check-in.

This isn't unheard of, apparently, but it definitely has Deku and Aizawa on edge.

 

Nobody has heard a peep from Stabby in six days.

 

So Aizawa suggested they delay until Sunday and then play it by ear. In a way, Katsuki's relieved to have more prep time.

While Deku and Aizawa have been preparing for this for fuck knows how long, Katsuki just learned about this mission a couple days ago. Learning to fight with Deku at his side against an opponent as strong as Aizawa is too good of a set up to ignore, and only supports the extraction mission. They were all in agreement that Eri couldn't wait for long, that the raid couldn't and shouldn't be postponed much longer. That means if they don't hear back from Blondie soon, they'll just have to complete the mission without her.

 

Sensei's mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but it's too much effort.

 

"Yes, obviously I asked him first. He'll stay up front with the customers, then. Nice negotiating with you, Bakugou." With a half hearted wave, Aizawa leaves the kitchen and Katsuki can't help but feel like he's being made fun of for some reason.

 

"FRENCHIE, I SWEAR TO FUCK, STOP FLIRTING WITH THE MUFFIN MAN AND COME RUN YOUR FUCKING FOOD!"

 

---

 

"Nerd, I'm home." Katsuki calls out into the suspiciously silent apartment.

 

Damn rain has him soaked to his down to his fucking bones, and he shakes the stubborn droplets out of his hair as he slams the door behind him.

He's put out for a moment about not being greeted, before remembering Deku had fucked off to the safehouse and Halfie's today, while Katsuki worked his shift as usual.

Without Deku there to make the day move faster it was hell, and he just wants this day to be over already.

 

He peers into the darkness of the living room, grimacing at the utter lack of life.

 

Did he really used to come home to this everyday?

Despite spending far more time living alone than with Deku, he struggles to remember what he used to do when he came home to an empty apartment before.

The absence of him is palpable.

Fucking depressing as shit.

 

He stomps in after putting his things away, kicking his boots off and setting them by the door. He notes the few odds and ends that Deku left behind this morning with a fond exasperation.

 

There's a pair of socks balled up on the sectional, thick woolen ones he's confident Aunty knitted for him years ago. One of the books from Katsuki's shelf is on the coffee table, stacked on top of a notebook with a pen beside it. There's another forgotten mug on the counter, as if Deku had been on the way to the sink with it before getting distracted with something else.

Katsuki lets himself smile despite the shake of his head.

 

He's already damp from the rain, and only becomes more so after he quickly washes the mug, setting it in the drying rack promptly.

Figuring he might as well take a shower, he strips off his aids and clothes, which still smell like fryer oil and green onion. It doesn't take too long to scrub the sesame oil out of his pores and the musk of rain from his hair.

Deku's new curl care products sit primly in the caddy.

 

When he's clean, and the clothes have been chucked into the laundry, Katsuki pads back into the living room area once more.

Every footstep sounds louder in the quiet, and Katsuki finds himself flicking on the television just to disturb the silence, though he's careful to avoid the news channels.

 

He preps a marinade for some chicken he has thawed, the familiar motion of chopping herbs more comfortable than just sitting around and waiting. The stainless steel pan sits ready and waiting to sear the chicken before he pops it into the oven to finish, which is still preheating. He sautés some green beans while the rice cooker does its thing. The television drones on, even though Katsuki's not really listening to it.

It feels like hours drag by, and there's a mounting irritation in his gut until there's sudden noise from the entryway.

 

"Kacchan, I'm home!" Deku announces loudly, his keys jangling as he fumbles around in the genkan.

 

There's nondescript thumping and clattering, presumably Deku trying to put his rain-soaked coat and shoes away as Katsuki had. For his part, the blond breathes deeply, that frustrating feeling of relief warring with bitter anger and clogging his throat with harsh words Deku doesn't deserve.

They've only been apart for a couple of hours, but some part of him seriously thought the nerd wouldn't show up for one reason or another.

He couldn't even really complain that Deku had gone out. They talked about it, they planned for it, Deku's an adult who can go wherever he damn well pleases, and what? Katsuki's mad because he took too long? A quick glance at the stove clock shows that's not even true. It's barely past seven, which means Deku left the Halfie's place around sunset, he honestly should've assumed it'd take longer.

So why is he acting like... a jealous boyfriend.

Fuck, he's so lame.

 

"Bout fucking time, nerd." He calls back, trying to keep as much animosity out of his tone as possible, and not taking his eyes off the lemon he's quartering.

 

"Aw, did Kacchan miss me?" The voice is closer now, light and teasing. Katsuki feels Deku approach from behind, mindful of the blade in his hand as he goes to peck him on the cheek.

 

"How'd it go with Round Face?" Katsuki asks instead, swallowing down his general irritation and refusing to confirm or deny the statement. Deku leans on the counter beside him, and seems to be thinking seriously about the question.

 

"It was fine, I guess? 'Chako is freaking out, but all I can really do is be there for her. This isn't the first time Toga-chan has gone radio silent, and we don't need to really start worrying for a few more days at least." Deku doesn't seem to like the words he's saying, his nose curling up like they leave a bad taste in his mouth.

 

"Cut the bullshit. I know what you told Cheeks, but what do you actually think?" Katsuki continues his work over the stove, hoping the familiar routine will ease the pressure that's been mounting all day.

 

"I... I don't know. Maybe it's nothing, and she's just caught up. Toga-chan's been undercover awhile now, and she wouldn't blow it for no reason, and it's not like she's never missed a check-in before.  The procedure is to lay low for a couple of days, and if she misses the next one then I'm supposed to put Ochako on the first plane out of here by any means necessary. I'm not supposed to tell her that though..." His eyebrows draw together, and he starts chewing on his thumb nail pensively.

 

Katsuki nods, agitating the pot on the stove with a frown. He doesn't have time for this jealous bullshit, not when there's real-world shit going on.

Stabby's girlfriend is sitting in a safehouse in yakuza territory waiting for her fugitive girlfriend to send a signal that she's alive and Katsuki's being bitchy about Deku leaving the house for a couple of hours?

Priorities, Katsuki, get them through your thick skull.

"You think she'd fight you on that? Getting shipped off while her girlfriend's gone?" From all the stories Katsuki has heard about Round Face, he doubts very much that she'd obediently get the hell out of dodge, no matter who told her to. 

 

"Of course she will. She'll fight me tooth and nail the whole way, and I can't even blame her for it! But... I promised Toga-chan I would. If it were you..." He doesn't finish the sentence, but that does nothing to improve Katsuki's mood.

 

"If it were me, there's no way in hell I'd leave willingly, and I'd kick your ass if you even tried." Katsuki grunted, thinking back to his first meeting Blondie in that alley. "And if your friend is anything like her girlfriend, you're not gonna have much more luck on that front either."

There's a part of him that's angry as hell that Deku would even think of shipping him off to kami knows where if things took a turn for the worst.

Another part of him agrees that Kirby would definitely be a target, though, and if Blondie really was exposed or captured, then the safest place for Cheeks would be far the hell away from Tokyo.

The girl might be a badass, but between the cops and the yakuza, they're running out of safe options.

 

It's just complete bullshit, either way.

 

The only sound is the sizzling of the chicken searing in the pan, and the drag of cookware against the stovetop.

 

"I didn't mean it like that, Kacchan. I wouldn't do that to you." Deku says softly. "I just know how Toga-chan feels, we made a promise. Ochako's safety is her first priority, absolutely everything else comes after. She trusts me to keep 'Chako safe till she gets back, and I intend to do just that. By any means necessary." Deku doesn't look pleased about it, but there's a tightness in his jaw that suggests his personal feelings on the matter aren't his motivator in this situation. 

 

"Whatever. Cheeks is fine for now. What about the Ice Prince? Didja get all your shit?" He knows that particular conversation isn't over yet, but he doesn't want to fight about it.

Not now anyways, before they know if it's even necessary to hash it out in the first place.

Maybe Blondie really is just running late, even if the gnawing pit of dread in his stomach vehemently disagrees.

 

"Mm, I did. Sho's obviously upset with me still, even though he says he's not. I guess I don't blame him for that." There's a pensiveness to his words, and while Katsuki hates the Halfie on principle, he can't say that Deku has nothing to apologize for this time.

 

"Yeah, you fucked up." Deku whips his head around to look at Katsuki, clearly taken aback, but not necessarily upset. Katsuki continues, now that he's sure he's got Deku's attention. "That's why you apologized, ain't it? It's up to him to forgive you or not. It might take time. I'm sure he was absolutely freaking the fuck out. You weren't there when you were "missing" the morning after the lock-in, but Eyebags and Halfie both lost their shit. I can only imagine what you taking off in that state and two weeks of radio silence would've done to him. You're lucky he had Tape Face to distract him or he probably would've blown your cover."

 

He's not a fan of either of those assholes, but if it were him, and hell it had been, Katsuki was just too stubborn to leave well enough alone, then he can only imagine how the Ice Prince would've felt, knowing he couldn't go to the cops because his dad would rather crucify Deku publicly than help him.

Katsuki is only a little petty at not being called in as reinforcements to drag Deku's sorry ass back home, before realizing Halfie probably just didn't have his number and was too dumb to ask Tape Face for it.

 

"You're right. I heard a bit about that, though they wouldn't tell me exactly what was said. Sho broke Toshi's nose over it. Actually, I was expecting more pushback when I told him I was staying with you. Sho was weirdly supportive about me moving in here. Even said I clearly needed someone like you to keep me in line, can you believe that?" Deku rolls his eyes, like that statement was somehow ridiculous.

Katsuki's pointed smirk is apparently not the answer Deku was hoping for.

 

"Kacchaaaaan, noo." Deku whines plaintively, adorably annoying.

 

"I didn't even say anything." Katsuki points out, not letting the smirk fall away as he adds the citrus to the greens and gives it a quick toss.

 

"You didn't have to, it's written all over your face." The nerd pouts before watching him assemble the glaze for the chicken with interest. "So what's for dinner, Chef?"

 

"Grilled nosy ass nerd if you don't get out of my kitchen and put your shit away. I don't want to see a single soggy cardboard box, Deku, that's how you get bugs." Katsuki admonishes, brandishing the tongs in Deku's direction.

 

"So bossy!" Deku complains, though he moves to follow the directions anyways.

 

"You love it." He retorts coolly, flashing a cocky smile over his shoulder in the vague direction of where Deku loiters in the doorway to the rest of the apartment.

 

"Kacchan really is the best wife, little Deku never could've guessed." Deku agrees easily, giggling when Katsuki drops the oven mitt he was holding in surprise.

 

"You'll regret that, shitty nerd!" Katsuki warns, quickly turning the eye off and shoving the chicken into the oven forcefully, before chasing a squealing Deku into the living room.

 

He'll show that little shit who's the boss around here.

 

---

 

Training with Sensei and Deku is wild, chaotic, and more than that, fun as hell.

 

If he thought sparring with the old assassin was a pain in the ass, he had nothing on Deku.

The nerd's obviously not wearing his suit but he's more than holding his own regardless, ducking and weaving around Aizawa's hits. His stamina is clearly higher than a normal person's, but Katsuki can't attribute that just to the spider bite, he's always been a tenacious little fucker. Deku's footwork and agility are just as impressive as his strength, using the walls and ceiling to his advantage and ricocheting like a rubber bullet to get around Sensei's guard.

 

It's a good strategy, even as Aizawa feints to the left, bringing his foot around to keep Deku at a distance. For his part, Deku doesn't even seem to notice, simply absorbing the kick to the chest, the blow glancing off his torso like he didn't even feel it. In the moment after contact, his mentor attempts to recover his footing, but Deku's faster, taking advantage of Sensei's inertia and dashing forward to land a hit to Aizawa's gut that has the older man curling forward and sputtering.

 

Deku looks mortified, immediately dropping his stance and approaching. "Oh, Sensei! I'm sorry, are you-"

 

Katsuki fights the urge to suck at his teeth.

 

Rookie mistake.

 

He sees the exact moment Deku realizes he's fallen for Aizawa's trick, eyes blowing wide as he barely manages to lean out of range of a strong uppercut that would've probably fractured his jaw. He's been on the receiving end of that and it hurts like a bitch, healing factor or no.

 

"You're holding back, Midoriya." Aizawa notes, circling his opponent like a panther, his body low to the ground.

 

"Uh, yeah. I can lift a car, sir, I don't want to hurt you by accident." Deku admits, rubbing the back of his neck and tilting his head as if he was embarrassed.

 

"Maybe you should focus on hurting me on purpose then." Katsuki grins, seeing the annoyance on his Sensei's face at being underestimated.

Deku sidesteps the lunge that comes at him, but makes no effort to grapple with the older man, instead he makes it a point to keep as much distance between them as possible.

 

"S-sir, I don't think-"

 

"You're thinking too much, and that's the problem. However, if you're so worried about collateral damage..." Dark predatory eyes find his on the other end of the room, and Katsuki is more than happy to tap in as Aizawa withdraws.

 

Deku must hear or feel a change in the air, because the second Katsuki barrels forward, he's whipping around to face him head on.

The fist aimed at Deku's face doesn't make contact, but Katsuki didn't really expect it to. Instead, when Deku swerves left, Katsuki lets the momentum carry him forwards, already positioning his lower body to crowd the smaller man. Deku tries to correct course, obviously trying to evade him or use the environment to his advantage again, but in a fight this close, Deku can't afford to take his eyes off Katsuki for a single fucking second.

 

It's more like dancing than fighting.

They breathe the same air, deflecting jabs and ducking and swerving to avoid explosive hands and overpowered muscles.

 

Half the fight with Deku is mental, though, like it always has been.

Luckily Katsuki anticipated that, and after seeing Deku's evasive maneuvers with Aizawa, he had to find out how to throw him off his game.

 

Unsurprisingly, Sensei was right.

 

Especially without the mask, Katsuki has the advantage of being able to watch Deku's facial expressions, which telegraph his every move before he makes it. His desperate attempts to think slow him down, make him predictable. Whatever intuition or instinct he definitely has, he's doubting it, thinking around it, and it leaves him open.

He's quick though, constantly trying to free up room between them, to get space to breathe, but Katsuki doesn't let him get too far. If the extras outside can hear the booming crashes of his explosions as he fights to keep the fight on the ground, they know better than to come and investigate.

Deku's eyes flit around Katsuki's form, looking for a tell or a weakness, and rather than play hurt like Aizawa did, Katsuki puffs out his chest. A predatory grin carves his face when he notices Deku get distracted. Deku's head tilts just barely, confused and interested in Katsuki's change in mood. Katsuki rolls his eyes and waves him forward, and like a moth to a flame, Deku follows.

Maybe he's drawn in by some kind of pheromone Katsuki's putting out, or all the adrenaline from the fight scrambled his brain, or maybe Deku's just a horny little nerd with a weakness for his Kacchan, but it doesn't matter. The second Deku is close enough for Katsuki to lean down and kiss him, he cracks his head forward and headbutts Deku hard. The nerd howls in pain and recoils, which distracts Deku just enough for Katsuki to hook behind his leg and drag him down to the floor, superpowers or no.

 

Nerd looks good under him, though he's clearly trying to recover from his place on the floor, pinned under the weight of both Katsuki's body and his ego.

His smile is practically a grimace, somehow seeming enraged, in pain, and proud all at once. 

 

"That's match, nerd." Katsuki licks the sweat from his upper lip, his own grin mean and victorious while his chest heaves for breath.

It was a clean win, but Katsuki has to credit the nerd for his stamina, going a couple rounds with Aizawa before this last spar would've put him on his ass.

 

"You got overwhelmed and then distracted." Aizawa points out, taking a swig from a water bottle as he lets the wraps fall from his hands.

 

"I know." Deku groans, his hand coming up to rub at the place Katsuki's skull made contact with his own.

 

"Is that all you got, Deku?" Katsuki looms over him with faux disappointment dripping off his words, reaching forward to scrape those nasty curls off his forehead with a heavy hand and shaking him with the hand wound in his hair.

 

Deku's eyes heat, and his answering smile is all kinds of filthy. 

"Kacchan's just so pretty, what can I say?" The way Deku looks up at him, like a devotee at an altar, sets something alight in the pit of his stomach. The challenging glint in his eyes, the smell of his sweat in the air, it all mixes into something heady and volatile in his lungs. Katsuki desperate to sink his teeth into that pale column of throat, just because he can, and he fights the urge to grind down when he remembers Aizawa's still in the room.

Sparring with Deku quickly becomes one of his favorite pastimes.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 30: A Promise to Be Safe Please

Summary:

Izuku lives with his Kacchan, faces his friends, just in time for the raid.

What can go wrong?

Notes:

Homestretch, you guys, I swear!

I've re-written a few of the earlier chapters, and combed through for any inconsistencies or voice / tense changes, so hopefully it's a bit more cohesive now! I'm not sure if anyone is really following this anymore, but I'm working to get this all finished before I leave for a wedding next week.

Thanks! xoxo

The next few days are a blur of activity.

Kacchan is introduced to OFA and the suit, though the armature doesn't fit properly against his nape and the suit isn't sized for Kacchan's wide shoulders. The blonde curses more than anything, struggling with any single piece of Izuku's suit to cooperate with him. 
 
It won't respond to him at all. 

Kacchan is clearly disappointed by this, and Izuku is both frustrated and embarrassed, but OFA flat out refuses to cooperate.

Even with Izuku providing commands by proxy and all the program functions behaving as expected, OFA refuses to actually speak to Kacchan even once.

Izuku apologizes to him, and argues with a glib Yoichi in his ear about admin passwords and safety protocols, but no matter what he says, OFA remains silent in Kacchan's ear. Even bringing up Dr. Toshinori's intentions for them to share OFA, that Kacchan was the first choice for OFA doesn't seem make much of a difference.

For his part, Kacchan takes it much better than he would've anticipated. 

He complains and has a few choice words to say about it, but like the hero he is, Kacchan just shucks the suit off his hips and declares he doesn't need OFA to do his job, and that maybe it only listens to nerds like Izuku.

He's glad that Kacchan isn't more upset, but he still makes a promise to himself to do more research into OFA as soon as possible. 
Once Eri is safe and Touya Todoroki is dealt with, there are a few mysteries left for him to unravel. 

OFA is acting weird, and Izuku is going to figure out why.

 

---

 
They fall into a rhythm easily over the next few days.

Staying with Kacchan was comfortable in the way a warm, well-loved blanket could be. Familiar in the way every happy childhood memory was. 
It's unbelievable how fast their lives intertwine, like there was a space already carved out in Kacchan's life, ready and waiting for him to occupy it the whole time.

It's nostalgic, almost, when he smells Aunty Mitsuki's famous spicy curry, or when Kacchan lays out a myriad of beauty products and insists Izuku learn how to use them properly or "die trying". Kacchan throws so many tubes of lip balm at him, that he starts to take the hint after awhile.

Touches linger as they move through the world. 
Kisses are exchanged, eyebrows waggle teasingly, and Kacchan is infuriatingly insistent that the towels be hung in a certain way. 

Kacchan takes good care of him. 
He finds himself blushing over that fact more often than not.

They wake up together most mornings, and on the ones they don't, Kacchan drags him from the clutches of sleep for an early morning run. Racing Kacchan is just as fun now as it was when they were little, but Izuku prefers waking slowly, all tangled up together in caramel scented sheets, soft and sleepy-eyed. 
They shower separately now, after Kacchan almost gave himself a concussion during a particularly enthusiastic lovemaking session, and succeeded in bruising Izuku's tailbone. 

Kacchan makes them both breakfast while Izuku sets the table and brews their tea. 
Kacchan calls him a slob, but Izuku thinks Kacchan just so happens to make a very pretty housewife. 

That's something Izuku never could've imagined before living together. 

Kacchan's actually very domestic, and has very ingrained habits. 
He's militant about the garbage never reaching the top of the bin, he scrubs out the fridge weekly, refuses to allow junk food in the apartment because he prepares delicious food for every meal, and never, ever leaves dishes to soak. 

He's unexpectedly soft, sometimes. 
Like when he asks if they're "boyfriends" over dinner one night. 

Izuku's convinced that something awful has happened, that Toga has been busted, or maybe that another fire had broken out and he missed it, or something equally awful to coincide with how the rest of their freshman year has shaped up to be, but he's more than a little relieved to learn Kacchan was just feeling a little bit insecure.

It's so wildly out of left field, but it settles something in his gut he's been dwelling on.

It's hard to deny the level of care Kacchan shows him, the ardent affection he's all but buried under.

His favorite meals, the possessive, worshipful hands that cling to him whenever possible, the sweet praise that makes itself at home when Kacchan whispers into his skin. 
He doesn't feel like a guest, or a nuisance, or some unwanted consequence.

He feels at home.

So much so, that Izuku is admittedly lonely when Kacchan goes to work those first couple of days. 

He tries to busy himself with chores, but since Kacchan is such a clean freak, there really isn't much to do but sit and wait for him to get home. He watches a couple documentaries on spiders in an effort to understand his own limits a bit better, and even sketches some ideas for suit upgrades, though he doesn't exactly have the resources to go about building them just yet. Visits to the local grocery store and chats with Mr. Saotome, the surly owner that complains about Kacchan's attitude but always saves him the nicest daikon radishes from each shipment. 

Aside from those few and far between adventures, he mostly continues investigating around Kacchan's evening shifts at the League, but after two days, he's practically dying of boredom. 

"Come see the idiots if you're so bored." Kacchan huffs, chopping up carrots with an ease that has Izuku's stomach fluttering.

Housewife Kacchan is the absolute best. 

This whole situation reminds him of when they played house as kids, actually. 
Back when Kacchan insisted he wasn't "man enough" to be a husband, and was Kacchan's wife when they played, instead.

If Izuku thinks hard, he can hear Aunty Mitsuki's bark of laughter, his mother's smile hidden behind her hand, and Uncle Masaru's gentle redirection when Kacchan announced his decision; insisting that nobody else could possibly put up with Izuku long enough to marry him, so Kacchan would have to, one day, anyways.  

Part of him wishes he could go back in time and give little Izuku a heads up that Kacchan would actually be the one cooking his meals and doing his laundry and fussing at him for using the wrong shampoo for his hair type, but he doubts his child self would even believe him.

"Like when you're at work? But Kacchan won't you get tired of me?" Izuku asks, only half joking. 

As nice as the apartment is, and as happy as he is to spend every possible moment with Kacchan, he doesn't want to overstay his welcome, or become a burden. He's already living here in Kacchan's fancy apartment, rent free, might he add, eating Kacchan's delicious cooking every night and taking up all his free time too, so wouldn't it be too much to see him during the day, in the few hours of reprieve the blond gets from him?

If it weren't for the tingling sensation to indicate an incoming projectile, the wet sponge might've whacked him in the face.

"Shut the fuck up. I want you to keep the extras off my back for awhile. Always bothering me while I'm cooking, so I'll let you deal with them. They'll probably thrilled to see your ugly mug. 'Sides, you can spar with Sensei and me when it's slow, or whatever. " Kacchan snaps, but the blush on his ears and the way he scrubs the already clean pan in the sink indicates he's embarrassed. 

Kacchan is too cute.

 

---

 

Visiting at the League turns into a part-time job there, pretty much immediately.

Izuku's apprehensive at first, but when Aoyama and Hagakure fill him in on how Toga's workload, which was nothing to sneeze at as their head waitress, had fallen onto the rest of the staff, he felt compelled to help. It isn't particularly hard for him, mostly just lugging around stock and inventory and a few of the more physically demanding tasks, and chatting with customers.

If Izuku can ease the burden on the other waitstaff, then he's happy to help!

His reflexes come in handy too, especially behind the bar. Mr. Compress, or Atsuhiro when he's off-stage, has nothing but compliments for him, going so far as to use him as a benchmark for Aoyama to look towards for his own routine. Izuku absolutely refuses to go on stage, though, and just the threat of Kacchan banging around in the kitchen silences any attempts to push Izuku too far. 

The customers are great too, and a bit more, um, forward, than he had anticipated. Izuku doesn't think he's ever received so much praise in his life.

It's harmless, of course, just a few older ladies cooing over his rounded cheeks, teasing him for his youthful appearance. There's an older distinguished gentleman in a full suit with tails who comes in for a cup of tea with his wife, a much shorter redhead. They manage to rope him into a conversation for almost half an hour on obscure internet culture, and Izuku leaves with their MeTube channel name on a fancy cardstock business card. Hitoshi insists they were trying to get him to swing with them, but he thinks they were just being friendly. 

It does get a bit awkward when a dark haired guy that reminds him vaguely of Kacchan offers his phone number and a request to meet up for dinner sometime. He politely declines, though that seems to have opened the floodgates on the other customers shooting their shot.

Izuku secures promises of secrecy from every member of the waitstaff after the third person flirts with him while he takes their order.

He makes it a point to visit with Kacchan and update him on the shift checklist, since the other staff members refuse to face his wrath, shoving Izuku towards the back whenever possible. 

 

If Izuku sneaks a kiss or two, then that's just one of the perks of the job.

 

It's certainly different than when he used to come in as a regular. 
Now Izuku is privy to more of the gossip and the goings-on of the League than ever before, despite Toga-chan always trying to rope him into it back in high school. 

It does feel somewhat somber without her playful nature, though. 

Aoyama and Atsuhiro certainly bring a razzle-dazzle to the establishment, and Hagakure is both a wonderful waitress and a lovely person, Sato is sweet and generous with his baking, Mic and Toshi are kept pretty busy with the radio station, but they stop by when they can.

The whole gang really is something special... it's just impossible to fill the wide, gaping hole that Jin and Toga have left with their absence.

Izuku is glad that Kacchan spends so much time in the kitchen, honestly, because if he heard the whining coming from the dining area, he might catch a charge.

Kacchan's cooking is obviously amazing, and nobody with working tastebuds could dispute that, but his preferences are starting to bleed through into the dishes. Spicier, more complex dishes start being added to the menu, like Aunty Mitsuki's mapo tofu recipe, or the Thai shrimp that has several customers crying from the heat. Gone are the days of pomegranate parfaits and wild, experimental dishes nobody could figure out, but were inexplicably tasty. Kacchan is clearly a well-taught chef, and might even be technically better than Jin ever had been, but change for the better is technically still change.

Though, if Kacchan hadn't stepped in for Jin, Izuku's sure the whole place would've toppled overnight. Bar sales have never been fabulous here at the League, since they don't push alcohol or drinking games like most other bars might, and despite the community built around it, they don't get enough regular business to subsist off drink sales alone. Jin's experiments in the kitchen and the more cozy atmosphere were hallmarks of the League, not just as a place to get drunk or hook up, but a second space to just exist as your most authentic self. 

So Izuku is glad to help out, especially when he gets to take a break from the front and spar with Aizawa-sensei for a couple of hours. 

The man is severe, and despite his superhuman speed and strength, Izuku doesn't have much time to recover from the onslaught. Ultimately he's able to keep his own, and Aizawa is visibly exhausted by the time they call it quits about an hour into dinner service. Izuku freshens up in the back and goes right back to work until the kitchen closes and he and Kacchan are free to go home.

Izuku ignores the wolf-whistles and jeering when they leave hand in hand at the end of their first day. 
Kacchan only gives the crew a lewd gesture in return.

They cook dinner together, much to Izuku's scolding. Kacchan spends all day long bent over a grill, he shouldn't have to do so at home too, but Kacchan complains that Izuku would probably catch the kitchen on fire. In an effort to save them both from culinary disaster, Izuku does the dishes, and later shows his appreciation for Kacchan in... other ways. 

It's perfect.

 

---

Visiting Ochako every couple of days becomes routine.

Having suspended her medical program for the semester, and holed up in a yakuza safehouse across town while Toga is still off on her mission, with no updates... 

Well, Ochako is not very happy.

 

"Can you believe her? Abandoning me here while she goes off to do whatever! I'm tired of it, Zuku, I'm tired of being kept in the dark and coddled like some little kid! I get why we moved to the safehouse, I do. Toga's still wanted by the cops, I'm an easy target. I get why we had to leave the apartment. But she's not even here! I feel safer at home than I do here, in this... this shithole! Probably getting cancer or asbestos in my bones or something just sitting here!" Ochako paces the room, angrily crying and gesturing with her hands as she works through it all.

Uncomfortable and concerned, Izuku tries to comfort her.

 

"It's not that bad, you've done a good job sprucing the place up, and I'm sure To-" He leans back from his spot on the couch to catch her arm when she comes close enough, but she pivots away from him and cuts him off mid-sentence.

"I'm sick of just waiting here until she comes back. She could be out there, needing me, hurt, and I'm just here being useless! And I trust Himiko, okay, I know that she's probably fine. She's just busy working and that's why she missed the check-in but I just know that when she gets back, she's not going to give me any answers. Am I not trustworthy? Is there a reason nobody will give me a straight answer as to what is going on?" Her eyes find his only for a moment, and she seems to realize who she's talking to, and her expression only becomes more frustrated and accusatory. 

Izuku, for his part, feels guiltier with every passing second. 

 

"Ochako, I-"

 

"She won't tell me anything, Izuku. Neither will you. I know you know more than I do, and that if you could, you'd tell me. But more than that, I know that the second she comes through that door, I'll forget to be mad and forgive her anyway. Then she'll run off on another errand or whatever "work" she's doing for these... people, whoever they are, I just... I can't. I can't play the good wife and stand in this ugly living room like it's a widow's walk and hope my partner comes back in one piece! Is that crazy? Is that so hard to understand?" Ochako collapses onto the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows and crushing it to her chest.

"Um, you know Toga-chan is probably-" 

Ochako sniffs loudly, rubbing at her eyes.

"Yeah, I know."

She doesn't seem to want to hear his empty platitudes or hollow comforts, so instead Izuku just resigns himself to be there for her. He offers her his hand, and they sit in silence for awhile, letting some baking show drone on in the background. 

 

"Thanks for coming." She whispers, her tears long since dried on her cheeks but leaving her face puffy. Ochako squeezes at his palm in hers, and Izuku swallows the lump in his throat to answer.

 

"Anytime, 'Chako. I'm sorry you've been dealing with this alone. I've been so preoccupied with my own stuff, but... I should've been here for you." 

 

No matter what, Izuku ends up hurting the people he cares about.

 

"You're here now, Zuku. That's what matters." Ochako murmurs, snuggling in to his side before rolling her eyes at the screen. "Why would she make merengue? It doesn't even hit the challenge."

Izuku might not have answers for Ochako, and he might not know what they're going to do after this, after Toga comes home, after the danger is over, but just for now, sitting here with her, he feels like he's doing the right thing. 

 

---

 

Getting on the same page, admitting vulnerable truths, that all helps a lot, but they aren't perfect people. 

Ochako is forgiving to a fault, hopeful and stubborn.
Izuku, on the other hand, continues to be a bit reckless, dismissive of his own feelings and cripplingly insecure, so much so that he often hurts his own feelings unnecessarily.

Maybe that's why he's been avoiding Shouto. 

After that first night with Kacchan, and then after Ochako's breakdown, he realizes one more time what an absolute jerk he's been to his friend. 
But hindsight is 20/20, and all that.

Perspective is a funny thing. 
Izuku has been so avoidant for so long. 
Only focused on his perceived heroism, on all the scary things happening, that he just refused to deal with any of it. 
More distracted by the heaping pile of things on his plate to deal with that he just... stared at it in flustered anxiety for months, starving and overwhelmed.

Izuku knows better than that, now.
Bottling this up wouldn't help.

Ochako and Kacchan are right.

He isn't protecting Shouto by hiding from him, and avoiding him like this is just childish. 
Izuku has to be strong, not just strong enough to weather the storm, but brave enough to let the hurricane out of the bottle. 
It's up to Izuku to uncork all these ugly, stopped up emotions before they drown him completely, and everyone he cares about. 

Guilt and anxiety swirl in his stomach, and Izuku considers texting Kacchan for some much needed tough love before remembering he's probably busy in the kitchen and won't see the message anyways. 

Is it normal to miss someone you just saw this morning?

Shaking his head, Izuku tries to prepare himself for the conversation that is to come. 
He's already jogging through Shibuya, making a quick pitstop at a little bakery with a yellow awning.
 
As a peace offering, of sorts.

It's just going to be a short visit, Izuku assures himself, maybe Sho won't even open the door.
Izuku would deserve that, honestly. He really has been a crappy friend.

When he raises a shaky hand to knock on the door, unsure if his code would still work, he's so emotional and stressed, he doesn't even hear Shouto's footsteps inside until the door is already opening. Izuku can barely breathe at the tightness of the embrace that Shouto suddenly wraps him in. 

He's definitely not choking on his own tears, that would be silly.

 

"H-Hey, Sho." Izuku whispers wetly against a fuzzy cashmere covered chest, somehow forgetting just how tall his friend was in their brief friendship sabbatical. The scent of sweet jasmine and peppermint, maybe a hint of something warm and spicy, likely the last dregs of Sero's cologne clinging to his friend. 

It smells nice, safe. 

Izuku smiles, looking over Shouto's shoulder, past long strands of red and white hair, and wait a minute, just when had it grown that long? 

Has Izuku really only been gone a couple weeks?

As if to convince him, yes, only a few weeks had passed, the apartment before him was essentially the same, just as tasteful and airy, as before, even if it somehow felt more lived in than usual. The wall of windows bathes the kitchen and living room in warm light, but the balcony door stands ajar, letting in a pleasant Spring breeze. 

It takes a few minutes to notice the tiny pieces of evidence of Sero's presence that are dotted around the room.

There's a pair of worn sneakers by the couch, a far cry from Shouto's brown leather loafers. A bottle of hot sauce on the counter in the kitchen, despite knowing his friend is hardly a fan of spicy flavors in his food. There's a knitted yellow blanket curled up on a bar stool, and an unattended water bottle stands on the coffee table, right next to a pack of cigarettes and an ash tray. 

While this apartment was his home for months, it never once looked this cozy. 

 

"Izuku, you're back." Shouto breathes into his curls, his dry voice almost airy with relief.

Guilt, a well-acquainted friend, burrows deeper into his gut at the sound.
What follows is a deluge of tears, from Izuku, of course, but also a few from Shouto, surprisingly. 

"Sorry. You were right. I was stupid, I was just being stubborn and ridiculous, please forgive me?" Izuku mumbles, his eyes somehow still pricking tears, dehydration proving no match for bonafide Midoriya genetics.

 

"As long as you're here now, that's all that matters." Shouto smiles into his hair, squeezing around him once before letting go. His face is blank, when Izuku finally looks up. "Now where have you been, I've been worried sick. Give me the tea, Izuku." The monotone delivery makes Izuku belly-laugh, and he decides Sero's corruption of his friend isn't the worst thing in the world. 

Izuku ends up losing track of time that afternoon, chatting with his stoic friend well into the evening. 

As expected, Shouto never actually thought poorly of him, never disparaged his worth without the suit. Izuku admits to projecting that specific hang up despite his immense gratitude for the amount of money Shouto had tossed at the project, whether it belonged to or originated from the account of his asshole of a father or not. Shouto dismisses any praise or attempts at gratitude, however, mainly concerned with Izuku's admittedly concerning behavior recently.  

Which is fair, Izuku admits. 

"Izuku. I appreciate your apology, but I really was concerned. You left so suddenly, you didn't take any of your things, and when I went to visit your mother, it was clear you hadn't gone to her. Where were you?" His voice is careful and soft but he doesn't let Izuku deflect or shirk the question this time.

 

Izuku buries his face in his hands and groans quietly. "I didn't go anywhere, not at first. Threw myself into a mission, slept on rooftops. I was... I wasn't in a good place when Kacchan finally found me. He'd been following me, best as he could at least, and we fought. I went to see him that night, and well, he hasn't really let me leave since." He chuckles a bit, wiping the wetness from his eyes.

 

"Let you leave?" Shouto inquires, an edge to his tone.

 

"Not like that! He's been... he's been really good to me. Y'know he makes dinner every night, even on days he cooks at the League? Apparently I'm not supposed to use normal shampoo, I have to use some specialty stuff for my curls? I don't really get it but they do look nicer, I guess..." Izuku scrubs his hands through his hair, as if in acknowledgment that they do feel softer now, less frizzy too.

When he looks over to Sho, the knowing smile and barely raised eyebrow say a thousand words. A blush darkens his face and he hides it in his hands again. "I know." He whines, trying to eat his own flustered smile.

 

"You look much happier than the last time I saw you." A thin, cool hand cards through his curls and Izuku sighs before emerging from his hand-prison. 

 

"I am. We, um..." He doesn't know quite how to say he and Kacchan are now dating, that they're living together, that they're hero partners, that he's working at the League with Kacchan too, that all his dreams came true overnight. 

To be honest, Izuku was still getting over the shock of it all, it still didn't feel one hundred percent real. 
Dreams are things you eventually wake up from.

In his defense, there's been a lot going on.

It's been a pretty insane first semester of college. 

 

If something else goes wrong...

 

"I'm sure it won't be anything you two can't overcome." Sho answers the thoughts Izuku wasn't aware he wass saying out loud. "I'm glad he finally made a move." 

Izuku looks up with a confused expression, but the gentle, almost proud look on Sho's face just deepens that confusion.

 

"Y-you are? But- Wait. You don't think it's... a mistake? Or, at least too soon for us to be so... wrapped up in each other? If something happens then..." The almost audacious way Shouto rolls his eyes has Izuku trailing off with wide eyes.

 

"No, I don't think it's a mistake. No, I don't think it's too soon, if anything it's months overdue. Years, if you want to get technical. Stop catastrophizing and trying to find a reason to not be happy. It's dumb." Shouto literally checks his nails while he talks, the picture of unaffected grace and attitude.

 

Sero, you've created a sassy little monster.

 

"You don't even like Kacchan." Izuku accuses, trying to figure out why he feels so offended.

 

"I don't necessarily have to, but you could do a lot worse." Shouto shrugs with just the barest twitch of his shoulders before resting his chin in his hand and crossing his legs.

Izuku is flabbergasted, mouth hanging open.

 

"W-who are you and what have you done with my best friend?" 

Last Izuku knew, Shouto felt unabashed disdain for Kacchan, and what now, all of a sudden, he's got some kind of begrudging pride in the blond? 

Though now that he thinks about it, Shouto mostly just freaked out about the fire thing, not Izuku going home with Kacchan on Halloween. And after Izuku's breakdown he was teasing Izuku by implying Kacchan had feelings for him at the bar on Valentine's Day... oh, and he did tell Izuku to call him back when Izuku was avoiding his calls too... wait, just how long has Shouto been rooting for him and Kacchan?

Shouto's impassive face tightens just a bit, and he takes a deep breath before speaking, pausing as if to give Izuku time to process what he's about to say.

It isn't near enough time for him to prepare, however. 

 

"Do you remember when you didn't come to class after you got bit by that spider?"

Izuku nods.

 

"Do you remember when I said that Bakugou almost lost his mentorship because he almost fought me in Dr. Toshinori's office and wanted to go check on you in your dorms himself?" Shouto asked patiently.

Izuku frowns, not remembering that reasoning in particular but that whole morning was kind of stressful and he might've just glossed over some of the specifics, so he nods hesitantly.

 

"Did you know that Bakugou threatened me on Valentine's Day when he 'caught me' outside the League kissing Hanta, because he thought I was being unfaithful to you?" Shouto honest to goodness uses actual air quotes and Izuku blanches before very slowly shaking his head. He blinks rapidly, trying to fit this new information into his current worldview but still not comprehending. 

Shouto nods as if he expected that.

 

"And were you aware that he cornered me even before that, outside the bakery after your breakdown, again to threaten me, because he was concerned for your safety?" 

Not trusting himself to speak, Izuku just shakes his head, tears building up on his lashes for reasons he doesn't understand.

 

"Why do you think he did all of those things, Izuku?" Shouto stares at him, as if genuinely interested in his answer, and afterwards he takes a sip from his tea, though it's likely gone cold.

Izuku takes a second to think about all of that.
Honestly, Izuku isn't terribly surprised, and that in itself is what's surprising. 

 

Because it makes sense, doesn't it? 

 

Yes, he knew Kacchan was following Shouto, he saw the board, obviously. 

Kacchan had seriously considered Shouto was the arsonist responsible for all of this, and he was admittedly not that far off in his suspicions. If Izuku had found DNA evidence at a crime scene that matched a member of the Todoroki family, he wouldn't have assumed it to be the one that was supposedly deceased either.
If anything it's more proof that Kacchan is really amazing.

He did not know, however, about the intimidation tactics used on his friends, and he resolves to address that with Kacchan at a later date.
 
Izuku has always sort of known that Kacchan was protective of him, and jealous, and possessive, and impulsive...
... but he never really noticed how at odds that was with everything else he knew about Kacchan as a person. 

Kacchan was not sloppy or impulsive when was in the field or when he was in the lab. 
Not in his personal life or his hobbies. 
Kacchan was methodical. 
He's a perfectionist, a technician with a tactical mind, objective and intelligent.
The clue board alone is a testament to his mental acuity, his technique, his finesse. 
He's well within his right to be confident in his abilities.

The one thing that seemed to destabilize all of that rational levelheadedness was... Izuku.

Kacchan has always been irrationally possessive, even as a child. 
Despite his intelligence or reasoning skills, his explosive anger is usually tied to his ego, to his concept of ownership.
His favorite things, toys, blankets, cups. 

Everything Kacchan decided was 'good' became his and everything else was irrelevant.

"Touch my fucking drum set and you die, nerd!" He remembers a young Kacchan snarling at him, gesturing at the pristine drum set in the corner, the metal gleaming in the light. 

"I have to take it to wash it, you brat, it's filthy!" Aunty Mitsuki yells in Kacchan's pudgy face, narrowing her eyes when he merely juts his chin out in defiance.

"No, it's mine! I'll do it!" Toddler Kacchan hollers, yanking the other paw of the Miruko the Rabbit, attempting to free it from his mother's grip. 

"Don't you go mixing yours up with mine, Deku, just because mine is the better one!" Kacchan taunts with a grin, the foil from the trading pack casting small refracted rainbows against the tips of his hair. 

"But Kacchan, we got the same one?" Izuku remembers asking, confused, holding up the special edition holographic All Might card they were both so delighted to get. 

"Mine's still better." Kacchan had boasted.

"You and Katsuki snuggled up on the couch, watching cartoons, always getting into trouble! Inseparable. Katsuki used to throw such a fit when we’d have to leave…” His mom had said when he saw her on Valentine's Day. He'd been confused when she said that, because in his memory Kacchan didn't often throw temper tantrums, and that was true, to an extent. 

But the more important to him something was, the more irrational Kacchan became.
Izuku had just never thought to apply that concept to himself.

Kacchan has said as much, but Izuku is suddenly struck by how... oblivious he has been, this whole entire time.

 

"B-because he loves me." He whispers, extending a shaky hand to reach for the lukewarm tea he'd left abandoned on the coffee table until now. 

Shouto smiles, looking back towards the window to watch the sky slowly turn pink.

 

"Bakugou's the right kind of person to take care of you. He's forceful and abrasive and you're accepting but stubborn, so you just end up smoothing each other out."  

There was such a simplicity in it that Izuku didn't really know what to say in return.

He couldn't deny that was a true statement. 
Always had been, always would be. 

He said something like that about Toga and Ochako once, didn't he?
He called them soulmates.

The magnetism that they have, that equilibrium of simultaneously soft and sharp.
How, no matter what, Toga will make sure Ochako is safe and taken care of, and Ochako accepting that whatever Toga does, she does for her, and forgiving her for it.

Izuku remembers that funny little jealousy he used to feel when he spent time with them, and how that feeling hasn't popped up once since Kacchan came back into his life.

Maybe he'd never actually been jealous of Toga and Ochako's relationship, just jealous that they had their other half while he was still missing his. 

Izuku doesn't really register his own tears, and Shouto looks unbothered, if not a little bit smug, like he expected as much.

He apologizes a few more times. 
Soothes a lot of his own hurt, and hopefully some of Shouto's too.

There's a sad look in his bi-colored eyes when Izuku turns to leave that says there's more work to do on that front, but Izuku is willing to do whatever it takes until Shouto trusts him again.
They have time.

The sun sets in the distance, hidden behind towering buildings, when Izuku finally says goodbye, arms laden with boxes of his stuff. 

When Izuku finally walks up the stairs to the apartment, the sun has finally slipped below the horizon, tinting the streets vivid purple in the darkening light. 

The door is locked when he arrives, but that doesn't necessarily mean Kacchan isn't already inside. 

As he opens the front door, Izuku sees Kacchan's work shoes in the genkan, a puddle of rainwater beneath them. It seems the blond has beaten him home, and based on the smell of herbs and lemons, the man in question is most likely in the kitchen.

 

"Kacchan, I'm home!" Izuku announces loudly, hoping that the other was wearing his aids.

 

"Bout fucking time, nerd." Kacchan bellows from the kitchen, sounding almost petulant, like a sulking kid.  

Izuku's really been oblivious, hasn't he.
Kacchan really is so cute.

 

"Aw, did Kacchan miss me?" He approaches slowly, appreciating the artful curve of Kacchan's back muscles, and the built frame he cuts, with his hip cocked to the side as he chops something on the stove. He's mindful of the blade in Kacchan's hand as he goes to peck him on the cheek.

 

"How'd it go with Round Face?" Kacchan asks, not addressing Izuku's question, but the tips of his ears flush. Izuku smiles, the urge to kiss Kacchan silly tempered only by the knife in Kacchan's lithe fingers. In an effort to avoid being stabbed, whether intentionally or by accident, Izuku moves to the counter, leaning against it and watching Kacchan out of the corner of his eye. 
 

 

"It was fine, I guess? 'Chako is freaking out, but all I can really do is be there for her. This isn't the first time Toga-chan has gone radio silent, and we don't need to really start worrying for a few more days at least." He wishes he believed the words coming out of his own mouth, and maybe he was able to fool Ochako into his confidence for the short term, but there was an uneasy feeling percolating in his gut that told him Toga was in some kind of trouble. 

 

"Cut the bullshit. I know what you told Cheeks, but what do you actually think?"

Leave it to Kacchan to see right through him. He brandishes a ladle at him as if it were a sword, or more likely, one of his katanas. 

Izuku wonders idly which weapon he's more proficient with. 

 

"I... I don't know. Maybe it's nothing, and she's just caught up. Toga-chan's been undercover awhile now, she wouldn't blow that for no reason, and it's not like she's never missed a check-in before. The procedure is to lay low for a couple of days, and if she misses the next one then I'm supposed to put Ochako on the first plane out of here by any means necessary. I'm not supposed to tell her that though..." 

When Toga invited him over to their safehouse some weeks ago, she'd been acting weird. 
Stressed, and hyper-alert.

Izuku had attributed it to the general suckiness of the situation, and Toga's clear worry for Ochako's safety, but what if there was something else going on?
What WAS she actually doing for the Shie Hassaikai?
Are they the reason Toga's MIA?
Have they figured out she's an informant?

Izuku remembers hearing what happened to that man wearing a wire and suppresses a shudder. 

Don't freak yourself out.
She's fine. 

It's Toga-chan. 
She has to be fine. 

 

"You think she'd fight you on that? Getting shipped off while her girlfriend's gone?" Kacchan asks skeptically, using tongs to pick up the meat blobs and plop them in the pan one by one.

 

"Of course she will. She'll fight me tooth and nail the whole way, and I can't even blame her for it! But... I promised Toga-chan I would. If it were you..." Izuku would stop at nothing to keep Kacchan safe. He'd lose his mind if Kacchan got hurt, and he'd expect Toga to use whatever means necessary to keep Kacchan out of harm's way. 

Ochako is a medic, steady and reliable under pressure. She can more than hold her own, but this is the yakuza. This is the entirety of the Tokyo Police Department. She might never forgive him, and would likely beat him black and blue in the process but he promised Toga he'd do everything in his power to keep her safe. 
 

"If it were me, there's no way in hell I'd leave willingly, and I'd kick your ass if you even tried." Kacchan scoffs, as if the idea is insulting. 

He can see why Kacchan would think so.

Honestly, it does sounds insulting when said like that. 

 

"And if your friend is anything like her girlfriend, you're not gonna have much more luck on that front either."

Kacchan has a point there, too. 

Ochako is an adult, and he can't make her do something she doesn't want to do. 
But Toga knows that too, and she loves Ochako.
If she's telling them it's safer to bail, then they need to listen. 

Izuku trusts Toga's judgement and he made a promise, but he also trusts Ochako to have her own agency. 
Either way, he feels like a bad friend.

 

The only sound is the sizzling of the chicken searing in the pan, and the drag of cookware against the stovetop.

Izuku can't imagine trying to get Kacchan sent away, he'd probably walk out of that attempt with some third degree burns, if Kacchan let him walk out if it at all. 
 

"I didn't mean it like that, Kacchan. I wouldn't do that to you." He says softly, guilty that Kacchan might think of himself like a liability to Izuku. "I just know how Toga-chan feels, we made a promise. Ochako's safety is her first priority, absolutely everything else comes after. She trusts me to keep 'Chako safe till she gets back, and I intend to do just that. By any means necessary." 

He has a job to do, and until new information presents itself, he has to honor the promise he made to Toga before she left. 
Ochako will forgive him too, hopefully.
 
"Whatever. Cheeks is fine for now. What about the Ice Prince? Didja get all your shit?" He knows that particular conversation isn't over yet, but he's glad that Kacchan doesn't seem to want to fight about it tonight. 
 

"Mm, I did. Sho's obviously upset with me still, even though he says he's not. I guess I don't blame him for that."

There's that guilt again.

He's glad he went, and annoyed at himself for putting it off for so long. 

Now though, he's going to work on being a better friend.
He just really messed up.

"Yeah, you fucked up." Kacchan echoes his thoughts perfectly and Izuku can't help but turn to look at him, struck dumb. "That's why you apologized, ain't it? It's up to him to forgive you or not. It might take time, though. I'm sure he was absolutely freaking the fuck out. You weren't there when you were "missing" the morning after the lock-in, but Eyebags and Halfie both lost their shit. I can only imagine what you taking off in that state and two weeks of radio silence would've done to him. You're lucky he had Tape Face to distract him or he probably would've blown your cover."

Izuku fights the urge to laugh out loud.  

It's not funny, not really. 
He's just remembering Shouto bringing that up an hour or two ago, saying Kacchan was the one freaking out that day.

He wonders what that looked like.

Shouto, Hitoshi, Kacchan, and... Dr. Toshinori, all panicking at each other.

He lets himself smile.

Regardless, Kacchan is right, Shouto was probably an anxious wreck for almost three solid weeks.
Sero's presence probably did wonders to help keep him calm if he didn't get a worried call from his Mom over it. 

Ah, young love. 

 

"You're right. I heard a bit about that, though they wouldn't tell me exactly what was said. Sho broke Toshi's nose over it. Actually, I was expecting more pushback when I told him I was staying with you. Sho was weirdly supportive about me moving in here. Even said I clearly needed someone like you to keep me in line, can you believe that?" Izuku rolls his eyes, only a bit exasperated.

Izuku can take care of himself too, ya know. 
Kacchan's just naturally better at it.

And based on the pointed smirk he's getting from a certain jerk, he knows it too.

 
"Kacchaaaaan, noo." He complains, slumping his shoulders and pouting.
 

"I didn't even say anything."

 

"You didn't have to, it's written all over your face." Izuku gripes, watching Kacchan juice a lemon over the pan of seared chicken, ladling vegetables into the pan around them artfully before pouring a viscous brown sauce all over it. "So what's for dinner, Chef?"

 

Obviously he can figure it out, but he likes listening to the way Kacchan explains it.
 

"Grilled nosy ass nerd if you don't get out of my kitchen and put your shit away. I don't want to see a single soggy cardboard box, Deku, that's how you get bugs." Kacchan nags, clicking his tongs at Izuku reproachfully.

He looks a lot like Aunty Mitsuki in that moment, but he knows Kacchan wouldn't appreciate the comment so he keeps it to himself.

 
"So bossy!" Izuku complains, even as he moves to listen. Kacchan is unfortunately right, and some of his things will smell weird if he leaves them in damp cardboard overnight.

 

"You love it." Kacchan snorts, turning back to give him a feral smile, burning red eyes stealing all his attention in an instant. 
There's something dangerous in his expression that sends skitters up Izuku's spine.

Two can play at that game.

"Kacchan really is the best wife, little Deku never could've guessed." He parrots his thoughts from earlier and laughs when Kacchan drops his oven mitt in surprise.

Clearly he misjudged his safety when Kacchan's grin widens and his movements quicken, the whole pan being shoved into the oven.
 

"You'll regret that, shitty nerd!" Izuku spins on his heels and ducks out of the room, Kacchan on his heels.

While he's certainly faster than Kacchan, especially now, he's not exactly trying to escape all that hard, and when thick arms belt around his middle, he's even less tempted to evade capture.

 
"Housewife, hah?" The whisper is a warning, hot against his ear.

Izuku pants out a vague affirmative when Kacchan encroaches even further into his space, crowding him with his muscular frame, a teasing smile on his lips. 

 

"That make you my husband, Deku?" Kacchan drawls, his voice liquid and honey sweet, it's own form of mocking. They share a single breath, just for a moment before Izuku rolls his eyes playfully.

 

"W-well, Little Kacchan always said nobody else would want to marry me." Izuku tries to sound reproachful, but it comes out more fond. 

 

"Mm, more like nobody else would get the chance. You were already spoken for. I called dibs a decade ago." Kacchan grins into his neck, dragging his nose against Izuku's earlobe before nipping at the skin. 

Izuku smiles wide, tossing his head back to look at Kacchan out of the corner of his eye.

 

"Kacchan always gets what he wants, after all." 

 

"And don't you forget it, damn nerd."

As if Izuku could with all the damn hickeys Kacchan left to remind him the next morning.

 

---

 

Despite what his friends say, Izuku isn't all that bad at taking care of himself.
He just has a habit of putting things off, the more boring the task the more likely that is.

It's different with Kacchan though. The mundane is less frustrating, so Izuku is less avoidant of it. 

While doing laundry together, he watches their wardrobes slowly blend together. Obviously Izuku wouldn't be caught dead getting his grubby hands on the nice leather jackets that hang in Kacchan's closet unless they're riding the motorcycle, but this old skull shirt he's wearing now is totally fair game.

Kacchan must agree, Izuku muses, as he watches him adjust the waistband on one of Izuku's softest pairs of All Might pajama pants from his spot on the couch. 

Izuku smiles about it as he hands Kacchan his tea, a spicy chai variant they'd found at the market earlier.

As they watch the evening news, despite the negative public perception of his vigilantism, Izuku doesn't remember ever being this happy before. 

Having a home together is easy and natural in a way Izuku is shocked to remember is only a little over a week old at this point. 

Though technically it is nearly twenty years in the making.
Maybe that's why it felt so fresh and new and yet so old and resilient?

The scars don't fade, not the ones still marring his skin nor the ones that color his memories, but Kacchan insists with frustration that they're beautiful, so Izuku tries to love them too. 

They're both trying.

---

Communication is important, both verbal and nonverbal, though admittedly Kacchan and he are far better at the latter.

Brief spats about minor annoyances often end in wrestling in the living room floor, or making out. 
Or occasionally wrestling and then making out.  
Sometimes both at the same time.

Not that Izuku minds that particular method of conflict resolution, quite the contrary, he just definitely can't use it on Aizawa, and the taste of linoleum is getting old. 

Sparring with the older man is enlightening. His speed and reflexes adapt to a stealthier, faster opponent. He feels himself become more agile, more precise, and in a real fight, he'd certainly be getting his ass handed to him less. Aizawa's guidance informs Izuku's rapid progress, but in the progress Izuku develops a heavy amount of fear and respect for the man.

Aizawa is so confident in his skillset, even without any official "superpowers". Izuku feels like just an ordinary kid in comparison to the man's precision, his focus. The retired assassin was likely nightmare-fuel for the average person.

Izuku really struggles with going all out, though. It's one thing to fight with Kacchan, who's thankfully able to sustain more damage thanks to his regeneration, but unfortunately Aizawa isn't quite so indestructible. 

Izuku had to be mindful of his strength level, pull back so as not to break the older man's bones.

Bones take forever to heal when you have to mend them the old fashioned way. 
Which means Kacchan is getting smug about his healing factor.
 
His cocky attitude about stuff like that is probably why Izuku hadn't been able to tamper down his startled laughter when the dark haired man had first pinned Kacchan to the floor within seconds; only to be spectacularly and expeditiously put on his own back in half the time. The mortification of Kacchan's loud chortles lit a fire in Izuku, especially when the jerk started actively making fun of him, poking and prodding at Izuku's poor showing.

 

"Gonna have to do better than that, I-zu-ku." Kacchan teases, looming above him with a feral grin.

 

Aizawa simply rolls his eyes and banishes the blond back to the kitchen to "actually do the job he's being paid for", but Izuku's dedication and competitive nature have him itching to prove Kacchan wrong, anyways.  

Unsurprisingly, Aizawa proves to be an excellent teacher. 
Especially his techniques: Bulletproof, clean, efficient. 
A skilled assassin and technician, and certainly no slouch despite all the naps he takes.

More than all of that, Aizawa is disciplined and that shows in combat. 
Izuku finds himself adapting some of Aizawa's capture techniques too.

He's stunned when the teacher demonstrates a devastating, but non-lethal takedown hold with just a coil of rope. Izuku theorizes he could do the same with Black Whip, only to lament it's condition to the empty air.

Aizawa, an actual adult with a car and a job that gives him keys to the building, chaperones them over to Kacchan's old lab later that night. 

 

"Don't blow anything up this time." Aizawa drones from the doorway as Kacchan strides in, plucking safety equipment off the rack and immediately getting comfortable in the space.

 

"Piss off." 

Aizawa raises an eyebrow before retreating down the hall, in the general direction of his office, apparently.

 

"Did you really blow up the lab, Kacchan?" Izuku asks guilelessly, bringing the suit out of its case and pulling out the gauntlet attachments for Black Whip. He's excited to finally hear the story everyone else already seems to know.

 

"It was Dunce Face's fault." Kacchan corrects him with a scowl, rolling his eyes and gathering a few chemical agents from the cabinets in the back.

Izuku smiles, wandering over to the tools and searching for anything he thought might be useful on the mechanical side of things. Kacchan doesn't have to tell him if he doesn't want to, and it's silent for a long moment while Izuku peruses the available supplies.

It's a much nicer lab than Izuku was expecting for a high school, honestly. 
Fancy schools must get the fancy toys.

"It was stupid. I was working late, got distracted when the idiots showed up trying to drag me to a fucking party." Kacchan sounds disgusted with the idea, and Izuku can imagine Kacchan a little younger, bickering with his friends about studying. 

Izuku nods to show he's listening, finding a screwdriver small enough to get the front plate off, and a pair of forceps and tweezers for good measure.

There's a fancy welding tool he's intrigued by sitting next to an engraving machine. 

Seriously, what's the science budget here?

"Dunce Face never wore the proper shit, no respect for the lab." Kacchan grouses, bringing his selections to the stainless steel lab table and inspecting the mechanism as he talks. "He was fucking with a solution I was working on, an alternative to traditional synthetic nitroglycerin, but I wanted to fix the freezing point issue, not have to worry about nitration. My solution was this cocktail of glycolate, random amino acids and carrier fluids, and modified mRNA; I wanted to trick it into repairing itself, rewrite its own protein instructions. I was nowhere even close, I thought. Lo and behold, the fucker must've taken the stopper out of it at some point, probably to smell it like the dumbass he is. The oxygen must've built up in the tube. I knew the ratios weren't right, though, and since I wasn't fucking planning on introducing an oxidation it was supposed to be inert. I added the nitrates and then, boom. Exploded right in my hands." 

Izuku isn't sure how he feels about teenage Kacchan goofing off in a chem lab with actual explosives, or synthesizing his own, but he supposes he's several years late for that gripe and writes it off as a wash. 

Can't be a chemical engineer without chemical experimentation, after all. 

 

"Must've been scary." He says instead, gently taking the left gauntlet and popping open the panels for Kacchan to examine. 
Kacchan is quiet for a bit, as they work inches away from each other. Izuku realigns the tubing and spring coils, while Kacchan glares at his methacrylate containment storage disdainfully. 

 

"Didn't have time to be scared. Fucked myself up good though, blood everywhere. Thought I was going nuts when the glass started falling out and the cuts were healing up on their own. Probably scared the shit out of the first responder, since I couldn't hear shit." Kacchan huffs out a laugh, but he shakes his head and frowns as he does so. 

Izuku considers that for a second. 

 

"Y'know when I got bit by that spider, I just cried in the bathroom until the night janitor came to let me out." He offers, hoping his own embarrassing superpower acquisition story might distract Kacchan from whatever thoughts are running through his head.

He's not very successful though, because Kacchan looks up at him with a tight expression, his eyes meeting Izuku's for the first time in awhile.

 

"Sorry about that, by the way." His voice comes out gruff, and before he redirects his attention back to Black Whip, Izuku sees his brow furrow as if he was in pain.

 

"I don't blame you, Kacchan. It happened. Call it fate, or destiny, or circumstance, I don't care. I'm just glad we get to do it together." Kacchan's hands stall, and Izuku worries he said the wrong thing when a tiny, relieved smile tugs at Kacchan's lips.

 

"Focus, nerd. It's your gear but I'm doing all the work." 

That he is, as Kacchan rethreads the lines to the storage tank, wrapping the lines together so that they take up less room.

It's vaguely reminiscent of Izuku's own idea for Dr. Toshinori's prototype, the vein-like lubricant storage system from ages ago.

Izuku hadn't once thought to incorporate it into his own gear and he chuckles a bit when he realizes.

 

"Laughing at me, nerd?" Kacchan jeers, but his mouth is still ticked up at the side, ruefully.

As he clamps the tubing and allows room for Izuku to remove the warped casing, their fingers brush.

 

"Nah, Kacchan's amazing." Izuku murmurs, tightening a nut behind the washer holding the tank flush with the glove, rerunning some of the wires to insulate the tubes, following the design in his head. 

He doesn't get a response, until Kacchan criticizes his posture and they go back to bickering and tinkering.

 

By the time Aizawa wanders back to check on them, reminding them of the coming dawn slowly lightening the sky to a muted denim color, they've finished fixing Black Whip and are examining Kacchan's sweat under a microscope, arguing about the risks of Kacchan carrying around grenades on his person. 

 

"Kacchan, that is so dangerous!" Izuku insists, gesturing at the sketch of them on the board, drawn almost comically massive to account for the different storage components needed to safely insulate two grenade gauntlets the size of watermelons.

 

"That's the fucking point!" Kacchan argues, sitting back from the microscope on the table, crossing his arms and glaring right back. 

Aizawa sighs from the doorway.

 

"Problem children. Get the hell out of my laboratory."

 

---

 

Between shifts at the League and a few patrols after work, the next few days pass in the blink of an eye. 

Gone is the disappointment of being left behind when Kacchan leaves in the morning; instead he gets comfortable on the back of Kacchan's bike, and once Izuku even convinces Kacchan to let him get an expensive coffee from a local cafe before they head in.  

They are, of course, attacked by Aizawa the second they cross the threshold into the back room, and Izuku intentionally takes a hit sent Kacchan's way, much to the blonde's outrage.

Getting beaten up by Kacchan's high school chemistry teacher / his boss (?) ends up taking up a lot of his free time, after that. 

Of course, it's hard to complain about the bruised ribs when he's rewarded with snippets of Chef Kacchan, glimpses stolen through the open doorway when he gets a chance to spy on him between bouts and customers alike. He's a true stalker at heart, and can't even summon the braincells to feel guilty about it, not when Kacchan looks like THAT. 

Commanding the kitchen with all the passion and intensity of a Captain and his ship, or a general in battle.
 
Sweat drips from his brow, his pale blonde hair hidden and pushed back by a bandana with little skulls and explosions all over it. His forearms flex as he works, agitating a pot, stirring something else, tossing something to coat it in breadcrumbs, the fryers boiling oil and popping at his left. There's a small, pleased smile as he works, completely immersed in his element. 

In control and confident. 

Izuku swoons over it every time, much to Aoyama's delight. Sato, sweetheart that he is, goes so far as to bake something sweet for Ochako, a strawberry tart. The gesture is heartfelt, prompting Izuku to get choked up, and the crew all begging them to pass along their love to Toga's adorable girlfriend. 

Kacchan, uncharacteristically, doesn't complain about the extra dishes.   
His magnanimous mood doesn't quite extend to all of Izuku's friends, though. 

For example, Kacchan is almost too glad that Hitoshi doesn't know the details about Aizawa's past life, even if Izuku still feels guilty keeping the secret from his friend.

He does, however, agree that this one wasn't his to tell, even if the added deception puts a foul taste in his mouth. 
 
When all this is over, Izuku wants Kacchan and Tenya to meet again. Without the loud music of a party, Izuku is sure that Tenya will comment on Kacchan's potty mouth, and it'll be a very entertaining disaster. He really wants to see it. Izuku hasn't seen Mei since graduation, and Tenya has been busy and is of course, close to the Department, so it's been ages since they've really talked. 

He's excited to see Toshi and Kaminari together in person too. 

Izuku bets it'll be hilarious, or strangely sweet, maybe?
Hitoshi is secretly very emotive, it's hard to tell how he will behave around the energetic blonde with social barriers removed.
Maybe he'll be soft and doting? Maybe a bit of a bully? He does love to tease... 

So far the two couples haven't had too much contact since his first day. Toshi makes an appearance at the League exactly one time after that, but Kacchan drags him away before he can really congratulate or interrogate the sleepy-eyed DJ. 

It's only a matter of time though. 

They'll get a chance one of theses days.
  

---

 

Patrolling with Kacchan is interesting. 

Kacchan sticks to the ground, following on his motorcycle, or hunkering down in parking structures to keep an eye on things. Izuku, mobile once more, sticks to the rooftops and listens in on the Shie Hassaikai compound, but doesn't hear anything particularly interesting. No mentions of Toga or her various aliases, no sightings of Eri, though a few goons mention being sent on an errand to fetch some kind of toy.

Izuku remembers the last time he was on this particular roof, chest caving in with sorrow, the snow blanketing the city and suffocating it in blankets of cold.
Hours of veritable silence, looking down on the city, with only his own worst thoughts to keep him company was such a cowardly way to live, he realizes belatedly.
Now spring is on its way, bringing promises of warmth and the slow emergence of budding flowers.

He hadn't expected his life to change so drastically after that fight with Kacchan in that parking garage.
 
Izuku almost wishes he'd caved earlier, if this is the result.

Kacchan is, admittedly, a menace to society.  
A suave, outrageously sarcastic and funny menace dedicated to protecting Izuku in the tiniest of ways.

Like clever fingers curling into his belt loops and tugging him along to stand on the other side of the sidewalk.
Or a hand at his elbow guiding him through a dense crowd. 
Or even a leather clad shoulder nonchalantly blocking Izuku's view of some of the worst graffiti drawn over posters of his mask at the nearby station. 

Not to mention the er... 'field trips' to random alleys across the city, though Izuku can hardly be blamed for that.
He's only human, after all. 

OFA still doesn't communicate with Kacchan, but it does host a direct line to him, much like the one it had set up for Toga.
Her last transmission came through over a week now. 

Somewhere in the planning and training stages, as they prepare for the raid, and the days pass by one after the other, it becomes clear that Toga won't be checking in. As much as Izuku wants to wait for her, this mission is bigger than just them; a little girl needed help, and there was no room for hesitation or apprehension in consideration of that.

In that same vein, Katsuki and Izuku approached Aizawa with adjustments to the plan, just in case. 
It was possible, perhaps even logical, to assume that Toga was somehow recognized, and subsequently kidnapped, arrested, or worse.

So they had to be ready for anything.

At least no news was good news, right?
The media would be abuzz if she'd actually been arrested, wouldn't they?

So the fact that they've heard absolutely nothing is totally okay and normal and-

"Oi, nerd, let's call it a night." Kacchan's voice crackles in his ear, and Izuku finds his silhouette a block or two down the road, turned towards him. 

"Sure thing, Kacchan." 

Black Whip really does cut down on commute time, though Kacchan's pride refuses to allow himself to be carried. 

Instead, Izuku just swings to over to him, pulling the jacket over his costume before exiting to the street. He watches the slow unfurling of lavender and pink clouds from his perch on the back of Kacchan's motorcycle on their way towards Toga and Ochako's safehouse. The motorcycle's tires squeal when Kacchan accelerates towards yakuza territory, and he goes even faster once he crosses over the boundary.

 

Something about being here sets Kacchan's teeth on edge if the way he's eying the street are any indication.

His carmine eyes rove the neighborhood as they dismount. His body language is hunched and lax as if bored, but the tightness in his jaw is proof that he is aware and alert all the same. The sunset casts shadows that are made all the more stark by Kacchan angling himself almost protectively above Izuku, ready to intercept any threat.

When they open the front door, it's to find Ochako, red faced and crying, pacing the rundown living room again. She clearly hasn't slept in a few days, dark circles exaggerate the hollows of her eyes and the flush of her cheeks.

The normally bubbly brunette is panicking, now having lost contact with Toga-chan over eight days ago, the same day Izuku had received her last update message. 
As far as they both knew, the blonde was expected to go communication-dark in advance of her mission in Sasebo, her old hometown, but Toga had been confident she'd be home well before check-in.

Obviously that didn't happen. 

While their collective faith in Toga certainly hasn't faded, nobody is immune to the unease blanketing them all, except apparently, Kacchan. 

Izuku urges Ochako to sit, to rest, but it takes some coaxing to get her to listen, and Kacchan loses his patience about halfway through that process, excusing himself to the kitchen. 

In the time it takes Izuku to successfully convince Ochako to get off her feet, Kacchan returns with a fresh pot of tea and onigiri, loudly complaining that Toga was probably hot on some scumbag's trail, or was skillfully evading capture, and couldn't risk reaching out just yet. He admonishes Izuku and Ochako for getting carried away with their anxieties. His easy acceptance of Toga's merit, and the confident, scathing nature of his cadence lull Ochako and subsequently Izuku, from their morose thoughts. 

Ochako even laughs at the idea that Toga was likely on a shoplifting crime spree in preparation for their anniversary and was simply having too much fun. 

 

"Anniversary, huh? How many years does that make, Kirby?" Kacchan asks, shoving a red tinted onigiri in his mouth.

Izuku can practically smell the burning spice of it from here.

 

"Officially? Three years now! But we're kind of childhood sweethearts." Ochako chuckles, reaching over to select a much safer looking rice ball from the plate.

 

"Congrats." He says awkwardly.

 

"You too." Kacchan nods but doesn't respond, instead urging Izuku to fill the silence with chatter with a kick to his shin under the coffee table.

Ochako doesn't seem to mind his attitude though, even making it a point to hug him tightly when they finally escort her over to Tsu's place, much to Kacchan's chagrin. 

While not as secure as the Iida family's compound, which Ochako is avoiding for valid law-enforcement-avoiding reasons, Izuku just feels more at ease with Ochako somewhere safer, instead of alone in the middle of enemy territory. 

Luckily, Tsu's student housing is private, safe, and currently empty since their friend is out on another voyage on the Oki Mariner, this time headed down to Okinawa to study an endangered frog on the island.  

Which means Ochako gets to wait in a safe, warm bed that doesn't smell like mothballs and cigarettes. 

Kacchan's wary about the place, though that probably has more to do with Tsu's eclectic tastes in decor.

Red eyes linger on the tank in the corner with interest, at least.
Bones and taxidermy are too weird for him, but live snakes? 
No problem, apparently.

Either way, this is only a temporary measure, and one that Ochako has agreed to under very specific conditions, at that.

First, that Izuku will inform her the second he has a lead on Toga's whereabouts, and the second being that Ochako will only stay in Tsu's dorm until the raid is over, and not a minute later. She doesn't know what they're doing, or where they're going, but she knows it'll be dangerous. 

That much was made clear when Izuku watched her prep her nurse's station set up back at the safehouse, ready and waiting just in case Toga arrived in poor health. 
Izuku doesn't blame her for wanting to be prepared. 

If Kacchan were the one to disappear... well, he would not be very interested in hiding out and sitting here and waiting, either. 
She's being exceptionally reasonable, in his opinion.  

Izuku has to trust that Toga will return soon, and they can discuss telling Ochako everything, but even if she doesn't, the raid is scheduled to proceed with or without her.

 

"Just... be safe, okay Izuku? I can't lose you both." Ochako whimpers into Tsu's fluffy green bedding as Izuku tucks her in.

 

"Always, 'Chako. We'll be back before you know it."

She doesn't answer, but he kisses her forehead anyways.

 

"Do you promise?" The lump on the bed asks quietly when he reaches for the door handle.

 

"I promise."

He closes the door behind him softly, and pads into the kitchenette where Kacchan is eying the contents of the fridge with a dubious, disgusted expression.

 

"We're dropping off food before we head out tomorrow night, Cheeks is gonna starve to death otherwise." He grumbles offhandedly in Izuku's general direction. 

Izuku smiles with a nod. "Mm, good point. Of course Tsu emptied the fridge before they left. We can go grocery shopping tonight and I can cook here, or maybe we just pick up some konbini meals...?" He trails off when Kacchan rolls his eyes and makes a dismissive hand gesture. 

 

"Don't bother. You don't have the time or the skill to do jack shit. And konbini meals are all unhealthy garbage anyways. I'll make her a few plates. We can drop off those and some leftovers from work when we come back here tomorrow night. You want to stop by and comfort her, right? Otherwise you'll both worry yourselves sick, and then I'll have to take care of you, and really I'm too busy being a badass, so I don't have time to deal with a whiny Deku and some clingy extra. Need you on your A-game for the mission, nerd." Kacchan shuts the fridge and rolls his head to look at Izuku with a haughty grin. 

I love him so much. 

It's the single loudest, most obvious thought Izuku has ever had.

Because despite being said in the most antagonizing way, Izuku can hear behind the words that Kacchan was not only worried about him, in his own way, but Ochako too. 
Not to mention Kacchan's weird relationship with Toga, clearly borne out of respect and an almost brotherly annoyance. 

Like the hero he was, Kacchan was willing to go out of his way to cook extra portions of food to make sure Ochako got something warm to eat. He was even planning to ferry an anxious Izuku over to this shoebox of an apartment one last time to deliver them before the raid. 

All that, ahead of their looming extraction operation, and despite their already reduced alone time, just to make sure Izuku's friend is comfortable and safe?

He couldn't be more in love with Kacchan if he tried. 

 

---

 

The day has finally come.
The day Izuku, Kacchan, and Aizawa will raid the compound of the Shie Hassaikai, to finally get Eri out of the clutches of Chisaki Kai.

Izuku almost gives away his position when he spots Toga, a face mask covering her expression though her eyes flick to his hiding place before she gives a wink.
The relief that floods him is instantaneous, and he immediately instructs OFA to send a text to Ochako before silencing any incoming messages for the time being.

He's tempted to talk to her, get some kind of an explanation for her sudden disappearance when Kacchan complains in his ear to remind him of the mission. 
Even he isn't opposed to asking for details though. 

"Where the hell have you been, Blondie?" He growls, but her answer comes only in the form of a shrug. 

She doesn't directly engage with any questions regarding her absence over the last few days, or the circumstances surrounding her missing check-in. She doesn't really say much of anything, really, and if it weren't for the plan, he's sure that Aizawa would've interrogated her. 

As it is, they don't have time for that, so he admonishes her over the coms for scaring them.

What's weird is that she's here now though, if Aizawa didn't fill her in on the plan, and she didn't get the details from him or Kacchan... then how did she know they were moving in on the target today, several days after their original mission date?

Izuku plans to grill her later, but for now, they have a little girl to save.

Thanks to Aizawa's impressive surveillance, their timetable was accurate down to fifteen second intervals.
It was seamless. 

The fight is brutal, and only sort of fun for the first few floors.

Aizawa had the genius idea to dose their booze supply with a sedative, and Izuku is shocked to see how it effective it was. 
So many of the goons were apparently drunk on the job, that their members are essentially halved, as unconscious members of the Shie Hassaikai lay littered around the entrance. Izuku spots the slumped over form of Deidoro and another of the Bullets, Security Team Lead Tengai down an adjacent hallway.

Huh, two out of eight and they'd barely started, sweet.

The rest of the Eight Bullets must be strewn through the facility.
 
"Incoming hostiles approaching from the East door." Yoichi's voice sounds in his ear.

Just as OFA said, Izuku watches a gang of ten to fifteen gangsters barrel towards him, all manner of weaponry gripped in their fists. He lowers himself, ready to launch onto the ceiling - only for Aizawa to stop them all dead in their tracks by closing the same vault doors that had tripped him up on his first ill-advised visit to this compound, leaving the approaching wave of gang members trapped on the other side.

 

"You really are incredibly cool, Eraser." Izuku hums into his communicator, where he knows the other man is listening in set up on a nearby rooftop just outside. Aizawa's skills are really something, if he can manipulate the interior doors on the upper floors from a distance. 

 

"... Thank you." Is the terse, uncomfortable response. "Now focus."

 

"Yeah, quit being a fanboy, Deku." Kacchan snipes from across the hall, before quickly returning to making fun of every yakuza member that gets in his line of sight. "Hey Mad Cow Disease, c'mere! I got something hot and ready for ya. Yeah you, dumbass!" 

Izuku can't quite stifle his laughter, but Toga cackles freely on her own channel, having conversations as both an undercover agent and as their stealth operative as she flits through the facility. It's comforting to hear her voice, even if the words aren't for him.

Using a handful of seconds from OFA's Camouflage Mode in conjunction with Kacchan's explosions creates a diversion on one of the upper levels, allowing Toga to take advantage of the chaos and swipe a keycard from a mid-level manager, earning passage to the first three subfloors. A member of the Bullets will have a card with security clearance to go further, and Izuku intends to get one as soon as possible, wishing he'd thought to do so when he saw Deidoro and Tengai down for the count erlier. 

Maybe they'll stumble upon a hopefully unconscious Setsuno or Hojo on the lower floors. 
Setsuno was saddled with debt after his ex left him, and Hojo had been part of a family owned jewelry business, focused mainly on lab grown diamonds and gems, until he caught charges for counterfeiting. It seems his boss' shady business practices, through no fault of his own, have tanked the man's life. 

Rappa is someone else he also hopes is already unconscious, but seeing as he has never heard the man accept a drink without winning a fight first, he's doubtful he's that lucky. Personally, Izuku wants to avoid getting beaten to death by the retired fighter, if he can help it.  

Izuku's analysis on their opponents is spot on so far, and he manages to dispatch criminals methodically, without unnecessary force. Some are stuck to the floor, feet encased in thick strands of Black Whip. Others are dangling from the ceiling like flies caught in a spider's web.
  
Life was simply unkind in their cases, and Izuku can't help but feel bad about hurting them, yakuza or not.

Kacchan rolls his eyes when Izuku mentions each of them by name, letting Toga and Kacchan know who to watch out for, but Izuku can't help feeling guilty for the people around him, both those already taken care of and those still to come. Their enlistment practices are just so predatory, and when Izuku sees the younger faces peppered in the Shie Hassaikai's ranks, he can't help but wonder if they're fighting someone they could be saving. 

Aizawa seems to know where his thoughts are, and reminds him of the mission priority.

"Don't get distracted, problem child. Eri needs you." Aizawa drones in his ear, though his feed crackles, their connection beginning to break up. 

Eri.
That's a good reminder.

Thanks to a few well timed jumps and a quick activation of his Smoke Screen, Izuku finds himself once again stuck before a set of large metal doors. He eyes the number pad to the side, about to ask Aizawa to handle this one too, but is surprised when Toga drops from the ceiling with a giggle, already racing to the terminal and quickly bypassing the security lock with sure, nimble fingers poking out of her oversized cardigan. 

Izuku smiles and thanks her, but Kacchan just glowers behind him. Izuku can feel his stare on the back of his neck.  

Maybe that's why Danger Sense activates the second Kacchan looks away, or maybe it's Rappa's murderous intent, the imminent MMA fighter trying to smash his fists through Izuku's face, only to have the hit be absorbed by Kacchan's quick reflexes. 

So much for hoping he was asleep.

 

"Kacchan!" Izuku yells, watching his lover impact the wall with a deafening crash. 

 

Kacchan doesn't seem too hurt, though, even though he rubs his purpling jaw with a bloodthirsty grin. Izuku cringes when he hears Kacchan slide his jaw back into place with a sickening crunching noise. Concrete dust and pebbling debris crumble around him as he shrugs out of the impact crater of the wall he was just tossed into.

"Remember when we were brats and we came up with ultimate moves?" Kacchan calls out to Izuku, still smiling, before spitting out a mouthful of blood and dragging a katana against the concrete floor, the sound scraping and metallic. 

A threat. 
Several fighters back off, looking worried. 

Smart little gang members, aren't they?

 

"I... do?" Izuku acknowledges curiously, binding the closest goon in Black Whip's sticky clutches and then using them as a weapon, swinging their body weight into the muscular interloper, knocking him unconscious in the process, but only serving to delay Rappa's advance. 

 

"Excellent. X-Catapult." Kacchan says, almost conversationally, before he takes a sudden left, dodging another charge from Rappa before separating the head and accompanying body of another low level grunt.    

Izuku sighs theatrically, but excitedly executes the move.

With the added bonus of Black Whip's elasticity, he's able to provide some torque and momentum for Kacchan, now a human battering ram, to plow through an entire platoon of enemies with his firepower, but... he's clearly holding back, somehow keeping the mortality rate to a minimum. 

Since when does Kacchan pull his punches?

Izuku frowns a little in confusion, turning back for half a second to see Toga dancing through the hall, similarly dispatching people, seemingly at random, but twirling away from easy targets and using non-lethal measures to keep her distance, only to exact extreme, horrifying violence on certain members she all but chases down like some knife-wielding psycho.

Are they... aiming for certain people? 
Hunting them down, one by one?

His eyes catch the empty, glassy eyes of one of Kacchan's beheaded victims, only to widen in recognition. Izuku remembers seeing this face up on Kacchan's whiteboard. 

"Daisuke Watanabe, wanted for: aggravated assault, breaking and entering, assault and battery, intimidation, larceny, and associated charges." OFA informs him dutifully, pulling up his rap sheet in the corner of Izuku's vision.  

This guy was one of the crowd in one of the stills of the Police Department's dirty dealings, a plant for a Sting operation, maybe? 

He tries to look away, only to wince when he meets the eyes of a completely different unseeing stare before he recognizes them too.

He remembers this one's unsettling blue eyes.

"Keitaro Minato, suspected in cases of human trafficking, kidnapping and ransom, drug smuggling and possession, and several homicides, though no warrants for his arrest have been filed." 

Izuku isn't particularly surprised.

If Kacchan's information was correct, and he had no doubt that it was, this guy was a particularly nasty piece of work, one heavily involved in human trafficking and the "discipline" of unsuspecting drug mules (read: victims) but a known informant and liaison for the Tokyo Police Department. 

If Izuku kicks his head around like a soccer ball, is that considered desecration of a corpse?

He's startled out of his morbid thoughts by a sudden punch to the face, now suddenly remembering that he was actually supposed to be fighting too. 

 

"Back with us, problem child?" A bemused voice asks gruffly in his ear.
 
How embarrassing. 

Izuku drags the unsuspecting yakuza member's face into his knee, careful not to accidentally push his nasal cavity into his sensitive brain, simply rendering him incapacitated instead of, y'know, dead. 

Kacchan is all jeering taunts, unrestrained laughter, and vulgar language. His blades flash in the fluorescent light, and though he loses one katana, stuck deep in the chest cavity of the one-time competitive eater, Tabe, he seamlessly transitions to grabbing the face of one of the goons and tossing a glance in Izuku's direction. 

 

"What about this one? Can I torch this ugly fuck?" He hollers into the din, his grin crazed. 

Izuku laughs a bit to himself, realizing now that Kacchan was doing his best to keep his homicidal tendencies directed at those who actually deserved them, instead of the young pledges filling their ranks. Izuku swallows around a smile, even though Kacchan can't see it through his mask, already mentally crossing off another target.

 

"I dunno, you're really not supposed to burn trash. It's bad for the environment." 

 

"Lucky bastard." Kacchan pouts, slamming the mans face into the ground with a little propulsion from his wrist, instead of lighting his face on fire. 

 

Sure, the guy might have to eat out of a tube for a few weeks, but that's better than the alternative, right? 

Izuku is sure the guy would appreciate the mercy if he were still awake to ask.

 

They get separated from Aizawa's calm, rational voice around Level 3, and Toga's manic giggling around Level 5. 

By the time they hit the eighth floor down, they're both panting with exertion.
That's when Izuku spots a tiny form sprinting down an adjacent hallway. 

 

"Eri? Is that you?" Izuku calls out to her, his voice not belaying any of his exhaustion, the adrenaline pumping as he catches sight of long, silver hair and one terrified red eye, hiding behind a door.

 

"W-who are you?" She sniffles, drawing in on herself.

Oh right, Izuku's wearing the mask.

 

"Don't even-" Kacchan starts, but it's too late. 

Izuku slips a thumb under the lining of his mask by the hollow of his throat and tugs it up, just enough for the little girl to see his smile, and a couple freckles.

 

"We met a few weeks ago, we ran into each other in an alley. Do you remember, Eri?" He tries to keep his voice calm and reassuring, despite Kacchan's annoyed huffing. 

 

"... m-maybe? Did... did you have boxes?" She asks carefully, still afraid - her fingers still anxiously tug at her loose tendrils of hair.

 

"Yes! I had a cake for a friend. She's here, too. We came here to get you out, Eri. To take you somewhere safe." Izuku explains, smiling wider in an effort to soothe her. 

 

"How sweet." A cold voice echoes from further down the hall, reverberating off the wall and sending alarms ringing in Izuku's mind. "What a hero."

 

Chisaki Kai approaches them, his shoes clicking against the hard concrete flooring. 
It's the first time Izuku is seeing him since that meeting in the alley, and not much about him has changed. 

Izuku is so preoccupied with his arrival, with Eri's trembling form in front of him, that he doesn't register the last of the Eight Bullets emerging further down the hall until it's too late. 

He hears the pull of the trigger, the hammer falling, the magazine clicking, all before he can really identify what the sounds are, and when the gun goes off, Izuku is just as surprised as Kacchan is.

Or maybe he would be, if the bullet didn't hit Kacchan right in the forehead, knocking him off his feet. He hits the ground hard, his body slumped backwards, a steady pool of crimson blood gathering beneath his still form.

Izuku used to compare the color of Kacchan's eyes to blood.
But the color is all wrong, he sees that now, especially as the fluid runs in rivulets down Kacchan's face, over those wide open, unseeing red eyes.

 

Kacchan doesn't get back up.

 

 

 

Chapter 31: A Promise to Leave

Summary:

The raid of the Shie Hassaikai compound, the rescue of Eri, and what comes next.

Notes:

Whew, sorry guys, this one's a little tough.

Canon typical violence and all that.

Hope we catch some of the comic parallels hidden in here <3

Katsuki isn't sure when he begins feeling again, or if he ever stopped.

His eyes flutter open, and only peaceful blue skies greet him. Wisps of clouds drift by, the sun is pleasant and warm, there's the sound of running water, the smell of salty skin and algae and grass...

Katsuki sits up, only to come face to face with a scene familiar to him. 

A young boy reaching out to him, with a small freckled face, a mess of green hair, and large eyes.

 

Those eyes are what put Katsuki on alert. 

They don't hold the stars or shine, they don't brim with worried tears, they aren't swaths of every green Katsuki could possibly name, they don't stare at Katsuki with wild awe or admiration or love, but they are a deep forest green, bottomless, endless.

 

"Are you alright?" This Not-Deku asks him patiently, a small smile and a hand outstretched to him.

 

"You aren't Deku." He answers warily, pointedly ignoring the hand meant to help him up.

The child-version of his love, or whatever is wearing his face, heaves a great sigh and smiles at him ruefully.

 

"No, I'm not, Katsuki." The voice is a perfect imitation, childlike and small, but the way his real name sounds on those lips is foreign, old and kindly, adding to the uncanny and unsettling feeling in his gut.

 

"Then who the fuck are you?" He accuses, trying to gauge his wellbeing, his environment, this strange wrong boy speaking softly to him, looking down on him with... pity.

 

Everything around him is bright, hyper-saturated colors.

He recognizes this place, the old river in the woods he and Deku used to play in, but everything seems to bleed a little around the edges, it's form vague and shifting. 

 

It's not real.
None of this is real. 

 

"Have you ever heard the expression that Death comes to you as an old friend?" Not-Deku asks him quietly, gently.

 

"D-death?" Katsuki chokes, the panic swelling in his chest. "No, no I can't be... dead, I-I made a promise, I can't-" 

 

Little Deku looks at him solemnly, finally letting the hand fall away, standing to his diminutive height and worrying his hands together. 

It's familiar, but wrong. 
Everything here is familiar, nostalgic, warm, comforting, but Katsuki rages against it all. 

 

"Do you think you're the first to promise to come home? To have more left to do?" The voice asks him, furrowing brows that do not belong to them.   

 

"No, you don't fucking understand! I'm not ready, I-I can't leave him alone! I just got him, I just-" The adrenaline grips at Katsuki's heart, wild and beating against his chest like it could escape and find Deku all by itself. "Deku, where is he? Why-" 

 

The small child sighs again, bringing a hand up to poke at Katsuki's forehead, lightly. 

 

"Relax, Katsuki. You aren't dead. That's the problem." Not-Deku informs him, setting his tiny hands on his hips to chastise him. "You know, I thought you'd be more... charming, after sending me such lovely gifts." 

 

"Gifts?" Katsuki repeats, with disgust and confusion, he tries to move, to gesture, but cool softness washes through him, stealing away all his ire, his rage.

 

All he feels is a peace, contentedness, like a gentle embrace, or an old memory. 

 

"Yes. Many. Despite your youth." Death continues wearing the face of his oldest friend, and scrutinizes him a bit before pointing at the bank. "Let's talk, Katsuki."

 

He wants to argue, to scream, to demand he be taken back to where Deku is.

Now. 

Where is he, again?

 

"It's a tragedy, really. You know, I've met your Izuku several times, brushed past him in the night, and he's so much more polite than you are." At the mention of Deku meeting this... person, this embodiment of Death, Katsuki frowns, then open his mouth to, what? 

Argue? 
Threaten? 
Explain? 
Beg?

 

"It's alright Katsuki, Izuku is still alive. He's right where you left him, for now. Rest here, while you can, that's all I can offer you now." Not-Deku advises him, plopping down on the riverbank and tilting his head to the shining sun with a small, pleased smile. In the glow of that sun, his freckles look like cinnamon dusting his cheeks, with tiny little flecks peppering his nose.

Izuku, the real one, only gets freckles that dark in the height of summer, and only when Katsuki drags him out to play all day.

Maybe it's that familiarity that beckons Katsuki closer. 

He finds himself listening to this imitation of Deku, even if internally he wonders where all his fire has gone, where his obstinance has run away to. 
Katsuki moves through water that doesn't wet his clothes, and a breeze that merely kisses at his cheeks. 

He looks around again at the beautiful day around him, at the bobbing dandelions in the grass, at the current carrying glittering swells of water around old stones, but the more he looks the more things seem to run together, fraying at the edges, like his vision can't lock down the shapes of things, can't put depth to the scenery.

 

"What is this place?" Katsuki asks, frowning.

Not-Deku just opens his eyes and smiles, gesturing to the grass beside him. 
He pats it reassuringly, but doesn't answer.

Katsuki sits, resentful, feeling the blades of grass under his palm.
He can actually feel them, and they feel real, but softer, gentler than stubby blades of grass should be.

They tickle at his palms.

 

"I... I appreciate you, this, but, I can't stay here, I have to-"

 

A tiny hand with an All Might band-aid wrapped around the thumb pats at Katsuki's knee much the way it had patted at the grass he now sits upon.

It's so strange to see Deku's hands not covered in scars, to see him small and frail again.

 

"If it makes you feel better, Katsuki. I'm not here to collect you. That's what I want to talk to you about."

 

"You're... not?" He asks, dumbfounded. 

A messy head of curls bounces slightly side to side. 
When Not-Deku looks at him again, the compassion in those endless eyes burns. 

 

"No. I can't." He explains softly.

 

"That's... that's good right? Why do you look so fuckin' sad then, if I'm... not dead?" Katsuki tries to force the words through his mouth, but the words feel so heavy, like molasses dripping from his lips. 

His head, however, feels light and fuzzy, like it's been stuffed full of cotton.

 

"The bullet that you were shot with. It was made with the blood of the little girl you're trying to save." The child beside him informs him with a pensive expression, letting his hand caress the grass and wildflowers beside him idly. "She's quite unique. Special. A child of both life and death."

 

"What... does that mean?" Part of Katsuki reaches for familiar anger, for impatience, he needs to get this information, to understand... but the sun is just so warm on his skin.

He's sleepy, lulled by the hum of bees nearby, the babbling of the brook, of the peace all around him.

It's nice here, comfortable. 

 

"You'll find out when you wake up, Katsuki. This time is precious. We can only meet here for a short while. You don't have much longer, you're already drifting." A small hand brushes his hair back, and it's the only way Katsuki even realizes he's fallen back into the grass. 

Cicadas sing in the trees, and no matter how hard he tries not to, Katsuki finds himself relaxing into the cool dirt beneath him. 

 

"I need you to listen, Katsuki. Can you do that for me?" 

He hums an affirmative, surrendering to the warmth pooling in his bones. 

 

"Because of the girl, because her blood has marked you, I cannot take you. Not now, not ever. I'm unable to shepherd you home, Katsuki."

 

"So I'm... immortal then?" Katsuki slurs, trying to force his eyes back open. They weigh so much, it's a fight to do so, but he manages to catch a flash of sadness on Not-Deku's face, before a small smile tugs at cracked lips and his shoulders shrug.

 

"This doesn't happen often. These... exceptions." Not-Deku tells him carefully, not directly confirming the statement. 

 

"I... can't die?" He clarifies in a whisper, his eyes falling closed, too exhausted to keep them open.

 

"No. I cannot take you, I cannot embrace you."

 

"That's a... good thing, ain't it?" Katsuki yawns around the question. He drags his heavy eyelids up one last time to watch Not-Deku smile down at him.

It's a sad smile, like the kind you see before you say goodbye.

 

"Forever is a very long time, Katsuki. It will be very lonely for you when I've taken everyone else. When everyone else has been guided home, and only you remain behind. I'm not sure how happy you will be when that time comes." The voice beside him admits softly, closer than before, petting at his hair.

 

It feels nice.

 

"Don't care. Jus' gotta... get back to you." He mumbles, a shadow falling over him, beckoning him ever closer to the edge of sleep.

 

"Go. I'm waiting for you, hero." Deku's voice whispers in his ear, and Katsuki finally lets go, succumbing to the darkness.

 

 

---

 

 

Katsuki blinks his eyes open blearily, his vision clouded in red, and fuck - everything is so itchy, hard, and painful.

Nothing like the soft comfort of his dreams, but real under his touch. 

 

His head is killing him, throbbing and pounding like his skull has been split in half. 

Katsuki groans and rolls to his side as much as he can, but he hits resistance where Aizawa is knelt beside him, a strange look on his scruffy face.

 

"Hey, problem child. Welcome back to the land of the living." There's something tight and yet so tender about his tone, like he's talking to a small child.

 

"Piss off, old man." He grunts, sitting up with a groan.

 

"Wait, Midoriya, stop!"

 

There's commotion to his left and when he looks over, he's stunned by what he sees.

Deku pinning Chisaki to the ground, punches colliding faster than he can register. Blood splatters with every hit, teeth and bone crunching under his fists, and the man thrashes beneath Deku but it does nothing to even slow the assault on his upper body, his face. 

Just beyond that is a blonde guy, one he recognizes... that Tin-Tin looking fucker from school, holding onto a little girl, but holding her head against his chest so she doesn't see the carnage Deku is wreaking on that yakuza fuck. 

He's weirdly proud, horrified, concerned, and maybe a little turned on all at once.
It's a strange mix of feelings given the circumstances.

He sees when Deku freezes, fist aloft and about to come down again, and the way it trembles, as if every muscle ached to follow through on the movement, but was hung, suspended in the air by some unseeable force. 

Katsuki frowns, trying to shake off his disorientation to check on Deku. 

 

"Oh thank goodness, you were about to scare Eri there, pal." The blonde guy holding the little girl smiles, jostling his parcel reassuringly. 

 

Katsuki recognizes him, and despite racking his brain, Katsuki really can't figure out why the fuck that guy is here right now?
Of course, Katsuki's still wearing his mask, so there's no chance he'll be recognized, but this surprise guest bothers Katsuki. 

Did Deku lie to him? 
Was there stuff he didn't put on the board? 
Was there a piece of the plan he wasn't let in on?

Seems unlikely, with the way the nerd stares, bewildered at him, it doesn't look like he knows why either. 
As long as they're finding out together, Katsuki thinks to himself with reluctance.

 

"Get her out of here." Aizawa barks, shadowed by Blondie at his side. She has an unhinged smile on her face as she all but skips over, past the body of another gang member, the gun knocked from his hand and one of her knives buried in his back. 

The Tin Tin asshole just refocuses on Deku, watches him remain frozen, trembling only barely, breathing harshly through his nose but remaining largely still, hand still raised. Until all at once Deku sags a little, like his strings have somehow been cut. 

He loosens, drops his fist, only to freeze again, this time shaking almost violently, curling into himself at an angle, but making no move otherwise. 

 

"I said get her out of here, Togata. Now!" Aizawa demands, the authority in his voice echoing down the halls. 

 

The beady eyed fuck takes one last long look at Deku, whose mask hid all expression from view. The lenses blink, slowly, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest suggests Deku is struggling to get a clear breath. 

Tin Tin seems to decide it's better to listen to Aizawa, because he doesn't call out to Deku again before turning away, the girl still in his arms. 

 

As he passes, Katsuki realizes he's been shot too. The shoulder not carrying the brat's weight is bleeding sluggishly, weeping through his shirt. It doesn't seem to be impeding him much, though he positions her on his hip to prevent any of the blood from touching her. He carries the child down the hall, speaking softly to her as they go. 

Long silver hair spills over the other shoulder, but it's the scarlet eyes craning to look at Deku as they leave that catch Katsuki's attention.
Her bright red eyes don't leave Deku's form until they've turn down another labyrinthine corridor, eclipsing them from view. 

 

What did he miss between taking one to the skull and... this?

 

"We need to ask him a few questions while he's still alive." Aizawa's voice pulls him back towards the crowd. He stands a few feet from the rest, his arms crossed seriously over his chest. Blondie slinks over, curling around Deku like a cat, reaching her fingers towards the gasping man somehow still writhing on the concrete.

 

"Hiya, there, Zu-baby, I'll take over from here." Stabby's voice drips with sweetness, practically cooing at him, sinking her hand further down, eliciting a long groan of pain from Chisaki. 

 

Katsuki looks on, considering. 

He isn't surprised they were going the intel gathering route with this piece of shit, he could blow the case wide open, or shed some light on what he's done to the girl.

 

'A Child of Life and Death'

'The bullet was made from her blood'

 

Katsuki frowns under his mask, lip curling back as he regards the sick son of a bitch caught and prone on the floor.

Whatever they do, he deserves it and worse.

Crazy bitch is down to play interrogator, apparently, and likely for good reason, as she can clearly stomach playing hardball - but Deku can't.
Even if he could, logically, interrogate the man in his current condition, he definitely won't approve of her methods, and certainly not when he looks like that.

With the staccato heaving of Deku's chest, the stains of blood covering his gloves, and the raw flesh of Chisaki beneath him, Katsuki isn't sure how Deku managed to stop before beating the guy to death.

His lenses remain bright, staring down at the man pinned underneath him. 
The tearstain markings on his mask juxtapose the splatter of blood across it.

The drops arc like... like his freckles.

Katsuki remembers that night in the bathroom, years ago now, looking at himself in the mirror, seeing that empty hollowness. 
Covered in blood, not comprehending, not processing anything, just numb. 

A part of him is sure that if he could see Deku's eyes, his face, his expression would be devastating. 

He can only watch as the beloved waitress from the League, the girl Cheeks has been crying her eyes out over, a real friend to Deku, grins as she exerts pressure to Chisaki's ribcage, delighting in the scream of pain it elicits.

 

Katsuki, in an effort to preserve Deku's sanity from whatever Blondie is planning to do to the meat bag underneath them, slides his hands under Deku's arms to haul him away from the body, from the gore, from what's still to come.

As if that alone was enough to bring Deku back online, he immediately begins thrashing violently in Katsuki's arms.
Deku's much stronger than he used to be, and this is evident by the searing pain of feeling his arm be yanked violently out of its socket, and the countless bruises forming against his chest as Deku struggles.

 

"Ow, fuckin' Christ! Oi! Deku, calm down, asshole! It's just me, fuckin'-" 

Deku begins sobbing under his mask, hyperventilating, pulling away from Katsuki blindly.

 

"Kacchan - not possible... I saw-" Katsuki hears him gasp, mumbling to himself, resisting still. 

 

Oh right.

Izuku saw him die.

 

Pain blooms in his chest, guilt burrowing in deep.
All those nightmares about rooftops and Deku's blood on the sidewalk, but it's his own death that has gotten them to this point.

Words won't reach him until he knows for certain that Katsuki's still alive.

 

Without another thought Katsuki rips his mask off, slamming his still aching head forward into Deku's, harshly. 
The same way he had when sparring the other day in the backroom with Deku and Aizawa, trying to force Deku into recognizing him, into seeing him.

He presses their foreheads together, grinding his pounding skull into Deku's through the other's mask. 
Lenses widen before him, and at this distance Katsuki hears them click and shutter with focus.

Katsuki tries not to groan aloud when Deku's bloodied hand sinks into the meat of his shoulder, thankfully not the one hanging limply out of it's joint, but it still fucking hurts, even as it tries to repair what is no longer there. 

It's clear Deku isn't moderating his strength, grasping tightly to prevent him from moving away. 
He's lucky he heals quickly or Deku would have broken him beyond repair already. 

 

It's good to be alive.

 

Getting Deku out of there becomes a top priority when the screaming starts and Deku recoils like he's the one being hurt.

Even knowing how strong Deku is, how fierce and determined, this is not something he should be here for.

Deku isn't a killer, he isn't ruthless, he wouldn't allow someone to suffer in front of him. 

 

No, he should be comforting the girl, interrogating their upperclassman on an upper floor, figuring out what happened between the moment Katsuki was shot and Deku almost killing Chisaki with his bare hands. 

This whole thing is too jarring, too sudden, too real.

 

So Katsuki does what he does best: he moves the fuck on.

He shoves his arm back into place, swallowing a cry of pain. He pillows Deku's head into his chest, struggling to haul the muscular man into his arms, and then jogs off in the same direction he'd seen Tin Tin take the brat earlier, trying to outrun the sound of violence.

For his part, Deku doesn't fight him anymore. 
Instead, he sags boneless into Katsuki's chest, crying and mumbling about losing him, about not being fast enough, about being sorry.

Katsuki thinks about the... dream? he had before waking into this nightmare.

About the younger version of Deku comforting him, how at peace he felt, how comfortable and safe...

He considers telling Deku about it, to soothe his worry about Katsuki dying, but the words swim around in his memory, swirling and complicated. Katsuki worries it will only confuse or terrify him in this state, so he chooses to keep his damn mouth shut.

He knows, in some certain part of him, that it wasn't just a dream.

That he'd actually...

Later.

When it isn't so fresh, isn't so traumatic.

 

The layout of this place is fucking ridiculous, hallway upon hallway of empty rooms upon empty rooms. 

 

Where the fuck is the exit in this hellhole?

 

"T-turn left ahead, elevators are d-disabled, t-take the stairs behind the b-big door." Deku croaks, making an aborted movement towards an upcoming corridor.

Katsuki follows the directions, approaching the large steel doors sectioning most of this area off, only a small gap between them. He has an intrusive thought about the doors suddenly slamming down on them as he ducks through the opening, like some sort of trap, and hesitates briefly.

 

"D-disabled. OFA says." Deku whispers against his throat, tilted just enough to watch the doors warily too.

Choosing to trust that, or at least pretending like he does, Katsuki quickly slides between them, doing his best not to linger any longer than necessary.
To his relief they do not get crushed to death between tons of metal, and he resumes his progress; pulling open the door on the other side, and finding the stairs he was promised.

Deku slides from his arms as they approach, but he doesn't go far. 

In fact, his hand grips onto Katsuki's hard enough for the bones to creak a little under the pressure. He grunts but doesn't shake Deku loose, just holds him back as tightly as he can as they both take the stairs two at a time. 

 

"Later." Deku says apropos of nothing, not even sounding winded. 

Katsuki turns to ask but gets another response before he has the chance. 

 

"Stop fucking talking to me." Deku hisses through his teeth, squeezing impossibly harder at Katsuki's hand, and whether it's the pain or the sound of it cracking under Deku's touch, either way, Katsuki flinches.

Deku's bloodied glove lets go of Katsuki immediately, pulling away from him in horror.

 

"I-I'm sorry, Kacchan, I-" Katsuki hears tears clogging up Deku's voice and reassures him as best he can, leaning against the concrete wall behind him and gaining his breath back. 

He's in damn good physical condition, okay, but it's been a wild half hour. 

Between all the fighting, then dying, corralling Deku, carrying him through the facility, and then sprinting up several flights of stairs right after... fuck, he's tired. 

"S' fine. Already healed." He wiggles his hand at Deku to prove it, letting his head fall back against the cinderblocks and breathing heavily.

Deku doesn't reach for him again. 
He just waits, silently.

Katsuki has a bad feeling about it, but doesn't push.
He doesn't have the time or the energy to talk about it right now.

As soon as his heart stops slamming against his breastbone, Katsuki nods once and they continue.

He tries to grab Deku's hand again, but Deku pulls back a little.

Unbothered, Katsuki grabs him anyways, holding on just as tightly as before.

 

"Don't look down on me, asshole." He heaves as they reach another landing, tugging at their conjoined hands pointedly.

 

"Never, Kacchan." Deku whispers, but doesn't squeeze back.

 

When they - fucking finally - reach the last landing, and exit onto the third level, still underground but not nearly as deep, Katsuki feels Deku twitch to the right, staring at what seems like nothing.

 

"Deku." Katsuki grunts lowly, reaching back with his open hand to feel the one katana he managed to keep on his person. 
He'll have to find the other soon, and if memory serves, it's not too far above them, but just in case there are still hostiles on this level not already dealt with, he feels better having some kind of weapon in hand. 

Deku doesn't answer, but his head inclines slightly more, listening intently.

Suddenly he lurches forward, slipping out of Katsuki's fingers easily, as he runs down the hall, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the compound.

 

"Oi!" Katsuki hisses, following behind Deku as he rounds a random corner, only to find Ole Blue Eyes and the brat tucked into an alcove, a red blanket covering her small frame.

 

"There you... guys... are. You move... fast." Beady Eyes pants out, a faint smile on his lips, sweat clinging to his forehead, his skin pale and sallow.

 

"Shit." Katsuki lets the word slip out of his mouth as he eyes the wound on Tin Tin's shoulder. It's gnarly, and dark veins throb around the entry point. He must've been shot with the same blood bullets that Katsuki was, but without regeneration... "We have to get that out of you."

Deku bends down to survey the wound himself and nods grimly.

 

"You need medical attention, immediately. There's a safehouse not far from here, and I can get you there, but I'll have to carry you. Eri-chan, I need you to go with Kacchan, is that okay?" All sorrow, pain, and shakiness have disappeared from Deku's voice. He is once again a hero, steady and calm in the wake of people who need him to save them. 

It worries Katsuki even more.

The girl shivers, eying Katsuki with no small amount of fear at the prospect.

Before she can speak, whether to consent or not, a door down the hall bangs open. 

Katsuki is immediately on guard, brandishing his katana in the direction the sound came from, but Deku has no such reaction.

 

"Down here, sir!" Deku calls, not looking away from the two on the ground in front of him. 

Or at least, he doesn't at first.
After a few seconds Deku straightens, looking back towards where Aizawa should be approaching from.

 

"Sir, where is Toga-chan?"

It takes several moments for Aizawa to stumble forward, leg bleeding, his face pinched in pain and confusion.

 

"She's not with you?"

 

Fuck.

 

"What happened?" Deku asks hollowly.

 

"We got the information we needed, but he got a lucky shot off. Toga was supposed to meet up with you and move towards the extraction point." Aizawa grits out, surveying the survivors of their mission. "We need to get out of here. Now. We can't wait for her."

 

"What happened to Birdface?" 

Aizawa glowers, clearly as unhappy as Katsuki is. "Toga had him when she left."

 

He wants to yell, to doubleback and drag Stabby out of this hellhole by her fucking hair, explode the brain matter of that evil fuck into the ground once and for all.

'

... sending me such lovely gifts...' a voice whispers in the back of his mind.

 

Katsuki grits his teeth at the realization before pushing it down, back where it belongs. 

 

As soon as he opens his mouth to speak, a siren begins blaring above them, bathing the corridor in flashing yellow and red from the emergency lights.

Everyone, Katsuki included, reels back from the sudden noise, and he rushes to adjust the aids in his ears down to a more bearable volume. Eri begins to cry and Tin Tin tries to shush her quietly, whispering something Katsuki can't make out with everything else going on.

 

"Yes." Deku says to no one, reaching his hand to the side of his head where his ear would be under the mask. "Can you locate him?" 

It's toneless, empty, and whatever answer he gets doesn't seem to affect him one way or the other.

 

"And now where is she?" He sounds tired, beaten down.

The alarms howl above them, and he and Aizawa share a tense look.

 

"The mission priority is getting the injured civilians off the premises." Deku continues speaking in that empty, hollow voice despite the general chaos around them. "That's the protocol, isn't it?" A bit of emotion bleeds into his words then, spiteful and angry. He bristles at whatever he hears, before turning back to Aizawa and Katsuki.

 

"The Tokyo Police Department will be here in thirteen minutes. Mirio-san is incapable of walking, so I will have to carry him. Aizawa, I need you to keep pressure off that leg, it will slow the spread. You and Kacchan should take the bike as planned. Everyone rendezvous back at the safe house." He looks around at their faces, gauging their reactions through his own mask.

 

When no one argues with him, Deku turns back to the pair on the ground.

 

"Eri-chan, I need you to stand by Mr. Eraser over there and close your eyes, just for a minute, can you do that for me?" 

'I need you to listen, can you do that for me?'

Katsuki grimaces, the words picking at a scab that's barely clotted yet.

 

Aizawa leans forward to get her attention, smiling so gently and encouragingly at her that Katsuki is bewildered.

He didn't even know Aizawa's face could do that.

Eri, despite her trembling hands and tear filled eyes, lets go of her death grip on the bleeding man's shirt, stepping closer to yet another man she doesn't know. She's been incredibly brave, though, despite all the horrors she's seen today. Tough brat. She hides her tearstained face in Aizawa's scarf, sniffling as the sirens continue to sound off above them.

 

Deku leans forward, face to face with the man barely able to keep his eyes open. Despite the mask, the lenses, Katsuki watches Deku look straight into those beady eyes, drooping with exhaustion and pain. He's taken aback when the panting man just nods once, as if he understands what Deku is asking of him. 

It's only a second later that one gloved hand covers Ole Blue Eye's mouth while Deku's nimble fingers on the other hand dig into the wound, fishing for the bullet lodged deep in Tin Tin's flesh. The man jolts, eyes wide and filled with agony, but Katsuki is surprised that he manages to keep his voice at bay, only a muffled groan audible through the alarms and the palm keeping him quiet. 

He's probably trying not to scare Eri, why Deku insisted on keeping her head turned away from the scene. 

When Deku's hands retreat, there's a dark red bullet in between his fingers. The other man has now lost consciousness, slumping forward against Deku, who wastes no time hauling Tin Tin over his shoulder as if he weighs nothing at all. Aizawa turns Eri back towards Deku, who does his best to slow his movements and bend down to her level, still supporting the heavy weight on his back. 

 

"Eri-chan, you've been so brave today but I need you to do one last thing and come with me, okay? I'm going to tie you to my front so you don't fall. I'll take you somewhere safe." He explains patiently, offering a hand out to her, still soaked in blood, that of enemies and friends alike.

It's jarring, how easily Deku offers that hand to those in need, despite the stains it leaves behind. 

The girl at least seems to trust Deku, because she nods, stepping in close to his chest. 
Deku takes the forgotten red sheet and, as he said he would, ties her to his torso with it. 

Finally, Deku whips his head back to look at Katsuki.  

 

"Your sword is on the level above us, third hall, by the fire extinguishers. If you don't arrive at the safe house within the next fifteen minutes, I will come back and drag you out of here myself. Do you understand, Kacchan?" There's a harsh edge to his voice that Katsuki doesn't feel is warranted.

 

"Don't fucking tell me what to do, Deku." He growls back, hating everything about this.

About being separated again.
About being left behind.
About Deku calling the shots like the hero he is.
About this god awful feeling in Katsuki's gut, like they're making a mistake.

Deku doesn't seem to have heard him, or if he did, he's ignoring it.

 

"Promise me, Kacchan. Fifteen minutes. You have to leave, you have to promise." He urges, standing up with his charges attached to him. His voice shakes, the first break in his performance since they found the others.

To think he just carried this crying fucker for probably miles.

 

"... I promise, shitty nerd." Katsuki spits, angry and feeling every wail of the siren echoing in his head, still sore from the fucking bullet that carved through it. 

Deku nods once, turns and sprints down the hall, unencumbered by the nearly three-hundred pounds clinging to him. 

 

Stupid heroic show off bastard.

 

---

 

The next fifteen minutes are some of the most stressful of Katsuki's life, and that's fucking saying something.

He should've known it wouldn't be smooth sailing to the exit, not with the warning Deku's behavior downstairs heralded.

Katsuki loops Aizawa's arm over his shoulder, worrying about the poison coursing through his sensei's veins, and doing his best to half carry the man as they rush down the hall to the next stairwell, eyes scanning each corridor they pass for any gun-toting psychopaths or knife wielding blonde girls.

One would obviously be preferred over the other.

Collecting his sword is probably the most simple task, jerking it free from the dead man's cadaver with the added pressure of his boot as leverage. 
They pass all of the unconscious, dead, or entrapped gang members they dispatched earlier. 

Those who can stare at them as they pass, some shouting demands to be released, or others crying out to them for help. It bothers him to ignore them, to keep going, but he promised, he cannot slow down, he cannot stop, he has to keep going.

Focus on the mission.

Ten minutes left to go now before the cops swarm this place. 

As they enter a large meeting hall on the second floor, a few goons come out of the woodwork, either too stupid to see the damage they've wrought, or desperate enough to try and catch them off guard. Aizawa cuts through them like tissue paper, despite his injury, and the steel of Katsuki's swords is wet with blood by the time they clear the floor.  

It eats into valuable time they don't have to spare.

This is no longer fun, and Katsuki is no longer laughing. 

No, this is pure hell.

A battlefield.

The weight of this day on Katsuki's shoulders drags him down, and it probably will for the rest of the days he's yet to live through. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki spots sudden movement, a flash of something, and he whirls to deflect a bullet headed straight for Aizawa's back. It zings against the blade, hitting the concrete wall to the left of them.

Aizawa also turns to face the threat, but the vertigo from the gunshot has him slightly off kilter and he stumbles a bit, even if he doesn't so much as blink in the appearance of Chisaki, still brandishing the gun.

 

"You!" He screeches, ugly welts, broken skin, and blood the only discernable features visible, his plague mask long gone. The yellow and red lights strobe around them, illuminating his form like some ungodly monster crawling out of hell.

 

"Me, bitch." Katsuki agrees, rushing forward just as Chisaki struggles to line up another shot.

 

"Y-you, I killed you!" Chisaki screams, firing off another round but missing in his haste.

 

"You thought that was enough to take ME down, you ugly fucker?!" 

The enraged roar of the once fearsome yakuza head is cut off only by the slash of Katsuki's blade as it liberates an arm from it's shoulder. The sirens continue to wail overhead, the only noticeable sound in the room, before Chisaki screams, crumpling to the ground and howling like an animal.

 

"Six minutes, we have to go now! There's no time!" Aizawa yells, still moving forward through the strewn bodies on the ground, slower without Katsuki's help. He does his best to keep weight off his bad leg as he makes his way towards the entrance that leads to the ground floor, closer than ever to leaving this fucking place for good.

 

"I have to finish him. It has to be over." Katsuki growls, stalking forward and pointing the tip of his sword to the heir's throat. He barely gets the satisfaction of seeing the look of fear in Chisaki's eyes before a body crashes into him, away from the man on the ground.

 

Fuck those sirens, fuck his aids, fuck these lights, fuck not being able to hear -

 

Throwing this stupid bastard off of him isn't easy, but thankfully, he's pissed as hell and that helps.

This is one of the commanders, one of the Eight Bullets or whatever, though he doesn't know them by name, or apparently by face alone. This one is smaller than most of the others had been, but zealous, as they try to run Katsuki through with some kind of serrated knife.

Katsuki grabs their face and lets his explosions blast them away, falling in a heap on the floor.
 
Chisaki, having crawled his way back over to the gun, tries to fumble with it in his non-dominant hand, but it slips from his grasp, misfiring and shooting himself in the arm he still has. His bellows of pain and the steady amount of blood he's losing remind Katsuki of his promise. 

 

Aizawa stands in the doorway, glaring daggers at him. "Five minutes! Get your ass over here!" He roars, his long hair covering his face, bloodied and dirty from the day's events. 

 

Katsuki eyes the lump of flesh writhing on the ground with disdain.
Even if he gets medical attention immediately, he's not gonna survive long with injuries like those, and the poison will make sure of it.

 

So Katsuki backs away, avoiding the bodies that litter the path, until he's yanked back by Aizawa and the two hobble through the last set of doors.
Sunlight scatters across their faces as they rush towards the courtyard where Katsuki's motorcycle waits, hidden behind a topiary.
 
The roar of the engine drowns out the approaching sirens, as Aizawa and Katsuki speed towards the safehouse, hoping against all hope, that a blonde waitress might be there already waiting for them.

 

They arrive with only seconds to spare.

 

Mission Fucking Accomplished.

 

---

 

The safehouse is bustling with activity, Cheeks is already there, covered in blood and shouting orders at them as soon as they duck through the door, slamming it behind them. 

Sure, they might've cleared the Shie Hassaikai's base, but they're still in enemy territory, and there are eyes everywhere on this side of town. 

 

"Injuries?" She barks over her shoulder, looming over the unconscious figure of Ole Blue Eyes on her shitty ass kitchen table, suturing the wound in his shoulder with practiced precision. Bowls of red water, rags, gauze, pill bottles, and jugs of alcohol and disinfectant all litter the room like some period drama med tent.

 

"Another bullet wound, but-" Katsuki informs her gruffly, confused at her presence, her preparedness, turning to look over at Aizawa, looking for someone to echo his confusion, his suppressed panic, but finding none. Aizawa is far more preoccupied with not passing out as Deku, still in his suit, ushers the older man into sitting on the old patterned couch beside a sleeping, bloodstained little girl. 

Katsuki is weirdly glad she's not awake for all this, though surprised that she can possibly find enough peace to rest in the midst of this chaos.

 

"Deku-kun, I swear if you stick those nasty gloves in another wound, so help me, I'll float you into the stratosphere!" Round Face hisses as Deku bends down to examine Aizawa's leg.

 

"We're running out of time. It's spreading fast." Deku returns evenly, tearing the fabric of Aizawa's pants off at the knee to get a better look, baring mottled purple flesh and the webs of nasty poison-filled veins to the stale air. 

 

It's surreal, seeing Deku battle worn and filthy, the picture of calm as he informs Cheeks of the progression of the poison, detached and decisive.
It's horrifying to compare this man, this warrior, this fucking hero, to the scared little nerd Katsuki remembers watching cartoons with.

Is this what they manifested when they made that promise back then?

Did Katsuki ever really want this?

Compared to Deku, Katsuki just watches on, useless, as Cheeks applies alcohol and bandages to his unconscious upperclassman, and Deku inspects the damage to his sensei. It doesn't take more than a handful of seconds before he's sitting back on his haunches and looking up at Aizawa, much the way he had Tin Tin back in that hallway in the compound.

 

"This is bad. We... we have to get rid of it." He tells the dark haired man softly, his harried movements slowing to painful stillness.

 

"Do it then." Aizawa grimaces, his complexion waxy and damp, tendrils of hair stuck to his forehead and matted there.

 

"I don't mean the bullet, Sensei." Deku clarifies, solemn.

 

It's silent, which is somehow just as disorienting as the wailing sirens and flashing lights had been. 

 

"A-are you sure, Deku-kun? I-I'm almost done, maybe I could just-" Round Cheeks calls from her place at the table, but the defeat in her voice is audible.

 

"It's up to you, sir. The infection, the poison, the blood loss... the odds of you surviving this are almost non-existent unless we take drastic measures. I'm sorry I allowed this to happen."  

Katsuki wants to argue with him, to yell and scream that this isn't Deku's fault, that it was his, or that Aizawa was a grown man who could handle it, that they all knew what they were getting into with this mission... but he can't.

Not when Aizawa does his best to straighten up and to look down at Deku with a knowing, determined glare.

 

"I told you once already, problem child. Don't make me tell you again." 

Deku nods, slowly. 

Katsuki is glad when Deku scoops his mentor into his strong arms and carries him back into the bathroom, probably in an effort to contain the mess, and make sure the brat doesn't wake up to any new horrors.

He wishes he was brave enough to follow them. 

 

Of course, they'll need him soon, call him to cauterize the wound, at least, but until then, Katsuki busies himself in the kitchen, pretending that boiling water and making dinner is good enough for now.

 

---

 

It's hours later, in the darkest part of the night, that they finally get the chance to debrief.

Deku's finally out of the suit now, and it's a relief to see his face, even if he looks just as shellshocked and fragile as the rest of them do.

He's sitting on the floor by Cheeks, who sits on the edge of her bloodstained couch, staring at nothing. Eri is thankfully asleep in the back bedroom, tucked into clean blankets, fresh from the bath that had to be scrubbed with bleach and enzyme cleaner to remove the blood stains from the fiberglass.

Tin Tin is awake again, though it looks like he might fall back into dreamland at any moment, hopped up on painkillers and blood loss. Aizawa is laid up on the opposing sofa, missing his leg from the knee down, rubbing at his temples.

 

"What happened?"

Katsuki isn't sure who asks the question and he isn't sure how to answer, either.
Nobody does, apparently.

 

The silence is deafening, just the sounds of the old house around them, creaking wood, humming electricity from the lone bulb illuminating the space, and the faint whistling of wind through cracked panes of glass.

 

"I died." Katsuki finds himself admitting tersely.

 

All eyes are on him now, including wide watery green.

 

"I... I think I met Death. Or... no, fuck it, I'm sure that I did." He clarifies, burying his face in one hand and pushing his hair back out of his eyes. "They said... that the girl's blood was in the bullets. That I... whether it's because of my accident or because of her, I can't die." 

 

To his surprise, Ole Blue Eyes is the one to speak first.

 

"They are. The bullets, that is. That's... that's why I was there. Sir, before he passed away, when I was with him in the hospital, he told me he had been investigating rumors of human experimentation in the Shie Hassaikai. Eri's super special, her blood contains this rare chemical composition, one that breaks down proteins in the average person. She's immune to it, thankfully, but introducing her blood to a host? It unravels people from the inside out. Overhaul, was the name given to the operation: harvesting her blood, turning it into a weapon, selling the ability to... unmake someone. It was Chisaki's magnus opus, a way to put the Shie Hassaikai on top of the other crime families, bring back the Golden Age of the Yakuza." His voice is grave, serious in a way Katsuki has never heard him sound before.

 

"Is... is that what you wanted to talk to me about? That day in the alley?" Deku asks Tin Tin carefully, not looking up.
 

"Honestly? N-no, not at first. But when I saw her that day, I recognized her from Sir's description. I was going through the files that- survived..." He gasps in pain as he resituates himself, leaning back in the arm chair, his beady eyes going hazy and fluttering with the strain. "There's... there's a video. From Dr. Toshinori. Addressed to you two. Thought you might want to see it when you were ready. S-say goodbye."  

Deku makes himself small.  
Katsuki feels the grief and pain and loss swirl in his gut with wild hope. 

 

Part of him wants to watch it now, right this minute, to hear the last words their mentor left for them, but most of him is just... numb. 

Tired. 
Drained.

Deku doesn't look much better, tucking his head between his knees and breathing deep and heavy.

 

"... That makes sense. Eri's condition unravels protein bonds, you said." Aizawa points out gruffly, not opening his eyes but speaking clearly enough for them all to hear. 

Apparently that seems to mean something to the nerd, because Deku sets his chin on his knees, staring into nothing, frowning lightly, but it seems he understands what Aizawa is getting at.

 

"Kacchan's regeneration focused on stabilizing volatile compounds with nitrates. It must've counteracted the enzyme, fixing what bonds broke instantaneously. Rapid replenishment. Cell activation. It would've bolstered your healing factor, speeding up the rate your cells replace themselves when damaged. It explains why you healed so fast. You said before that it used to take hours to recover from a wound like that, but this time, you were only... gone, for a few minutes at most. Not that I remember much of it." Deku whispers into the dark.

 

"That's... amazing." Cheeks whispers hollowly, looking over at Katsuki with exhausted interest.

It puts him on the defensive, feeling like a circus act, like a science experiment to be gawked and prodded at.

 

"Weren't you at Frogger's place? How'd you even get over here so fast?" He asks, his tone a bit more accusatory than it probably should be given the circumstances.
Her face hardens, and she glares at her hands, scrubbed clean now, but it's like she can still see the proof of the day on them.

 

"There were roses outside the door this morning. And a note from Himiko. At first I thought it was a trap, so I stayed away. But I headed over as soon as I got Deku's text." Kirby's voice is bitter, resentful as she fishes a little notecard from her pocket and chucks it onto the table.

It's a tiny little address card for flowers, and there's blood on the card in the vague shape of a heart, with scrawled kanji on it.

 

' Be home soon, baby. You're my everything. - Himi '  

 

"I'm sure she-" Deku tries to defend Blondie, probably on reflex, but Round Face just sneers at him, tears falling in rivers down her cheeks.

 

"Don't." 

He closes his mouth with a click and just nods tiredly. His hand trembles as he offers it to her - how many people will Deku offer his kindness to? How many will he reach out to? - and she takes it despite her tears dripping onto the carpet off her chin.  

 

"What now?" Ole Blue Eyes asks hoarsely to no one.

 

"Now we rest. We recover. Everything else can wait one more night, just until the morning." Aizawa sighs, tilting his head back and staring at the water marks on the ceiling.

 

Nobody responds out loud, but there's a quiet comradery in it, less uncomfortable than it had been earlier. 

 

It isn't until Deku speaks up again that Katsuki realizes how close he'd been to falling asleep sitting up.

 

"We won... right?"

Katsuki wonders if you can still call it 'winning' when it feels like this, but the girl is safe, and everyone they started the day with is still here.

 

That has to count for something.

 

---

 

The next day comes as all days do, with the rising sun, the desire to do better, and the understanding that there's always work waiting for you.

Waking up slumped against a couch cushion that smells like cigarettes, mildew, and rust does not put him in a very good mood.

Aizawa snores softly on the couch, a threadbare blanket tossed over him at some point. Katsuki looks down to find a fleece throw along his lap too. Tin Tin snoozes in his arm chair, big snot bubbles contracting and expanding with his breath.

Gross.

There's no nerd in sight, and Cheeks probably went to sleep in her bed with the brat at some point in the night.

 

A quick look at his watch shows it's early in the morning, before the sun has even risen. 

Has Deku slept at all?

No, probably not.

 

Katsuki busies himself in Round Face's kitchen again, finding some instant muffin mix in the cupboard and grimacing.

He adds extra butter, vanilla, some salt, and hopes they won't taste too sweet. He brews coffee in the shitty little single cup coffee maker and tries to settle the panic in his chest that he hasn't seen Deku. He's poked his head into the bathroom, and checked out the rest of the rooms - just to make sure everyone was alive - but no nerd.

 

Did he leave?
Did he go to fight some fire? 
Did he skip town with Stabby, decide to keep him in the dark like Cheeks?

 

There's a thump that comes from over his head, and drywall dust sprinkles down behind him. 

He tenses for a moment, alert, before he realizes that it's most likely just Deku moping on the roof, like he does. 

Thankfully, the timer on the oven dings, and Katsuki pulls out the muffins to cool. He eyes the ceiling suspiciously, before covering them in foil just in case.

 

Just as he expected, he finds Deku on the roof of this shithole, sitting tenderly on the most stable-looking portion of the awning.

 

"Morning, Kacchan." He murmurs, not turning around to look at him.

 

"Morning, nerd." Katsuki grunts, shimmying over next to him, trying not to shove a hand through the obvious softness of the roof. "Coffee's downstairs."

 

He gets a nod in return but that's all. 

 

"Are you fuckin'... okay, or whatever?" It's an embarrassingly out of touch question, one that would've pissed him off if he wasn't the dumbass who asked it. 

 

Deku tilts his head a bit, in that familiar way of his, as if considering the question seriously.

 

"I don't think so." He replies with a furrow between his brows, looking out on the mist still curling around lampposts, the tops of trees, and the old traditional buildings of the district. 

 

It's probably dangerous to be up here. 

With the unstable joists holding their combined weight, with the city against them, with the last dregs of the Shie Hassaikai no doubt loitering about.
But that's not what has Katuski feeling so unsettled, so exposed in the morning chill.

Look, Katsuki is relieved that Deku is finally being honest with him, admitting that he's not alright, that he doesn't have everything under control... but there's something disconcerting and scary about that, too. 

Deku's mask is finally gone, and his fear and guilt are laid bare for Katsuki's eyes to trace in the stillness of the new day. The sky brightens with every second they sit here, watching the sunrise, and the shadows accentuate the planes of his face, throwing it in sharp relief.

 

Deku just looks so much older now than he did yesterday.

 

"It's... okay. To not be okay, y'know. I'd be freaked the fuck out if you were still acting like normal after yesterday. Feels like so much changed, but it didn't. Not really." Katsuki tries to comfort him, but the words feel stilted and shallow. 

There's nothing he can say to make this better, nothing he can do to reassure Deku that they won't face the same thing today, or worse.

 

"Thanks, Kacchan. Are you okay?" Deku asks with a tiny smile, a few tears glittering at his water line as he peeks over at Katsuki.

 

"Fuck no." 

That makes Deku smile wider, a bit, choking on a laugh. 

 

"At least we're not okay together? That makes a difference." There's a considering tone to his voice before he sighs, resting his head on Katsuki's shoulder.

 

"You're stuck with me forever now, shitty nerd." It's half a joke, half a confession, but of what, Katsuki isn't even really sure.

 

"Forever sounds nice." Deku murmurs dreamily, and Katsuki rests his chin on wild, tangled curls.

 

'Forever is a very long time, Katsuki... I'm not sure how happy you will be when that time comes.'

 

Maybe Death was right.
Maybe Katsuki will regret having forever one day.

But just for now, he's glad to be here, alive, holding the love of his life in his arms, knowing he can weather whatever storms Deku brings with him.

That he's tough enough to shoulder Deku's burdens, sturdy enough to withstand the crushing force of Deku's love.

 

He wouldn't have it any other way.

 

---

 

Mic shows up early, yelling greetings and just existing in the loud ass way he does. 
Katsuki feels bad for being annoyed when Mic starts sobbing the second he sees his husband laid up on the couch, missing a limb. 

 

"Zashi, I'm fine." Aizawa grumbles, trying to calm him. "You'll wake Eri, c'mon, hush."

 

Katsuki and Deku try to give them as much privacy as they can with Deku's super hearing in this small, rundown old house, but based on the nerd's face, he can hear every word.

Kirby wakes up disheveled and with puffy eyes, likely because Blondie didn't show up, and if she hadn't come back after last night, no one is really expecting her to do so today.

Aizawa and Mic offer to take Eri home with them, and since no one else has any better ideas, they don't get much pushback on it. 

Mic is enamored with her immediately, and braids her hair during breakfast. Cheeks checks everyone's bandages, cleaning them thoroughly and promptly, and offers Eri some of her hair clips and bows to solidify the style Mic worked so hard on.

 

They all introduce themselves and start telling stories, enjoying the muffins that magically appeared on the table and talking with their mouths full.  

 

Aizawa tries to chastise Mic a little, and pushes him to give the brat a bit of space to process these rapid changes, but Eri seems all too fascinated with the concept of getting to choose her own bedding. Cheeks delights in telling her all the possible different kinds she could choose from, the fabrics, the colors. Ole Blue Eyes suggests a tribute to All Might, which of course the kid's never actually seen before, and it's really just impossible to reign them all in after that. 

 

Maybe he's getting soft or something, because Katsuki finds himself wondering what Half n Half would say about all this, or how the Zombie will feel about getting a little sister all of a sudden. Eri expresses quiet excitement when Mic tells her about her new big brother waiting back at home for them.

 

"He's a night owl, so getting him up before noon is basically an extreme sport!" Mic complains good-naturedly, looking every bit the Proud Dad as he shows Eri pictures on his phone. 

 

Cheeks and Deku heckle Eyebags by telling embarrassing stories about him. 

 

Soon the phone is back out and Mic is introducing the whole table to their cats, telling her all about their personalities and which one steals socks.
Apparently Dunce Face is a frequent guest in their home, and is responsible for overfeeding one of the Tuxedo cats, as of late.

Hairball looks like she's been overfed every day of her life, fat and happy.

Deku and Tin Tin yammer about the different seasons of their favorite childhood franchise, mainly the cartoon television show and the correct order Eri should watch the episodes in, release or chronological.

 

Deciding to stay the hell out of it - because Deku's crazy, release is the clearly superior choice, Tin Tin is right - Katsuki finds himself leaning against the counter, drinking his coffee and watching them all laugh and joke around with each other like they've been one big happy family for ages. 

 

"Certainly wasn't expecting all of this when you were stuck in my homeroom class, problem child." Aizawa says lowly into his own mug from his spot by the old window, his stump of a leg propped up on a pillow in the kitchen chair for elevation.

 

Katsuki considers that a moment, the person he was at sixteen: angry, resentful, selfish, scared.

What would that kid have done with all this?

Would he even appreciate it?

 

"Me either." He admits with a reluctant smirk.

Chapter 32: A Promise to Let Her Know You're Sorry

Summary:

Escape from the Shie Hassaikai, and the aftermath

Notes:

Hi, y'all!

I super struggled with this chapter, mainly because a character made a decision that I had not previously planned for! It took me combing over my outline and my rough drafts to figure out how to go from here. This thing is significantly longer than I originally planned for, so I've decided to just condense everything into one instead of adding extra chapters later. I'd like to get it all done at once so I can tie it up in a neat little bow.

Sorry for the delay <3
Things should come out decently quickly from now on, so long as I don't keep getting distracted by a few of my WIPs.

Smut at the very end of the chapter, for those that want to avoid that sort of thing.

Izuku freezes, eying Kacchan's motionless body for a handful of seconds, staring in abject horror at the absence of him, so clear in the blankness of his stare, the lack of breathing, the soundlessness of his heartbeat.

He feels only confusion for a moment, uncomprehending the silence, the stillness, before reality crashes into him. He feels himself lurch to the fallen man's side. 

Moments feel like years, but Kacchan doesn't move, doesn't so much as twitch with any signs of life.
It all happened so quickly, and Izuku was too late. 

Too slow.

How is he still too slow?

He has super senses for fucks sake, so how? 
How was he taken off guard? 
How did he just not pay attention?

This is Izuku's fault.
Everything begins to feel greyer, faker, farther away. 

It's as if all emotion, all substance, is scooped from him, leaving him an empty husk.
 
Then comes grief. 
Endless, hopeless, bottomless.

It's always his fault, every single time it's been his fault, and now he's lost Kacchan too, this is it, this is how Izuku ruined his own life, ruined everything, by pretending to be something he wasn't, this is-  

"Not now. Engage with the target, Deku. Focus. He doesn't matter right now." Yoichi's voice says in his ear, calmly, patiently. 

All his unending, suffocating grief is slowly replaced with vengeful, boiling rage as the words settle in, one by one.

How could Kacchan not matter?

Before now, before today, Izuku doesn't think he's ever felt what it was to be truly angry.
Because this was a kind of rage Izuku has never felt before. Has tasted, maybe, in the worst moments, like the burn you think of fondly on the back of your tongue. 

But nothing like this.

This all consuming, burning, blistering rage that scalds him with it's ferocity.
He has now become the forest fire, the blaze consuming all in its path.

It's a violent, destructive anger.

At himself.
At this goddamned voice in his ear spouting such callous bullshit like it knows anything.
At the monster in front of him, uncaring, unrepentant at his own cruelty.

This disgusting, vile thing of a human.

Izuku does not deign to speak to that insipid voice in his ear, but he has no intentions of allowing Eri to be hurt, either. 
The blood pumping through his veins has every sense heightened, every bit of information registers in his brain all at once.
 
Chisaki Kai, no doubt smirking under his facemask, turns to acknowledge one of his men. Izuku recognizes his right hand man, Kurono, the smoking gun still in his hand. Kurono's attention is solely on his leader, murmuring to himself, begging for some kind of acknowledgment, paying no heed to the man lying dead on the concrete.

Kurono is just a pawn for the man really in charge, the one truly responsible. 
Izuku is already on top of Chisaki before he even really processes his own movements.

His fists fly with abandon, feeling bone and flesh give way like butter beneath them. 
More gunshots sound off in his periphery but he doesn't so much as flinch. 
Muted groaning, screaming, it's all lost in the red haze that splashes against his lenses.

"Wait, Midoriya, stop!" 

The voice is sudden, loud, and possibly familiar, but Izuku cannot, no, will not stop until this man is dead. 

He hurt Kacchan, and all those kids that he picked up off the street; hundreds more have suffered in his dealings as the head of the syndicate, the hours he spent listening to all those people struggle with what HE demanded of them, forcing them to become monsters just like him. 

Toga. 
Eri. 

Kacchan.

How many more would suffer? 
How many others would be conscripted into this hellhole, fodder for this madman?

No, he is unredeemable, he is not a person, he is just a thing -

But something stops him from ending it once and for all.
In fact, all of him stops.

Every - single - piece - of - him is frozen, suddenly, against his will.

A sharp, cold and sudden tense of the armature fitted against his neck, scruffing Izuku like a misbehaving dog.

 

What?

 

"System Override of primary directive. That's the official jargon, but between you and me, kid, consider it a timeout. Control your damn heart, kid."
The voice in his ears is gruff, harsh and not like Yoichi's at all.

It sends shivers up his spine. 

Who is that?
Who is in his ear?
Who is in his head?

"Oh thank goodness, you were about to scare Eri there, pal." 

He knows this softer voice, but it's different, again.

Who is it?

Izuku is still frozen in place, atop a wheezing Chisaki Kai, who struggles to suck in ragged breaths under the onslaught of damage he's already inflicted. 

His gloves are bloody, one still frozen aloft mid punch, unable to relax or follow through, but what really surprises Izuku is the person suddenly leaning in beside him. Pressed close to his chest, he holds Eri in his arms, tight against his chest with that big watery smile. 

It's Mirio-senpai.

Mirio Togata. 

Huh?

"Get her out of here." He hears Aizawa bellow from behind him, but luckily he doesn't seem to be talking to Izuku. The voice bleeds in from his surroundings, around the earpiece, echoing in the concrete maze of hallways around them. 

It's not from the speakers in his ears... he thinks? 
But on second thought he can't trust anything, can't believe what's around him, his senses or this suffocating thing he's trapped within. 

It's cold, unyieldingly tight against his nape, gripping hard and -
He can't look around, he can't understand, he's too frazzled to think, he can't-

 
"Override protocol terminated." An apologetic Yoichi sighs quietly, and then the armature suddenly releases, the scrape of the metal loud and jarring as it reverberates against his skull. 

Izuku sags a little, now able to move on his own but uses his newfound freedom only to suck in shallow breaths and stare at Mirio in confusion and overwhelm.
Eri is still huddled against his form, but peeks out at him from one of his burly shoulders, the other... bloody with a gunshot wound. 

Red eyes, red blood, bullet holes. 

Izuku wrenches himself back, trying to look for where Kacchan should lay fallen but he isn't there anymore.

Where did he go?
 

"I said get her out of here, Togata. Now."

Izuku hears the footsteps recede, sees red eyes and blood and bullet holes and the blood coagulating on his gloves, and finally the man gurgling for breath underneath him. He's covered in it all, hot and gushing. 
 
He feels violently ill. 

Horror, disgust, guilt all curdling in his guts like something rotten. 
 

"We need to ask him a few questions while he's still alive." Aizawa intones seriously from behind him, but he's more preoccupied with the feeling of someone's body slithering along his back, taking him off guard.

How is he still being caught off guard?

Izuku can hear the air blowing through the vents, he can feel the stick of his own sweat and tears and the salt, he can hear the choking (gagging) sounds of Chisaki groaning in pain - just as a pale, slender hand presses almost gently onto broken skin of Chisaki's chest.

Her nails are sparkly and pink. 

"Hiya, there, Zu-baby, I'll take over from here." A familiar feminine voice sounds to his left. It's one he recognizes instantly, which means the weight draping against his frame must be Toga, blase as anything. She cranes her neck over his shoulder, leaning over Izuku, both splattered in viscera, with such unbothered ease.

 

She smiles at him reassuringly, but before Izuku even has a chance to feel comforted, she's already pressing her palm down harder into Chisaki's chest cavity, observing the blood that pools there with sadistic glee, unbothered by the scream he lets out.

Rough hands suddenly hoist him up by under his arms, dragging him away from the ruined man under him.
He panics, jerking away with unrestrained strength and feeling his captor's shoulder be yanked violently out of socket in one movement.

 

"Ow, fuckin' Christ! Oi! Deku, calm down, asshole! It's just me, fuckin'-" 

 

That's Kacchan's voice.
But that's not possible?

It has to be in his head, in his ear, OFA messing with him, like when Dr. Toshinori spoke to him that day when he almost gave up, messing with him, whispering lies-

Because he saw - it was real, he saw Kacchan -

A hard blow to his forehead brings harsh pain to the forefront, throbbing but blessedly real. 
All of a sudden wine red eyes are all he can see, up close in his vision, glaring at him, the trails of blood that drip down his face are already drying, flaking away when his perfect nose wrinkles. 

Izuku gasps in little pants of air, warm from the breath of the other man's face in front of him. He smells like copper, and soot, and the faintest hint of caramel clinging to his skin, damp from the sweat that gathered under his mask.

Izuku knows that smell, knows those eyes, so this can't be OFA messing with him.
He cranes his vision up to try and see the injury he witnessed, feeling the crust of only dried blood.

Proof that, yes, Kacchan had indeed been shot in the head... but underneath his careful (demanding) touch he feels no trace of the injury.

Izuku grips Kacchan's shoulder, to make sure, to feel him, real and alive, breathing, and not dead, and not gone, and not his fault, - still his fault - 

But he's alive.
Kacchan's alive.

Izuku has lost so much already, but losing Kacchan would just be too much.
His gloved hand slides across the firm plane of a well-muscled chest, searching for that comforting, thudding pressure against his palm. He has to feel it, he can't believe it until he does, and when Kacchan's heart thumps obediently, Izuku sobs in relief, and melts into that touch.

It's all the more startling when the loud, piercing screams of Chisaki start, though. 

Kacchan's wide shoulders block part of the view, but Izuku cranes up to catch a glimpse of Toga sitting primly in her skirt, cross legged on Chisaki's abdomen. 

She's... normal, casual, like they're just playing a friendly game of cards in a booth back at the League.

He sees the flash of her knife, hears the squish as the blade sinks into skin, drawing desperate cries from Chisaki's mouth, even as he snarls at her. 

Aizawa steps just slightly into his line of sight, eclipsing the scene with his back to Izuku. 
Each howl of pain grates on his nerves, flaying him alive with questions.

Is leaving him here to be tortured better than killing him? Worse?
Is he even okay with this? 
What is the ethical choice here? Save him? Kill him? 
Leave Toga and Aizawa to do what they will?
Does what he have to say even matter?
Where have all his principles gone?

He's horrified at the violence, the lack of a reaction from everyone else, and also surprised by his own moral flexibility. 
He's always tried to be good, to do good, to be a hero, above all else. Sacrificed his body, his time, everything for that premise. He swore to Dr. Toshinori even, but the second, no, the very instant it became personal? 

Izuku simply didn't care. 

There had been no hesitation, no deliberation, and he never once thought of arresting Chisaki, apprehending him, or reporting him to the authorities.
No, he had wanted to exterminate him, remove him from the world, erase him. 

That's not very heroic at all. 

Izuku hears the hollow pop of Kacchan setting his shoulder and recoils.
He barely registers the big warm arms encircling him, pulling him in until he's crushed against the muscles of Kacchan's chest and raised off his feet in one swoop.

Izuku allows himself to relax into the smell of safety, the feel of Kacchan's heart hammering against his cheek. So warm, a flashfire against his skin, chasing away the coolness that still nips at his nape. 

"I'm sorry, Kacchan, I was almost too late, I'm still not fast enough, but I'm so glad you're okay-"

Kacchan shushes him, worry and something like doubt clinging to his brows. 
The pucker between them looks different then, a new expression on Kacchan's face.

Izuku watches Kacchan chew on his words, swallow them down. 
The tick in his jaw, the snarl of his lip, and yet he doesn't speak.

No words of comfort, but no complaints or condemnations either.

It gives Izuku lots of time to ruminate as Kacchan jogs down the corridors, sweat beading on his forehead, exposed without the mask still.

Where is Eri?
Had Mirio-senpai truly been there? 
Or was it just another voice in his ear, a mirage in front of his eyes?
If he had really been there, why?
Had they seen him absolutely lose it?
How long has it been since they left?
Is Eri scared of him now?

 

Wait.

"Wait, Midoriya, stop!" 

Mirio-senpai used his real name back there. 

Clumsy fingers find the line of his mask pulled down at the hollow of his throat, just to be sure, even though the ever-present clock and familiar icons never once left his vision. 
Cold, gnawing dread creeps from the pit of his stomach to where the metal spider legs still fold against the base of his skull.

So he knew.
Knows.

How long has he known?

Since way back then?
Since that awful night?
Before that?
After? 

Is this why he wanted to talk that day in the alley? 
Has Izuku been ignoring all those messages, those conversations, out of guilt, while Mirio willingly hid his secret identity?

His hero persona is all over the news, there's a zero percent Mirio hasn't heard about it, seen the mask plastered around. 
The hush in the air that clings to the citizens, chilling them to the bone more than even the winter wind off the bay. The distrust and suspicion that lace every terse but polite greeting.
Eyes locked down onto the concrete, whether out of fear, or guilt, or judgment. Not to mention Mirio's entire career, his degree, his area of study, his mentor... they were all destroyed by Izuku.
 
He failed to protect their mentors, he killed them both by negligence, stupidity, and now - Mirio knows. 
Everyone sees Izuku as a villain, as a monster in the night, destroying Tokyo for the fun of it, a trail of bodies in his wake, and yet...

Mirio-senapi did not betray his identity to the press, nor to the police.

What does that mean?

Kacchan takes two rights in a row and then a left before Izuku realizes they've turned off the planned path, or likely, Kacchan doesn't know the exit routes as well as Izuku does.
Based on where Izuku remembers them being before when-

They must be towards the back of the West wing, a largely uncharted part of the facility's lower levels. 
He should've been paying attention, should've guided Kacchan to the correct path, but instead he'd been useless like always.

Kacchan curses audibly under his breath, his breath puffing at Izuku's curls on his forehead. He must realize they've deviated, because he's becoming more and more agitated as the halls continue branching out in front of them, curving and splitting off every now and then into infinite routes, a labyrinthine maze under the Taito district, miles underground.

 

They hadn't been able to map out this area almost at all bef-

"In ten meters down this hallway turn left. The service elevators on the back wall have been disabled as a security measure, but there is a utility access stairwell up to the distribution level on Level Four." Yoichi advises him, matter of fact, and lighting up the route in his vision.

Izuku himself hasn't even mapped this level, but OFA knows the layout well enough to turn on guidance protocols?
Why would the elevators even be disabled in the first place?

There's no alarms, no alerts, but clearly some parts of the facility are locked down for some reason. 

"The service access panel and security doors have all been disengaged. Proceed through them. There will be a service door on the right hand side after the security door panel ahead." Izuku flinches a little at the instructions. 

"T-turn left ahead, elevators are d-disabled, t-take the stairs behind the b-big door." He feels nausea again, and Izuku hurries to relay the information without directly responding to OFA. His voice is feeble and small as he points a shaky finger in the right direction, knowing Kacchan cannot see the pulsing, glowing lines to follow. 

He had been so blind, so naive.
Somewhere along the way Izuku started thinking of OFA as a person. Someone in his corner, a kind voice in his ear when everything fell apart. He had so much faith in Yoichi, in the legacy Dr. Toshinori left behind for him. Despite his hesitations, the irritations and the bickering, Izuku still trusted OFA implicitly.

But at the end of the day, OFA was just a computer program.
Sophisticated, impressive, a technological marvel... but Yoichi wasn't his friend. 
He wasn't even real.
Not anymore. 

The once friendly voice joking with him and helping him swing up to Tokyo Tower was nowhere to be found now. 
Just the recorded voice of a dead man, whose relative has the stink of something foul on him, goading him with impossible amounts of information. 

Things it shouldn't know, couldn't know, things it hid from him.

He thinks he feels the armature twitch against his neck, but he can't be sure.

The big steel doors are just as intimidating now as they were earlier, and as they were on his first unfortunate foray into this place. 
There's a small crack between the metal doors, just wide enough to squeeze through, but close enough to be deadly should they suddenly come back online. 

When did they even disengage? 
Why?

Kacchan must feel his foreboding dread because he comes up short, approaching the doors like they might snap shut at any second. 

"D-disabled. OFA says." Izuku whispers against the hollow of Kacchan's throat, loathe to part with a single inch of contact, but also knowing that Kacchan would not proceed without some kind of confirmation they wouldn't be squished like unfortunate bugs between two ton metal jaws. He tries not to discourage Kacchan from trusting OFA for this at least.

Whatever it wants from him wouldn't be accomplished if he were dead, after all.

Kacchan scowls, eyeing the doors with the amount of trust one would give a ferocious animal (or conceivably even less), but approaches regardless. He cautiously steps through the opening, not pausing for an instant, even as Izuku points out the door OFA had pointed out before. 

Ragged panting breaths, damp skin, and a tired sigh rumble under his cheek before Izuku realizes how pathetic he's being, letting Kacchan carry him around like this is some kind of action movie and he's the fragile heroine. He pushes away to stand on his own two feet, but the distance between them is still so unsettling, freezing him to his core.
 
Izuku settles for threading their hands together, shoulder to shoulder as they approach the stairwell.

He tries not to think about how much he hates stairs. 

"Deku."

He flinches.

"Izuku." Yoichi tries again, noticing his discomfort. "I think we should discuss what happened." Yoichi's voice coaxes him softly, but there is no comfort in it. It's as if he's speaking to a misbehaving child, patronizing and woefully detached.  

"Later." Izuku negates, focusing on calming the thudding of his own pulse in his ears, or on Kacchan's pounding heart beside him, now that he remembers to listen for it. Izuku's thighs and calves burn as he runs, but it's almost a comforting sting of pain, like a too-hot shower. He tries to discern if they're being followed, but all he can hear is the echoes of their heavy footfalls against the concrete as they sprint up the stairs. They reverberate through the tunnel, amplifying the noise, as if whole armies were pursuing just behind them.

"It's against the mission to exact vengeance on a target, and any information he could provide would prove useful to the others. You were behaving erratically. Protocols were engaged to ensure mission-" Apparently Yoichi is unwilling to listen (surprise, surprise) and continues to speak, only cutting off when Izuku snorts derisively. 

"Stop fucking talking to me." Izuku hisses through his teeth, distracted and angry.

He squeezes Kacchan's hand in his and the cracking of bone sounds like shattering glass in his eardrums. 
Izuku recoils immediately, dropping Kacchan's purpling hand as quickly as possible.  

There's a snarl of pain on Kacchan's face, and his breath comes fast and heavy.

 

"I-I'm sorry, Kacchan, I-" He tries to apologize, watching the mottled skin of the broken hand slowly turn paler and more even as he shakes out the appendage. Kacchan leans back against the cinderblock walls on the landing above them, still panting and sweating, but waves his hand dismissively. 

 

"S' fine. Already healed." 

Izuku looks at him for a moment.
Really looks.

Gone is the professional, the easy, effortless hunter in the dark. 
Gone is the symbol of victory, the unkillable, unstoppable machine.
Because Kacchan actually looks his age for once. 

He looks young. Tired. There are shadows under his eyes, smears of grease paint applied to blend in with the mask, he realizes.
Sweat sticks flattened spikes of ash blond hair to his forehead, smeared with soot and blood. Without the mask, which hangs half-shoved into his belt, his jacket and armor look like a fashion choice rather than a superhero costume. His chest heaves with every breath, clearly struggling more than Izuku had realized. 

There's a faint tremor in Kacchan's fingers on the hand Izuku broke. 

 

"A symptom of shock." The voice in his ear says, as if in answer to his thoughts. "Full body scans suggest he's physically exhausted, but otherwise unharmed." Yoichi murmurs, bringing up a glowing overlay of Kacchan's current vitals. Izuku has half a mind to curse him out, to scream, to peel this godforsaken suit off his body and chuck it back down into the stairwell to rot.

But because he is weak, tired, dependent and spoiled on this machine, Izuku does none of that. 

Instead he sucks in the offered information greedily, scanning every the number and value for reassurance.
The increased heart rate and blood pressure readings are a bit concerning, but thankfully nothing immediately life threatening. Kacchan's oxygen saturation also isn't optimal, but as OFA so helpfully pointed out, most everything is within the normal ranges, especially for an active stress event.

 

Of course he's fine, he's Kacchan, and yet... the image of him, mouth slack, blood trailing down from a bullet wound in his skull, it just won't leave his mind's eye.

Couldn't protect him, couldn't save him, and now Izuku can't even hold his hand without hurting him. 
Always hurting Kacchan.

There's a faint whistle through a cracked door on a higher level, a faint drip of water from a pipe in the access tunnel, 

Plip, plip, plip.

The whole structure creaks like the walls are breathing, somehow both foreboding and empty at the same time.

It's quiet in the worst way. 

After another moment to catch his breath, Kacchan nods for them to continue. His pulse is noticeably slower now, his breathing less labored, though there's a wheeze to his lungs that has Izuku cringing. A hand reaches out to take Izuku's bloody glove again, but Izuku pretends not to see, trying to keep his eyes on the concrete, his body cheated away.

 

Of course, Kacchan doesn't fall for that.

The grip on his hand is just as tight as it was before, grounding and heavy.

"Don't look down on me, asshole." Kacchan grunts, yanking him forward by the hand, and pumping his fist around Izuku's lax fingers in the same pattern as his thunderous pulse. 

 
"Never, Kacchan." He whispers back, but doesn't squeeze back this time, keeping his fingers loose to avoid hurting him again.
He doesn't turn to face Kacchan, purposefully focusing on climbing up the infinite stairs ahead of them. 

 

Izuku tries to listen, straining to hear through the pounding of their feet as they ascend level by level. He listens for movement, for voices, for anything above the low groans of those Hassaikai members they dispatched earlier, and the symphony of their sluggish heartbeats beating at his skull like a drum. 

Thankfully, Izuku hears the hushed whispers of Mirio's voice trying to comfort Eri - somewhere on the level above them, maybe? 

They reach the end of the stairwell, emptying out into yet another maze of identical pillars and curved hallways. There's a lot more noise and chatter on this floor than he had thought there was initially, now no longer dampened by the extra layers of asphalt and soundproofing between the divisions of the facility. 

It's hard to parse through the jumble. His sensitive ears strain to locate where quiet sniffling is coming from. The squeal of the door must have alerted Mirio because he's stopped speaking, or perhaps breathing, entirely. 

Hopefully from fear and not the bullet wound in his senpai's shoulder.

"Deku." Kacchan's voice is low, gravelly and on-edge, questioning. It immediately snags Izuku's attention, but he shakes it off, trying to focus, to sort through the din. 

A tiny, squeaky whimper.
Eri.
No doubt about it. 

But where?

A quiet sob, the flutter of her heart like a hummingbird, thrumming and quick. Then there's a much lower pitch humming nearby, disrupted by a bitten off groan. 

Mirio. 

His sluggish heartbeat skips an unhealthy number of beats before thankfully picking up again, more like the gallop of a horse than a steady rhythm.
 
Suddenly Izuku lurches forward, slipping out of Kacchan's fingers easily as he sprints down the hall, his footsteps echoing against the sprawling halls of the compound, echoing from all around them.

 
"Oi!" Kacchan curses, his thunderous steps adding to the cacophony, following his frantic pace. 

He's surprised to find just how far he'd been tuned in, as he continues down the hall at least fifty meters. A brief second is all it takes him to pause at a fork, before turning down the hall to the right. 

 

There! 

 

Mostly hidden by an outcropping is a strange alcove, a recess built into the side of the wall. They must be close to one of the baths or perhaps a kitchen, based on the number of vents and pipes extending from the cinderblock. If Izuku hadn't been listening for them, he likely would have missed them completely, as tucked out of sight as they are.

Mirio's complexion is pale and damp, his eyelids fluttering, his gaze unfocused. Still, he draws a trembling Eri closer to his chest, hiding her underneath a scrap of red fabric, shielding her from the incoming threat. He visibly relaxes when he sees it's just Izuku, a wobbly smile stretching his face.

It sort of hurts to be trusted so much, given everything that's happened. 

"There you... guys... are. You move... fast." Even though there is a painful rattle in his chest and Mirio has to gasp out the words, the smile doesn't leave his face. 

 

"Shit." 

Izuku fights an inappropriate urge to laugh reflexively at Kacchan's potty mouth, but really, there's nothing funny about this. 

Mirio's shoulder is still bleeding, oozing thick, dark blood that shows no sign of clotting. Beneath the dripping strands, there's a mess of black and purple bruising and throbbing veins around the entrance of the wound, proof that this isn't just a run-of-the-mill gunshot wound. 
 

"We have to get that out of you." Kacchan says seriously.

He makes a good point, and as Izuku bends down closer to look, it's obvious he's right. 

Whatever this is, it's spreading fast.

"Based on the spread, he has less than twenty minutes before the toxin breaches his heart. Medical attention is required. Best-chance prognosis for survival requires surgical retrieval of the foreign body in a sterile environment." OFA chirps, bringing up a small timer clock in the left hand of his vision, and a small zoomed out map of the distance between the facility and Toga and Ochako's safe house, the closest place they could do such an operation. 

Izuku doesn't answer, but he can't ignore the information entirely.

"You need medical attention, immediately. There's a safehouse not far from here, and I can get you there, but I'll have to carry you. Eri-chan, I need you to go with Kacchan, is that okay?" Izuku gentles his voice when he directs his question towards Eri, who looks up at him with her bright, damp eyes. Her pale hair hangs limply around her face, looking just as small and terrified as she had that day in the alley. 

Before she can speak, whether to agree or not, a door down the hall bangs open, metal colliding with concrete. She flinches hard, curling into Mirio's chest, where the man holds her as tightly as he can given his injury. 

Izuku picks out the rasp of Aizawa's breathing, the scrape of his calloused hand against his stubble, the muttered cursing as he exits the stairwell, so he doesn't stiffen at the noise the way the others do, tensing up at the an unknown pursuant.  
 

"Down here, sir!" Izuku calls out, not looking away from the two on the ground in front of him. 
When it's clear Izuku isn't concerned, the others relax a bit, and even Kacchan sighs in relief.

He hears Aizawa's grunt in reply, and the shuffling footsteps as he approaches, but they sound... off? 

And there's only one set of them. 

"Sir, where is Toga-chan?" He asks aloud, turning back to wait for a response. 

It takes Aizawa longer than expected to stumble forward, and when he drags his bloody leg behind him, it's not hard to see why. Dark hair obscures some of his face, but his eyebrows are pinched in both pain and confused irritation.
 

"She's not with you?" Aizawa rasps, looking at each face in turn, as if to prove that she was in fact, not there. 

 
Oh no.

 
"What happened?" Izuku asks, his voice sounding vacant in his own ears. 

He would've noticed if Aizawa had been shot before he left, and he should've heard something if another shot had been fired... but he'd been surprised at how well fortified the walls had been in the stairwell, and there has always been a dead zone in the lower levels. The acoustics in this place make it hard to identify where every sound comes from, or what exactly they are in a fortress this size, especially one that echoes the way this one does.

He complained about that to Toga more than once, actually.  
Something pricks against his awareness, a sense of dread looming just behind him, breathing down his neck-

"We got the information we needed, but he got a lucky shot off. Toga was supposed to meet up with you and move towards the extraction point." Aizawa grits out, surveying the survivors of their mission one last time before casting a hard look down the hall. "We need to get out of here. Now. We can't wait for her."

He's right and Izuku hates that.  

"What happened to Birdface?" Kacchan snaps, curling his upper lip in a snarl.

Aizawa glowers, clearly just as unhappy. 

"Toga had him when she left."

So they were missing both their undercover operative and their target.
Izuku isn't dumb enough to think any of this is a coincidence.

Aizawa let Toga take Chisaki, trusting that she'd rendezvous with the rest of them, but if he'd been thinking clearly, he would never have agreed to such a plan in the first place. 
She must've been awfully convincing if Sensei let her go unsupervised with a half-dead kingpin in her clutches. 
Plus the fact that Toga wasn't even supposed to be here for this mission, had missed her check in, but somehow showed up right on time anyway?

Clearly, Toga has another objective for this raid, one the rest of them aren't privy to.  

And to think, he'd actually been relieved when she showed up this morning.

Izuku grits his teeth at the thought before pushing it down, back where it belongs. 

He has to have faith in her, he has to. 

As if to taunt him for the sentiment, sirens begin blaring above them, the auxiliary lights click off, submerging them in darkness for half a second before bathing the corridor in flashing yellow and red from the emergency lights.

Kacchan growls, quickly fiddling with the aid in his ear as Eri begins to cry in earnest. Mirio winces at the noise but tries to cheer her up despite it, patting at her arm and speaking softly to her. 

"You've been so brave, did you know that? I would've been such a chicken compared to you! I'm going to get you a very big ice cream cone, bigger than you've ever seen, okay? Have you had iceream before, Eri? O-Or maybe we-" Mirio continues promising Eri bags of candy and toys and stuffed animals galore, but an agitating, grating voice interrupts the words.

"Surveillance cam footage suggests the alarm was activated from the control room on Level Five, using Chisaki Kai's log on code. Would you like me to tap into the recording?"

The fact that OFA even asks, knowing that it has obviously already done so, just sets another brick in Izuku's stomach. 
How does OFA even have access to the security feed all of a sudden?

Izuku swallows down his bile and resentment.

"Yes." 

A short clip of a surveillance feed shows Toga, still bloodstained as she skips through the halls, but there's no Chisaki in sight. 

She approaches a door with a number pad beside it and quickly punches in a series of numbers before ducking behind the door when it creaks open. She's inside for several minutes, and the timer at the corner speeds forward until the alarm activates, the lights cutting off only to be replaced by the strobe he sees in his vision beyond the footage. Toga emerges only a few seconds later, smiling broadly as she exits the control room.

The resolution isn't the greatest, her face cut in shap relief from the pulsing lights, but Izuku almost swears she winks at the camera before finally exiting the frame. 

"Despite the use of Chisaki Kai's alarm code, he is not present in the footage." The voice is passive but curious, as if this is some kind of murder mystery and a particularly juicy clue has been uncovered.

It all feels so fake, so performative. 

"Can you locate him?" Izuku is not interested in playing games, nor is he interested in sniping at the voices in his own head. He can feel Kacchan's worried eyes on his back already from where he remains crouched.

 

"Currently, no. I will continue parsing the footage for the higher floors. The cameras on the levels below the fifth floor have all been disabled, along with the security measures, using that same alarm code." 

Izuku grits his teeth, as OFA echoes his own thoughts. 

When OFA first told him about the doors and the access stairwell, he had wondered why and how the security measures had been turned off. 
Based on that video, and the alarms currently tearing their way into his ear drums, it seems that was also Toga's doing.

He wishes that thought was comforting, but it isn't.

"And now where is she?"

The alarms continue to howl around them, the lights pulsing, only adding to the sensory overwhelm as he watches snippets of various camera angles flash across the screen in his lenses. He feels the unease wafting off Kacchan and Aizawa behind him.

 

"... She's approaching Level 6's armory. However, the mission-" 

 

"The mission priority is getting the injured civilians off the premises." Izuku recites, daring OFA to disagree with him, parroting the words that had caused him so much grief in the USJ. 

 

"Normally yes, but in this case there are extenuating circumstances-" Yoichi tries to sidestep his words, not directly negating them but clearly pushing for another course of action. 

 

"That's the protocol, isn't it?" Izuku presses again, harder this time. 

"The Tokyo Police Department are already en route and will arrive within thirteen minutes. The injured are likely to slow down efforts to retreat. If you are captured then the mission is in jeopardy. Success projections suggest that for the best case scenario, those who have been shot... must remain behind." Yoichi admits quietly, solemn, like he knew this was going to be received poorly.  

OFA is correct.
 
Izuku will not abandon the others, and refuses to allow a computer program to cherry pick who it thinks deserves to be saved based on some damn algorithm.
He's seen the results firsthand of blindly following OFA's directions, and leaving Mirio and Mr. Aizawa behind goes against everything he believes in.

So that means it's time for Plan B. 
He just hopes that it doesn't somehow come back to bite him in the ass.

"The Tokyo Police Department will be here in thirteen minutes. Mirio-san is incapable of walking, so I will have to carry him. Aizawa, I need you to keep pressure off that leg, it will slow the spread. You and Kacchan should take the bike as planned. Everyone rendezvous back at the safe house." He rattles off the information as clearly and concisely as possible before looking back at Aizawa and Kacchan, gauging their reactions through his own mask.

He's glad they can't see the rage and bitterness he knows would be written plain as day across his face, especially when Izuku sees Kacchan's brows pinch up, and an oddly similar expression cross Aizawa's stern features. Still, despite clearly not liking this plan, they don't argue with him, which is as good as he can hope for at this point so he refocuses on the issue at hand. 
 

"Eri-chan, I need you to stand by Mr. Eraser over there and close your eyes, just for a minute, can you do that for me?" Izuku fights to keep his voice light and comforting. She's had such a scary day, a scary life, and Izuku doesn't want to be another thing she's afraid of. 

Aizawa leans forward to get her attention, smiling gently and encouragingly at her.
He didn't even know Aizawa's face could do that but he's immediately grateful for it.

Eri, despite her trembling hands and tear filled eyes, releases her death grip on Mirio's bloodstained shirt, stepping closer to Aizawa's imposing form with a dip of her chin. 

She really is so brave.
She doesn't deserve to see this. 

When Izuku is confident her view is obscured by Aizawa's scarf, he leans forward to catch Mirio's eyes, cast in a frightening strobe of red and yellow.

The pain and exhaustion are easily visible on his face now, without Eri's impressionable mind to worry about, Mirio lets himself droop back against the wall. Sweat pours from around his temples, gathering in droplets on his chin, despite the profound stifling cold of the hallway.

Maybe OFA is right.
Maybe Mirio really is done for.
Maybe removing the bullet will just delay the inevitable.
Maybe trying to drag him out of here after this will just slow them all down.
Maybe this is when his luck finally runs out, or he's been interfering with fate all this time and Mirio's time has been up since that night in the USJ.

But even so- Izuku refuses to let him die here of all places.
He's far too good of a person to deserve an ending like this.

He knows Mirio can't actually see his expression through the mask - and he doesn't know if he can even ask the question fumbling on his tongue without crying - but bless him, Mirio understands. He nods, slowly, with great effort and a severe smile that looks more like a grimace than anything. 

He probably regrets his consent immediately when Izuku spares no second to reconsider his actions. 

With an unspoken apology, Izuku dives his fingers into the gaping hole left behind, worming his digits further in despite OFA's immediate complaints in his ear. He ignores the scolding about bacteria and field dressings and infection risks and whatever other nonsense, but still, he does not stop or pause. The flesh of Mirio's shoulder is hot and wet, even through his gloves, and he hears the squeak of Mirio's teeth clenching together as he tries not to scream, aided only by Izuku's other palm covering his mouth. When he finally feels the unnatural shape of the bullet, he's already scooping it out, unwilling to let it go. He's almost relieved when Mirio's eyes finally roll back in his skull and he slumps, unconscious against Izuku's chest.

If anything, this just makes his job easier.
He drapes the upperclassman over his shoulder, swinging his limp legs around his back to firm his grip. 

When he looks back to Eri, she's facing him again. There are fresh tears gathering in her light lashes, and she looks towards Mirio with clear concern.
 
OFA sighs in his ear petulantly, and Izuku fights the urge to curse at the disembodied voice.
He listened to OFA before, and he'll listen now, but he won't be abandoning anyone. 

Everyone is getting out of here alive, if he has anything to say about it.

"Eri-chan, you've been so brave today but I need you to do one last thing and come with me, okay? I'm going to tie you to my front so you don't fall. I'll take you somewhere safe." He explains patiently, offering a hand out to her, still soaked in blood, that of enemies and friends alike.

He's prepared for her to say no, to scream, or demand to stay with someone else, but for some reason, she apparently trusts him. 
She nods once, before stepping in close to him, letting her hair tickle his neck as he bends down to tie her to him with the red sheet Mirio had been using to hide her.

If the police really are on their way, Toga is gone again, Aizawa is shot and poisoned, and Izuku has to worry about the other two... That just leaves one last thing. 

Izuku turns to look straight into Kacchan's eyes, and he watches the other man puff his chest out in acknowledgement. 

Maybe they could go together, maybe-

If he could- no, that wouldn't work... 

What if- no, there's no time!

 

"Success percentage is currently at 38% integrity and dropping. Attempting to move through the facility at his pace will likely result in loss of life for all civilians." OFA reports dutifully, probably reading his mind again, somehow.  

Going together just isn't an option. 
But Izuku is loathe to be separated again...

Despite this awful feeling, they have to keep going. 
There's no other acceptable outcome.  

"Your sword is on the level above us, third hall, by the fire extinguishers. If you don't arrive at the safe house within the next fifteen minutes, I will come back and drag you out of here myself. Do you understand, Kacchan?" Izuku's probably being harsher than he ought to, but the idea of leaving Kacchan behind is already clawing at him, remembering his unseeing eyes, the thud of his body as he hit the ground...

 
"Don't fucking tell me what to do, Deku." 

It's such a Kacchan thing to say, to be contrarian, even now.
Against all rational thought, the response makes Izuku smile a bit, and he's once again glad his mask hides such a thing. 
 
Unfortunately, OFA has yet to be wrong, as annoying as that is. 
Leaving Kacchan feels like a mistake, like the second he takes his eyes off the blond, he'll disappear forever.

Even though it feels like he's cracking open his sternum and hurling his guts out, something desperate claws at him to start moving. 

"Promise me, Kacchan. Fifteen minutes. You have to leave, you have to promise." He implores, rising off his knees, just to get a bit closer. He's trying to keep the fear out of his voice, the doubt, but it waits in the wings. 

"... I promise, shitty nerd." Kacchan spits, folding his arms over his chest and... pouting. 

It's unreasonably cute, the way he glowers, and if he didn't wince and rub at the place he'd been shot, Izuku might've smiled again. 
As it is, he nods once, debating stepping forward to kiss him, just once.

He could take just one more second, right?
Just one little delay, one more moment-

The timer in the corner flashes yellow as it hits another minute counted down before the police arrive. 

Guess that answers that question.

With Mirio unconscious on his back, Eri's quiet cries as she covers her ears, and the sirens still wailing above them, Izuku refuses to look back as he begins the journey to the safe house. 

 

---

 

OFA guides him swiftly through the facility, and despite the weight on him, Izuku doesn't really feel tired. 
He does, however, feel almost hypersensitive, reactive to every shift in the environment, for better or worse.

He has to fight through the end of a hallway on Level 2, where the access point is surrounded by those not yet dealt with.

Files, names, dates, arrest records, all flash in his vision, identifying all the faces and conveniently sorting them into threats and non-lethal takedowns with minimal damage. 

Two gangsters attempt to sandwich him but he uses black whip to bind their legs as he dashes past them. Bullets fly in his direction as they're knocked to the ground, but a quick series of dodges leave him unharmed, despite his precious cargo. A group tries to pin him in, but he backs up easily onto the walls, scaling the ceiling and then back down again, though much slower than usual with the additional weight. His muscles feel tight and locked up, tense and bound in frantic energy.

One particularly large flip inside the adjacent elevator shaft reminds him this is something unique to his physiology when Eri screams, then suddenly goes limp against his chest. 
He hadn't considered the feeling the wild vertigo she must be feeling due to his climbing and the speed of his movements. 

Oh, that might not be good for her, health-wise actually? 
She certainly could get nauseous or lose consciousness without whatever kind of inner ear -

"Assailant approaching on the rear identified as Himiko Toga." The urgent tone in Yoichi's voice cuts over his analysis, and Izuku jumps up on reflex, suddenly finding himself hanging upside down from the ceiling to avoid Toga's incoming knife swipe from behind. She arcs her blade, aiming for Mirio's body draped over his shoulders, unconscious and hanging limply on his back. 

  
"Hey, there you are! Y'know, you look a little weighed down." She giggles at her own joke, twirling underneath him. Her skirt catches the air, fanning out and swishing around her.

"Toga-chan, what are you doing?" He asks, somewhere between exasperated and wary. 

There's a crawling feeling in his skin, a warning. 
Himiko Toga feels more like a threat now than ever, not the friend he's come to rely on.

"Who me? Tying up loose ends, ZuZu. But for some reason, you're carrying one around. Can't ya year the bells?" She grins, dancing along with the wailing of the sirens still pealing all around them as if they were music. 

Izuku frowns under his mask, curling closer to the ceiling, feeling like her erratic behavior is cover for something far more tactical.

"Of course, I hear them. Aizawa said we were supposed to meet you and head back to the extraction point. Law enforcement will be here soon. But this is a civilian, not a member of the Shie Hassaikai." Izuku enunciates, readjusting the way Mirio's weight is distributed on his back, just as the weight begins to slip.

"Never said he was, silly! Totally a liability though, isn't he? So not cute." She wrinkles her noise, continuing to circle around below him in an almost hypnotic circle.
Everything is carnival shades of crimson and amber, distorting the shadows and expression on her face into something exaggerated and monstrous, glinting off her teeth and bright, golden eyes.

"I wouldn't just abandon someone because they'd slow me down-" He begins to argue, horrified and still sensitive from OFA suggesting the same. He's floored that she, of all people, would suggest such a thing.

But Toga just sighs dramatically, putting her bloodied hand on her hip before tutting at him chidingly, the blade in her hand flashing as she lackadaisically points it towards him. 

"I thought you were a nerd, Zuzu? Even I read that dumb paper of his! Granted, y'know, Chako-baby's specialty is hematology, so I guess I'm more up to date than you are with this sort of thing." She grins, licking her lips and the tips of her canine, in a move that almost reminds him of Kacchan. 

But unlike the warm pulse of arousal or challenge that he feels for Kacchan, Izuku only feels that familiar unique chill of danger skitter across his skin. 

Toga has always put Izuku on alert, some buried prey drive in his DNA urging him to hide from a prowling predator. 
Only Toga has really elicited this particular fear in him.

She feels like a wild animal.
One wrong move and she'd eat him alive.

"Must've missed it. I've been a little busy lately. My friend just up and vanished, so I've been distracted." He says pointedly, the flashing lights and her slow pacing keeping him on high alert. "Ochako has really missed-"

"It was way too long and kinda boring, actually, for being such a big deal! I much prefer to leave the science-y stuff to you guys." She whines, cutting him off mid-sentence and admiring the dried blood speckling her skin in the strobes. "Who'd have thought your buddy here was the one to give them the idea for the girl's experiment in the first place?"

Suddenly Izuku is tossed back to another time, to an office that no longer exists, with oak bookcases and a small couch, talking with Dr. Toshinori about the Big Three of the Behavioral Health and Science wing's research studies. Izuku never got around to actually reading the dissertations, despite his interest in Amajiki-san's nanobots.

A hematological study would make sense given the context of their department, but as far as he knew Mirio's research was in something else entirely.

It was... permeation or particle transfer, something like that?

"Mirio-senpai would never put Eri in danger knowingly. If his research was used by the Shie Hassaikai, then it was without his consent. He is not that kind of person." Izuku denies, subtly scanning the room for a way out.

"Trying to convince me, or you, Zu?" Toga calls, folding her arms behind her back; she's the picture of innocence, but somehow that only makes her more threatening in the pulsing lights,  the blood splatter drying and flaking on her cheeks. 

She clearly knows something he doesn't, but Izuku can't shake the feeling that there must be more to the story, that Mirio Togata is not the villain here.

Izuku knows Toga.
Has known her, for years now.

He's cried with her, covered for her. Has loved her, believed in her, all this time, but for the first time in ages, doubt and panic claw at his throat.
Dancing with her at prom, laughing over the wood top bar at the League, sizzling katsudon on his worst days, pomegranate parfaits, and whispered conversations and inside jokes as they laid in wait miles apart, no one left to rely on but each other.

Izuku trusts Toga.

Doesn't he?

So why does she feels like a stranger right now?
An enemy?

There are basic vital stats for both Eri and Mirio in his periphery, but the latter's heart rate is steadily dropping. He needs help, and they don't have time to talk like this. He needs help. Izuku can't find even a hint of the girl he knows when he looks down at the person circling below him like a shark smelling blood in the water. 

 

So he changes tactics.

 

"Are you planning on coming back home with me, Toga-chan? Ochako's been worried sick. The safe house isn't far, but we have to get out of here now, before the Captain arrives." He tries to plead with her from the high ground, hoping to lure her back to neutral territory, to discuss things properly, somewhere there aren't sirens stabbing into his ear drums.  

Her slow, lazy circling drifts to a stop, her bangs shadowing her eyes from view. 

"Not today. There's a few things I still have to do first. Do me a favor though?" Her conversational tone slips into something more sincere for half a second. 

"Of course. What are friends for?" He replies, careful but receptive.

"The police will arrive in less than ten minutes. Both civilians are currently unconscious, but Mirio Togata is approaching ventricular fibrillation. Move to the exit now." Yoichi urges him, enlarging the timer in his vision.

"You really are a good friend, Izuku. Promise you'll tell Chako I'm sorry? She's gonna be really mad at me." There's a tremble in her voice then, so far from the teasing, confident cadence she's had till now. It breaks Izuku's resolve, and he finds himself reaching out to her a bit, still far from making contact, but the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

"Maybe at first, but I'm sure if you just explain-"

Her head snaps up to look at him, and he can't bring himself to finish the sentence.
Toga's catlike topaz eyes are wet with tears, completely at odds with the big smile that carves her face.

"You know, you look cute like this, all covered in blood and serious." 

Izuku flinches when the knife thrown at him lodges into the concrete by his arm, body reacting to dodge before he even really thinks about it. 
The countdown clock in his vision ticks past another minute of this confrontation, and by the time Izuku focuses down again, Toga is nowhere to be found. 

He's... disappointed that the feeling is becoming familiar.
But another more analytical part of him wonders why the arc to the knife was so far left... almost like she never intended it to actually make contact at all. 

 

---

 

Even after Izuku passes through the front gates, swinging expertly over the neighborhood as fast as he dares to in the evening light, he can't shake the feeling that he's being watched.

Izuku initially plans on just busting through the door, already casting a wary eye over his shoulder for watchdogs who might report his whereabouts, but the door hangs partially open as he approaches. He curses under his breath, already cycling through his brain trying to find an alternative location, when he spots Ochako dip her head out the door. Her chocolate brown hair catches a low breeze as she watches the street, casting worried looks around the neighborhood.
 
He should have known that despite Ochako being warned to stay away, despite her assured safety within Tsu's dorm, that she would be here anyway.
Ready for the worst case scenario, unwilling to stay away from the action if she could help, even a little.

They're so alike, in that way. 

He makes it a point never to tease her again for setting up the makeshift medbay just in case, because she's probably about to save a couple of lives. 

Ochako sucks in a startled breath when he swings past her and through the open doorway, already hauling Mirio up onto the creaky dining table laden in sheets and gauze dressings.

It takes less than half a minute for Ochako to immediately transition into the hero she always has been in times like these.
Because this isn't the first emergency Ochako has had to handle on short notice, in suboptimal conditions. 
In fact, that's the way she's done it for years. 

Granted, not by choice.

All those late nights she spent by his side, breaking his fevers, bandaging lacerations, splinting broken bones, stitching up injuries he inevitably took awful care of.
The guilt is overwhelming, how patient Ochako has been with him, with them, for so long. 

It resolves something in him to shed some light on what happened this time.

He's as succinct and to the point about their injuries as he can be. Her big brown eyes widen when she hears about the bullet wounds, and tears overflow when he recalls his confrontation with Toga and her subsequent apology. She scowls when he tells her about the half-hearted attempt on his life. Honestly, there's entirely too much to tell her, so he finds himself rambling when each new piece of information seems to only need further clarification. 

Izuku sees it in the furrow between her brows, in the way that Ochako asks questions at first, but soon falls quiet, focused as she listens. Her hands move deftly, lost in the routine of her work, bent over Mirio on their makeshift operating table. Despite the anger and pain in her expression, she continues without pause, still operating mostly in the dark, literally and figuratively.

The fact that Toga isn't coming back tonight, and that clearly she never intended to, for whatever reason... yeah.
Ochako's probably heartbroken. 

Eri's condition is thankfully stable, though she still hasn't woken up yet. 
OFA helpfully points out that it is likely just a result from the inertia she's been exposed to and the adrenaline dump from the day's events, so he finally untangles the red sheet from his body, resting her gently on the couch. 

There's a brief period of nothing but the sounds of Ochako working, Eri's tiny little snores, and the distant noise of sirens, neighbors cooking, quiet conversations, traffic, a loud engine, frantic footsteps - before the door suddenly crashes open.

Izuku recognizes Kacchan instantly, though Aizawa's labored breathing gives him pause.

"Injuries?" Ochako demands, the second Kacchan and Aizawa skid to a stop on the ugly brown floors.

 

Izuku watches Kacchan take in the makeshift nurse's station Ochako has amassed in the dining area with bewilderment. 
It does sort of look like something out of a war documentary, or a back alley crime lab where someone would steal a passerby's kidney. 

Just missing the bath tub full of ice.

Maybe that wasn't a bad idea, actually...

Ochako's hands don't stop as she flushes Mirio's wound with saline again, trying to rinse as much of the dark, now coagulated substance out of Mirio's shoulder as she can, before she begins to pack in gauze to hasten the process. 

"Another bullet wound, but-" Kacchan frowns, perplexed.

Izuku doesn't have time to comment as Aizawa's eyes roll back in his head, slackening from his position part way against the front door.
He catches the older man purely on reflex, taking his weight easily and guiding him onto the couch in the living area, already splattered with blood. 

Eri remains curled up on the arm, and even in his current condition, Aizawa is careful not to nudge her as he collapses into the sofa. 
All the stress and adrenaline had to have worn her out, because she continues sleeping peacefully despite the bedlam around them.  

Izuku leans down to inspect the damage to Aizawa's leg, but Ochako is quick to reprimand him as he does so.  

"Deku-kun, I swear if you stick those nasty gloves in another wound, so help me, I'll float you into the stratosphere!" 

Aizawa's face looks much like Mirio's had in the alcove back at the Shie Hassaikai. Sweat leaks down his sallow cheeks, catching in the coarse facial hair there. His eyes, however, are focused, alert. 

The wound has festered, looking even worse than he had expected it to. 

"We're running out of time. It's spreading fast." He informs them seriously, not pausing in his examination, but the fabric of the clothing is matted into the blood and hair, drying more with every second. Aizawa's pants tear easily under his fingers, exposing the gunshot to air that smells like mildew, bacitracin, and rubbing alcohol. 

Spiderweb veins of black, Tyrian purple, and some deep horrible rusty shade between all arc from the wound, traveling like lightning down Aizawa's pale skin. Even through his gloves - which Ochako might have a point, Izuku really should take them off - the skin grows colder the lower down Izuku feels. 

"Deku, talk to me, tell me what you see." Ochako prompts, not looking away from her work as she begins soaking gauze and feeling Mirio's head for a fever response.

Anatomical models and the correct terminology are marked in his sight, and Izuku is wordlessly thankful in the moment for it. 

"Lower body temperature, increased discoloration, webbing is more advanced following the peroneal artery, the great saphenous vein is affected." He murmurs back, trying not to look up at Aizawa as he speaks, knowing that he'd lose his cool if he did. 

It's horrifying to face this man, this warrior, this fucking hero, knowing that Izuku is still just a kid. 
Just a little nerd that watched too many cartoons with Kacchan back when they were kids. 

He's not prepared for this, he isn't qualified.

Is this what they manifested when they made that promise back then?

Was this what he dreamt about, all those years?

As Izuku watches, the dark pattern continues to spread further and further down the back of Aizawa's calf, but even scarier, it also creeps up above his knee, closer to the femoral artery. If the poison manages to spread there... Aizawa will not survive. 

The math and logic begin percolating in his brain, every scenario, every qualifier of this situation, but every piece of data hastens the same outcome.

"Current rate of infection is spreading too quickly to contain. Given the age of the patient, and the length of time the bullet has remained within the body, the poison's onset is estimated to be significantly more advanced than Mirio Togata's had been upon arrival, likely due to your removal of the ammunition. With no blood on hand to complete a transfusion to replace the volume lost, the chance of survival is dropping. Emergency amputation has the highest chance for recovery, at 52% confidence."

 

So even if he actually goes for the most severe operation possible in these conditions and actually does amputate the man's limb, AND even if Izuku does it absolutely perfectly, the odds are still basically fifty / fifty?

Izuku tries to force himself to breathe, to swallow the sob that lingers in the back of his throat, and shakily kneels on the nasty carpet.
It doesn't take more than a handful of seconds before he's sitting back on his haunches and looking up at Aizawa, facing him head on.  
 

"This is bad. We... we have to get rid of it." He tells the dark haired man softly, forcing himself to still, to stop poking and prodding and hoping against all hope that he's wrong, because he knows he's not. Not with OFA echoing every thing he's desperately trying not to think about.
 

"Do it then." Aizawa grimaces, his complexion waxy and damp, tendrils of hair stuck to his forehead and matted there.

 

"I don't mean the bullet, Sensei." 

 
Aizawa's brows pull together, before realization steals the last flush of color from his cheeks. The teacher closes his eyes, turning the words over in his head. 
It's silent, which is somehow just as disorienting as the wailing sirens and flashing lights had been. 

He hears her sharp inhale, and knows what Ochako will say before she even gets the words out. 

"A-are you sure, Deku-kun? I-I'm almost done, maybe I could just-" 

He tries not to take it to heart, that Ochako thinks she can do better, could see another outcome than the obvious... but she doesn't have OFA in her ear to validate it, and she sounds one harsh word from crying. She doesn't turn to look at him even, and Izuku acknowledges that the stress of this situation might be impacting his judgment, making him more sensitive.  

Still, he doesn't engage with her directly.

"It's up to you, sir. The infection, the poison, the blood loss... the odds of you surviving this are almost non-existent unless we take drastic measures. I'm sorry I allowed this to happen." His voice is hollow, no inflection, no emotion. 

 

If only he hadn't freaked out, if he'd just stayed, if he'd faced the music and watched Toga do her thing, he could've prevented this. He would have been there when Aizawa was shot, Toga never would've disappeared, he could have dragged her back, they'd have Chisaki to figure out what he'd done to them, everything would have gone to plan.
 
If he'd just had a sturdier stomach, if he'd been less emotional, less selfish.

Some hero he's turned out to be- just one wrong move after another. 

Aizawa breathes out heavy through his nostrils, too forcefully to be a sigh - but instead of reacting how one might expect to being told a freshman college student is planning on amputating your limb in what can only be gently referred to as a hovel - instead he fights to lean forward, looking down his angular nose at Izuku crouched by his feet.

"I told you once already, problem child. Don't make me tell you again." 

Izuku meets his eyes then, surprised for a split second, before the look of grim determination he receives buries it.

He shouldn't have expected anything less from the pragmatic Aizawa.
He's been in this industry for decades, he's seen death, caused it.

Aizawa knows the odds at play here.
So he just nods in acknowledgment, or maybe deference, it's hard to tell.

 

There's no way they can do this here. 

Not with Eri sleeping mere inches away. 
Not with the amount of blood that is sure to soak the carpet, enough to turn it's dirty tawny brown into rich dark umber.  
Not with Ochako's choked off sniffles as she tries to force her fingers to stop shaking as she sutures Mirio's wound closed. 
Not with Kacchan's wide eyes, his disgusted expression as he turns towards the kitchen. 

Izuku gingerly, but with newfound purpose, slides his arms under Aizawa's legs and pulls him off the couch, and crosses the room to the bathroom. 

The click of the overhead bulb hanging there is harsh, bathing everything in a sickly yellow sheen.

It reminds him of the emergency lights.
First yellow, then red.

Soon there will be far too much red for him to ever even consider using this ugly fiberglass tub. 

"I, uh-" 

Izuku isn't sure what he's trying to say when he lays Aizawa in the tub, so he forces his mouth closed again with a click. 

Dark eyes follow the noise.

Quickly, Izuku returns to the main room, gathering supplies from around Ochako, careful not to bump the table she's still bent over. He brushes against her for half a second, and she presses her arm into his when he does, soaking up as much comfort and contact as they can afford to in these conditions. Izuku finishes gathering the last of the bandages, the tea towels that had once hung in Ochako's kitchen, the medication bottles, the analgesic and other instruments needed as OFA points them out.  

The walk back to the bathroom feels more like he's approaching the gallows. 
Each step solidifies another weight added to his back.

Still, he doesn't slow, time waits for no man, and he won't lose anyone else today.

The jug of alcohol tucked under his arm feels strangely heavy, and the bottle of ketamine in his palm rattles as he moves.
Izuku feels himself shut down emotionally, as he crosses the threshold into the bathroom, focused only on the task at hand, on not letting Aizawa suffer a moment longer than he has to.

Dosage seems like such a silly concern right now, but OFA prompts him with the proper administration directions. Aizawa accepts the medication gratefully, though it seems to take him an exceedingly long time to track Izuku's movements.

OFA continues guiding him with pages of scrolling information, that Izuku passively listens to, even a handy How To video playing in the corner of his vision. His supplies litter the lip of the tub, and he's carefully not to knock into any of their precarious positions with his elbow as he stretches the rubber strap they'll be using as a tourniquet. 

Izuku doesn't even have the ire necessary to complain when OFA highlights the proper distance away from the wound for him to place the thing. 
Blinking arrow cursor and all.
 
Baby's first limb amputation.

It's a little awkward to reach from this position, forcing him to lean halfway into the tub to properly adjust the positioning of the tourniquet so he can-

The hand that reaches for him doesn't shake as much as he thought it might, given the circumstances, but he's more surprised by those fingers curling into the fabric of his mask and yanking it up, exposing his expression to the teacher's probing gaze.

"There you are." Aizawa grunts, his blinking getting slower as he catalogues Izuku's features. 

The sedative must be kicking in. 

"I am here." Izuku confirms aloud, but it wobbles.  

Aizawa droops his head forward in a nod, smacking at his lips and letting his eyes find the stained ceiling.

"I'm... ready."

Izuku's hand shakes as he reaches for the blade sitting on the edge of the tub. 

With his strength, the condition Aizawa's weapons are in, sharp, shiny and well maintained... well, it won't take much to cut through flesh and bone alike.
He raises the weapon, breathing in and out, holding it aloft - but he can't bring it down, he can't hurt him like that, he can't -

Izuku hears the door open, the creak of the hinges and a person's heartbeat. Ochako's lighter footsteps tap quietly on the linoleum behind him. 

"I'll be right there." She whispers, scrubbing at her hands in the sink. 

The water from the faucet and the squeak of the soap pump do nothing cover her crying, but they aren't loud at all, far from the racking sobs Izuku is surpressing. 
In fact, they're much calmer than Izuku would have thought, her shoulders barely shake in between deep, even breaths.

"You don't have to-" He dismisses, a wild panic in his chest for some reason.

"Scoot over." She sniffs, settling next to him to kneel over the tub. "Your medical team has come to the rescue." 

 

He's so grateful to her then, because even as tears fall down her cheeks, she still smiles at them both.
She's the hero he wishes he could be right now.

Ochako rests her hand over his, and her free one holds Aizawa's hand like they're about to arm wrestle, tender but braced.

It's just as easy as he thought it would be, but also much harder than he anticipated.
Physically, with the tourniquet and both Ochako's and OFA's instructions, it's over relatively quickly. 

The limb is removed, awkwardly set aside in the close quarters of the bathroom, he tries not to look at it, tries not to look at anything, really. Aizawa's bites his scarf through the worst of it, to silence his screams, and about then the energy changes pretty rapidly.

 

It's a lot of blood. 
He's seen a lot of blood today.

Ochako focuses on clamping, on quick whip stiches to slow the worst of the bleeding. Still, he deftly applies pressure, and anchors himself as a counterbalance for Kacchan's hand to enter the fray. He's distantly awed at the fireworks that dance in Kacchan's hands and the sizzle of flesh afterwards smells like barbecue. 

It's disgusting but also kind of beautiful. 

As the light dies from his palms Izuku takes a sort of mental a back seat to what's happening. His own hands move, and he notices the scarring catching rivulets of blood as he does so. He must have ditched the gloves at some point earlier then, but the blood still remains, soaked straight through. The observations come almost peacefully, and despite them, Izuku doesn't falter once. 

 

Aizawa had, at some point, slipped unconscious but he certainly doesn't stay that way long. 
It feels like every time Izuku looks over, his eyes are open, observant.    

 

He wonders what he looks like, lifting the man out of the tub once the hard part is over. Aizawa grunts his displeasure at the action, but doesn't resist as Izuku brings him back to the living room, to that old couch. Ochako stays behind to clean away the evidence, insisting that Eri get a bath to remove any risk of bloodborne pathogens that could make her ill. Based on the harsh scrubbing noises, it proves harder than she expected to purge the proof of the night out of the tub. Or maybe she just needs a moment, focused on the aggressive scratching of the scouring pad against the tub, to help process what's happened. Izuku dutifully pretends not to hear her sobbing, giving her the space to decompress. 

Still, she's ready for him eventually, red rimmed eyes notwithstanding.

The same hands that cut Aizawa's leg off gingerly slide under Eri's back to scoop her into his arms, the same arms that beat Chisaki nearly to death, and he carries her back to the bathroom much the same way he carried Mirio's unconscious body. 

He gives the girls some privacy, loitering in the hall and listening to the rush of the water, Ochako and Eri's soft introductions, Kacchan banging around in the kitchen. Aizawa groans quietly when he shifts on a loose spring in the old cushions, and Mirio's begins to stir from his place on the kitchen table.
 
It can't be comfortable, so Izuku relocates him to the old arm chair. It looks small and uncomfortable compared to the broadness of Mirio's shoulders, but it's still somewhat of an improvement, at least.

Ochako calls for him again, and Izuku braces himself before entering, for what he isn't sure, only to soften when he sees Ochako helping Eri brush her teeth at the sink, draped in a too-large t-shirt that must belong to one of the other girls. 

It's warm and muggy in the bathroom, evident by the fog clinging to the mirror. There's a small smiley face drawn into it, likely by a finger, and the condensation dripping from one of the eyes make it look like it's crying. Eri's tendrils of hair are darker when wet, greyer, and Ochako braids them back from her face as she droops in his arms. Eri's fluttering silver eyelashes are already slipping closed, drawn back into sleep.

They talk quietly, logistics and half hearted assurances, until Ochako sends him towards the back bedroom with a light shove. 

 

It's a small room, and most of Ochako and Toga's belongings are still back in their old apartment or in storage, but a few personal touches were left behind. Mainly, there's a Western bed made up in the center, it's cream and yellow bedspread looks nice, softer than most of the other surfaces he's seen in this house. 

Izuku is woefully unsure all of a sudden, without a voice in his ear to urge him forward, or another push in the right direction. 
After all, this is so different from every other civilian he's rescued so far. 

Even with Kouta, one of the only other child he's saved, Izuku never saw him again after the ambulances took him away. As far as Eri is concerned, he's really only met her once, and briefly, at that. He hadn't even been able to help her then, he'd even let Chisaki corral her back to the facility. He realizes distantly that she has albinism. It never really registered before, but her red eyes, her pale skin, her almost white hair, it's so obvious now. 

Izuku tucks her in almost robotically, until her small pale hand tightens onto his warped and crooked fingers limply.

The size difference is a little shocking to realize, all of a sudden.

He marvels quietly at the size of her hands, at the grief and relief that war in his chest. She's so little compared to him, so fragile. He could hurt her so easily, even just accidentally, and yet she still takes comfort in Izuku being here beside her, caring for her. 

He still can't believe she went with him willingly, earlier. 
She didn't know him, and he didn't know her. Not enough for the amount of trust she placed in him. To allow herself to be tied to his chest with some scrap of bloody fabric, a dying man on his shoulders.

She's seen the worst of Izuku today too. She's only seen him fail, seen him lose all pretense of heroism. Seen him be vengeful and angry and scary, but still, she trusts him to keep her safe. Eri is much braver than he was, and more resilient, too. He can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt her, wanting to steal her childhood away, keeping her locked in that awful place. 

Eri curls into the blankets like a cat, nuzzling her face into the pillow, sinking further into slumber. 
Izuku stays there awhile, leaning his back against her bedside, keeping vigil. Eri's sleeping face is soft and innocent, no trace of the horrors she's witnessed, just the peace of her dreams. 

It's dumbfounding, and he simply cannot understand.

Toga's words come back to him then, and the accusations against Mirio are fresh and stark in his memory. 

 

---

 

It's hours later, in the darkest part of the night, that everyone but Eri is awake to discuss the raid.

Thankfully, Izuku managed to peel himself out of the suit awhile ago, and it's comforting to have the tepid air lick at his neck, no longer encased in metal. The fabric of the suit doesn't hug at him like a second skin, and there are no voices in his ears to confuse him.

It's just Izuku, feeling unmoored and adrift in the silence of the room.

Ochako looks about how he feels, her large eyes, swollen from crying, stare off into the distance.
Mirio's drifting in and out of consciousness, slipping between present and gone at regular intervals. Aizawa is a hard one to put down though, despite the drugs in his system, as he remains awake. 

Of course, no amount of hoarded pill bottles could account for the level of pain he must be in, missing a leg from the knee down. 
They haven't really talked about it, and Izuku hopes they don't plan to for awhile.

"What happened?" The words spill out of his own mouth before he can stop them, but his own voice doesn't sound right, hoarse and shallow.

 

He doesn't think anyone heard him at first, and he's almost glad for it, but more than that, he just wants this night to be over, to be a memory, to be something he's already dealt with.

The silence would be deafening, if all the sounds around him weren't overwhelming Izuku as it was.

Perhaps silence isn't the right word. In fact, it's far too loud.

There's the creaking wood of the house settling around them, and the buzzing electricity from the lone bulb illuminating the space, and the howling of wind through cracked panes of glass. Izuku can hear the next door neighbor snoring, and the chirp of his smoke alarm suggests that it needs new batteries. It's sprinkling outside, and every droplet that hits the asphalt is a shot through his skull. Some people have quiet conversations in the adjacent houses, a tired mother's footsteps as she drags herself out of bed to feed a fussy baby, who screams and wails as she fumbles with a bottle warmer, and there's the tapping of a game console from another house down the street-

 

"I died." 

 
Izuku refocuses suddenly on Kacchan, who looks almost embarrassed at his own words.

The others look scared too, eyeing the blond with varying levels of concern. Aizawa's jaw creaks with the amount of force he uses to grit his teeth.  
 

"I... I think I met Death. Or... no, fuck it, I'm sure that I did." Kacchan huffs out, almost incredulously, burying his face in one hand and pushing his hair back out of his eyes. "They said... that the girl's blood was in the bullets. That I... whether it's because of my accident or because of her, I can't die." 

 

That's a lot of new information at once. 

Izuku had initially assumed it was just the healing factor that prompted Kacchan's miraculous recovery within the bowels of the Shie Hassaikai facility, but of course that wasn't true. 
After all, Kacchan had told him about the stab wound he'd gotten back in high school, about the amount of care and wound doctoring he'd needed to do to get it to heal up, even as advanced as the regeneration rate had been.

But yeah. 
Kacchan actually died.

That thought makes him physically ill, so he focuses on the fact that Kacchan is here, still. 
Harrowed and chemically altered even further, but here nonetheless.

Toga mentioned Mirio's research through the lens of Ochako's hematological studies.
Makes sense that his research would allow for some kind of experimentation, but why? 
If Eri's blood really was within those bullets, why did they poison their targets? 

Mirio's voice steals his attention. 

"They are. The bullets, that is. That's... that's why I was there. Sir, before he passed away, when I was with him in the hospital, he told me he had been investigating rumors of human experimentation in the Shie Hassaikai." There's a dark shadow over his eyes as she says those words, and Izuku's heart thuds unevenly in his chest. "Eri's super special, her blood contains this rare chemical composition, one that breaks down proteins in the average person." Mirio swings from excited and informative to hollow and painfilled. "She's immune to it, thankfully, but introducing her blood to a host? It unravels people from the inside out..." 

Nobody interrupts, but Ochako blinks rapidly. Aizawa eyes trace the cracks in the ceiling, and Kacchan watches Mirio with an inscrutable expression. 

 

"Overhaul, that was the name given to the operation: harvesting her blood, turning it into a weapon, selling the ability to... unmake someone. It was Chisaki's magnus opus, a way to put the Shie Hassaikai on top of the other crime families, bring back the Golden Age of the Yakuza." His voice is grave, serious in a way Izuku has never heard him sound before.

 

There's still information missing from the big picture, but a few more pieces of the puzzle click together slowly, one by one. 

 

"Is... is that what you wanted to talk to me about? That day in the alley?" Izuku asks carefully, fishing for more information without giving much else away. 
 

 

"Honestly? N-no, not at first. But when I saw her that day, I recognized her from Sir's description. I was going through the files that- survived..." He suddenly gasps in pain as he resituates himself in the too-small arm chair, his blue eyes going hazy and fluttering with strain. "There's... there's a video. From Dr. Toshinori. Addressed to you two. Thought you might want to see it when you were ready. S-say goodbye?"  

Ouch.
Whatever Izuku was expecting, whatever story he thought he was following the breadcrumbs of, it wasn't anything to do with that.
  
Izuku has already said goodbye to Dr. Toshinori once.
 
Mirio should know that by now, or at least should know enough about the situation to understand it's Izuku's fault Dr. Toshinori wasn't alive to tell them whatever he wanted to say in person, in the first place. The professor hadn't mentioned leaving behind a video, but admittedly, things were kind of stressful as he laid bleeding out on the office carpet, so he simply might've forgotten.   

Part of him wants to watch it now, right this minute, to get it over with, if only to never have to think about it again, but... that would forever change the last words their mentor ever spoke to him. Sway him away from the promise, the meaningful way Dr. Toshinori had looked at him.

 

Izuku feels numb, cold, and empty. 
Tired. 
Drained.
Brittle like glass.

His breaths come faster, until he tucks his head between his knees and fights to breath slower.
 

"... That makes sense. Eri's condition unravels protein bonds, you said." Aizawa points out gruffly, not opening his eyes but speaking clearly enough for them all to hear. 

He did say that, didn't he.

Severing protein bonds.

Of course that's why it worked.

"Kacchan's regeneration focused on stabilizing volatile compounds with nitrates. It must've counteracted the enzyme, fixing what bonds broke instantaneously. Rapid replenishment. Cell activation. It would've bolstered your healing factor, speeding up the rate your cells replace themselves when damaged. It explains why you healed so fast. You said before that it used to take hours to recover from a wound like that, but this time, you were only... gone, for a few minutes at most. Not that I remember much of it." 

He doesn't even realize he's said all that out loud, until Ochako pipes up. 

"That's... amazing." Her tone is awed, reverent almost.

Toga's words about the hematological study, about Mirio's research contributing to the Shie Hassaikai's experiments on Eri... it makes sense that Ochako would be interested. It's her field of study, after all, so he imagines she's just as curious about Eri's unique composition as she is in Kacchan's but, the way she looks at him with intellectual curiosity...

Izuku winces a bit, and right on cue, Kacchan bristles like a cat.

"Weren't you at Frogger's place? How'd you even get over here so fast?" He asks, his tone a bit more accusatory than it probably should be given the circumstances.

Izuku wants to defend her, and just as he opens his mouth to do so, Aizawa pointedly nudges him with the foot that's still attached, meeting his eye and prompting him to stay quiet. 
Ochako takes a steady breath, centering herself before answering.

"There were roses outside the door this morning. And a note from Himiko. At first I thought it was a trap, so I stayed away... But I headed over as soon as I got Deku's text." Her voice is bitter, full of all the rage and pain she hasn't been able to direct yet. 

Izuku almost wishes he hadn't sent that text, but if he hadn't, their injured likely wouldn't have made it. 
Sure, maybe Izuku could've done a decent job, coached by the AI in his ear, but neither Aizawa or Mirio are technically out of the woods yet. There's so much that can still go wrong, infection, blood poisoning, sepsis, necrosis...

No, Ochako being here is a literal lifesaver. 

A cardstock business card is tossed onto the low table, and Izuku recognizes the handwriting, and the stamped fingerprints overlapping to imitate a heart. 

' Be home soon, baby. You're my everything. - Himi '  

"You really are a good friend, Izuku. Promise me you'll tell Chako I'm sorry? She's gonna be really mad."

Maybe Izuku really does have a death wish, or he just feels wrong letting Ochako think the worst of her girlfriend, or maybe it had really felt like Toga meant it, but he tries to defend her. 

 

"I'm sure she-" 

Ochako turns on him sharply, eyes overflowing with tears despite the torrent of them she's already cried today. 

 

"Don't." 

 

He closes his mouth with a click and just nods tiredly. Its awkward and quiet for a second.

His hand trembles as he offers it to her - the only comfort he can offer. Because Ochako is a better friend than he is, because she's more forgiving and kind than almost anyone he's ever met, she takes it despite her rueful expression.  

 

"What now?" Mirio coughs out. 

The rasp in his voice, the overabundance of tears on Ochako's normally rosy cheeks, and Aizawa's cracked lips make him frown. He should get everyone a bottle of water here soon, they're all likely dehydrated.

 

"Now we rest. We recover. Everything else can wait one more night, just until the morning." Aizawa sighs, tilting his head back again to stare at the water marks on the ceiling, surrounding the crack that had opened that time he visited all those weeks ago.

 
Nobody responds out loud, but there's a quiet comradery in it, ever so slightly less uncomfortable than it had been earlier. 

Mirio slips into sleep almost as soon as there's a lull in the conversation, overtaken by his body's need to heal and the cocktail of medications Ochako slipped into the IV.
Even Kacchan drifts a little, his eyelids settling even lower than usual, barely slits.

He has to know, has to ask. 
 

"We won... right?"

They're no worse off than they were this morning, technically. 

Of course Mirio and Aizawa aren't guarantees, and Izuku will tend to their wounds throughout the night, checking for fevers and changing bandages as they soak through.
But the Shie Hassaikai have been handled, Kacchan is alive, Eri never has to go back to that awful place, and Toga will be home soon, she said. 

That all has to count for something.

 

---

 

It takes awhile to usher Ochako off to bed. 

Of course, she's stubborn, so it takes time to convince her that Izuku has everything under control. Izuku hadn't wanted to argue with her at first, but he has to put his foot down when he catches her trying to pinch herself awake. In the end, she leaves her door cracked, and he has to promise to fetch her if things don't look right.

By the time he re-enters the living area, Kacchan has already fallen asleep too, somehow in the strangest position. He's half upright, passed out against the side of the couch, face smushed into the filthy cushion. There's not much time for him to rest, as late in the night as it is, and he's had such a tough day that Izuku doesn't have the heart to wake him, even just to urge him to sleep somewhere more comfortable.

It doesn't help that there isn't really another place for him to rest than there, anyways. 

Everyone sleeps peacefully that night, except Izuku and apparently Aizawa.

The teacher watches him imperiously as he checks Mirio's bandages for the third time, angry that Izuku has dismissed his orders for him to find a place to crash.
However, despite the older man scolding him, Izuku just can't get his brain to turn off. Every time his eyes slip closed even just for a moment, the worst scenes from the day play on a nauseating loop.

Blood, bullet holes, death, the cold metal claw digging into his spine, scared red eyes, empty ones too, Eri's scream, nightmarish flashes of lights and noise...

So he busies himself with playing nurse and inventorying the last of their supplies, instead. 

It's the worst kind of quiet, the kind where everyone else needs him to be as silent as possible, but every noise is practically a foghorn in the emptiness. He's sure it's his fault that Aizawa's eyes flash open, bloodshot and alert, every couple of minutes.

 

"I thought I told you to rest." Aizawa says lowly, deep and resonant in the dark of the room, but he doesn't sound surprised that Izuku is still puttering around.

Izuku sighs, re-pinning the clip on the ace wrap that binds Mirio's shoulder together. The blond in question snores loudly, drooling rivers down his own chin. 

 

"I can't. You're not out of the woods yet." He whispers back, not bothering to cast a glance toward the dour man glaring at his back.

 

"That's a terrible excuse."

The frustration in his next sigh is perhaps childish, but Izuku can't help himself. He sheds the nitrile gloves Ochako insisted he wear with a snap. He crosses the room to chuck them into the garbage, sure to keep his footsteps light so as not to disturb those actually asleep.

"I couldn't even if I wanted to, which I don't. You need round the clock care, you and Mirio-senpai both. There's nowhere left for me to even attempt to sleep, and I... I can't, okay? Please, sir, just... leave it alone." What started off so strong, so defiant, ends with pleading words barely louder than a whisper. 
   

Aizawa is quiet then, and Izuku appreciates it - he's convinced his brain is about to start forcefully crawling out of his own nostrils if Izuku has to hear just one more noise - before the tired man grunts, dragging himself more upright into a sitting position against the arm of the couch. Oily strands of his hair obscures part of his face, carving out the hollows under his eyes and cheekbones more than usual.  

"You did good today. None of what happened was your fault." 

 

Izuku stiffens, frowning against the burning in his eyes, he glares down at the carpet with disgust.

 

"You can't think of a single thing?" He accuses, eying the stump of Aizawa's leg with something in between fury and despair. "Frankly, sir, there's plenty of things I could've done better! If I had been faster, or if I stayed behind, or if I'd gotten the bullet out sooner, like I did with Mirio-senpai, I - " 

 

"But you didn't. Not because you didn't think of it, but if you had, then we wouldn't have made it out." Aizawa points out, not unkindly, but matter-of-fact, like he's reading off stereo instructions.

Izuku flinches, guilt burrowing under his skin as he bites hard at his lip. 

"Bakugou would have had to carry me, which would slow him down. If I lost consciousness at any point, then we wouldn't have gotten out in time before the police arrived, at least. You couldn't have carried Togata, the girl, and myself all at once. So you chose the plan with the highest chance of success, even if you didn't like separating from the group. Every call you made on the mission was logical, even if it didn't go to plan. So no. I can't think of anything you should've done differently. Except perhaps actually killing Chisaki. That might've shaved off a couple minutes." The deadpan delivery of the man's last words stun a laugh out of Izuku, but he slaps a hand over his mouth when he realizes it. 

Aizawa's morbid smirk takes some of the pressure off, and his shoulders finally slump a bit, losing the anxious tension that's kept him nearly vibrating for hours. 
He's just so tired, all of a sudden.   

"I just can't get any of it out of my head... Every time I close my eyes, I see it all over again. Decisions I could've made, paths I could have taken, should've's, maybe's, and might've's. I can't even think about sleeping, not when I'm having nightmares while I'm still awake!" Izuku fights to keep his voice low, not wanting to wake the others, but the panic claws through his throat. He winds his arms around himself, as if the added pressure could keep him together just a little while longer. 

Aizawa's face is thoughtful, considering Izuku's words seriously before sighing. "...Rest doesn't have to mean a REM cycle, kid. Just- get off your feet. Recover. Recuperate. Meditate. Whatever you have to do. At this rate, if something were to happen, you'd be useless." 

It's nothing he hasn't heard before, in a hundred ways, from every single person in his life at some point, but there's something about the way Aizawa says it, a way he lingers on the last word that feels intentional. Izuku opens his mouth to argue, to prove that he can be useful, that he could push through if he needed to, but Aizawa continues on, unperturbed by Izuku's glare.

"If you don't take care of yourself when you actually have the chance to, then you sure as hell won't have the energy to take care of others when they need you. And quite frankly, we do need you, kid. All of us. Some more than others. With great power comes great responsibility." He shrugs at the ceiling, almost looking bored.

 

"Sure, you might be the fastest, strongest, most competent guy in this room- hell. That suit of yours is practically superpowered body armor-" Izuku flinches at the reminder, the phantom sensation of a cold claw stealing control of his body... 

 

"- and it still might be the least impressive thing about you. Because what makes you a hero is something far more common than all that." Izuku looks up, meeting intense eyes across the room, steady and appreciative. The darkness of the room around them feels less heavy now, more a blanket than a crushing emptiness. 

 

"W-what then? If it isn't the suit, if it isn't these... powers. What makes m-me so... special?" His throat closes around the words, sounding strained and choked. "I'm just a kid. Why do you trust me so much?"

 

The faint tug of Aizawa's lips fades steadily as he takes in Izuku's expression. He isn't sure what the teacher finds there, what truths are written on his face, but the man's voice remains just as soft and tender now as it had been earlier with Eri.

 

"The greatest ability that Izuku Midoriya possesses? You care. That's enough of a superpower on its own." 

 

Izuku scoffs in derision, practically recoiling from the emotional weight of the words, defensive and dismissive. 

He wants to argue that it isn't enough.

Just "caring" isn't enough, it never has been, so why would it suddenly be now? 
Trying his best isn't enough, he should be better, stronger, faster, he should be able to save anyone, anywhere, any time - 

 

"You know... you and Bakugou are a lot more alike than I think you realize, sometimes." Aizawa says easily, settling back against the cushions and tipping his head back.

 

The statement takes him off guard for a second, and Izuku looks reflexively at the Kacchan in question, still asleep, but only barely. The furrow between his brows is shallow, but still present, not completely smooth and relaxed like it would be if they were at home, cuddled up and asleep in their bed. 

Home.
Their bed.

Izuku almost had to go back to that apartment alone. 

No caramel shampoo or cedar cologne, no bentos or katsudon, no complaints of Izuku being a slob, no peeks of Chef Kacchan at the League. 
No kisses, no All Might specials, no being dragged out of his warm bed in the frosty morning just to exercise, no rides on the back of Kacchan's bike. 
No Kacchan at all. 

How could any place be home without Kacchan?

Sheer dumb luck, Eri's strange, wonderful physiology, and Kacchan's own brilliance.
Those are the only reasons Izuku even has a home to go back to.

"He's a self important, egotistical jackass, don't get me wrong. But you're both so worried about doing everything perfectly. Anything you possibly can do to be the best, that you don't appreciate who you are already. You think it's just a given, but you're wrong. You both are. I'm alive because of you. So is Togata. So is Eri. So is everyone else you've managed to save. Is all that worthless to you?"

Each word hits its mark, almost accusatory, each measured and weighed down in the wealth of the old assassin's experience.

 

"Of course not." Izuku whispers, tightening his hands into fists, and meeting the eyes that peer at him dubiously in the darkness.

 

"Then stop treating us like it."

 

Izuku admits the teacher might have a point. 
He's not completely convinced, however.

"Why are you awake, sensei?" Izuku asks suddenly, tilting his chin up, hoping to deflect.

There's the obvious answers, of course, the older man's insomnia, the lack of a limb, Izuku's puttering around, and Mirio's snores disturbing the quiet.

But he wants to hear it from the source.

To his credit, Aizawa seems to honestly consider it, tapping his fingers on the back cushion of the couch as he ponders his reply.

 

"I don't feel like I've earned it yet." 

Whatever Izuku was expecting, it wasn't that, and the look on his face must be something downright offensive because Aizawa chuckles again. 

Hasn't earned it?

Aizawa has more than earned his rest! He did all that recon, more than kept pace through the whole facility, watching out for them, for Toga, too. Izuku is so grateful that he stayed with Kacchan while he confronted her. The man was so patient and kind with Eri too, and more than that, the whole premise is flawed because-

"That's ridiculous! You don't have to earn rest. You're a person, of course, you-" 

 

Aizawa just raises an eyebrow knowingly, blinking slowly but never actually breaking their eye contact.

 

"Oh." 

The perspective shift in his epiphany is so sudden it's almost jarring. 

All of his arguments, his worldview, his motivations, they were all built on the idea that he alone had to earn what everyone else received by default. 
He wanted to prove that he wasn't useless, that he could be something.

But obviously Izuku was something. 
He was a person.

That should've been enough. 
But to him, for some reason, it wasn't. 

Not when he got opportunities that others didn't, not when he fought Stain, not when he got bit by that spider, not when he got OFA, because from his perspective, those were all just things that happened to him, experiences that affected him, but in his mind he stayed that scared, weak little kid.

In reality, he was the one that did all of those things. 
He worked for them, sacrificed for them. 

Izuku was the one to train, to study, to patrol all these years. He built his gear with his own two hands; he fought and bled for everything that makes him who he is now. 
He has made mistakes, whether due to lapses in judgment or impulsive decisions, but through all of them, Izuku really had just tried his best.

He remembers their conversation in the backroom of the League weeks ago:

"Just do your best.” Aizawa reasoned.

“Do my best? That’s it?” Izuku parroted, obviously frustrated.

“That’s all anyone else is doing. What did you expect? We’re only human.”

At the time Izuku had been confused, taken aback by how reductive and simple that seemed. 
He hadn't understood back then, but it's deeper than that, he realizes suddenly.

Because Izuku really is just a person, a human, flawed by design.
Nothing more, nothing less.

He ISN'T special. 
Not a paragon or a hero.
Not a monster or a villain.

Just Izuku. 

Nothing is fixed, nothing is suddenly resolved, but his breaths comes a little easier than they had before.

He probably won't get any sleep tonight, but Aizawa's right, that doesn't mean he can't rest.

So he settles down next to the couch the injured man is laid upon, less than an arm's length from Kacchan. Izuku lets himself thumb gently across the back of Kacchan's hand where it lays splayed out on the carpet. When it's clear Izuku doesn't plan to immediately get back up to pace or anxiously monitor their injuries some more, Aizawa settles more firmly back into the couch. 

 

"Finally. Now I can actually get some sleep." 

 

"Goodnight, Sensei."

 

---

 

As expected, Izuku doesn't really sleep, but he feels less like he's going to vibrate out of his skin after a couple of hours. 

Aizawa has finally reached some sort of power-saving mode, because he doesn't open his eyes when Izuku stands, shifting and stretching after being sat immobile for so long. The rest of the house is quiet, for now, but down the street wake up alarms begin to ring, the morning well on it's way. 

Fearful of disturbing anyone else's rest, Izuku resolves to watch the sunrise on the roof, just to get some space.
Of course, the sun isn't due to rise for another hour or so, so he quietly waits in the dark.

His senses give him a good understanding of the passage of time, from the neighbors going about their routine to the mailman's truck humming along a few blocks down. 

Suddenly though, he hears movement in the room below him, creaky floorboards and shuffling to suggest someone is awake. 
After all his stakeouts, he's gotten better at identifying sounds, not just registering them, but it's a skill he needs to perfect. 

No time like the present for some practice.

Okay, process of elimination time. 
The footsteps are heavy, so not Ochako or Eri, and there's two of them, which means it's not Aizawa. 

That only leaves Mirio or Kacchan. 

When he hears the dismissive tut of someone opening the fridge and beginning to mess around in the kitchen, Izuku knows immediately that it's Kacchan. 
He must be preparing breakfast, based on the shuffling and opening of various packages, cabinets, bottles, and such.

Ceramic clatters on the counter, a bowl, most likely. 

Izuku tries to figure out what Kacchan's making, but it's hard to be sure. 

There's something brewing, but is it coffee or tea?

It isn't until the drip machine stutters and clicks that Izuku recognizes the noise as Ochako's old coffee maker, the one that's electrocuted her twice but she still won't part with. 

The lack of metallic scraping and sizzling suggests the main course isn't going to be eggs or pancakes, but he hasn't heard the rice cooker beep yet either, so traditional breakfast is also out. 

Still pondering the menu, Izuku hears the oven door slam shut, hard enough to startle Ochako almost out of her bed down the hall. The springs of her bed creak as she does so, and he winces when he hears her knock into something heavy. She whines in pain, then rolls over again, only to groan into her pillow, the noise muffled by fabric.
 
Kacchan really should be more mindful of his noise level... oh, but maybe his hearing aids are out?

No, he was definitely wearing them yesterday, and he hadn't moved around all that much while asleep. Izuku wouldn't be surprised if he had a crick in his neck for that, actually. 

Maybe he took them out when he woke up, to get some quiet. 
But that runs the risk of being caught unaware?

No, odds are that Kacchan would not be comfortable enough for that here, nor should he be, honestly.

So maybe Kacchan is just lost in his thoughts, coming to grips with yesterday.

It would make sense.
He had died, after all.

Oh, yeah. 
That's right. 
Kacchan died, yesterday.

A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold wracks his body. 
Aizawa's cool logic certainly helped last night, but the events of yesterday still haunt him the way that night at the USJ did.

Izuku tries to center himself, breathing evenly, flexing his fingers into the rotten timber shingles that thatch the roof he sits on, but it doesn't help much. 

What does manage to help, is the arrival of Kacchan, slowly traversing the soft roof behind him. 
He wonders briefly if this roof can handle both of their weight for very long, or if as the day approaches and lightens, that someone won't see them up here. 

Of course they aren't in costume, so they're just regular people right now. There's nothing too awfully suspicious about them as is, besides the fact that they're hanging out on the roof on a random sleepy weekday morning.   

 

"Morning, Kacchan." He murmurs softly, not turning around to look at him.

 

 

"Morning, nerd." Kacchan grunts, continuing his careful approach. "Coffee's downstairs."

So he'd been right, Izuku can even smell the cheap roast if he concentrates hard enough, but the morning air steals the scent before it can linger. 

 

"Are you fuckin'... okay, or whatever?" 

 

Izuku doesn't think he's ever heard Kacchan sound so... awkward. Out of his depth. 

It's strangely endearing, and he wishes he had the heart to smile. 
As it is, he takes a moment to evaluate how he's going to answer.

He could always lie, of course.

'Of course!' He'd chirp, smiling at the love of his life, miraculously alive on a lovely morning like this one. 'It's a new day!' Or some other easy comfort.

But he dismisses the thought just as quickly. 
Kacchan would know he was lying, anyway.

At this point, there's not much left for Izuku to hide from him, and no real reason left to do so.

 

"I don't think so." He admits, looking out into the mist still curling around lampposts, only the tops of the trees and the old traditional buildings of the district poking out. 

He expects Kacchan to react, but he doesn't. Just nods a little.

 

Izuku is glad that Kacchan crawled out here to sit with him. 
They have so many bad memories on rooftops, it's nice to have some a few good ones thrown in the mix.
After all, it would've been painfully easy for them to never have had this opportunity in the first place.

Especially since, again, Kacchan died yesterday.

One shot, one bullet. 
That's all it took.

It's a terrifying thought, one that Izuku can't seem to grapple with, can't frame properly.
Doesn't help that he still feels the grief and rage still lingering in his ribcage, despite it all. 

Which is ridiculous, because Kacchan is right here? 
Right next to him. 

Even now, he can feel the warmth of Kacchan's skin, the smell of baked goods wafting off him. 
A few inches is all that separates them, but the absence in his chest hasn't gone, it refuses to, cemented in worry and doubt.

He's not entirely sure why.

Maybe it's because Izuku himself has been narrowly outrunning death for years now?

Ever since he fell off the roof on the last day of Middle School, he has spent every night he wasn't confined to a hospital bed or tinkering with his tech running through the city, putting himself in dangerous situations, his neck on the line. Izuku's body is proof enough of just how many close-calls he's had. 

All those injuries, the fires, every time he's narrowly avoided fate flood his memory all at once. 

Izuku certainly isn't invincible, but he never really thought about death this much until he became the one keeping it at bay for others. His own fate never really mattered in the grand scheme of things, as long as he saved a life. 

But if he doesn't save his own life, then he won't be there down the line to do it again. 
Clearly Izuku has made it this far, by luck or sheer happenstance, even with so little regard for his own safety. 

But he's been far too sloppy up until now.
 

All those arguments with Shouto, the forced care of Ochako, Toga's knowing smile, even Kacchan's fear-stricken face; those sights prompted him to accept that people care for him. That they'd miss him, that things would be impacted by his loss, but those never really got the message across, how awful it would be to be the one left behind. 

Not until Izuku watched his own world end. 

Now he simply watches the mist shifting in the distance, murky and ethereal, sparkling wisps of it catching in the slow brightening of the sky.

Izuku is here right now, side by side with Kacchan, watching the sunrise. 
The dawn catches the luster in Kacchan's hair, rustling with the breeze. The tips glint like gold in the warm hue of the rising sun.

 

"It's... okay. To not be okay, y'know. I'd be freaked the fuck out if you were still acting like normal after yesterday. Feels like so much changed, but it didn't. Not really." Kacchan says the words haltingly, looking unsure. Uncomfortable. The frown on his face is one of frustration, but it doesn't seem to be directed at Izuku at all. 

No, this time, his ire is directed inwards instead.

 

This attempt at comforting him is certainly heartwarming, endearing even, but it's also somewhat sad too.
Kacchan is being so sweet, trying so hard to comfort Izuku properly, and while he's struggling with the words, he still tries.
Despite having more reason than anyone to need reassurance. After all, Kacchan is the one who died, he's the one who suffered most.

How like Kacchan that is.
 
But still - the statement rubs him the wrong way.

Because things have changed.

They have.

Pretending they haven't is simply irresponsible.

They aren't the same as they were before they walked into that mission. 
They aren't the same even moment to moment, and they aren't the little kids who made that pinkie swear anymore, either.
Their whole relationship has persisted through periods of growing and changing, becoming different than they thought they'd be, more than they promised, more than they even dreamed.

That's precisely why it means so much.
Why it matters.

He's unable to articulate any of that right now, unfortunately, and Izuku doesn't want to belittle Kacchan's attempt at comfort, misguided as it is. 

"... Thanks, Kacchan. Are you okay?" He asks instead, blinking back traitorous tears as he peeks over at his partner.

"Fuck no." 

That admittedly makes Izuku smile a bit, choking on a laugh.
Then their eyes meet, or maybe he'd already been looking, it's hard to tell, but Kacchan's eyes do something wholly unexpected. 

They soften. 

It's a look he's only ever seen early in the morning, or in the black of the night. 
One so sincere, so open and loving, that it leaves him altogether breathless.

But as if that wasn't enough, like the sight of Kacchan, here on this roof, right now, with that look on his face, wasn't already the most perfect picture- 

His eyes glow. 
Hot like embers, all shades of burgundy and crimson and scarlet, when the light of the dawn hits them just right, so that it catches fire in his eyes.

The sun has finally risen.

The first day of Spring has come, and cold, dark winter thaws under its rays.
 

 

"At least we're not okay together? That makes a difference." He's breathless, and the words fall from his lips slowly, clumsily, but hopeful all the same.

He's glad that they've come this far.

Wouldn't it be nice if they'd figured all of this out earlier? If they'd communicated a little better?
Maybe if they'd sorted through their interpersonal issues earlier, if they hadn't made so many assumptions, trying to do everything all alone, then perhaps they could've been here, together, far, far sooner. 

But maybe that's just what it took? 

Maybe they had to struggle to get here, that was the whole point.
Bleeding for one another, sacrificing all that they thought they knew, all they dreamed.
 
The fact that they still found each other, even through all of the other lifechanging events that they've had to deal with this year? 

That's nothing short of a miracle right there. 

 

"You're stuck with me forever now, shitty nerd." Kacchan's tone is teasing, his grin sharp and wolfish. 

Izuku's heart skips a beat, at those words.

Maybe Kacchan's just playing around by saying that, but still, Izuku realizes, with no small amount of joy, that Kacchan doesn't say things he doesn't mean.  
So he lets himself slump into his Kacchan's side, allowing the warmth from the emerging sun to loosen that anxious, exhausted knot he's tied himself up in all night.

Kacchan's here; and Izuku doesn't have to worry about losing him anymore, or doing all of this alone, because Kacchan will still be there.

Their promise, as childish and naive as they'd been to make it, was still there. 

Unbroken. 

A bond that couldn't - wouldn't - be worn away by grief, or regret, or shame, or apparently even death itself.  

 

"Forever sounds nice." He murmurs, letting himself smile into the fabric of Kacchan's sweatshirt, as the blond leans down to rest his chin on the crown of Izuku's head. 

 

Lips press against his head, and his lips curl up when he feels a puff of air glance off his nape when Kacchan exhales sharply, withdrawing slightly from the tickling sensation of Izuku's curls.

Truthfully, it sounds so much better than just 'nice'. 
It might just be the only option that leaves Izuku with any sort of stable footing, and now that he has it, he refuses to let it go. 

The idea of them truly being together forever, partners in justice, in heroism, yes, but also in life, unable to be separated from one another... that future they dreamt of doesn't really seem out of the question, anymore.

 

---

 

It doesn't take long for Izuku to pick out the sound of the house waking up beneath them. 

Ochako's bedsprings squeak in protest as she turns over again, smacking her mouth and yawning. Similarly Mirio groans a little, readjusting himself groggily in the arm chair. He and Aizawa exchange quiet greetings, before sleep claims his upperclassman once more. When he hears Eri's soft breathing change, he knows she'll soon be awake too.  

With no more legitimate reasons to dawdle out here much longer, Izuku nudges Kacchan with a sigh.

 

"C'mon, Kacchan. The day awaits!" 

 

He tries not to smile too widely when he notices Kacchan's pout out of the corner of his eye, clearly unhappy with Izuku moving away from him and cutting their time together short. 

Slipping off the awning and onto his feet is easy, giving him the opportunity to stretch and roll his shoulders when he lands on the pavement. From his spot on the ground, Kacchan scowls down at him. When Izuku outstretches his arms in offer to catch the blond, he only gets an eye roll in response. Kacchan tosses himself off the short roof, avoiding Izuku by a few feet, but he still winces when he hears Kacchan's ankles click upon impact.

They haven't been inside more than a few minutes when Mic shows up, bellowing his greetings as the door bangs open, startling Mirio awake again in the process.  

 

"Good Morning, and hey, hey little listeners!" 

 

"Good morning!" Comes a chorus of greetings from various parts of the house, though some are shier than others as Eri's hesitant steps creep down the hall. 

Mic looks about like he did the last time Izuku saw him, though perhaps a bit paler, and maybe even a little thinner too. His long blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, swishing behind him as he turns to swing the door closed, slamming it behind him. His glasses catch the reflection of the light, but behind them his green eyes crinkle due to the sheer size of his bright and cheery smile, not discouraged in the slightest by the early hour.

 

Izuku feels a small knot of dread when he realizes Mic doesn't know the specifics of what's happened to his husband yet.

 

Just as he thinks that, the big smile Mic wears crumbles apart almost instantly when he sees Aizawa laid up on the couch. Sympathy and concern draw his eyebrows up, but Izuku sees the moment he notices what's missing. And though Mic puts up a fierce fight, the tears that he tries to sniff back still spill down his cheeks anyway.
 

"Zashi, I'm fine." Aizawa grumbles out, practically rolling his eyes. Still, he raises a hand to his partner, trying to calm him. "You'll wake Eri, c'mon, hush."

 

Izuku doesn't open his mouth to correct the teacher, knowing that she's actually already awake, but instead he tries to give them as much privacy as he possibly can. 

He gives them a wide berth, not wanting to intrude, but catches Mirio's eye from his spot in the armchair as he does so. Not wanting to leave him behind, Izuku offers his hand which Mirio takes graciously with his good arm. He wobbles a bit upon standing, wincing at the pull against his banged up shoulder, so Izuku just scoops him up by the waist and follows Kacchan into the kitchen. His senpai gives him a grateful smile, and the two chat a bit as they attempt to give the couple some space. 

It doesn't exactly work in a home this small, and based on the darkening of Mirio's cheeks despite his sunny disposition, Izuku isn't the only one that can still hear their reunion.

His own blush gets hotter at the soft words and the intimacy he can unfortunately still hear from his spot in the kitchen. He doesn't doubt that Ochako likely heard every bit of his conversation with Toga-chan back then too, since in the small kitchen, one hardly needs supersenses to overhear the goings-on from the living room.  

Izuku's chest pangs with worry when he hears Ochako's sniffles coming from the bathroom, but before he can brave the awkward reentry into the living area, the door has already opened. Quick but soft footsteps and an embarrassed chuckle suggest she's already crossing the length of the room. His worry only intensifies though when she finally pads into the kitchen with her swollen eyes and unconvincing smile. 

What surprises him though, is Kacchan simply raising an eyebrow in her direction. From his place by the counter, he gruffly shoves a plate of muffins toward her. She looks surprised, blinking at the offer in confusion before he falls back into his usual patterns, commenting that her face looks "rounder than ever" which startles Ochako into laughter. 

Breakfast is a strangely domestic affair, if a little awkward at first.

Conversations start off polite as they settle in at the kitchen table, thankfully cleaned of any blood and medical supplies and covered in a flowery tablecloth. 

Izuku is both embarrassed and a bit guilty when Ochako and Mirio introduce themselves, completely forgetting that they hadn't officially met through all the panic yesterday. Mirio boasts that any friend of Izuku's is automatically a friend of his, drawing a flustered smile from Izuku. Mirio and Mic seem to be in an unconscious competition of who can be the loudest person in the room, and even though Eri flinches a bit at the noise, wide eyes flicking around the room to gauge the reaction, she relaxes in her chair more the longer she sits in their company. 

The coffee from the pot tastes vaguely metallic, so Izuku politely pours his down the sink quietly, much more interested in watching the emerging dynamics of their little found family.
A few of their bright spots are missing like Toga and Jin, or the sarcastic calmness of Shouto and Toshi, but the light-hearted chaos that begins gathering around them all is somehow soothing.

Kacchan bickers with Aizawa half-heartedly over their own steaming mugs of coffee, seemingly not minding the taste of iron. In fact, they must appreciate it, because slowly the pot is emptied as they refill their cups. Thankfully Mic seems to have recovered from the shock of Aizawa's amputation much faster than Izuku had anticipated he would. 

In fact, the blond man seems too distracted by Eri to linger on it, busy asking her questions and preparing her a glass of juice from the fridge. Despite the quiet, hesitant responses he receives, Mic doesn't let the mood dip, engaging with her almost gleefully. When her hair gets caught in her mouth as she tries to take a big bite out of her muffin, Mic offers to braid it back out of her face. Still, he makes no move towards her until she nods timidly, even if she flinches a little when he raises his hand.

Mic is unperturbed, though a shadow catches his eyes when he notices her fearfulness. With gentle hands and an upbeat attitude, he begins braiding her long tresses and chatting away to not pressure her into speaking. His voice is a pleasant constant, filling the space with jokes and bubbles of laughter. Aizawa grumbles halfheartedly at them all to keep it down, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes, but the slight uptick at the corner of his mouth tells another story.
 

The muffins Kacchan made are fluffy and melt in his mouth, and Izuku is embarrassed that he eats four in the time it takes the others to eat half as many. Kacchan rolls his eyes, chiding him for his greed, though it takes a surprisingly small amount of prompting for the surly man to agree to fix curry for dinner later.

Eventually Aizawa and Mic offer to take Eri home with them, since they have a room set aside already for their last failed foster placement. Seeing as everyone else here is unestablished and wholly unprepared, there's very little disagreement. Ochako seems to breathe a little easier after that, no doubt concerned about the logistics of keeping the small child with her along with everything else on her plate. She focuses on replacing everyone's bandages, and hip checks Kacchan when he antagonizes her about not eating enough.  
 

It takes Aizawa several attempts to chastise his husband to turn his focus away from the little girl who watches them all with wide, curious eyes. 

"But, Shota!" Mic whines, making a show of dramatically gesturing to Eri. "The bedspread we have in there is just plain ol' boring grey! The little listener should get to choose her own."

 

"I... get to choose?" She asks breathlessly, as if the idea was unfathomable to her.

 

Up until now, it probably was.

 

"Of course! There's tons of different kinds! Maybe something with princesses, oh, or Anpanman, maybe, or little sailboats! We could-" Mic seems to run through hundreds of options and different ways they can decorate her new room, and when Eri asks just as many questions in return, Aizawa settles back into his chair with a fond roll of his eyes.

 

"They even have silky pillowcases to prevent your hair from getting all frizzy!" Ochako smiles, bringing out her own collection of hair clips for them to use as Mic finishes the first of the French plaits.

 

Mirio is quick to suggest an All Might bedspread, to which Izuku agrees wholeheartedly, even offering some of his own childhood sheet sets from his mom's. 
It's not like he sleeps on a twin size mattress anymore, after all. Of course, Eri has never seen All Might before, so Izuku excitedly describes the first arc of the cartoon series to her, and when her eyes shine with interest, he promises to bring her the whole box set so she can watch them whenever she wants.

 

"I'm sure we can even convince Hitoshi to watch them with you!" Mic chirps happily, adding bows to the ends of her braids. Her hair is so long that even braided up they fall half down her back. 

 

"Who?" Eri asks, tilting her head to the side curiously, not recognizing the name.

 

"That's our son!" Mic informs her with a big smile, even as Ochako's and Izuku's eyes bug out of their sockets at the declaration, staring at each other in shock. "He just joined our family this year too, but don't worry, you'll like him. He's a little grumpy at first, but really he's a marshmallow inside." He says the last part quietly, like it's a secret, and Izuku bites back tears at the easy acceptance of his most lonesome friend. Ochako seems similarly choked up, chewing on her wobbling lip to keep quiet.

As hurt as Izuku's feelings had been that Hitoshi kept his new family a secret for so long, he understands. Hitoshi probably didn't want to jinx anything, speaking it out loud must be like asking for something to go wrong. Izuku is just so glad that his friend finally has someone in his corner. 

Based on the tight grip of Ochako's hand under the table, she must agree.

"He's a night owl, so getting him up before noon is basically an extreme sport!" Mic continues, looking every bit the Proud Dad as he shows Eri some pictures on his phone. Each one more domestic and adorable than the last. 

Izuku, perpetually nosy and excited, cranes his neck over to see them better.

"Do you know him too, Deku?" Eri asks innocently when Izuku laughs out loud at a picture of an embarrassed Hitoshi shying away from the camera, still in pajamas, cradling several cats to his chest. 

 

"Uh huh! He's been one of my best friends for years!" He ignores Kacchan's huff, smiling.

 

He tells a sanitized version of how they met and a few of their hijinks from those days, including their running around the city getting into trouble. 
The roundtable of stories from high school even make Aizawa smirk from behind his mug, though he doesn't offer up any of his own.

The thought makes Izuku think back to all those times in high school.
 
It's so strange to think Aizawa had been there for them all along, watching over them in the darkness; ready and waiting to step in when they needed him. He must've been scared watching Izuku's recklessness, concerned about Hitoshi's refusal to reach out. Without Aizawa, Toga and Jin would have struggled even more, and somwhere along the way, even Kacchan had been taken under the older man's wing.  

He remembers Aizawa's scrutiny, those knowing glances and awkward silent conversations across the bar, and Izuku's own uncomfortable avoidance of the League as a result. It's laughable to think that he had ever hidden from the teacher's glare back then, worried about his secret getting out. Hitoshi had avoided Aizawa too, uncomfortable with his persistence in getting to know him. What had felt like danger then, now is so obviously care here in the morning light. Izuku sneaks a peek over at the disheveled man, only to find him already looking his way. 

He wonders how long Aizawa had been watching, how much he'd seen of their escapades, the support he'd given from the shadows when they were too wary to trust him... and Izuku can't help the grateful smile he gives the teacher. 

 

Things really have come full circle.

 

"Um... Are you sure that you're okay?" Eri pipes up after a moment, eying Mirio's freshly bandaged shoulder with pinched up little brows, no doubt remembering the blood and panic of their escape yesterday. 

 

"Of course! Uraraka-san here did an awesome job, so you've got nothing to worry about." Small shoulders sigh out in relief, and Mirio turns his attention to Ochako. 

 

"Hey thanks, by the way! You know, I would've thought you were already a doctor based on how good a job you did patching me up! That's super impressive for your age, are you sure you're really only a freshman?" He grins at Ochako, who blushes a little at the attention. Her smile becomes more genuine when Eri makes an awed noise, looking up at her with innocent admiration, even as Ochako dismisses the praise with a hand sheepishly rubbing at the back of her neck. 

 

"You think this is bad?" She gestures at Mirio with a playfully dismissive gesture. "You should've seen Deku and Shinsou, back then!" Ochako heckles Izuku, ignoring his bright blush as she describes his first few mishaps on a skateboard. "They'd show up to class with all these bruises and scrapes everywhere, looking like delinquents! I even started bringing a first aid kit to homeroom!"
 

Izuku feels Kacchan glaring at the side of his skull and chuckles guiltily.

Soon the phone is back out and Mic is introducing the whole table to their cats, telling Eri all about their personalities and which one steals all the socks from the hamper.
Izuku and Ochako share matching conspiring looks when Mic mentions that Kaminari has been visiting Hitoshi often, and has been around enough to overfeed one of the cats.

The conversation circles back around to All Might, as it often does, and Izuku has to try to educate his upperclassman about how to properly pay homage to their favorite hero. Watching the cartoon in release order means you don't see the journey the hero goes on until well after he retires, so clearly, you have to start all the way at the beginning, when he first inherits his power from his mentor.

Kacchan scoffs under his breath a few times, but largely stays quiet, until he and Aizawa have their own bonding moment a few feet away. 

It's a far better morning than he'd originally hoped for, but it eventually ends with everyone dispersing. 
They all agree to meet up at the League a few days later, since Kacchan has a shift scheduled that day, anyway, and Ochako will need to check in on their recovery and take their sutures out.

 

"Hah? So I don't even get time off work after saving your life? Ungrateful, hobo-sensei." Kacchan crosses his arms, looking far more petulant than Izuku thinks he realizes. 
Despite his rough wording, the faint curl at the edge of Kacchan's lips prove he's proud to be so vital to the bar, that Aizawa trusts him to be the one in the kitchen.

 

"No excuses, Bakugou. I've got a business to run, and you have a job to do." Aizawa just rolls his eyes with a shrug.
Izuku watches Kacchan's chest puff out in pride, even as he snarls back.

 

"Hard ass."

"Problem child."

 

Izuku pretends not to hear them as he half carries Aizawa out to the car. Aizawa is displeased, insisting he doesn't need the assistance, but doesn't pull away from him. Mic offers to drop Mirio back off at his dorm, who happily accepts before asking Eri to sit next to him in the car, despite there not being another option with Aizawa all propped up in the passenger seat.

She gives the smallest tentative smile as she accepts his offer, clambering into the backseat after him. 
Their goodbyes are warm, and waving as their car pulls out of the drive, Izuku marvels at how different their leaving felt to their arrival.

The safe house is still in enemy territory, so they don't linger outside for long. 

They help Ochako tidy up after the others leave, but when Izuku asks if he should start a load of laundry, Ochako admits she thinks it's time for her to head back to her own apartment, long since left empty and stale. She refuses any offers to help her move anything, promising that she's got a lot of cleaning and prep-work to do before it's time for them to ferry her things back across town. 

 

"Don't you worry, mister, you're definitely gonna do all the heavy lifting!" She adds, cheekily, packing up the last of the medical supplies now that her patients have left. 

 

"Ha, of course. But... Are you sure you're okay with us meeting at the League? We can always tell the others to meet us somewhere else?" Izuku asks Ochako, unsure. 

Ochako has been avoiding the League since the call for Toga's arrest, and her sudden willingness to visit has him a little worried.
There's a sadness in her eyes and her smile is tight when she looks at him but still Ochako nods, determined. 

 

"Yeah, it's time, I think. I miss my friends. I can't stay here and wait around forever. Himiko wouldn't want that either. So I think it's time for me to go back to my own life."  

Izuku knows she's putting on a brave face, evident by the light trembling of her bottom lip, so he just gives her a tight hug instead of a reply. It doesn't take long for another set of big arms to encircle them both. 

 

"Finally. Maybe now the extras will stop moping around and actually do their damn jobs." Kacchan gripes, letting go quickly, clearly uncomfortable even if he was the one to initiate it. 

 

"You know, I've heard your food isn't half bad, Bakugou. I'm excited to see if it's all just hype, or if Explodey can actually cook!" She smirks at his offended scowl, though it softens to a real smile when Kacchan's arm slings over Izuku's shoulders casually.

 

"My food's gonna knock your goddamn socks off, Cheeks, don't you worry about that. I'm the fucking best." The easy pride and smile in his voice make Izuku grin, happy to see them getting along, even if all they do is bicker.  

 

As nice as the morning has been, the other's departure has Izuku feeling antsy.

Saying goodbye to Ochako doesn't take long, since she is just as exhausted and anxious as they are to return home. He pretends not to notice Kacchan's furrowed brow when Izuku shoves the suit haphazardly into the blond's backpack, wincing when his fingers drag across the cold metal. They finish helping to pack up what little they can, and before long, they're leaving the Taito district and that awful little house behind. They do have a small disagreement about their safety gear, but Kacchan just rolls his eyes when Izuku expresses his concerns about taking Kacchan's only riding helmet.

 

"But that's so dangerous, Kacchan!" Izuku scolds, though doesn't resist the forceful way Kacchan shoves the helmet onto his head.

 

"I am literally immortal, nerd. Just let me take care of you and shut up so we can go home already." 

 

He's lucky the helmet covers his blush, but he still whines when Kacchan thumps at the glass visor with a snicker.

Aside from the roar of the motorcycle's engine beneath them, the ride across town towards their shared apartment is quiet. 

He rests his head in the valley between Kacchan's shoulder blades, wishing the bulky helmet didn't obscure the delicious heat rolling off Kacchan's skin. He shivers a bit in the cool March air, despite himself. 

The ill-fitting sweats cling to his skin and scratch against his scars. He tries not to dwell on who exactly wore them before him, eyeing the odd stains here and there. 

He feels filthy, the quick wipe down insufficient for the sweat and grime still laying heavy on his skin, but he doesn't think he can stomach standing under the lukewarm spray in that tub. 
Kacchan notices, of course, promising (threatening) that as soon as they arrive, Izuku will be forced into the bath, made to change into his softest pajamas, and confined obediently to the bed until he gets the other's permission to leave it.

Izuku has no plans to jeopardize such a wonderful plan, so long as Kacchan agrees to do the same.

For now though, Izuku desperately wants to just go home and rest a bit. 

Taking the helmet off when they arrive, the air nips at the back of his neck, makes him freeze shock still.

It's just similar enough to the feeling of metal tightening around him, digging into his neck, immobilizing him. 
Those different voices in his ears swaying him, puppeting him around... 

 

"Okay, spit it out, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Kacchan grumbles, nudging their shoulders together, bringing him back to the present as they dismount and approach the elevators to their building. Despite the rough words, Kacchan watches him carefully, worried.

 

"Huh? Oh. It's n-nothing, Kacchan. Just tired, sorry." Izuku smiles thinly, trying to shake off his discomfort, but Kacchan glowers down at him as he does so.

 

"Thought you were done with all that martyr bullshit, Deku." He admonishes, slamming his palm against the correct floor number with derision. 

Izuku flinches a bit at the callout, fiddling with the rough hewn hem of his borrowed sweatshirt as the elevator rises.

 

"... I am. Can we- I just, not right now, okay? I don't want to think about it." Even he doesn't believe his own hesitant words, but Kacchan just shrugs. 

 

"I got time. You'll crack eventually." Izuku frowns at his attitude, very nearly arguing the point.

The elevator doors squeak open, and unbothered, Kacchan simply steers him towards their door imperiously, only removing his heavy hand from Izuku's shoulder when he fishes the keys out to unlock it.

 

"Now, get the hell inside, nerd."

Izuku smiles a bit despite himself, breathing in the familiar scent of their apartment before pausing. 
He takes a hesitant step over the threshold, before suddenly being bowled over by emotion.

"Oi, the fuck is your problem now?" Kacchan barks, watching with thinly veiled concern as Izuku turns back over his shoulder to look at him. 

"W-welcome home, Kacchan." He murmurs with a tearful smile, grief cracking open his chest and spilling all over the dark wood floor.

All the fear, the worry, the guilt, the soul-sucking numbness, tumbling out of him.

 

They were so close to losing this. 
To never being able to greet the blond at the door, to ask about his day, spend an evening watching television and bickering about house chores. 

All he can think about is proving that this is real, that Kacchan is really here, where he belongs, alive and explosive under his fingertips.
Suddenly every milimeter of space is too much, Izuku needs to feel him, breathe him in like oxygen, settle in his bones and pin him there, protected and safe.

 

For his part, Kacchan seems to feel the change in the air and sighs out through his nose all at once.

 

"Sappy nerd..." He sounds fond, as chemically smooth palms slide along the scars on Izuku's arms, gliding up to cup his face, turning it to face him fully. Burning red eyes bore into his own - though the tears obscure Kacchan's expression.

He must understand the look in his eyes, the craving in his gut, the tremble in his crooked fingers as he clings to Kacchan's shirt, or maybe he feels the same because he leans into Izuku's space, speaking against his lips.

 

"... Welcome home, Izuku." 

The kiss starts off soft, barely a brush of lips molding against one another. It's something slow and luxurious, as if Kacchan wants to show him that they have all the time in the world, that there's nowhere he'd rather be than here, that no one could keep him away from Izuku. 

 

The desperate whine from his own throat tips the kiss into something less sweet and more hungry, because the match between them finally catches, sparking hot and dangerous. Izuku barely even hears the front door slam, too focused on the rasp of Kacchan's breathing, the roughness of those hands pushing him further into the apartment. His mouth opens on a wild gasp, only to be filled with swipes of tongue licking the back of his teeth.

 

"Please." He gasps against Kacchan's insistent mouth, half swallowed before Kacchan moves away from his lips to suck and bite at his jaw. Harsh, possessive hands drag the length of his torso, mapping him out under demanding touches, inventorying his shoulders, his ribs, the planes of his stomach, the peaks of his nipples, the expanse of his back, the divots in his hips... his hands are everywhere, burning trails lingering everywhere he touches.

 

"You sound so pretty when you beg for me." Kacchan growls into his skin, his touch growing even hotter, heavier, faster, needier. "But you don't need to, ya know. I'll give you whatever you want, Deku, ya just gotta ask for it." His words get lost in the smear of his lips pressed tight, as if the words are for himself rather than Izuku. 

 

"Please!" Izuku cries, really cries this time, as the tears that have been burning at his eyes finally cascade down his cheeks. Kacchan groans when his errant tongue manages to catch a few of them, hot and salty as they drip down his chin. 

 

"That's it, let it all out. That's my crybaby." The harsh bite to his earlobe is a distracting juxtaposition to the adoration and encouragement in Kacchan's voice. Izuku can feel his smile and the hot damp puffs of his breath against his neck as Kacchan noses against him, somehow demanding and benevolent in equal measure.

 

"K-Kacchan!" He whimpers, trying to get closer, to feel more, his eyes fluttering against the sensation of Kacchan pulling him apart with every brush of his mouth to Izuku's cold skin.

 

"Shh, I got you, baby." Kacchan promises, crowding him against the couch, pushing until they tumble over the edge of it. He follows eagerly after Izuku, boxing him in between arms corded in thick tanned muscle. "Don't cry, Deku, I'm here. I'm right here. Focus on me, that's it." 

The words are perfect, a soothing balm against the rough hewn fear that's been burning so close to Izuku's heart it hurts.

Kacchan curls over Izuku protectively, his hips canting down to rut their hard lengths together, a smear of pre dragging against Izuku's lower stomach. He isn't sure when his borrowed clothes were peeled off his body, or where they went afterwards, he's too focused on Kacchan guiding him, pulling his legs up and apart for the blond to settle in between more fully.

His sobs are even louder now but through it all his crooked fingers pull Kacchan down harshly into his body, rolling their hips together, eliminating any space between them. 
Kacchan is just as desperate as Izuku apparently because he pants and groans at the contact, digging harshly into the cushions with a mangled curse.

He's embarrassed to hear his own whiny pleas, echoing in the quiet of the apartment, could the neighbors hear them, did they even close the door-

"Oi, quit fucking thinking about shit that doesn't matter. Focus on me, damn it." 

Abandoning his hold on the cushions, Kacchan seems dead set on stealing every ounce of attention for himself, sinking his burning fingers into Izuku's flesh, an anchor for him to force his hips down harder. The added pressure just makes Izuku more aware, sparking up his spine, the thrum under his skin making him ache, a live wire of sensation.

His eyes open on a gasp, snagging on Kacchan's face, already watching him with something like fascination.  
A wild grin overtakes Kacchan's features, wolfish as he pants out- 

"Open your mouth, Deku."

Desperate for anything the blond can give him, he obliges immediately. Two fingers bully their way into his mouth, forcing his jaw to widen further to accommodate the intrusion. They fuck into his mouth, messy and sharp, the unique texture of Kacchan's skin sending pleasant zaps of sensation as they brush his soft palate. Drool leaks from the edges of his mouth, and Izuku's eyes flutter closed again as he moans around the fingers stretch and pet along the inside of his mouth. 

Kacchan makes a punched out sound, before he rasps more praise.
 

 

"You're so good like this. So good, fuck, that's it, baby." 

Izuku whines when Kacchan suddenly pulls his fingers out, threads of spit still connected to his lips as he begs for them to return. 

 

"I- I- K-Kacchan, p-please, I can't-" His nonsensical words seem to mean something to the blond, who coos down at him, somehow both mocking and genuine all at the same time, as his curls are threaded in Kacchan's hot hands, pulling his head back to force eye contact.

 

"Shut up. You're fine. I'm fine. We're here. I got you, baby, that's it, just look at me. Keep your fuckin' eyes on me." His voice is harsh, mean, practically a growl, but the look on his face is awed, crazed, the darkness of his pupils eclipsing the wine red. Light from the window catches them, and Izuku could drown in them. 

Kacchan is so pretty.

So strong. 
So brave. 
So perfect.

When those slick fingers find his entrance, the groan of relief tears from his chest, sudden and loud.

It's like Kacchan is the only thing that exists in Izuku's world, narrowed down to this moment of heat, of desire, of love.

"That's fuckin' it, I got you, I'll make it all better. Fuck, I wish you could see what you look like right now. Begging and crying for it, like you'll die if I don't fuck you right goddamn now..." Once again, Kacchan's voice is pitched low and reverent as he watches Izuku's face. He's barely even blinking, too intent on taking in every tiny twitch of Izuku's expression as his fingers plunge inside, fucking just as fast and harshly as they had in his mouth, drilling into him with abandon. 

Izuku bucks and writhes, crying at the onslaught, fresh tears leaking down into his hairline. 

"T-Too much, Kacchan! Too much, g-gonna-" If Izuku thought that would slow his partner down, he's sorely mistaken.

Instead, Kacchan pants out a laugh, doubling his efforts to twist his fingers around inside him, the stretch stings but feels so good Izuku thinks he's losing his mind, honed in on the feeling of Kacchan's heat surrounding him, the constant pressure and swirling in his gut. 

 

So close-

 

"Gotta stretch you out, Deku. Gotta open you up for my cock. You want it, right?" His tone is casual before taking on a teasing edge. "I know you do. You want it so bad you're begging and crying all over yourself for it, after all." The pace stays steady, and another finger slips in with the others, just a bit too soon, and Izuku shudders out a breath at the sweet burn of it.

He doesn't bother to answer the filth pouring out of Kacchan's mouth, too overwhelmed and drunk with lust to formulate a proper response, but of course Kacchan needs a verbal answer and intends on wringing one out of him regardless.

 

"But maybe Kacchan's being too mean. Is that it, baby? We can't have that. Want me to stop and take it easy? Go slow?" It takes only a few seconds of significantly slower come hither motions inside him, just barely grazing his prostate, for Izuku to sob and shake his head side to side roughly.

 

"No! No please, don't stop, Kacchan! P-Please! I like it, I want it-" He sniffs, arching down to meet the hand inside him and threading his fingers around Kacchan's wrist, though he's too fucked out to be very successful in his clumsy attempts to get Kacchan to increase his pace again.  

 

"Good boy, 'Zuku, that's it, you're such a good boy. You just need me so bad, I know." If Izuku was less on edge he might glare at the lascivious grin stretching the blond's face, clearly delighted in Izuku's reactions, his desperation. 

In direct contradiction to his praise, Kacchan removes his fingers completely, leaving him empty and lonely. Izuku wails, the tears pouring with renewed dissatisfaction, and he clutches onto Kacchan's wrist and shoulder, trying to drag him back, to pull him closer, so he doesn't leave him-

 

"Shhh, I'm not going anywhere. You're never getting rid of me, Izuku. Never. Gonna follow you around forever, you'll be fucking sick of me-" Kacchan swears, breathily, suddenly sound just as affected as Izuku feels. Blearily Izuku opens his eyes to find that intense focus on him again, Kacchan's face just centimeters from his own, nudging their noses together. "Deep breath, c'mon, that's it..." 

 

Izuku shakily gulps in air, settling the irrational wild panic and fear that had gripped him. He struggles to comply with the direction, trying to find a breath of air in the room that isn't so heavy and hot and-

 

The first solid thrust steals what little air Izuku had managed to hold in his lungs. It fills him to the brim, and Izuku feels his insides pulse, struggling to stretch around the cock still drilling its way into his center. It burns, just the right kind of painful, enough to bowl him over the edge, and he stutters a breath, cumming hard and sudden and perfect between them, the arc of it managing to splatter on Kacchan's sternum, who groans appreciatively in response.

He whimpers, caught by surprise and caught in the throws of coming untouched, staring wide eyed and surprised locked in Kacchan's hungry gaze, earning a messy but unbearably sweet kiss. He's lost in the swirl of Kacchan's tongue, the slow, lazy swivel of his hips urging the last of his orgasm to spill from him, the smooth drag of his pecs smearing his spend against Izuku's chest, and his own arms circle around the blond's neck to crush him closer.

 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can't believe you came just from me putting it in. Such a slutty fucking nerd... Perfect, you're so fucking perfect, never letting you go, baby, you're mine, all mine-" Izuku's mumbling habit seems to have spread to Kacchan because he tries to stifle the words into Izuku's hairline, spilling from his lips like he can't possibly keep them inside as he grinds impossibly deeper.

 

His brain cells start coming back online one by one, only to be very forcefully removed when Kacchan settles back on his haunches, his wide palm pressing Izuku back onto the couch. 

Izuku whines, resisting the separation, desperate to be close again, now that's he's left cold without Kacchan's warmth; but when the blistering heat of Kacchan's explosion glitters across his skin, just over his heart, the sting of the heat drags an appreciative moan from his mouth. 

 

"I knew it, knew you'd like that, fuck, so desperate for anything I can give you. Don't worry, baby, I know what you need." Izuku moans when Kacchan begins slamming inside with quick, ruthless thrusts that rock the couch, dragging it across the floor with every pump of his hips. 

There's nothing careful or measured or kind about his strokes, and Izuku is simply along for the ride, wrapping his legs around Kacchan's waist, never letting him go too far away, clinging to him, wishing he could keep Kacchan here forever, never let him go.

Time slips away, there's no telling what's happening anymore, as lost as he is in the push and pull of Kacchan against him, in the feelings brewing under his skin, the tension bubbling in his gut far too quickly, the very marrow of his bones, calls for him, for Kacchan. 

 

"Love you, love you, love K-Kacchan! Ah!" At his babbling, Kacchan seems to get impossibly harder, the thrusts pointed and harsh, angling for his prostate once more.

Kacchan pants against the soft skin of his throat, his hands banding at Izuku's biceps, pulling him down onto his thrusts like he might try to crawl away. He has absolutely no intention of that, thank you very much, not when he feels so full, so loved, so cherished, so wanted-

 

"Love you too baby, love you so much, love you, love you-" The words are chanted in his ear, broken and whiny, and Izuku glows with happiness, gasping Kacchan's name one more time. 

The bloom of sudden wet heat in his core, along with Kacchan's almost wounded cry into his neck, the rare tears hot and dripping down the slope of his shoulder, all of it is enough to have Izuku's eyes rolling back into his head. Bright sparks cascade behind his eyelids, the sudden release stealing all negative thoughts and feelings from his bones.

He goes boneless, the weight of Kacchan's blistering skin pressing back him into the cushions, shielding him from the world. 

Izuku feels pleasantly warm now, his head stuffed with the most delicious cotton. Skin soft as silk slips over his cheeks, wiping away the last of his tears. Kacchan's jackrabbit heartbeat against his ribs and the low murmur of sweet nothings in his ear has him arching into the sensations. When careful fingers begin combing through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp, he slips into a peaceful, soft slumber, safe and happy.
 
    

Everything else can wait a little longer.

 

 

Chapter 33: A Promise that Didn't Last a Day

Summary:

Katsuki has a few nice days and few bad nights.

Notes:

Woo! Actual forward progress! Who could have imagined that???

Sorry, I got sick again, but I've been working on this chapter for awhile, and while I'm not 100% happy with it, I figure that's because getting one step closer to the ending is just amping up the stress to make it satisfying?

For anyone still reading along and following this story, THANK YOU! This has been a massive labor of love, and I have enjoyed building this world so much. I'm excited to move on to other projects, but I want to give this behemoth the conclusion it deserves!

Eventually, the extras finally admit that they can't stand milling around in this rickety shithole any longer, and mercifully begin the arduous process of getting the hell out. Aizawa, the bastard, arranges with the extras to meet back up at the League early before Katsuki's next shift. 
 
Kirby gives everyone (who doesn't already have it) her Line ID in case they have issues with their injuries (and way too many fucking reminders to flush their wounds and swap out their bandages), assuring them that if they needed her that she'd be there immediately to do it herself if they manage to fuck it up somehow.

Well, she pussyfooted around that, but unlike some people, Katsuki can read between the lines.   

 

"Hah? So I don't even get time off work after saving your life? Ungrateful, hobo-sensei." He folds his arms over his chest, glaring daggers at the one-legged man currently leaning against his loud ass husband.

 

Fine. 
Maybe he's still a little sour that he actually has to go into work on Tuesday, given that he fucking died and everything, but whatever.

Of course Katsuki's food is the best, so it makes a begrudging amount of sense that he can't take too much time off. The whole place would fall to fucking pieces if he wasn't there for a week. Hell, Glitter Bomb is probably already dicking around with his spices right now and making a mess of the walk-in. 

What would the hobo-sensei even do without Katsuki there to kick their asses into doing their side work? 

Ha. Have an aneurism probably. 

 

"No excuses, Bakugou. I've got a business to run, and you have a job to do." Aizawa rolls his eyes with a shrug, like the smarmy bastard he is.

 

"Hard ass."

 

"Problem child."

Deku sighs like a put upon housewife, even gives a chiding shake of his head, his curls dry and frizzy. Katsuki desperately wants to hose him down, get him all squeaky clean and comfortable again. He moves around like he's uncomfortable, all stilted and stiff. Still, he doesn't hesitate to scoop Aizawa up into his arms as if he weighs nothing at all. He even pretends to listen to the disgruntled mans' whining - insisting that he can hobble out to the car by his damn self, which, good fucking luck with that one, Sensei.

Deku doesn't break his stride though, and by the time Aizawa has stopped bitching, he's already loaded the teacher into the car, with Tin Tin and the brat hot on his heels and hurrying to clamber into the backseat. They wave goodbye like they won't see each other again for a hundred goddamn years, despite having plans to meet up in less than forty-eight hours. Katsuki doesn't wave back, because it feels dumb, but he does nod towards the car as the ignition kicks and sputters it's way down the street. 

Of course, the safe house is still in enemy territory - even if those enemies in question got their asses kicked into next week - so they don't linger outside for too long.
 
Speaking of, Katsuki  desperately wants to listen to his police scanner at home, maybe send Ponytail a heads up, something - anything - to get more information on what the Tokyo Police Department found in the wreckage of the Shie Hassaikai's base last night. He's not dumb enough to think they came only because they were alerted just by the security system and Katsuki highly fucking doubts that crazy bastard Chisaki is the type to call on the cops for help. With all the extras they left tied up in there, he bets it was certainly a a once-in-a-century catch for Captain Fuckwad and his Department of Dumbasses. 

In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if that asshole was on the seven o'clock news spouting off about his own job well done, despite everything to the contrary.

Deku's still acting squirrelly and weird, staring off into space, but he's keeping his mouth shut, unfortunately. Not even mumbling his thoughts out loud, which is frustrating. He insists on helping Floaty clean up the aftermath that's still left behind from their impromptu Emergency Room. Katsuki is admittedly relieved as hell when she insists that she's fine, that she's gonna be heading home, back to her actual apartment after all this time avoiding it. He considers offering to pay for a moving company so she doesn't have to take multiple trips on the train, before deciding to first check in with Shitty Hair to see if he's free to play chauffeur with that piece of shit van he has.

 

"Don't you worry, mister, you're definitely gonna do all the heavy lifting!" Katsuki hears Cheeks teasing Deku just as he enters the main living room again, having finished packing away the last of her kitchen supplies into plastic tubs. Deku must have offered his own help, because she's wagging her finger at him playfully. 

 

"Ha, of course." Deku chuckles, before his face falls into something more serious before speaking again. "But... Are you sure you're okay with us meeting at the League? We can always tell the others to meet us somewhere else?" The nerd asks, his voice soft and earnest as he reaches out to hold her hand tenderly. His calloused thumb brushes against the back of her knuckles reassuringly, looking at her with those imploring starry eyes of his.

Damn Deku should be more careful about flashing those things at just anyone.

He's always been like that, though, a damn bleeding heart.  
It's no wonder he's such a crybaby, the human body isn't capable of holding onto that many feelings, they gotta leak from his eyeballs or he'll explode or something.

There's no shame or judgment, no hesitation at all in Deku's face; just an open offer of support to anyone who needs it, even if they don't fucking deserve it in the first place (like Katsuki). For him, the very concept of offering affection to anyone that isn't Deku (and even then, he had to fucking work on that shit) makes him want to peel his skin off and set it on fire. 

Honestly, if Deku hadn't asked, Katsuki wouldn't have thought twice about Kirby not visiting the bar. But he's right, even when Deku tags along, there's been no mention of Cheeks coming to visit, despite obviously hanging around there tons when her girlfriend still worked there. Obviously it would feel weird to be there without her, but that never really crossed Katsuki's mind, because why the hell would it?

"Yeah, it's time, I think. I miss my friends. I can't stay here and wait around forever. Himiko wouldn't want that either. So I think it's time for me to go back to my own life."  She's still smiling that fake ass smile, and Katsuki can't stand it. It's easy to see why these two dorks are so close, neither can hide their emotions for shit, not when those big ass eyes show everything they're feeling to anyone strong enough to look. Her fingers interlock with Deku's own shaky, crooked fingers, stopping him from fidgeting with them as they continue to stand in the middle of the living room.

 

Despite her pathetic attempts at hiding it, she looks like she's one wrong word from breaking down into tears. This apparently activates Deku like some kind of emotional sleeper agent, because he reaches out carefully and pulls her, painfully gently, into his scarred arms. Deku buries his nose into her hair, holding her tight like he can squeeze the sadness out like juicing a lemon.

Thankfully, impromptu story time around the kitchen table earlier happened to give Katsuki a clearer picture about the relationship between Deku and Cheeks, or else he'd be steaming. 

Sue him, Katsuki might have been a little pissy when Deku off-handedly mentioned they dated in high school, even if it was just to be the beard for her and Stabby's relationship. The itch that usually lives under his skin is noticeably absent, probably mollified by the carnage of the day before, so the murderous rage that might have tinged his thoughts is similarly missing. Thanks to their conversation on the roof earlier, Katsuki also soothed the last of his remaining suspicions that Deku might be planning on giving a repeat performance of his solo adventures. 

It helps that they've communicated their, ugh, feelings for each other, too. 

Barf.

He doesn't feel that wild possessive panic to hoard Deku away from the rest of the world quite so intently at the moment, because he's confident that Deku is his. He won. He knows better than to suspect the others in Deku's life of stealing him away, like those lame ass extras had the balls to even try.  

Still. 

He finds himself lingering on the easy way Deku touches Pink Cheeks, all casual and gentle... 

Katsuki's first instinct is admittedly still jealousy - because that's his nerd, hands off, thank you very fucking much - but instead of luxuriating in his easy affections, Cheeks actually wilts a bit, her lip wobbling. It's proof that the nerd has once again zeroed in on someone else's weak spots, plying them with comfort and reassurance in an attempt to get them to lower their guard. It doesn't seem all that successful when the brunette's forces a smile up at him again. It looks all wrong, plastic and fake and stretched way too tight across her cheeks. Despite how obviously fake it is, she still nods once, doing her best to stand up straight, a look of determination in the set of her jaw, like she's refusing to let herself cry. 

It's pathetic, honestly, so Katsuki doesn't have much of a choice before sighing and finally joining in, hugging them both to his chest. He's tall enough that he sets his chin on the top of her head for a few seconds. She's soft, small, and kinda squishy. She smells like strawberries and antiseptic, a kind of artificial sweetness that stings at his nostrils.

 

"Finally. Maybe now the extras will stop moping around and actually do their damn jobs for once." He gripes, letting go after counting to ten, still uncomfortable with the contact, but damn it all if he's gonna show any kind of weakness. 

Yeah, physical touch just isn't his thing. 
Luckily, Cheeks is good people, because she doesn't tease him for his clumsy attempt at comfort.

 

"You know, I've heard your food isn't half bad, Bakugou. I'm excited to see if it's all just hype, or if Blasty can actually cook!" Cheeks smirks up at him, head still pillowed on Deku's chest which he feels is unnecessary. She doesn't seem deterred by his scowl in the slightest, though her mochi-looking face gets a little rounder when she glares at him playfully.  

 

Their hug has officially gone on to long, and Katsuki isn't sure what's up with her and Blondie after yesterday's events, so he feels the need to mark his territory subtly, since she hasn't gotten the hint yet. Katsuki stares her straight in the eye when he throws an intentionally casual arm around Deku's shoulders, jostling them both enough to dislodge her. 
 
She does make a good point though, she's never actually gotten to taste Katsuki's cooking. The prepped plates he made before were mostly just steamed vegetables, a protein, and rice. Nothing he got to spend too much time on, since they didn't have much to spare while getting ready for the raid. He didn't have the opportunity to show off, show her what he can really do. 

Kirby's tough. She's cool, good in a crisis, and stronger than people think at first. He's confident that without her continuous meddling, Deku probably would have died from an infection or gotten himself killed some other dumb ass way long before they could reunite. Not to mention Tin Tin and Hobo-sensei last night. She really saved their asses, even after they'd all kept shit from her and tried to shove her to the sidelines. 

If you think about it that way, he kinda owes her one.
Maybe he'll make her a bomb ass dinner as a thank you. 

She's earned it.

"My food's gonna knock your goddamn socks off, Cheeks, don't you worry about that." Katsuki leans forward and grins, confident. "I'm the fucking best." 

That's simply a statement of fact, after all.
 
Sure, Katsuki might not be a baker like Sato, and yeah, he doesn't toss bags of sugar into his food but he's sure something on his menu will satisfy Kirby's palate. 
Maybe some takoyaki? He'll need to check how much squid they have in the freezer, or better yet he and the nerd can go on a date to the fish market tomorrow, get some fresh. None of that freezer burnt rubbery bullshit. She can't possibly eat sweets for every meal, right? Katsuki isn't sure why her approval matters so much to him all of a sudden, but when Cheeks and Deku start yammering about shit that doesn't matter to him, he starts mentally going through his recipes, drafting ingredient lists, and making a plan for tomorrow. 

He's more excited about the idea of a date with the nerd than he thought he'd be.

 

---

 

It takes entirely too fucking long for the nerds to say bye and gather their crap to leave, but since Katsuki is a goddamn gentleman, he tries not to rush Deku too much. 

That's why it's so suspicious when Izuku carelessly shoves his incredibly valuable supersuit into Katsuki's backpack like it's a ratty old sweater. His eyes follow the movement in confusion, only to harden when the nerd flinches like the damn thing bit him. He plasters some fake ass smile on his face before quickly zipping up the bag, wiping his hands on his borrowed sweat pants like he's touched something filthy. And while it definitely reeks and has blood and dirt and grime all over it, that's nothing new, really. Deku's gone weeks without showering in that thing before (which was really gross, for the record). Deku hardly ever cares about his own cleanliness the way Katsuki does, the nasty fuck.

The whore's bath he takes with baby wipes in the bathroom sink is enough for now, but Katsuki can't wait to shove Deku's freckled ass under the damn faucet at home and scrub him down, then he'll get some proper food in him. Idiot had been too anxious before the raid to eat very much, despite Katsuki's best efforts, and this morning's muffins alone weren't near enough to recover all the calories they'd burned during that whole fiasco. 

All that to say, Deku's still acting fucking weird.

If Katsuki knows the nerd - and he knows that he does - that must mean something happened. Something Deku hasn't mentioned to him yet, he's almost sure of it.
  
Obviously he's itching to know, and has half a mind to demand a proper debrief of the mission right the hell now, but before he can start barking questions at Deku, he manages to bite his tongue. He's grown up a lot this year, put in the fucking work. He's not a complete and total asshole anymore, at least. Deku himself admitted he wasn't a hundred percent okay with all that went down back there. He definitely isn't going to want to relive Katsuki's 'death' so soon. He trusts Deku, and he can wait for the nerd to come to him when he's ready.

So fine. Katsuki can be patient. 
Doesn't mean he's not still a little pissed off about it though. 

He's harsher than he ought to be when Deku starts mumbling out loud about taking his only helmet for the ride home and crash statistics and motorcycle safety laws. Any other day the rambling would be cute, informative, and endearing background noise but Katsuki can feel his eye twitch in agitation. Gearing up to make the drive back across town to their apartment feels like it's taking an excruciating amount of time and Katsuki is just dying to be home. Clean, safe, comfortable, where they can just... exist together like normal. 

He doesn't care if they have to walk home, he just wants to fucking go already.

 

"But that's so dangerous, Kacchan!" Deku whines when Katsuki ignores his complaints and shoves the helmet over frizzy curls.

 

Thankfully he doesn't resist too hard, standing still while Katsuki latches the buckle under his chin, careful not to pinch the skin there. He's not happy about it, apparently, because Deku's puffs his cheeks up like a frustrated chipmunk, glaring reproachfully at Katsuki.

 

"I am literally immortal, nerd. Just let me take care of you and shut up so we can go home already." Katsuki's well past his 'cute aggression' phase, but part of him still wants to bite those freckled cheeks. He settles for flicking the visor, grinning when Deku pouts at him behind the tinted plastic. 

 

Aside from the roar of the motorcycle's engine beneath them and the wind roaring in their ears, the ride towards the apartment is blessedly quiet. Because he's a damn good driver, Katsuki keeps an eye on the road first and foremost, but from the corner of his eye, he's also looking out for anything suspicious, just in case they're being tailed. Katsuki mean mugs the passerby as they ride by, vigilant for any potential dangers. So far there isn't a noticeable public response to whatever went down last night after they escaped, and while he should feel relieved about it, he doesn't. Just more unknowns, more opportunity for shit to hit the fan and catch them by surprise. 

He only relaxes a tiny amount when he feels Deku resting his helmet in the valley between Katsuki's shoulder blades, though he still glares at the civilian in the car next to them when he catches their eyes at a traffic light. 

Katsuki gets more and more impatient by the second, anxious as he is to finally be home. He takes a few side roads, pretending he does so in an effort to avoid getting caught in the heavier traffic near Shibuya around this time of day, instead of simple paranoia. He can't tell if the nerd is shaking from the cold or the vibration from the engine is just playing tricks on him. 

When their apartment is finally in his sights, Katsuki takes the turn a little too hard, squealing his back tire against the pavement as they enter the parking garage. The engine is still chugging along when he swings his leg off the seat, but he cuts it off quickly, already helping Deku yank the helmet off from behind. The position gives him a perfect view of the nerd freezing solid the second the thing is removed, like his muscles are on immediate lockdown. When Deku still doesn't relax after several seconds, he's officially worried. 

Patience feels an awful lot like cowardice, at the moment, and Bakugou Katsuki isn't a fucking coward.

 

"Okay, spit it out, what the fuck is wrong with you?" He demands, bumping their shoulders together in an effort to dislodge the freckled wonder from whatever he's freaking out about.

 

Thankfully it seems to work, because Deku shakes himself out of it. He moves fluidly as he dismounts, and it's still somewhat surprising after all this time to see the nerd looking so graceful. 

Because Katsuki has noticed, okay? 

Deku's body is tight and compact with muscle, despite his short stature. His ass in his costume should be illegal, a legitimate hazard. Katsuki almost has half a mind to suggest something be done about it after seeing the way he flitted around yesterday, all thick thighs and flexible acrobatics. He loves the confidence and power in the way that Deku moves now. The way he's so casually dexterous, but also deliberately gentle, like he's doing his damn best not to break anything he touches. He winces at the throb of arousal that pulses through him just thinking about it. 

It's weird to remember scrawny awkward little Deku when Katsuki can see the absolute powerhouse he's become.

Part of Katsuki misses the bumbling nerd who tripped everywhere and knocked into shit all the time. Sure, the clumsiness used to piss him off, often resulting in ruined homework assignments from accidentals spills, mishaps, and random unlucky bullshit Deku seems to have always attracted, but if he's honest with himself, Katsuki never truly minded. What bugged him was how small and delicate Deku used to look, always avoiding his eyes, hunched over with shaky knees like a frightened deer. In hindsight it was kind of adorable or whatever. 

He clearly didn't stay that way, though. 

Even before all the superpower shit, back when they'd first met again in the office, Katsuki had seen that immediately. Deku clearly felt more comfortable in his skin than he used to, even if he was still a damn nerd. Grown-up Deku had somehow managed to keep that gangly awkwardness when they were in private, but somewhere over this past year he'd managed to lose that too. All traces of that skinny nerd have been worn away, replaced with a scarred up hero with keen hypervigilance and a steel solid resolve. This new stronger, spatially aware Deku is always conscious of absolutely everything all the time. He's tuned in and aware of his environment, attuned to his senses.

Honestly it's a little freaky.

Like Katsuki said, it's hard to remember how fragile Deku used to look, but he swears he can still see that latchkey middle schooler right now as Deku avoids his eyes, shoulders hiked up to his ears with tension as he approaches the elevator. 

 

"Huh? Oh. It's n-nothing, Kacchan. Just tired, sorry." Deku takes a page out of Kirby's book and gives him one of those saccharine fake smiles, one that doesn't even look sort of natural. It irritates him that Deku thinks he can fool Katsuki with such a shit performance.

 

"Thought you were done with all that martyr bullshit, Deku." He glares, slamming his palm against the button for the correct floor with derision. 

 

If Deku thought they were going back to the lame secret-keeping, "it's for your own good" bullshit from earlier in the year then he is sorely mistaken. 
Katsuki didn't face his inner demons and force himself to be more open just for Deku to clam the hell up. 

He must agree with what Katsuki is thinking because he winces a bit at the callout, fumbling around with the ratty hem of his borrowed sweatshirt as the elevator door opens. Katsuki eyes the garment distastefully as they enter, wondering if he can pound out some of the nasty looking staining with a bit of elbow grease and heavy duty detergent, but honestly he's not sure it's worth salvaging even if he manages to. He doubts Cheeks will be too upset with him if he burns the fabric to ashes "accidentally". Deku takes in a shaky breath before answering, and the elevator lurches under their feet.

 

"... I am. Can we- I just, not right now, okay? I don't want to think about it, right now." 

Yeah, cause that's new and different. 
Avoidance works so well for Deku, clearly.
Deku might say he doesn't want to think about it, but he will anyway. 
No, he'll go over it a thousand times in his head, in a thousand different contexts and then end up thinking something fucking stupid because of it. 

He doesn't believe Deku for a second, but Katsuki just shrugs anyway. 

 

"I got time. You'll crack eventually." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Deku frown and open his mouth as if to argue, but seems to think better of it before shutting his mouth. 

Like he said, the nerd will cave. 
Katsuki will make damn sure of it. 

The elevator doors squeal as they open, the feedback hissing at the aid in his ear, before Katsuki steers him towards their door. 

"Now, get the hell inside, nerd." He sighs as he unlocks the door before lightly shoving the shorter man inside, desperate for their usual routine to kick in, to get some hard-won relief from how shitty the last few days have been. Katsuki leans against the door frame to allow the curly haired man to take his shoes off in the genkan.

Deku has barely crossed the threshold before he stops again, looking out into the apartment. 
His shoulders shake a little, and Katsuki glares into the empty room, looking for whatever has Deku so upset. Nothing looks out of place, but maybe he sees or hears something Katsuki can't with those freaky senses of his. 

"Oi, the fuck is your problem now?" 

Katsuki reaches out to drag Deku back to him, still trying to find the source of his hesitation, imagining all manner of villains lurking just out of sight, before Deku looks back over his shoulder at him dolefully.

 

"W-welcome home, Kacchan." Deku murmurs softly with a tearful smile, but it isn't a happy smile. 

No, it's fucking heartbreaking to look at. 

All at once, it's like his whole facade crumbles, the tears immediately gathering in his dark lashes but not actually falling. His breathing becomes haggard, and he curls into himself, his gnarled fingers ringing themselves into knots. Deku's eyes are pleading, looking up at Katsuki like it's the last time he'll see him.

Oh, so that's it, then: The nerd is still dwelling on his 'death'. 

It's apparently completely irrelevant that Katsuki is here for him right now, focused on their usual routine, on getting back to normal. This dumbass has probably been ruminating on losing him for good all fucking night. No wonder his dark circles look so stark against his pale skin. Aizawa mentioned earlier that the nerd hadn't slept a wink, but at the time, Katsuki had assumed that was because of the fucking amputation, the girl and whatever that creepy bastard had done to her, or the trauma of everything they went through, but this... no, this makes more sense, somehow. 

He can't necessarily blame Deku for being upset. He watched Katsuki die. If their roles had been reversed... well, Katsuki wouldn't be in a great state of mind either, if he's honest with himself. Still, even though Deku looks downright pitiful right now, he can't help but be just a tiny bit happy about it. 

Now, don't get him wrong. He's not the selfish, sadistic asshole he was back in middle school. He doesn't enjoy Deku being upset, not really.
Obviously he doesn't want the nerd to suffer, would kill as many motherfuckers as necessary to make sure that the green bean stays smiling that dumb smile always... but the way he's looking at Katsuki now is... something else. 

He looks like he needs Katsuki to breathe, like he's starving for him, like he won't even be able to function unless Katsuki starts touching him right the hell now.
It strokes his ego in the best way. 

It's very possible Deku just wants to be held, to be comforted, and here's Katsuki's mind in the gutter. Katsuki breathes in, trying to keep himself under control, tempering his reaction into something kinder, gentler. 

 

"Sappy nerd..." He complains with little heat, smoothing his palms up and petting over the scars on Deku's arms. 

 

When that touch has Deku melting under his finger tips, he lets them slide up to cup his cherubic face, turning it a little to face him head on. Those big green eyes are swimming with crystalline tears, gathering on the delicate lashes underneath but still refusing to spill over. Emerald and viridian and hunter and phthalo swirl in his iris, imploring, begging, pleading with him for something, anything.

It lights a fire in Katsuki's stomach, a yawning chasm that wants to take everything Deku- no, Izuku could possibly give him. 
The only thing Deku has ever allowed himself to be selfish about is Katsuki, and it's incredibly endearing. He wants to reward him for his devotion, for his greed. 

The look in his eyes is one Katsuki knows well, stirring that craving in his gut, one that only grows when Deku buries his trembling fingers into Katsuki's shirt, clinging to him the way he used to when they were younger; back when Deku could hardly take a willing step away from Katsuki, always chasing after him, begging for his attention, all honest and innocent in his affections. He hardly registers that he's gotten closer when he's already leaning into Deku's space, speaking against his lips.

 

"... Welcome home, Izuku." 

 

The kiss starts off soft, barely a brush of lips. 

It's gentle on purpose, meeting Deku's trembling mouth with soft and warm presses that have them moving languidly over each other. The tension is sweet and syrupy, spreading like molasses between them. As much as he loves the way Deku looks at him, the way he covets him like something precious, he doesn't want Deku to think he could ever actually lose him. No matter what, there's nowhere he'd rather be than here, and no one on the planet could manage to keep him away from Deku. 

He's content with this, to kiss Deku stupid in their genkan, then clean him up and ply him with food, snuggle him in their bed and hide away from the world for awhile... that is until a desperate whine pierces the quiet. 

Almost without his permission, the kiss deepens into something less sweet and more hungry. Deku surges forward, like he can crawl into his mouth face first, or sink into Katsuki's chest if he squishes them together hard enough. Katsuki is careful to keep his hands from sparking against the nerd's skin, but he's not entirely sure Deku would notice if he did. The freaky little shit would probably like that, actually. He doesn't so much as flinch when the front door slams closed. Deku is far too focused on Katsuki, on his mouth, his touch, his everything to notice anything else. 

Good. That's the way it should be.

Katsuki thrives off Deku's attention. It takes very little to get Deku panting for him, allowing Katsuki to lick into his mouth and coax more of those wanton desperate noises from his throat. 

 

"Please." He gasps into Katsuki mouth, the words half swallowed in his maw. 

Katsuki moves to kiss and bite at his jaw, giving him space to breathe as he focuses on nipping at the skin and leaving behind beautiful marks. He lets his hands squeeze and tug, jostling Deku this way and that, just to see if he'll follow, and preening when he does. It's like lava runs through his veins, and Katsuki watches with baited breath the way Deku bends amiably to Katsuki's demanding touches. He melts in Katsuki's palms like candy, lets him pet over the hollow of Deku's throat, the center of his ribcage, the swell of his ass, the elusive skin between toned torso and thick thighs. Every inch of skin the blond travels across has him burning alive with the intensity of Deku's blush and the each noises growing softer, sweeter with every caress. 

 

"You sound so pretty when you beg for me." He growls into freckled skin, his touch growing hotter, heavier, faster, needier. "But you don't need to, ya know. I'll give you whatever you want, Deku, ya just gotta ask for it." Katsuki promises, all too willing to give Deku everything, anything he could possibly want from Katsuki. 

 

"Please!" Deku cries, really actually cries this time, as those pretty tears that have been collecting in his lashes finally cascade down his freckled cheeks. Katsuki groans when he swipes his tongue out to catch a few of them, hot and salty as they splash against his tastebuds. 

 

"That's it, let it all out. That's my crybaby." He praises, biting the soft flesh of Deku's earlobe between his teeth. 

 

The keen he gets in response makes him grin against the delicate skin under Deku's ear, velvet soft and damp under his ministrations. Deku's reactions are always so honest, so earnest, like he wants nothing more than to be consumed by Katsuki, all the way down to the marrow in his bones. Swallowed whole, if it meant being that much closer to Katsuki. Katsuki, for his part, wants to completely devour him in return.

 

"K-Kacchan!" He whimpers, arching into Katsuki's touch, trying to get closer, to feel more. 

 

His lashes flutter, tilting his head back against the onslaught of sensation that Katsuki is subjecting him to, from soft caresses of his lips to sharp nips of his teeth, soothed by his wicked tongue. Deku trembles in his hold when he laves a strip up his Adam's apple, sucking more purpling splotches across his skin. He hardly even notices Katsuki slowly loosening the drawstring knot of his pants.

 

"Shh, I got you, baby." Katsuki promises darkly, shepherding him further into the interior of their home. He presses forward with his body, draping Deku against the back of the couch, before urging him onto the cushions when he tumbles over the edge. The pants slip off his ankles easily at this angle, and Katsuki follows eagerly after him. 

 

Little sniffles break up the quiet, tearful little cries that pluck at Katsuki's heartstrings.

 

"Don't cry, Deku, I'm here. I'm right here. Focus on me, that's it." He breathes, sounding far more fond than he means to. Deku doesn't answer him with words, but the petulant little whine when Katsuki looms over him without touching is answer enough. When Deku peers up at him after the shirt is yanked off his head, he looks so wrecked and desperate that it's almost pitiful. 

 

All this from some kissing and some petting? Unreal.  
 
Deku looks up at him like he's about to shake apart completely, lost and aching, like without Katsuki's hands on him he'll disappear forever. So Katsuki obliges, curling over him protectively, shutting out the world with his body. He takes advantage of Deku's flexibility to hike his legs up, settling himself in the cradle of his hips like he belongs there. 

Because clearly he does. 
He fits perfectly. 

Even as he tosses his own shirt over his head, Katsuki is never going to be convinced he belongs anywhere but right fucking here between Izuku Midoriya's legs. 

Katsuki's hands continue squeezing and smoothing over the galaxies painted on Deku's skin, the bruises mottled on his hips, the scars and freckles that adorn his lean frame. His hips cant down to rut their hard lengths together when Katsuki manages to free his own erection from its confines. He's so fucking turned on, evident by the smear of pre that leaves a shiny trail across Deku's lower stomach. 

The sobs are even louder now but through it all crooked fingers drag Katsuki even closer, his hips rolling jerkily, trying to get more friction, mourning any space left between them. His pace is frantic, his cries eliciting more heat to rise. Katsuki finds himself just as desperate as Deku, apparently, because he pants like a dog and groans at the contact, digging his sparking hands harshly into the cushions with a mangled curse.

Fuck it, he'll just buy new ones. 
This is way more important. 

Deku whines and moans, but he must be coming back to his senses because he starts fucking mumbling again, all teary eyed and embarrassed that the neighbors might hear him begging through the walls. Katsuki doesn't care. He wants them to hear, wants all of Tokyo, no the entire world, to hear the chirps and sighs he drags from Deku's rough bitten mouth. 

After all, they're his, he's earned them, and he wants them playing on fucking loop from now until the end of time.

 

"Oi, quit fucking thinking about shit that doesn't matter. Focus on me, damn it." He demands, sinking his fingers into those thick thighs, the flesh bulging between the digits. He uses his newfound grip to drag him that much closer, slamming his hips down harder, frotting against Deku's aching dick to get some relief. It feels too fucking good, and every brush of contact between their throbbing cocks just adds another lick of flame against his core. 

Oh Katsuki wants him desperately, wants to bury himself inside already, but Deku's not even prepped yet...
Well, he needs to fix that fucking immediately. 

He doubles his efforts, grinning as he watches Deku squirm beneath him, looking debauched. One particularly sinful grind has Deku's eyes flashing open with a gasp. His eyes fucking sparkle, immediately locked onto Katsuki's, staring into his damn soul with every buck of his hips. 

Deku keens when he grinds down again, and Katsuki catches a glimpse of that pink tongue when it peeks out to wet his lips... and it gives him an idea.

 

"Open your mouth, Deku."

 

He doesn't hesitate for a second, no, Deku is far too desperate for anything Katsuki will give him, so he obliges immediately. He opens his lips wide, willing and waiting. 

Katsuki shoves his longest two fingers into Deku's mouth with little preamble. He bites his lip at the sensation of Deku's tongue curling to meet them: the hot, wet, silky feeling of it licking around and between the digits. He presses down on that tongue, forcing Deku's jaw to open even further. He slips them in and out of the wetness, petting the inside of Deku's mouth, swirling them around to almost choke him on them. Nerd takes it like a fucking champ, course he does, he loves it, all too evident by the way his eyes droop closed, content to let Katsuki do as he pleases. Saliva drips from the edges of his lips, gathering at the edge of his chin, but Deku doesn't seem to mind, too busy moaning around Katsuki's fingers and sucking at them like it's the best thing he's ever tasted. 

Now Katsuki's getting impatient. Deku deserves more than just his fingers, but he has to take them first before he's ready for the rest. 
He's perfect like this, slobbering all over his hand like a whore. 
Deku's so fucking hot that Katsuki decides to tell him so.  

 

"You're so good like this. So good, fuck, that's it, baby." 

 

When Katsuki rips his hand free, Deku whines like he's been deprived of something, like his world is ending and the lewdness of it is only exacerbated by the glistening threads of spit still connected to his swollen lips as he begs for them to return. 

 

 

"I- I- K-Kacchan, p-please, I can't-" His babbling is fucking adorable, all worked up to the point that he can't even string together a single coherent thought. Katsuki makes a fake noise of sympathy as he surveys his handiwork, before burying his dry hand in Deku's curls, yanking him up to look him in the eye. 

 

 

"Shut up. You're fine. I'm fine. We're here. I got you, baby, that's it, just look at me. Keep your fuckin' eyes on me." He'd give anything to keep Deku looking at him like this forever, completely focused and obsessed, like Katsuki is everything that matters to him. 

 

Afternoon light cuts in from the window, bathing his profile in light, bringing special attention to his freckles and the hickeys and bruises that litter his skin. Proof that Katsuki was here. The splashes of deep purple and red are gorgeous against his speckled skin, and Katsuki wants to darken them until they're just as permanent as the swaths of scar tissue and the galaxy of stars that already live on Deku's body.

Deku mumbles something under his breath about Katsuki being pretty, about how strong and brave and perfect he is. Katsuki preens, basking in Deku's attention, his praise, given so freely. 
He decides to reward him for that, wiggling his spit-slick digits against his hole, watching hungrily as Deku throws his head back and moans in gratitude.

Katsuki is overcome by love for him, he wants Deku to feel this good all the time, every second of every day. 

 

"That's fuckin' it, there you are. Fuck, I wish you could see what you look like right now. Begging and crying for it, like you'll die if I don't fuck you right goddamn now..." Katsuki couldn't look away if he tried, too entranced by the flutter of Deku's lashes, the pinkness in his face that hides some of his lighter freckles under the pigment. 

 

Deku makes the best faces when he curls his fingers up, when he's rough about it, when he's downright mean. He's careful not to actually hurt him, but he's far from gentle as he pistons his hand in and out, scissoring and stretching the muscles there. It's been several days since they've done this and he wants to make sure Deku's nice and open for him. He bucks and writhes on Katsuki's fingers, still crying those big alligator tears and tossing his head back and forth like he can't stand to be still for a single second. 

 

"T-Too much, Kacchan! Too much, g-gonna-" The green haired man pants, the tight clench of his insides echoing his words. 

 

Katsuki grins, feeling the tightness pulsing around his fingers and knowing Deku is getting closer. A mean sounding laugh leaks out as he doubles his efforts to twist his fingers around inside, letting his knuckles add to the stretch, getting even faster and harsher with every thrust. He can feel the subtle contractions as his body does its best to suck him inside, greedy for more, for whatever will throw Deku over the edge of his orgasm. 

So Katsuki keeps talking, knowing Deku will listen. 

 

"Gotta stretch you out, Deku. Gotta open you up for my cock. You want it, right?" He asks casually, almost dismissively, before it turns into something teasing. "I know you do. You want it so bad you're begging and crying all over yourself for it, after all."

 

The pace stays steady, not an instant of hesitation as he crooks another finger in beside the others, knowing it's just a bit too soon, but based on the gasps and answering rocks of his hips, Deku likes it better that way. When it burns, when it hurts a little, Deku loves every bit of it.

He's mindless, not bothering to respond to Katsuki's taunts, too lust drunk and lost in the pleasure of it all to use his words. Katsuki intends to wring something out of him regardless, of course.

 

"But maybe Kacchan's being too mean. Is that it, baby? We can't have that. Want me to stop and take it easy? Go slow?" It takes all his willpower not to laugh through the words, slowing down to a glacial pace, petting at Deku's insides much the way he had done to his mouth earlier. Only a few seconds of this turns Deku into even more of a shaking, sobbing mess.

 

"No! No please, don't stop, Kacchan! P-Please! I like it, I want it-" He cries, arching down to meet the hand inside him and grabbing at Katsuki's, though he's far too far gone to be all that successful in his weak attempts to urge Katsuki into going faster again. 

 

Who is Katsuki to tell him no when he asks so nicely? He isn't cruel!

 

"Good boy, 'Zuku, that's it, you're such a good boy for telling your Kacchan the truth. You just need me so bad, I know." He coos, and the furrow of Deku's brow lets him know that when he isn't so worked up, Katsuki will be getting a hell of a scolding later, but as it is Katsuki is too busy having the time of his life wringing every moan he possibly can out of the green haired man to give a damn.

 

He's delighted by every single reaction, in how desperately he rocks against Katsuki's fingers, trying to work himself back up to the peak he was at before Katsuki decided to tease him. 

However, he has zero intentions of letting Deku get off so easily; at least not before he's properly stuffed full of Katsuki's dick, which throbs in painful agreement against his thigh. When he removes his fingers, grimacing at the temperature change, Deku makes the most pitiful noise he's ever heard, more tears slipping from his eyes as he looks up at Katsuki almost heartbroken. Katsuki grins, the dopey desperation on his scrunched up face is perfect, bright flushed cheeks and teary green eyes. He's gorgeous, all hard muscle and pretty painted skin. 

He lets his fingers smooth over scar tissue and freckles again, chuckling in delight as he thumbs over his own love bites already blooming across Deku's skin. A few marks under his jaw are the color of Katsuki's eyes, and they crawl up the column of Deku's throat. Apparently patience is simply beyond Deku now, because his strong crooked fingers start to fumble around blindly, clutching at Katsuki's arm from wrist to shoulder. He's casually rough with his touch, clearly not realizing his own damn strength as he sinks those large palms into him. 

Katsuki can feel the depth of the bruising with every swipe, and he moans. The throb of pain is addictive, each one immediately soothed, soaking into his skin like secrets. It's something he's glad for, never having to let Deku see the results of his handiwork. Katsuki's skin remains unblemished, a blank canvas compared to all the colors and patterns adorning Deku's gorgeous body.

Nobody else could handle Izuku, he's damn sure of it, since obviously no other extra could handle this kind of casual strength. Deku's far too out of it to notice the kind of grip he's using.

Big bad Deku, scourge of Tokyo, 'can-lift-a-car-over-his-head' and hear three blocks away Hero Deku, loses all sense of gentleness under Katsuki's care. While he should lecture the idiot about paying more attention, being more careful, he can't help but fucking love it.

Deku pants beneath him, oh so hard and eager before blubbering, doing his best to pull him down, whimpering something about Katsuki leaving him.  

As fun as it is to watch Deku whine and cry on his hand about needing Katsuki so badly, he really does love him. Loves him so fucking much that it fills his chest with something softer, warmer, and brighter than he can put into words. It's something adoring, fond, loving, and it prompts him to bend down to breathe promises and praise into Deku's ear.

 

"Shhh, I'm not going anywhere. You're never getting rid of me, Izuku. Never. Gonna follow you around forever, you'll be so fucking sick of me-" He swears into Deku's hairline, panting and just as desperate as Deku, suddenly. He's half a second away from blowing his load before he even gets inside, and that simply won't do. Katsuki nuzzles into Deku affectionately, waiting for him to blink those big glossy eyes open. When he finally does, Katsuki stares straight into them, urging Deku to take a breath as he gasps and stutters. "Deep breath, c'mon, that's it..." 

 

Deku shakily gulps in air, half-panting into the centimeters between their mouths, desperate and pleading and Katsuki is just a man, he can't wait a single second longer, not when Deku wants it so bad.

The first solid thrust has Deku choking on one of those shallow breaths. It's a thousand degrees inside him, his walls hugging tight and throbbing around him. Every inch is somehow better than the last. He's going a bit too fast, a bit too suddenly, and he knows it must burn, but apparently it's just the right kind of painful, because Deku convulses like he's being electrocuted and suddenly clamps down on Katsuki's dick like a molten hot vice when he finally presses himself inside completely. Deku makes a tiny, pitiful little noise as his release arcs across Katsuki's stomach. Between the feeling of Deku's slippery insides and the knowledge that just filling him alone was enough to send him hurtling over the edge? 

Katsuki has to bite his lip harshly to avoid doing the same and spilling into him immediately. 

Deku stares up at him with the most adorable look of surprise and awe, like he hadn't expected that to happen. He's not complaining though, staring up at Katsuki like he's the best thing that's ever existed, the shiny reflections from the window in his eyes almost look like stars. Katsuki will never stop wanting this look directed at him, it's his very reason for breathing, it's the highest honor he can ever achieve, and he pours every ounce of his love for Deku into the gentlest kiss he possibly can given the circumstances. Deku is so sweet and pliant from his orgasm that he just lets Katsuki pillage his mouth, and he can't keep himself still, stirring his hips to help Deku ride through the pleasure as scarred arms circle around his neck and pull him further under the haze. 

 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can't believe you came just from me putting it in. Such a slutty fucking nerd... Perfect, you're so fucking perfect, never letting you go, baby, you're mine, all mine-" He can't stop the words dripping off his tongue, they spill thoughtless and honest across patterned skin, and he grinds his throbbing cock impossibly deeper inside that cloying heat.

 

Soon he can't handle it anymore, so he settles back on his haunches, his wide palm pressing Deku back down onto the couch when he tries to follow, keeping his fingers splayed above his heart. The poor thing just whines, loud and upset, resisting the separation. He's shameless, so desperate to be close to him again, aching for him; and Katsuki sees the tremble of his limbs, hears the murmurs about being cold and lonely, so despite all the reasons he really shouldn't, he lets his palms sparkle against Deku's flesh, not hot enough to leave a permanent mark, but definitely hot enough to leave a welt behind. And Deku, the perfect pain slut that he is, just keens for it. 

 

 

"I knew it, knew you'd like that, fuck, so desperate for anything I can give you. Don't worry, baby, I know what you need." He immediately begins slamming inside with quick, ruthless thrusts that rock the couch, dragging it across the floor with every pump of his hips, letting Deku's loud, happy moans fill the space. He's probably oversensitive from his orgasm, sore from their mission, tired and hungry, but instead of complaining, the faint smile on his lips just throws more fuel on the fire.

 

 

There's nothing careful or measured or kind about his strokes, as desperate as he is. He marvels at the slickness and warmth of Deku's insides against his cock, how endearing it is when Deku wraps his legs around Katsuki's waist, refusing to let him move too far away. He clings onto Katsuki, as if wishing he could keep the blond buried inside him forever, never letting him go. Time slips away, there's no telling what's happening anymore, as lost as he is in the feeling of Deku's insides sucking him in, the heavenly glide and the hot, tight squeeze of him. 

 

 

"Love you, love you, love K-Kacchan! Ah!" Katsuki's traitorous heart kicks up into an entirely new rhythm at his babbling, and his dick fucking aches with how hard he is, how desperately he wants to cum. 

 

He'll be damned if he doesn't wring one more orgasm out of the nerd first though, so he aims for the spot he knows will earn it. 
Katsuki pants against the soft flesh of Deku's exposed throat, bared to his teeth and tongue and demanding kisses. He grabs at Deku's arms, pulling him down onto his thrusts like he might try to crawl away. He hears Deku keep babbling, thanking him, talking about how full and loved and wanted he feels, and Katsuki is so gone for him. 

 

"Love you too baby, love you so much, love you, love you-" He's like a man possessed, bucking into Deku's sweet heat with jerky, harsh, jack rabbit thrusts. He's so ready to burst it actually hurts, so much so that he feels tears spring to his eyes. He hears one last call of his name, a breathy and happy, 'Kacchan' and that's all it takes.

 

The sudden unwinding of his release is like a freefall, and it steals his breath, his sense of up and down, and his tension all in one fell swoop. He loves Deku so goddamn much it rewrites his DNA, it must, because he's made for this, made for him, there's no other explanation. He feels Deku clench down on his softening cock and whimpers with the sensitivity of it all, but it's worth it when he feels Deku completely melt in his arms, another spurt of fluid between them as he does so. He goes absolutely boneless, that dreamy little smile still on his face, like he's gotten the best present in the world. 

He's so out of it he doesn't even complain when Katsuki pulls out, surprisingly enough. 

Unlike Deku, Katsuki doesn't drift off into sleep immediately. Not that he minds, of course, he's more than happy to fuck Deku to sleep every night. Maybe they can do that from now on? It does seem to work better than any over the counter sleep medication the nerd has tried. 

Instead of succumbing to sleep, Katsuki settles himself down, covering the smaller man like a weighted blanket. He traces the swell of muscle with the pads of his fingers, following the swirl of the scar tissue encircling his biceps. Katsuki's fingers comb through Deku's wild curls, and he leaves soft, delicate kisses on every single freckle that dapple his collarbones. Katsuki tells Izuku how much he loves him, how happy he is to be alive, how good he feels, anything and everything that comes to mind, not that Deku is cognizant enough to really hear him. 

Soon he'll carry a dozing Deku to the bathroom to scrub him down and clean him out. He'll gingerly lather the curls with sweet smelling products, dress him in Katsuki's softest t-shirt and throw stew ingredients into a stock pot for dinner, unwilling to leave Deku for too long, just in case the clingy nerd wakes up missing him. But for now, he just breathes in Deku's scent, tamped down in sweat and the faint iron tang of blood, and thanks whatever forces in this godforsaken world that let him come back home to this.
 
    

---

 

The lingering feeling that something is about to go horribly wrong is both unwelcome and unpleasant. 

Katsuki isn't a catastrophizing nerd like some people, okay, he doesn't dwell on what could be, he handles what's happening right the hell now. That means he should be enjoying this well-deserved and very rare break, but for some reason, he's unable to relax. Tension creeps into his jaw, his eyes catalogue every twitch of motion in his periphery, and he can't bring himself to lower his guard an inch. 

It certainly doesn't help that all day, he's had a suspiciously obedient and persistent little shadow stuck to him like glue. Deku's always been a clingy little shit, but today it feels like something more than the usual amount of fawning. Despite the dread looming in his gut, Katsuki does appreciate it. After all, Deku's attention is akin to a drug to him, he's done awful things to get it in years gone by, so Katsuki does his best to focus on their date, on the day ahead.  Maybe a nice day out will settle whatever this uncomfortable anticipation is. 

The morning starts with a noticeable shift in their routine, but nothing bad, really. Just different. It does leave him a little off kilter, though. 

Instead of whining  when Katsuki wakes him up early, before the sun has risen, Deku just blinks up at him before leaning forward, all sleep ruffled and drowsy, to kiss him softly. It's warm, achingly gentle, and he murmurs 'good morning, Kacchan' against Katsuki's lips in a throaty little purr that buries into Katsuki's heart like a dagger. He doesn't bitch and moan about getting dressed like he usually does, and he goes so far as to raid Katsuki's closet for a sweater, despite having plenty of his own to wear. 

Of course, seeing the cute nerd decked out in his clothes is hardly a reason to complain, so Katsuki doesn't, but his eyes linger on the choice with suspicion and confusion. 

They eat a healthy breakfast for once, none of that sugary crap Deku usually demands he make, but a nutritionally balanced traditional Japanese breakfast. Deku stuffs his mouth and coos over how good it is, giving almost no pushback when Katsuki insists on an extra serving of protein, only giving a toothy smile and a painfully soft 'thank you, Kacchan'. 

It's domestic. Easy. Comfortable. A familiar routine they've fallen into in the weeks since Deku moved in.

Still, he finds himself bracing for something to go wrong. Somewhere in the back of Katsuki's mind, an unknown danger lurks under the surface but he can't quite put his finger on it. He has half a mind to cancel his morning plans and hide away here at home, but Deku's hopeful "what are we doing today, Kacchan?" has him spilling his plans for the day easily, including the trip to the market for their date, which Deku is all too happy to agree to. 

So they ride out to the bay, catching the first rays of light across the seafoam.  

They hold hands subtly - "So we don't get separated!" Deku chirps, linking their pinkies together - as they move through the crowd clamoring for the freshest cuts, the best deals, the newest varieties. Katsuki hates the noise, but secretly loves this market's superior quality and begrudgingly continues to peruse. They shop for ingredients side by side, and Katsuki chuckles when Deku brings out a notepad so they can compare the different vendors and their prices as they walk around. He's so determined and cute, polite as ever as he greets the shop owners and fisherman kindly. His nose is pink from the chill coming in off the bay, but it doesn't seem to deter him in the slightest, and clearly the extras around them start to notice too, if the appreciative smiles and lingering glances are anything to go by. Katsuki glowers at them, but thankfully Deku doesn't wander off or get distracted by the bustle of the crowd like he normally would. In fact, he stays firmly tucked against Katsuki's side all day long, brushing against him now and then as he carries their purchases effortlessly. 

Despite his loaded arms, the nerd grins up at him happily as he tugs Katsuki between the stalls at the market, snuggling up to him at every opportunity. Katsuki opens his mouth to ask what the fuck is going on with him when they're back at the apartment, unpacking their purchases on the counter, only to find his mouth suspiciously full of tongue, and crooked fingers tangling in his hair instead. Katsuki definitely doesn't complain about the enthusiastic head he receives, either. Deku's a vision on his knees, all teary eyed and blushing, looking up at him with awe as he kneels between Katsuki's feet while getting his face fucked. 

No sane human could possibly be anything other than grateful to witness such a sight. 

However, as awesome as the day has been, that lingering stress from before just intensifies when their phones vibrate simultaneously on the coffee table, interrupting their lazy make out session on the couch.  Since Katsuki has had the group chat muted for fucking ages now and most of his notifications are set to silent by default, the rattle of it sets his teeth on edge. Deku grumbles at the noise, pressing closer to Katsuki before the devices begin to chime with more alerts. He ignores the panic surging in his chest, jostling Deku a bit in his lap in order to reach their phones. 

Thankfully the Hobo hasn't dropped dead and nothing is currently on fire, which were his main concerns - not that he'd ever let say that shit out loud.
They share a brief moment of eye contact upon reading the subject line of the email they both received. 

Apparently Tokyo University has officially announced that their classes are going to be starting back up this summer, since most of the construction is due to be completed by the end of the term. Faculty and staff updates are still yet to be decided, but it looks like the departments that used to be held in the USJ will be reassigned new heads after the announcements are made official. There's no telling who the suits have decided will fill in for the Behavior Sciences professor, not to mention Dr. Toshinori. Katsuki watches Deku's reaction carefully out the corner of his eye. 

Suspiciously, Deku is more cavalier about it than he'd thought he would be. 

Katsuki sneers at his own phone screen, dismissing the annoying emoji filled messages from the Squad, who are teasing him about having to go back to classes after all. How those idiots even know about the announcement is beyond him. He's typing out an expletive filled retort when Deku freezes beside him. 

 

"What now?" 
   

 

"Hm? Oh. N-Nothing, just some reminders about applying for financial aid since the program has ended." 

 

Katsuki frowns. "Wasn't the program fully funded already? Just cause the old man isn't mentoring us anymore doesn't mean we didn't do our part. You earned that tuition, so you should get to keep it." 

 

Deku shrugs, far too nonchalant to be genuine, clicking his screen off and setting it back on the table. "I'll talk to them about it before the term officially ends. Honestly it's not a big deal."

 

Katsuki wants to bitch about it some more, but the nerd is dragging out another notebook, already mumbling to himself about credits, degree paths, and calculating out of pocket costs for the upcoming semester. He doesn't seem too upset, but there's that feeling again, that tension in the air. They halfheartedly speculate on who the replacement professors might be, while both simultaneously refusing to directly address why the replacements are necessary in the first place. 
 

Honestly, there's really nothing for Katsuki to complain about specifically, but the thrum of anxiety boils his blood, making him jumpier than usual. 

Deku notices, the observant little shit, and soon enough, they're slamming one another into the rubber floor mats in their building's gym, devolving into another passionate encounter in the locker room of their building. Between the heart-pumping rounds of sparring, and the subsequent rounds of other activities between their freshly washed sheets, it's been a lovely day off, all things considered. 

And yet, that pesky something still itches at the back of Katsuki's mind, foggy and indistinct. 

It isn't until they're curled up in bed that night, Deku sprawled out against his chest, tapping his rough fingers against his collarbone in perfect time with his heartbeat, that Katsuki reaches his limit. The action is innocuous, but Katsuki remembers all the heavy petting throughout the day and refuses to hold his tongue any more.

 

"You've been acting weirder than usual today." 

 

Deku freezes up, going suddenly still and quiet, but the feeling of Deku's pulse quickening against Katsuki's sternum is all the confession he needs. 

 

"Uh..."

 

"I fucking knew it!" Katsuki crows, glaring at the stammering lump on his chest. 

 

"I-It's really not that big of a deal, Kacchan-" He hedges, eyes looking anywhere that isn't at Katsuki's disappointed face.

 

"Oh yeah? Try me." He goads, incredulous and honestly a bit offended that Deku is still being evasive.

 

"Uh... p-promise you won't be mad?" He whispers softly, fisting the sheet beside Katsuki's ribs. 

 

"Nice try, dumbass. Spill."

 

"Well, it's not a secret or anything, it's just... Mirio-senpai sent me that video file. The one addressed to both of us." Deku admits hesitantly, his face kept carefully blank. His voice, despite it's quiet timber seems to shake the whole apartment. 

 

Goddammit. He knew some shit was gonna go down today. It sucks being right all the time. 

 

"Ya wanna watch it?" Katsuki sighs aloud, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling and closing his eyes.

 

Deku is quiet for a moment, tapping at Katsuki's chest anxiously. "Not... really. I.. already got my goodbye. I'm also worried that I won't like whatever I see." He admits sheepishly. Katsuki glances down at him, at the way his face contorts in apprehension. 

 

"Ya don't gotta, if you don't want to." He points out gruffly.

 

As shitty as it sounds, there's a bitter part of Katsuki that's upset Deku got a goodbye and he didn't. Of course, it doesn't take long for the guilt to flood in shortly after, because if he hadn't been throwing his whiny little bitchfit on that roof, he would've been there himself to hear the man's last words.

 

"But..." Deku doesn't finish the thought out loud, but he pinches his lip between his fingers in thought before sighing. "Seems childish to ignore it? I don't know. I swear I was going to tell you, Kacchan, believe me, you can definitely watch it if you really want to, I just..."

 

Katsuki rolls his eyes, parsing through the anxious rambling but more preoccupied with drawing his own conclusions.

 

"So that's why you've been all over me today." Katsuki frowns, encircling Deku's mangled wrist in his hand to stop the incessant poking. "You don't have to do that, y'know. You don't have to fuckin' keep me busy or whatever so I don't ask questions you don't want to answer." He scoffs, carding his free hand through his hair and staring up at the ceiling again.

 

Sure, he definitely thought it was weird that Deku was being so touchy with him, especially in public. While Deku is always hanging off his friends, the way he touches Katsuki is noticeably different than the way he touches the other losers. It's usually hesitant, charged, deliberate. The ease they have together is always comfortable and natural, but it's more like magnets, the way they just click into place beside one another, orbiting like twin stars. 

So yeah, he's a little fucking bitter that what he's been interpreting as genuine affection was actually just pity and a way to shut him up after all.

 

"Kacchan."

 

 

"Fucking what." Katsuki grits his teeth, frustrated and annoyed, feeling carved open and judged for his contents. He doesn't look back down, resisting the next tug at his chin to watch a helicopter light blink in the distance before flying behind a building.

 

Katsuki has come such a long fucking way from that walled-off ball of defensive aggression he used to be. Back when no one could possibly get close to him, let alone close enough to touch. Whether that's thanks to Deku's persistence or Shitty Hair's dumbass is really anyone's guess. He's gotten so used to rough palms and warmth and the reassuring weight of Deku on top of him, that just remembering how long he'd gone without that kind of touch is almost surreal. The idea of going another eight years without so much as a brush of knuckles, or a kiss, or just the easy intimacy of Deku hugging him from behind while he cooks... that's tantamount to torture at this point.

Sure, the idiot squad doesn't have the brain cells to comprehend a desire for personal space, always hanging off him and fucking around, but this was different. 

When did he get so wrapped up in Deku? Was it always like this and he just didn't fucking notice? Did it start with sleepovers and morning cartoons? Or was it that kiss in the lab, or when they danced at that stupid party? Their first night together, or that fight in the parking garage? 

When did Katsuki fall so spectacularly, pathetically hard for the nerd? 

 

"Look at me, please." 

 

The plea is simple, Deku is very pretty, and Katsuki is less inclined to stubborn and petty displays than he used to be, so he relents with some amount of difficulty. Deku's staring at him like always, those huge fucking eyes all-seeing and all-knowing, stealing all the bluster, pretense, and posturing from him with just that one look.

 

 

"Can you tell me what you meant by that? Keeping you busy? I don't get it, but I do want to understand." He whispers, tilting his head to the side in confusion. 

 

 

"Just... I want you to touch me because you fucking want to, because you love me, and you want to, not cause you're hiding shit, or guilty or scared I'm gonna go off the rails or whatever. I fuckin' like it, obviously, but not if you don't actually mean it. Quit looking at me like some goddamn war widow, or like I'm some kind of animal you need to-"  Katsuki intends for the words to come out scolding, terse, reproachful, even, but the ache in his tone sounds more like he's begging. 

Which is pretty pathetic, honestly.

He's getting himself worked up, raising his voice and drawing back, but Deku interrupts him, his strong grip on Katsuki's shoulders halting his movements.

 

"Oh, no, no it's not like that, Kacchan!" The body on top of his squirms around a bit, and Katsuki weakens his hold enough to let Deku lean all the way up and rest his chin against the top of one of Katsuki's pecs. His eyes are sparkly with all the tears he hasn't shed yet, a faint flush across his cheeks, making the freckles on his nose more noticeable. 

 

Katsuki huffs and rolls his eyes but doesn't reply, letting his gaze fall out the bedroom window again and the shapes of the clouds streaking across the night sky.
An insistent hand at his chin turns Katsuki to look Deku in the eyes again, cutting his mean-spirited retort off when Deku's expression draws up like he's in pain.     

 

"I'm sorry, Kacchan, I didn't... I p-promise, everything I did today, I did because I wanted to. I just got a little greedy, I guess." The words come out shaky and small, practically a whisper. "I'm just terrified that I'm going to wake up and this will all just be a dream. That I'll open my eyes and have really lost you for good. I really wasn't trying to take advantage of you or anything." 

 

Katsuki swallows the sad noise that threatens to escape his mouth, turning it into a sharp sigh instead. It must sound off because it draws a concerned look from Deku as Katsuki tries to summon the acrid taste of rage instead of desperation to argue his point.

 

"What, so instead of fucking me to keep me quiet, you're being clingy because you're convinced I'm actually dead? That's somehow even worse, Deku. I'm NOT dead. I'm here, right now, with you. Why aren't you happy about that?" He asks seriously. 

 

It's probably an unfair question, one he regrets as soon as it leaves his mouth, but he has to know. 

For years he's loved the results of his accident; because after all, how could he not? Sure the hearing thing is a pain in the ass, but the enhanced durability, the quick recovery, the heat of the explosions bursting from his palms, by all metrics he got really fucking lucky. 

But not for the first time, he wonders if that explosion made him less real, less himself, less human. Katsuki would be lying if he said he hasn't thought about it: how unnatural it is for him to still be alive despite everything. He's some weird zombie thing now, if you think about it. It leaves him wondering if there's some unintended consequence for defying the natural order, a punishment looming on the horizon. He remembers the way Cheeks stared at him in that dingy living room, so clearly curious, like he's just a fucked up science experiment- 

 

"I AM happy, Kacchan, I swear. Being with you, being your partner, it's everything I've ever wanted... I'm just scared it's all going to go away somehow! I feel- I don't know how to explain it! There's this- it... feels like something is about to go wrong." Deku whispers brokenly, stuttering and stopping as he tries to explain, and the look in his eye hits Katsuki square in the gut. 

 

He looks so lost, vulnerable, scared, and that expression that contorts his face reminds him of the kid Deku used to be, before he became the strongest man in the world.

Katsuki had been reminiscing on that scared little nerd he remembered just yesterday, but seeing a glimpse of it now? 
He forgot how bad it made his damn heart hurt. 
It's unfair to blame Deku for his coping skills. 
He knows that. 
After all hasn't Katsuki stressing about the same thing, all damn day? The impending doom he can feel just waiting in the wings? 

He directs his words internally as well as to Deku, because they both need to hear them. 

 

"That's dumb. Stop thinking so damn much, nerd. 'M not going anywhere, and neither are you, if I have anything to say about it, which I fucking DO. We're a team, remember? I'm here, you're here. That's all that fucking matters." Deku traces the features on Katsuki's face with his eyes, taking him in completely before he sniffles a bit and lets his eyes close in relief.

 

 

"Mm. O-Okay. You're r-right, Kacchan. Still, I'm sorry I made you f-feel like that though." Deku apologizes into his neck, letting his nose ghost along Katsuki's jaw, leaving tiny butterfly kisses as he speaks. "I really didn't mean to hurt Kacchan's feelings. And, I'm sorry." 

 

 

"Piss off, I don't HAVE feelings, asshole." Katsuki sneers back halfheartedly, but doesn't pull away from the touch.

 

 

"Yes you do." Deku argues with a tiny watery smile, letting his thumb brush across Katsuki's bottom lip thoughtfully. "You have a lot of feelings, Kacchan. Kiri would say they are very manly."

 

Katsuki lips twitch with the effort it takes not to smile at that.

 

 

"Shut up, you and Shitty Hair are both idiots." He snaps without any heat, shoving Deku's head back down to lay on his chest with one hand. "It's late. Go the fuck to sleep, nerd."  

 

 

"Okay, if that's what Kacchan wants." He can feel the little shit smiling into his skin when Katsuki hugs him tighter, mouthing kisses into his hairline. "Love you, Kacchan."

 

Katsuki just tousles Deku's curls in response, settling his palm against the knobs at the top of Deku's spine, twirling a curl around his middle finger lazily.
Things are quiet for awhile, after that. Just slow, errant caresses and the rhythmic bobbing of their breathing. 

He isn't angry, anymore. Not really. It isn't frustration, or annoyance, but there's still that faint dissatisfaction on the back of his tongue, like a pesky gnat buzzing around in his brain. Even admitting his doubts about Deku's affections hasn't completely absolved him of the feeling. 

He considers not saying anything. 
Things are good for now, after all. They've talked things out a bit, and it really was a good fucking day, all things considered, when he wasn't being bitchy for no reason. 
That should be enough.

Deku shifts around a little bit, entangling his legs with Katsuki's under the blankets and settling more fully against Katsuki's torso. 

 

"... Are you ever going to tell me what happened with the suit?" Katsuki's normally harsh voice comes out solemn and sad, far quieter than their usual pillow talk.

 

But Deku doesn't answer him, his little snores disturbing the quiet instead. Katsuki swallows down his disappointment.

It's fine.
They have plenty of time.
Katsuki can be patient...

 

... or can he.

 

Hours have passed since then, and the snoring nerd on his chest is completely dead to the world, but Katsuki can't seem to keep his eyes closed.

He's painfully awake, going through their conversation with a fine tooth comb, turning over the events of the last few months in his mind. 

Yeah, maybe Deku should have mentioned when he got a copy of the video from the TinTin fucker, but he doubts he would have agreed to watch it earlier anyway. Especially when Deku doesn't want to watch the video the old man left for them at all. 

Not that Katsuki can blame him, honestly. 
If it were him, he'd avoid that shit too. 

It's been months now since Deku got his goodbye from Dr. Toshinori, months since the man bled out in his arms, and months since it almost destroyed him. Since then, Deku's been painstakingly rebuilding himself after that traumatic night. Maybe he's worried about losing himself to the grief again, going catatonic and undoing all the progress he's made to get to this point.  

So of course he's not upset at the nerd.
However Katsuki didn't get that kind of closure and it's bugging him like a kernel stuck in his teeth.

Fuck it.

He extracts himself from Deku's koala-like hold quietly, substituting his pillow for the nerd to wrap himself around when he scrunches up his nose in sleepy displeasure. Middle school Katsuki would have thrown a fit if he could see how cute and clingy the idiot still is in his sleep, even as a whole ass adult. Grown up Katsuki cards his fingers through the messy curls once before swiping the nerd's phone off the bed and turning away before he can change his mind.  

 

---

 

That's how Katsuki finds himself in the living room, pressed as far against the furthest wall as he possible can, specialty earbuds looped in to his aids, with his laptop propped up against his knees. He stares at the media player, feeling the play button mocking him. He's been here for several minutes at least, not because he's scared but... because he knows this is the last time he'll ever hear from his mentor, his hero.

The first person to look at Katsuki square in the face and say "wow, you and Deku are going to save the world". 
That fuckin' means something to him.  

Katsuki can't put it off forever though, he probably only has a couple hours before the nerd wakes up and notices he's gone. He's gotta watch the damn thing, react to it, process it, and put it away before that happens, so he needs to get a damn move on, already. 

No more hesitating.
He taps the spacebar roughly.

The screen shows Dr. Toshinori sitting at his desk in front of the window, the black of night visible through it. That dumb All Might bobblehead nods gently beside him like the man just finished fiddling with it. Katsuki swallows down the sadness at the tight lines across the man's face, and the gaunt, weathered appearance he'd forgotten he was, at one point, used to seeing every day. His blue eyes are bright and clear, the wide grin almost sheepish. 

Katsuki wonders briefly when exactly this was filmed. 

 

"Hello, boys." Dr. Toshinori's deep rumbling voice is gentle, almost wistful. "If you're seeing this, then the worst has happened, and I am dead."

 

He breaks eye contact with the camera for a moment, lingering on the bobblehead as it slowly comes to a halt. Katsuki fights to keep his breathing even.  

 

"I can only hope I managed to impart some of the knowledge I've gleaned over these many years to you boys before my passing... but I remember how I felt when I lost my own mentor. And if memory serves, no amount of time ever really feels like enough." His crinkly smile is sad, the grief evident on his face.

 

"Unfortunately, the past few days have proven something I've known for some time. My illness is progressing faster, my body deteriorating. I'm not sure how much longer I have left, and even the brilliance of the Nighteye department can do little to delay it for very much longer. That's why I wanted to record this now, to... say goodbye, I suppose."   

 

Those sunken eyes pin Katsuki to the wall, focused in like the professor can somehow see straight through the lens and into his soul.     
Alone in the darkness, Katsuki feels the telltale burning behind his eyes that suggest he's about to start crying.

 

"Midoriya-shounen, Bakugou-shounen. You two are what I'm most proud to offer the world, despite a decades-long career in engineering and biotech. I can rest easy knowing that I'm leaving this world in your capable, brilliant hands. The feats you've accomplished, the trials you've faced, the bond you have with one another... I could not be prouder to have been your mentor." Dr. Toshinori's smile is kind, even as tears glisten off the edge of his sharp cheekbones. 

 

"You two are going to save so many lives, reach so many hearts, impact so many people! I strongly believe that with the two of you working together, there's very little you won't be able to do. Remember to be yourselves, don't let the world mold you into any other shape. Your greatest strengths lie in your convictions, in your desire to make an impact." The look on the older man's face is nothing short of paternal, and he wrings his hands as he speaks, a habit so reminiscent of Deku that it aches.

 

"Ah, forgive me, boys. It seems I've gotten emotional in my old age!" He laughs, really laughs. 

 

The sound is loud and boisterous even through the speakers, and it's in moments like this, hearing that laugh, that Katsuki remembers the larger than life hero that he idolized for so long. The behemoth of a man that smiled in the face of adversity, who saved thousands of people, devoted his entire life to being a force for GOOD, a symbol of peace and prosperity. It's infectious to the point of Katsuki's own lip twitching upwards, despite the gaping hole in his chest. Unfortunately it falls only a second later when the man in the video begins hacking awful wet coughs into his handkerchief.

Katsuki feels a pang of grief behind his ribs.

 

"I- well, Bakugou-shounen, this next part is just for your ears alone, if that's quite alright." 

 

His smile becomes kinder, gentler, almost apologetic.
Katsuki chokes on air, refusing to let his own tears fall.

 

"Earlier today, you and I had a tense conversation. I'm not sure how long ago that talk was for you, but I... I want you to know that you mean just as much to me as Midoriya-shounen does. You always have. And you... you were right to be upset with me." Dr. Toshinori's frowns then, the lines in his face deepening, his hair falling to shadow his eyes as he bows to the camera. 

 

Katsuki remembers. 
Of course he does. 
He thought that suit and tie combo looked familiar.

Dr. Toshinori had been wearing it the day he fucking died.

 

"Intentionally or not, I have been picking favorites. So focused on putting my everything towards supporting Young Midoriya with his discoveries and with the suit... I could tell you that he reminds me of myself, or wax poetic about his heroic heart and determination to do good inspiring me. I could make excuses. But that's not the whole truth. You deserve that, Young Bakugou, you deserve the truth from me. From the beginning, I chose to have two recipients for a reas-" 

 

Katsuki immediately taps the spacebar, pausing the frail old man mid-word, unable to listen to another syllable.
Because he finds himself thinking back on that day. 

The way he'd burst into the office, complaining and hurt that Deku was avoiding him, that Dr. Toshinori wasn't focused on him. He'd been so fucking angry that his mentorship was slipping through his fingers, that he'd been kept in the dark... Even when their mentor finally admitted he'd been lying to Katsuki and tried to come clean, Katsuki didn't listen. Just threw what he'd learned on his own in the professor's face with a haughty attitude. He'd told the old man he didn't forgive him, told him to "do better". He'd promised to be there for Deku, to not let him run off into danger alone... He couldn't keep that promise for one goddamn day, because right after that he destroyed Deku's confidence in himself as a hero on that rainy rooftop.

That same hero that tried his damn best to save the man in the video, all alone... and unfortunately failed.
The self-loathing claws up Katsuki's throat like he swallowed a wild animal. He can't stop the tears from overflowing. 

Katsuki isn't sure how long he sits in the living room floor crying like a fucking weakling, but it's long enough for the sky to slowly lighten into a dull, morose grey. The time reads some ungodly number in the corner of the screen, and there's still a lot more video to get through before he can finally crash for the night. Sleep is the last thing on his mind now though, so even though his fingers shake, he scrubs the cursor back a few seconds so he doesn't miss anything and hits play. 

 

"From the beginning, I chose to have two recipients for a reason, Young Bakugou. At first, it was simply a lucky coincidence. Two stunning applications, two unique perspectives, two tragic accidents, two impressive young men, with focus in both chemical and mechanical engineering, it was... perfect. Symbiosis, a closed circuit." Dr. Toshinori smiles sadly, his gaze lingering on the bobblehead again, stroking it gently. "But things have proven to be more complex than that. I know you two have a complicated relationship..." 

Katsuki scoffs aloud.
That's the understatement of the century.

 

"You care a lot for one another. You're quick to help him, to make up for what you've done in your past. I don't think he thinks you have anything to atone for, though. I'm sure you'll have the chance to talk to Young Midoriya, to set things right..."

 

It doesn't take long for the regret to seep in at the words. 
Dr. Toshinori never actually got to see them get their shit together. Didn't get to see them really communicate with no secrets between them, didn't get to see them become the team he knew they could be from the beginning.

 

And now he never would.

 

"But... frankly I'm concerned for him just like you are. The world out there is more than just the two of you, and though it might betray his trust, I can't keep quiet about this. Not if it could save him from unnecessary pain. Yesterday, he stood in this office and spoke with OFA for the first time. He gave it a name, a personality, spoke with it as he would a friend. And though I was excited, proud, and hopeful for its success... the whole time I couldn't help but think, 'No, this isn't right. He should be talking to Bakugou-shounen, right now, not some computer algorithm!'" Dr. Toshinori's voice is agitated, animated before suddenly becoming more serious, and it has Katsuki leaning closer to the screen, listening intently.

 

"OFA is a wonderful tool, one that has revolutionized technology as we know it... but it is still just a tool. What makes it so impressive, so amazing, is the work of the eight geniuses who have contributed to it." Dr. Toshinori coughs again, blood smearing against his thin lips as his shoulders hunch forward again, making him appear even skinnier.

 

"I-I fear that the program has become too advanced too quickly, that it's data sets aren't varied enough. It's intended use was always to parrot back what it hears, to offer a different perspective, a new way of looking at the data that it takes in. Before, that was done with a push of a button, a click of a mouse. Now, though, with this new format, it's more than that. One for All sees everything Young Midoriya sees, hears what he hears, knows what he knows, it feeds off of him, Young Bakugou. His biometrics, his communications, his geo-positioning data, all of it. Every bit of information it's given makes it stronger, better, and Young Midoriya is the biggest knowledge base it has ever had access to. I... I was the one to modify the armature it uses, the neuro-link through the armature on the back of his neck. I've been thinking about it since he left this office earlier, and I can't help but think of all the ways that information could be taken advantage of, could be manipulated." 

 

Katsuki sits in silence, absorbing his mentor's worries like a sponge.

Fear.
Cold, cloying fear begins to wrap up Katsuki's spine. 

 

"After Young Midoriya left this morning, I took the time to read through some of the initial readouts of the data transfer that allowed us to put OFA into the suit... and that's when I discovered the backdoors it left open in the programming... specifically the code on how to handle rogue operators. It could be nothing, and I do truly have the utmost faith in him to follow the mission set before him... but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't concerned. All these years, I've relied on OFA, incorporated it into my research... but that was before the updates. Back then, it had no way to speak to me, not the way it does with Young Midoriya. He knows more about the other holders than I ever have, has access to so much more; functions within the suit than I could never have dreamed possible when utilizing assistive technology. Than ANY of us ever did. Please, keep an eye on him. If things start going wrong, if it starts to respond without being prompted, if it ever takes control... I fear it will take Young Midoriya with it, my boy. I truly hope I'm wrong. I hope that I'm simply an over-cautious old fool, blinded by my affections, terrified of seeing Young Midoriya get hurt, of letting the pursuit of the 'greater good' be at his expense..."

 

Katsuki runs through all he knows about the suit, all he's seen in the last few months:

The rage and pain in Deku's voice as he argued with a voice only he could hear. 
The information on the security systems at the Shie Hassaikai, information it didn't have before they got in, but suddenly had access to on the way out. 
The way Deku froze up, suspended in motion before he could actually cave in Chisaki's skull. 
The way the AI refused to talk to Katsuki, but gladly took his vitals. 
That uncomfortable expression on the nerd's face when he shoved the suit into his bag. 

It's only a matter of time before Deku does something the suit doesn't agree with, manages to make himself a target. He's always been stubborn like that. The mech he's been piloting has been using him to expand its own learning model, capitalizing on Deku's free, unending supply of information all this time.

Fuck, Deku practically lived in the thing for weeks straight! 
Every conversation they've had in it, every kiss, essentially their whole relationship has unfolded in front of that fucking jumpsuit.
       
They both know Dr. Toshinori isn't wrong.
The somber look in those hollow eyes proves it.

The professor's long sigh brings him back to the present. The man on the screen is still hunched over, his long spindly fingers praying in front of him. 

"And I've done it again, haven't I? Put the focus back on him when this is supposed to be about you... I truly apologize. I know that there's always been a tension between us, son. I wish I had gotten the opportunity to make good on my promises to you, but it seems the universe might have other plans for me. I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me for that someday." 

Katsuki wants to argue, to snap at the man that he doesn't need to apologize, that he did fine. 
Sure, he lied a lot and kept secrets, he doted more on Deku, but... occasionally he was a damn good teacher. He still chose Katsuki, believed in him, encouraged him.  

 

"Still. I cannot stress just how proud of you I am. Your keen intellect, your decisiveness, your boldness! I could sing your praises for days and never run out of things to say."

 

Katsuki closes his eyes, unwilling to spend another second looking into that weathered, kind face with so much hope for him, so much pride, knowing he doesn't fucking deserve any of it.
 

 

"You know, it reminds me of the time-" Suddenly the building's fire alarm begins blaring, interrupting the man's rambling.

 

His eyes open wide in surprise, and he quickly pushes out of his chair before a sudden crash on the other side has Katsuki wincing sympathetically from the noise, the feedback whining in his aid. The camera shakes with some unseen impact, jostling the computer, which Dr. Toshinori now stares at in abject horror. 

As suddenly as they had started, the alarms fizzle out, the howl lessening into a dying whine, before only silence pervades the office. 

 

"Ah, Toshinori. It's been quite some time." A low, amused voice rumbles from the speakers beside the monitor, echoing strangely in Katsuki's ears. "Have you given any more thought to my request, old friend?"

 

"It's you..." The professor gasps, drawing away from the desk and whatever he sees on the screen, remaining hidden from Katsuki's view. "You know my answer, All for One. I refuse."

 

There's an airy sigh from the speakers, but the voice doesn't sound too surprised to hear that answer. 

 

"How unfortunate. I'd hoped you had come to your senses by now... Oh well. Kurogiri." The man calls at the end, a sly smile audible in his tone.

 

"Master." The new voice is strangely hollow and raspy, like listening to an old recording. 

 

When Dr. Toshinori's eyes look past the computer, Katsuki realizes the crash from earlier must've been someone entering the office, probably slamming the door hard enough to reverberate the desk. Katsuki sits up, eyes wide, as he watches the exchange, unable to reach into the past to help the older man that is now suddenly splayed on the ground, just barely in the frame. A looming shadow passes the camera, but continues on, and Katsuki sees that it isn't just a shadow, more a wisp of a man, obscured in writhing shadow and darkness, concealing his features in dark purple curls of smoke and a smart business suit. 

 

"Remind our good professor here, why he should reconsider." The haunting words are barely spoken before the shadowed figure steps forward, and even from his place in the living room floor, months later, Katsuki can hear the sound of brittle bones breaking. Despite what must be excruciating pain, Dr. Toshinori only wheezes and grunts at the impact. Half his face in the frame, but his expression is one of defiance and rage, rather than agony.

 

Nausea, anger, hatred, fear, guilt, they swirl in Katsuki's gut.

Is he really just going to sit here and watch Dr. Toshinori die?
What else can he do? 
This has all already happened, the events already come to pass.

Out the window behind them, the inky blackness begins to bleed into red and purple swirls, casting a warm glow into the office space. The glow intensifies with what Katsuki now puts together as the blaze of the inferno eating away at the USJ.

His fists shake and crackle as he watches, helpless to save his hero.

 

 

“You won’t get away with this.” Dr. Toshinori vows, gasping and gritting his teeth against the increase in pressure from the shoe pressing into his arm, pulverizing it.

 

 

“Come now, Toshinori. Just hand it over and make it easy on yourself. What’s the use of fighting, your body is already dying, taking your lovely little brains away with it.” The haunting voice teases, condescending and light like the professor is being unreasonable.

 

 

The man on the floor hacks out another horrid cough, glaring up at the computer.

 

 

“You are too late.” He groans, before grunting through the pain. “OFA is long gone. You’ll never get your disgusting hands on it.”

 

 

A loud crash echoes through the speakers, shaking the computer once again, though only Dr. Toshinori and Katsuki flinch at the sound. 

 

 

“Is that so? Too bad, my associate here has no problem… inspiring you, so to speak.” The voice drawls before scoffing an awful sounding laugh.

 

 

Katsuki watches Dr. Toshinori struggle in the shadowed hands, recoiling from the onslaught of pain as they make contact with battered flesh, but still staunchly refusing to open his mouth and give the disembodied voice the satisfaction of his screams.  

Without prompting, the Shadow Man lifts the broken body of his mentor up off the carpet, and into his indistinct arms. The bleeding, bruised hero is carried somewhat gently over to the larger part of the office, where the computer screen is then turned to give a better view, no longer half obscured by the desk top and strange angle. 

Katsuki fights the urge to turn off the video, to hide from the misery he sees on his hero's face, to simply shut the laptop and never think about it ever again... but he can't. He has to know what happens next, what he had only guessed at afterwards, what he'd heard on the news channels the next day. 

There's the sound of maybe glass breaking somewhere, more shattering, thunderous noises of the building falling into ruin, but it doesn't seem to concern the villains in the slightest. Shadow Man continues acting out the will of the disembodied voice, who chuckles at the scene like this is somehow enjoyable to him, especially now that his view is better. 

Dr. Toshinori lays on his side against the carpet, burying his face into it to muffle his painfilled sounds. 

 

 

“Are you prepared to change your answer, Toshinori? Just give me the drive. You have lost. You are no match for me.” The chilling voice continues to goad, an undercurrent of hatred and amusement curdling in his tone. 

 

 

"Screw... you..." Dr. Toshinori spits, wads of his blood and saliva coagulating on the carpet his face is smushed against. 

 

 

The battering continues for what seems like forever, and each minute that crawls by Katsuki begs and pleads for Deku to arrive, to end the torment, until the professor begins a wild coughing fit. His face turns an almost violent shade of purple due to the lack of oxygen and the force of his coughing. 

 

 

"Begone, Kurogiri. You're no longer needed." The voice dismisses errantly. Katsuki can almost hear the dismissive wave, like one would wave off a lowly servant. Immediately the shadowed figure withdraws completely, blending into the darkness at the corners of the room, now filling with smoke.

 

 

“To think, this is how the great Dr. Yagi Toshinori would breathe his last.” 

 

The cruel bastard sounds highly amused, almost gleeful, like this is the most fun he's had in ages. Katsuki has never wanted to explode someone more. He only wishes he knew what the fucker looked like so he can imagine how it would feel to explode his brain matter against the wall-  

As if summoned by his bloodlust, the door whips open, and Deku lumbers in, a wall of flame and smoke at his back, looking like some vengeful demon emerging from hellfire.
The mask is coated in black ash, barely any green visible underneath it, the tearstains he knows are there are all but hidden under all the filth. His lenses glow through the fog of dingy gloom, and flames lick through the open door. He looks fucking terrifying, and Katsuki is suddenly very glad the public never got to see this footage.

 

 

“Oh my, and who is this?” 

 

 

“M-my boy… get… out of here… you- you’re next…” Dr. Toshinori gasps from his position slumped over on the floor, his broken bony fingers shakily pointing back out the doorway. 

 

 

“I won’t leave you, sir.” Deku replies, falling to his mentor’s side and hovering over him protectively.  

 

Honestly, Katsuki has never been more proud of Deku in his goddamn life.

Katsuki has seen Deku look like a hero, cradling a child and an unconscious woman to his chest as he plummets from the heavens. He's seen him streaked in soot, carrying a corpse on his back. He's seen him covered in blood and an inch from beating Chisaki into a stain on the concrete, but he's never seen him look like this.  Deku glares at Katsuki- no, glares at the man only he can see on the screen, unaware the camera was already in the process of recording Dr. Toshinori's final goodbye to them both.

Maybe Deku had been right not to want to watch this, and Katsuki knows now that he'll never again ask him to.   

 

“Oh, this is just precious. Did you finally choose a successor, Toshinori? Is that why you were so ambivalent to my little visit? You think this child in a costume can keep OFA from me? It is MINE, my birthright.” Where it had been gloating and gleeful moments before, it bleeds into something wholly different now, something bone chilling and empty.  

 

Deku freezes, suddenly completely still, aside from his gloved fingers curling into claws, remaining silent.

 

“Oh, you are going to be so much fun, dear boy. I cannot wait to finally meet you. We’ll have SO much to discuss… After all, every good hero needs a vil-” Before the bastard can finish his sentence, Deku raises one of his hands up, his fingers positioned strangely.

 

Dr. Toshinori's trembling hand raises to support him as he does so before Deku flicks a single finger. For half a second, it seems like nothing happens, but then the video ends with a deafening roar, static and fuzz climbing across the camera lens before the playback ends in utter blackness. 

Katsuki stares at the screen in shock, not understanding what happened.
He stays like that until birdsong and warm light enters his awareness. 

Shit.
He must've stayed up all night by accident, and of course they have that stupid fucking meeting at the League in a few hours.

Katsuki scrubs his hands across his face, unsure what to do now. He stares at the blank screen a little longer before making his own copy of the file and deleting the attachment from Deku's inbox. If he notices, Katsuki will say the file must not have attached properly. When they see TinTin later today, Katsuki will make sure he's deleted the original file.

It'll be like it never existed.

If he cries in the shower, that's nobody's business but his own. As it is, he's overwhelmed with grief and sorrow, but unwilling to let Deku see him like this and ask questions. He has to shove it down, for now. They can talk about it one day, maybe, but not now. Not with everything else going on, not with how much Deku had to see, what he's had to do in Katsuki's absence.

It takes time to shove all his emotions into a box, and he tosses a few extra locks on the damn thing for good measure.  
It's just another day, another morning. 

Everything is fine. 
Katsuki is fine.  

 

---

 

When the last of his tears are safely down the drain, he falls faithfully into their usual morning routine, beginning with the arduous task of waking up the nerd. 
Like the lazy fuck he is, Deku burrows into the blankets like a pissed off rabbit when Katsuki shakes him by the shoulder. 

 

"I am not going to be late to this stupid meeting because you're being a lazy little shit." He grouses, tugging at the blanket only to have Deku groan into the pillow and rotate around to burrito himself in the fabric, swiping halfheartedly at Katsuki when he tries to unearth the nerd from his cocoon. 

 

"Five... more minutes." Deku mumbles, his voice softened by the pillow he's smothering himself in. 

 

"Should've known that sweet and obedient act yesterday was a limited time offer." Katsuki huffs, tossing the edge of the blanket back over the green haired man. "But if you really don't want to go see the Brat, then I guess I'll just go by myself and let her know-"

 

"Kacchan, noooo!" The lump on the bed complains, distraught. 

 

Is it mean to threaten to tattle to a traumatized six year old that her hero would rather sleep in than go check on her? Probably. Katsuki doesn't really care, though.

Of course, he has zero intentions of actually leaving Deku behind, even if he has to drag him by his ankle down the road they /will/ be leaving together on time. Still, his threat has Deku wiggling around under the sheets, whining about Katsuki being 'unfair' and 'weaponizing a child against him'. Katsuki is simultaneously amused and unmoved by the complaints.

 

"If you quit bitching and get ready in the next five minutes, I'll swing by that fuckass bakery you're obsessed with because I'm THAT fucking nice." Katsuki reasons, padding over to his closet to take out a sweater to throw over his usual tank top. It's a bit chilly out now, but by midday he'll probably shed the layer.

He tries to pretend that this isn't positive reinforcement for Deku being a lazy son of a bitch, but he's man enough to admit that's actually complete bullshit.

 

"... Can we get enough for everyone?" Deku asks quietly, popping his atrocious bedhead out from under grey sheets. 

 

"I don't give a fuck, but you're carrying whatever we get on the back of the bike, including the shit we bought yesterday, so don't go overboard. I am not making a return trip if your clumsy ass drops anything." He sighs, tossing the cable knit over his head. Suddenly there's hands helping to tug the sweater down and a smiling dork peppering his face with kisses when his face emerges from the neckline.

 

"I'll be careful. We gotta hurry if we're gonna make it in time, though!" Deku chirps, like he wasn't fully fucking horizontal and dead to the world thirty seconds ago, before disappearing off to the bathroom with a pep in his step.

 

Katsuki feels like he's been manipulated, somehow.

 

---

 

As usual, the prissy little bakery is packed, which draws more ire from Katsuki than normal due to is exhaustion of staying up all night. By the time they do make it back to the League - fifteen fucking minutes late, might he add- most everyone else has already arrived, including a few unwelcome additions. The bell at the door chimes their arrival, and heads turn to the noise to watch them.

 

"Toshi! Kaminari-kun! I had no idea you were going to be here!" Deku squeals, hurriedly dropping the cakes off on the closest table before diving into the emo bastard's outstretched arms. Spark- er, Dunce Face smiles widely in Katsuki's direction, a mischievous glint in his eyes before intentionally scooting closer to both his boyfriend and Katsuki's to embrace them at the waist at the same time.

 

"Hi, Izuku!" The blond coos, snuggling into Deku's abdomen like an overly affectionate cat. "Blasty, what gives? We thought you'd never show up! It's rude to be late, y'know." The idiot laments, tittering at Katsuki and putting his hand over his forehead to feign a dramatic pose. 

 

"Yeah, We thought you died or something. Where have you two been? Meeting's started already, Chef." Eyebags scolds with no heat, raising one eyebrow in Katsuki's direction with a shit-eating smirk.  

 

Because nobody can give Katsuki a single inch of slack, another voice echoes the sentiment. 

 

 

"You're late." Aizawa points out, sipping on a mug of coffee at the end of the bar. 

 

 

"Blame that fucker, he wouldn't get his lazy ass out of bed! Then he dragged his feet and insisted on bringing diabetes to you ungrateful shits. He's the one that made us late." Katsuki jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the green haired man grinning back cheekily. 

 

 

"Ooh!" There's a brown and pink blur rushing past Katsuki towards the cake boxes, and Cheeks squeals like a tea kettle, bouncing on her toes when she gets close enough to open them up. "Izuku, you're the love of my life." 

 

Katsuki growls in her direction, but she doesn't seem to notice or care.

 

 

"Actually!" Deku sings, grinning and leaning in to fake-whisper loudly to the assembled masses, "Everyone should thank Kacchan. Supplying treats was all his idea, after all. Isn't he the sweetest?" Despite the mischief in his tone, his face shows nothing but genuine appreciation for Katsuki, practically dripping hearts from his eyes.

 

 

"Oh, really? Alright then. Thank you too, Mr. Grumpy-pants." Kirby giggles, not looking up from her spoils. She sticks her tongue out in concentration as she removes a slice of strawberry shortcake from the box with almost surgical precision only to shove the whole damn thing into her mouth with her bare hands like an animal. 

 

From the other end of the bar, Aizawa's mouth twitches up into a facsimile of a smile before speaking loud enough for the room to hear. "What a thoughtful gesture, Bakugou."

 

Despite the plain words and lack of affect, Katsuki flips him off on principle, making Present Mic grin from his place by his husband's side, lounging over the bar top as he passes. The other staff members loitering about snicker or smother their laughter at his expense before chorusing their own gratitude.  
  

 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, fuck you all." Katsuki grunts, making a beeline for the kitchen to survey whatever damage lurks back there.

 

"Ah, ah, ah, little listener. Let's get this team meeting done first before you disappear into the back!" Mic crows happily before Katsuki can cross the threshold.

 

He glares at the man, flipping him off and ignoring the other blond pointedly. He might be one of the owners, and he's sure Aizawa will give him shit for ignoring his husband, but he needs to make sure he doesn't have a disaster zone to take care of first.

 

Thankfully nothing looks too ruined surprisingly, though he still runs through his checklist in its entirety, inspecting the condition of his workspace thoroughly just in case. Sato smiles at him from his place by the line, finishing up some kind of custard thing. He dutifully informs Katsuki that the restock truck was a few days late, so they haven't done stock inventory yet. Katsuki grunts his acknowledgement, but is secretly pleased. He has a system for restock days, and would much rather do it himself than risk another fuck up like Frenchie mixing the baking soda and baking powder because they were "da meme".

Fucking idiot.

Speaking of, the sparkly waiter seems to be missing from the menagerie out front, or else he's just running 'fashionably late'- again.    

Katsuki's fingers itch to start prepping for his shift, eyeing the clock pensively and grabbing his apron off the hook to tie around his waist, right as Deku ducks under the half curtain with a knowing look of mirth on his face.

 

"C'mon, Chef Kacchan. You heard Mic. We've got plenty of time till opening, but for now, we still need you in here, handsome."

 

He most certainly does not blush at that and any motherfucker who says otherwise is a liar. Still, he tosses the apron back down on the counter gruffly, baring his teeth at Sato's laugh not at all covered by an unconvincing cough.  

Returning to the dining area, the others haven't moved much in the few minutes he's been gone. Zombie and Energizer are snuggled up in a booth, chatting away with one of the extras he doesn't care about enough to assign a nickname to. Aizawa and Mic sit at the end of the bar closest to the kitchen, surrounded by the Magicman bartender, the waitress that wears the Invisalign, and another painfully familiar face.

 

"Oi, what the hell? We aren't open to the public for three more hours, Raccoon Eyes!" He barks, glaring at the pink haired girl who certainly does NOT work here.

 

 

"Hello to you too, Blasty." She bats her massive fake eyelashes at him innocently, but the smile she wears as she noisily slurps some colorful monstrosity in a cup is anything but. "Lucky for me, I'm just the chauffeur."

 

 

"Who's dumb enough to let you drive them anywhere?" Katsuki glares at her before sliding his gaze back to Aizawa accusatorily. He doesn't seem to care one bit, continuing to talk in hushed tones with Sato and Mic and ignoring Katsuki completely.

 

 

"G-good morning, Kacchan." Comes a shy, soft voice about two feet down. 

 

He glances down at the kid, practically hidden on the other side of the bar. She's surrounded by a mess of dolls and a green stuffed rabbit littering the sticky floor mats. Beside her is the upperclassman who sent Deku that fucking video.

 

"... Sup, squirt." 

She cocks her head in mild confusion, mouthing the nickname.

"Kacchan gives everyone weird nicknames, don't feel bad Eri-chan, it's nothing bad. Maybe don't repeat anything Kacchan says though, he says bad words a lot." Deku explains, coming to stand next to him and sliding an arm around his waist. 

The little girl nods in understanding before returning to her dolls. 

 

"Hey, man!" TinTin waves from his spot leaned up behind the bar. "Don't mind me, I'll just be down here keeping Eri-chan company till you guys finish your meeting!" The smile on his face is wide, and he gives a thumbs up and a wink. There's still bandages on his arm, mostly hidden under a compression sleeve, but significantly less than there had been a few days ago. 

 

Katsuki ignores him and refocuses on the pink menace still grinning at him.

 

"You the one who brought these dorks here?" He questions, not understanding how they even know each other.

 

"Nah! Wish I could've driven around with this little cutie, but I offered to give Kami and Shinsou a ride, since Sensei's car couldn't fit everybody! Eiji and I are supposed to double date with Todoroki and Hanta a little bit later, so it was on my way." She coos in Eri's direction, practically half crawling over the bar top to chat more with the young girl, who for some reason seems to appreciate the fact that Pinky wears enough makeup to be mistaken for a party clown. 

 

Apparently tired of the mingling, Aizawa clears his throat and the whole room immediately goes quiet.
 

 

"Now that everyone has finally arrived," Aizawa's gaze slides over to Katsuki reproachfully before continuing, "we can cover the necessary updates and get back to work." He sighs deeply before swiveling around on his stool, only for Mic to quickly press a cane into his fingers. Clearly the Hobo-sensei hasn't made the others aware that he's now sporting one less limb because when he clambers off the stool and leans heavily on the cane, his pant leg has barely brushed the floor before the ruckus starts.

 

Several voices overlap in concern, including Sato, the big gorilla, who moves forward like he's worried the older man will collapse at any moment. The gasps of surprise are a little melodramatic, in Katsuki's opinion, but he knows if he hadn't been there for the injury in the first place, he likely would have made a similar noise of alarm. Or perhaps started swearing. 

As it is, he's just as silent as Deku, sitting stiffly beside him, as their fingers threading together under the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki notes that Eyebags and his boyfriend obviously don't seem alarmed, which makes sense since they practically live with the guy, but the careful neutrality on Zombie's face juxtaposes the clear concern on Sparkplug's dopey ass mug. He wonders how Mic and Aizawa explained Eri's sudden appearance to those dorks, or if they are aware of the real story behind why their adoptive father is suddenly an amputee. Katsuki somewhat doubts that.

 

"I expect you all to be respectful of my privacy. I was in a car accident. As you can see, I sustained some injuries. Otherwise I am fine. This topic is not up for discussion, no matter how sincere your well wishes. We have a job to do here, so do not slack off or lose focus. Speaking of: Bakugou." The old man drones, raising sleepy eyes to meet his own.

 

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, the only outer acknowledge of his former teacher. Deku elbows him in the ribs, which fucking hurts with the nerd's super strength, so Katsuki does it right back on principle.

 

"The truck was late due to a merchant issue. We had to delay inventory as a result, meaning you'll be staying late tonight to finish it." 

 

"Hah?! Fuck that, I'll just fucking do it now, then." Katsuki argues, immediately annoyed at being told what to do, and frustrated that his already late night will apparently get a whole hell of a lot later if he has to wait till after service to even start. He lets go of Deku's hand, moving to stand and make his way to the back before Aizawa cuts him off.

 

"I wasn't asking. We have other things to get through before that and I don't want you tearing through the freezers and backstock while customers are still here. Despite being a weeknight, there's an event scheduled that takes precedence." 

 

Katsuki scowls, opening his mouth to politely - but not really - inform Aizawa that was some bullshit but the others manage to chime in before he can.

 

"An event? But there's nothing on the schedule?" Invisalign points out, gesturing to the calendar tacked behind the bar. Obviously Katsuki can't read it from here, but he nods, pointing in her direction in wordless agreement. Tonight was originally just another lame ass karaoke night, last time he checked. 

 

The surly dark haired man narrows his eyes in her direction, making her cringe a bit under the weight of his glare. 

 

"Thank you, Hagakure. This reservation came in late, but has already paid in full. They've rented the front of house from 8pm to midnight for some kind of club meeting, which means our regular dinner service is opening up at 4pm to make up for the lost revenue." Aizawa sighs before sitting back down on his stool, apparently already expecting an explosive reaction to the news and deciding to be comfortable while he listens to it.

 

"What the fuck?! So not only am I running a full service by my fucking self for whatever geriatric bastard is hungry at four-o'-fuckin'-clock in the afternoon, but you're keeping my ass here till tomorrow?! And that's before I can even start the goddamn inventory, knowing that'll take hours on its own? Fuck that! Get another loser to cook, I'm not working an eighteen hour shift, you can kiss my fucking ass, Sensei!" Katsuki roars, standing up harshly and knocking the chair backwards with the force of it. Deku puts a hand on his arm to calm him down, but thankfully doesn't manhandle him back into the chair.  

 

"Erm, sorry to be a bother but Kacchan is my ride home, sir, and by the time he finishes, it'll probably be morning already. Especially if he has to prep, cook, clean, and do inventory all on his own?" Deku points out, his eyebrows pulled together to look at the dark haired man. He isn't upset the way Katsuki is, but there's something dubious about his expression, like he can tell there's a secret he's not being let in on. 

 

"He won't be alone, Aoyama will be staying late to assist, and I'm sure you can ride with one of the others or take the train home." Aizawa dismisses, raising an eyebrow. "You can't be attached at the hip twenty-four seven. You're adults, you should act like it." 

 

"Oh yeah, cause Frenchie's gonna be a big fuckin' help! Y'know what, that's not even the damn point and you know it! I'm not staying in this shithole all night, and you can kiss my ass and fire me if you try and force me. I'd like to see your one-legged ass try to cover my shift behind the grill!" Katsuki snaps, much to the horror of everyone else in the room. After everyone sucks in a stunned gasp, it's quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Well, except for Mic practically guffawing and Mina tapping her gaudy ass nails on the bar anxiously.

 

Even Deku stiffens beside him, staring at him with wide, shocked eyes.

 

"Kacchan! That's way too far! You can't just say stuff like that to your boss!" He whips his head to look at Aizawa, already opening his mouth to apologize on Katsuki's behalf, but Aizawa interjects before he can.

 

"Then get out."

 

Katsuki meets his glare with a matching one, squaring his shoulders.

So that's how the Hobo-sensei wants to play. He thinks he can call Katsuki's bluff, huh?
Well sucks to be him because Katsuki has had a bad fucking night and has zero patience to play bullshit mind games with his old teacher.

 

"Gladly."

 

He stands, scraping the legs of the chair back, relishing the moment when half the room winces at the noise. Pink Cheeks opens her mouth to interject, but she's not a part of this, not really, so he doesn't care what she has to say right now. 

 

"C'mon, Deku."

 

The nerd looks torn, flicking his eyes back and forth between Aizawa, who is still glaring, unblinking at them from his stool, and to Katsuki's cold, determined expression. Still, he slowly rises out of his seat to join him, chewing on his lip. He pushes the chair back in gently, unlike Katsuki who leaves his in the middle of the walkway. 

They're halfway to the door when the others start to desperately chime in. 

 

"Blasty, dude, come on!" Zappy calls, a shaky tone in his voice. 

 

"Yeah, man. It's fine! Hey I'll stay late with you, if you want!" Sato begs.

 

"Everyone needs to calm down." Zombie interjects coldly, clearly angry but quiet about it for once.  

 

Deku's scarred palm worms into his clenched fist as they reach the door, lightly tugging him into slowing down a bit. 

 

"Kacchan, are you sure-"

 

Yes, Deku, he's very fucking sure. This was never his first choice for employment anyway. After all, Katsuki only decided to fill in at this dump to help out, and if Aizawa can't give him the most basic fucking respect, then he has no real reason to be here. He's exhausted and pissed off and tired of being bitched at for no reason. 

Besides, if he knows Aizawa the way he thinks he does...

The bell above the door chimes as he shoves it open, taking a half step out.

 

"Bakugou."

 

Ah. There it is. 
He swallows the vindication and his satisfied smirk when he looks over his shoulder at the man.

 

 

"What."

 

 

"Dinner service, with a prix fixe menu for the private event. You can leave once you finish intake on the inventory." Aizawa offers sternly, none too pleased at this turn of events.

 

Too bad that's a shit counteroffer.

 

"I start now and leave at midnight. I don't give a fuck about a prix fixe menu, I can keep up with whatever the fuckers order off the regular one." Katsuki counters.

 

A short cough breaks through the awkwardness. Magicman raises a gloved hand before announcing:

 

"Yuuga is already scheduled to assist, and I volunteer my aid as well. Bakugou should be well on his way by that time with two additional sets of hands at his disposal, after all."  

 

Katsuki doesn't let his glare stray from Aizawa's. They hold eye contact, a tense stand-off that serves to make the others increasingly uncomfortable, the March air whistling through the held open door making all the extras shiver.
 
Eventually, Aizawa caves, just like Katsuki knew he would.

 

"Fine, but you're going to be doing all the ordering from now on, I don't want a repeat of this." 

 

"Fine by me, at least if I'm doing it, I know it'll be done fuckin' right for once." Petty? Perhaps. Too bad Katsuki doesn't give a damn. With a shrug, he steps back into the bar and lets the door finally close behind him. 

 

"Damn, dude." Dunce Face says aloud, looking at him from across the room like he's grown another head. "That was dramatic as hell."

 

"U-um... I guess that's my cue. See you guys another time!" She tries to be her usual cheery self, but it's obvious Pinky is uncomfortable and making a run for it to escape the oppressive atmosphere. She hightails it out the door before anyone can respond, but she still snags a cream puff off the table as she goes, the glutton. 

 

Eyebags continues to glower in his direction, but Katsuki doesn't give a shit what any of them think of him. Deku looks reproachful, but doesn't vocalize his thoughts. Admittedly, Katsuki does care what the nerd thinks of him, but if the way he chews his cheek is any indication, he just thinks Katsuki could've been nicer about it, but fundamentally agrees he was in the right. Katsuki stomps his way back to his pulled-out seat and sits back down casually, tugging Deku's chair out before the idiot has the chance to do it himself. Deku makes a little face about it, but sits down as bid.

 

The rest of the meeting is boring as shit, and conveniently, nobody directs a single question towards Katsuki the whole time.

Afterwards, Round Face, TinTin, Aizawa, Mic, and Eri head back to the store room, probably so the student nurse can check their bandages and shit, but Katsuki cuts straight to the kitchen and throws himself into prep work, without another word. 

 

---

 

"What was that about, earlier?" Deku asks later that night, as he pops into the kitchen for his food to run.

 

"Nothin'." Katsuki grunts, pan frying some gyouza with one hand and squeezing a lemon over some yellowtail with the other.

 

"Kacchan." Deku scolds with little heat, more concern in his tone than anything.

 

Somehow it pisses him off more than if Deku had come in here angry.   

 

"Just fuckin' tired, Deku. Drop it. I'm not in the mood to get bitched at by you tonight over this." The udon bubbles away as he chops up scallions, and Katsuki has to turn the heat down so the bottom doesn't burn. 

 

"I get that... But don't you think you took it a little far? I mean he is your boss-" 

 

"I don't fucking care! Run your food instead of your mouth." Katsuki interrupts with a snap, sauteing the asparagus and garlic in the skillet on the furthest eye.

 

"A-are you mad at me? If this it about last night-" Deku starts, his hesitant voice pitching up, and just the mention of last night, has Katsuki's hackles rising like a pissed off cat. 

 

Unfortunately, that means he jolts a bit, and Katsuki curses as he burns his wrist on the oven rack while taking a pan out. It stings a bit, but it's more annoying than anything. The welt sinks into the skin and disappears almost instantly.

Still fucking hurts and makes him angrier than he already was, though. 

 

"Oh no, Kacchan, are you okay?!" 

 

"YES, goddamn it, I'm fucking fine! Now do your damn job, run your damn food, and get the hell out of my kitchen, Deku!" He snaps harshly, not looking up from his work. He melts a pad of butter in a saucepan and adds the Thai chilis to the noodles now thickening in their sauce.

 

When Deku finally grabs the tray and leaves without another word, Katsuki grits his teeth and refocuses on just getting through this shitty night.

He's halfway done. Only half of his shift left to go, and if he doesn't stop for a break it'll be over that much faster.

 

---

 

The private event is annoying as shit. They want a thousand fucking appetizers and a bunch of shit that needs to be babysat the whole damn time, so even though he drags out three boxes of stock, he has to put them all back almost immediately. 

He refuses to acknowledge Aizawa had a point with the prix fixe menu, and how hard it would be to count stock as he works on orders. No, fuck that, Katsuki can handle cooking his own damn recipes, even if these idiots are testing his patience. There's only two more hours of this party block, and then he can focus solely on cleaning and working on that damn inventory. He's sticky with sweat, and he has a headache that's only exacerbated by literally everything.

 

"Uh... Bakugou?" 

 

 

"What the fuck do you want, Sugar Tits." Katsuki growls, dropping another basket of tofu in the fryers and pivoting to the stove to pull the steamer of edamame off the eye.

 

 

"Sugar... ugh, whatever. I... really don't want to be the one to tell you this, but Deku left." Sato admits, rubbing the back of his neck and hunching a bit, like he thinks Katsuki will throw something at him. 

 

Maybe he might've, if those words didn't freeze every muscle in his body. He only stops for a few seconds before he's all hands again, moving faster now to make up for the pause. 

 

 

"What do you mean Deku LEFT?!" He bellows, turning to glare at the baker slowly edging his way out of the kitchen. 

 

 

"He got a call, said he had to dip, and since he was only scheduled through the dinner shift, Aizawa cut him early, man." The guy puts his hands up as if to placate Katsuki, but it just serves to rile him up more.  

 

 

"A call from who?!" 

 

When Sato just shakes his head, not knowing, Katsuki laughs, but it's an angry, incredulous sound that has Sato grimacing. 

 

"Of course. What the fuck ever. Tell me as soon as Sparkles shows up, and make sure he knows I'm leaving at twelve on the fucking dot and not a second later." 

 

Sato nods quickly, slipping under the curtain like a bat out of hell. 

Spineless bastard.

Katsuki continues working through the tickets, and for once, the runners are quick about it. They promptly get their shit and go, not staying to yap in his ear or goof off in the doorway. In fact, he doesn't realize someone is standing there until he registers the feeling of eyes on him. Zombie lounges against the cabinet by the door, but remains completely silent as he watches Katsuki work.

 

"What the fuck do you want, Hot Topic?" He spits the name with more venom than he's used in awhile, but Eyebags doesn't even blink at his tone.

 

"Are you okay?"

 

Of all the things this purple haired bastard could ask him, of all the ways he could try to push his buttons, all the teasing insults he could have used, it's that genuine, pitying tone almost sends Katsuki completely over the edge. Katsuki slams the skillet in his hand down on the stove with a metallic clang, whirling around to get in the guy's face, uncaring if anything burns at this point, since he's on his last couple of tickets anyway. 

 

"What's it to you? Hah?!"

 

Zombie doesn't answer out loud, but his eyebrows pinch up and raise as if to say "Have you seen yourself?"

 

To be fair, Katsuki hasn't seen himself, has no clue what the extras are clamoring all over themselves about, having thrown himself into his work with single-minded determination to get it the hell over with. He doesn't think he's stopped even this long since the shift fucking started, actually.

 

"I'm fucking fine, now get the hell out of my kitchen!" Screaming in his smarmy fucking face doesn't seem to register as a threat to the Troll Doll, because his expression doesn't really change - well,  beyond a faint grimace at the spittle now sprayed across his cheek. He wipes it away with two long fingers, but doesn't move otherwise. Exhaustion is creeping up on Katsuki, and he pants heavily, but he refuses to back down from this beanpole prick. 

 

"Izuku seemed upset when he left." He says carefully after a long moment of silence, letting Katsuki catch is breath as his chest continues to heave.

 

Brilliant, genius.
Of course Deku was upset.

Katsuki fucking screamed at him. But that wasn't Katsuki's fault, not really, it was Deku! He'd been the one to... to what? 

The realization settles on him like the first shovelful of dirt over a casket.

What had Deku done to piss him off so badly? Check on him? Ask if he was okay? Ask if Katsuki was mad at him for their little tiff last night?

Goddammit. 
Katsuki fucked up.

Again.  

Now that he has taken a second to breathe, to do something other than complete tickets and bust his ass, clarity begins to worm through his brain, and disappointment tastes bitter in his mouth.

Why is his first instinct always to be such an insufferable asshole the second he's upset? He really thought he'd grown past all this childish crap after his last tantrum, but clearly fucking not.

Was all that shit about 'growth' and 'effort' and 'being better' for the nerd just lies he told himself? Must've been, because everything he's been working so goddamn hard on was immediately flushed down the toilet. All because he had a bad day? Because he's tired? Because it feels like everyone and their mother has been giving him shit for no reason?

The smell of charred food reaches Katsuki's nose, and despite the frustration and irrational anger, Katsuki's shoulders finally slump in defeat. He rubs at his stinging eyes, pushing into them with the heels of his hands. Eyebags says nothing, letting Katsuki collect himself. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before fisting his hair and tugging himself into moving again. 

 

"Yeah, I bet he was." Katsuki sighs, turning around and addressing the burnt sludge in his pan by unceremoniously dumping it in the trash. Aizawa's gonna be pissed he wasted supplies... but then again, he remembers Aizawa's already pissed at him so what does it really matter, at this point.

 

"Contrary to most people's assumptions, I don't think you make a habit of being actually hateful to others anymore. But today, you've been a complete dick to everyone you've come into contact with. I don't particularly care one way or the other, but if you don't talk to someone about whatever crawled up your ass, then you're going to blow up at Izuku again, and he really doesn't deserve that. Especially not from you. I'll ask one more time, and if you don't want to talk about it, then whatever, I'll leave you to it and not bring it up again. With that being said... Are you okay, Bakugou?" His voice is even, mellow almost. Not the way it is on his radio show, and not in the gross flirty way he talks to Sparkplug or Deku, but admittedly relaxing nonetheless. 

 

Katsuki has half a mind to throw a pan at his face and tell him to get the fuck out, just on principle, but he's honestly too tired to pretend to still be angry anymore.

 

"No, okay. No, I'm not. But it's stupid. Nobody can fix it. There's nothing to talk about, shit just sucks. I'll get over it." He shrugs, adding ingredients to the pan again now that he's finished wiping it out. He tugs the ticket from the spire to double check the vegetable substitutions before crumpling it up in his fist and tossing it onto the counter.  

 

"So what? C'mon. They say talking about shit helps or whatever." Eyebags sounds about as uncomfortable as Katsuki feels right now, but noticeably, he doesn't make a move to leave. Instead, he just folds his arms over his chest and waits patiently for Katsuki to get his shit together.

 

Katsuki considers lying, considers ignoring the bastard until he gets bored and leaves, considers deflecting and being incendiary so he'll leave on his own, but like he said, he's fucking tired as hell. That's the only reasonable explanation for why he opens his mouth.

"...My teacher died. Saw the footage of it happening last night, and of course, couldn't sleep for shit after. Didn't tell Deku about it, and if you know what's good for you, you won't either. He just started doing better about the whole thing, so I'm not gonna shovel my feelings and shit all over him now that he's finally started unburying himself from his own. That's it. I'll apologize to your pops later, okay? I get it. I'm a piece of shit. You can go now." The sauce thickens nicely, and Katsuki tosses a handful of dashi into the pot to his left. The wok sizzles as he seasons the eel for his last dish of the night, pretending the burn in his eyes is from the chili oil he stirs in.  

 

"That really sucks, dude. 'M sorry you're dealing with that."

 

Katsuki huffs a startled laugh, surprised despite himself at how obvious the statement is, but finds himself nodding along anyway. 

 

"Yeah."

 

It's quiet for a second, or as quiet as a kitchen can be, anyway.

The pots bubble away on the stove, the metal utensils scrape against skillets, the spice containers contents shake around, the knives thump against the cutting board, but for once no mindless chatter fills the air.

Normally the serving crew would be yapping away at the doorway, hiding behind the curtain to check their phones or giggle with one another, but not tonight. He often hears Invisalign gushing about her long distance boyfriend (who is apparently some kind of martial artist at a dojo in Kansai) or Sato quietly admitting that he's been doing the entrance exams for culinary school, or other random drama from the front of house staff; ranging from entertaining tidbits to embarrassing stories that Katsuki often makes fun of, but revels in knowing about, nonetheless. Katsuki doesn't really blame them for avoiding him, since he told them to, but while he'd never admit it out loud, he maybe kind of misses it. 

Katsuki is acutely aware of eyes on his back, suggesting that the purple haired man is still there for some reason. Typically he would shrug the other off, tell him to fuck off or something... but just for tonight, he allows it. 

It helps that Troll Doll doesn't talk - until of course, he decides to ruin that by disturbing the quiet.

 

"I get why you don't want to tell him, but he'll find out one way or another. He's too stubborn to drop it. He'll find a way to drag it out of you eventually." Zombie doesn't sound amused or sarcastic when he says it, for once.

 

In fact, he seems almost resigned about it. 

Katsuki remembers all those stories about Deku and Troll Doll hanging out in high school, getting into trouble and goofing around. Through blurry memories of the Halloween party, and the glimpses of them he's seen, it's hardly a secret that the guy held more than friendly admiration for the nerd. He probably knows Deku better than most, how determined and frustrating he can be. If Katsuki didn't know better, he'd think the bastard was actually trying to commiserate with him about it. 

He still doesn't like this pretentious fuck, but begrudgingly, Katsuki finds himself agreeing with his assessment. Even if he manages to apologize for his outburst earlier and convinces Deku that Katsuki wasn't really mad at him specifically, he won't rest until he's sniffed out the real reason Katsuki was being such an unreasonable bitch today. He could try to lie, or tell half-truths, but there's no way Deku won't notice when he does. If anything, he'll continue to press Katsuki's buttons until he antagonizes him enough that it forces him to explode and open up.

It's something he both loves and hates about the nerd. 

 

"I know." He sighs, plating the udon and eel and tapping the bell more gently than he has been for most of the evening. 

 

Invisalign appears almost immediately, snagging the tray and ducking back into the main room, without a word. She probably didn't want to risk even breathing in his direction, lest he bite her head off. He can't really blame her for her act of self-preservation, but he swallows a groan when he realizes he's gonna have to apologize to the whole damn crew.

Fuck.  

 

 

"I'm sure you'll figure it out, Bakugou. Just be honest with him. Izuku's tough. If he knows you're hurting then there's nothing you can do to convince him not to help you. You know that better than anyone."

 

Katsuki tosses the dishtowel over his shoulder, refusing to answer as he loads the dirty dishes into the machine. He almost runs into the missing blond waiter who rushes into the kitchen area like it's on fire.

 

"You called for me, mon ami?" Frenchie asks breathlessly, a wobbly smile on his face, though it's clear he's anticipating getting his head torn off. "Sato said we should se dépêcher and get to work on the inventory, oui?"

 

 

"... Yeah. Sort the dry storage first. I marked everything already, we just gotta pull the oldest stuff to the front and restock what we're low on. Anything extra gets put into storage with labels facing front, got it? If you don't know what something is or where it goes, just fuckin' ask." 

 

 

"Oh! Um, oui, chef!" Sparkles looks mildly surprised but hurries to comply. He skips over to the pantry, dragging out the supplies as ordered.

 

 

"I'll leave you to it then." Zombie raises the half curtain and begins to leave, but Katsuki calls out after him. 

 

"Hey, Zombie." When he sees stupid purple hair lean back into the kitchen, he turns back around again, speaking directly to the sink full of bubbles instead of the sleepy-eyed DJ. "Thanks... or whatever. For listenin'."

 

 

"Sure thing, Boomer." 

 

When Katsuki throws the sponge in his hand, it narrowly misses the snickering bastard by a hair. 

 

 

---

 

As promised, Frenchie and Mr. Magic dutifully stay behind to help him clean and finish the inventory counts. Despite his foul mood, it goes surprisingly smoothly, and glancing at the clock, Katsuki is pleasantly surprised to see he's got another half hour until midnight and not much left to do but finish the last of the dating on the perishables before they get loaded into the deep freeze. The tagging gun is low on tape, so he enters the storeroom to find some.  

When he re-emerges into the main room, he walks through the bar one last time to make sure all the tasks for the night are finished. The other staff, including Aizawa, are long gone, having left more than an hour earlier. Nobody wanted to risk lingering too long and facing Katsuki's wrath, probably. The guilt in his chest is uncomfortable, and he resists the urge to kick the bar in agitation. 

The stage lights are all turned off already, so the only light in the room comes from the flashes of headlights from the occasional passing car outside. Beams of white shine through the singular window at the front, scattering through the silhouette of chairs stacked up on the tables. They throw strange looking shadows on the walls. 

 

"U-um... Monseiur Bakugou?" Frenchie calls hesitantly from the doorway to the kitchen, his figure contrasting heavily against the sharp fluorescents.  

 

Katsuki grunts in acknowledgment, crossing the wood floor and squinting against the glare of moving from almost pitch darkness to the only lights still on.

 

"Desole." The waiter whispers, fidgeting side to side in the entry to the kitchen.

 

Katsuki frowns, parsing through his limited language skills to figure out what the fuck that means. When the answer comes to him, he fights the urge to sigh. 
He's going to be genuinely pissed off if the dumbass knocked something over or mislabeled something and he has to stay any later to fix it. 

Deku's probably already waiting up for him, and he doesn't want to be late.

 

"What are you fuckin' sorry for-"

 

There's a sharp pain at his neck, and that's when the glow of the kitchen is replaced with the inky blackness of unconsciousness.  

Chapter 34: A Promise That We're All That Matters

Summary:

A date, a conversation, a rough day at work, a familiar face, and an unexpected call.

Notes:

Hello, me again!

We're getting so close to the end here guys, I'm incredibly nervous! I hope things shake out well, especially after how much time and energy I (and you!) have invested in this behemoth of an AU. I unfortunately forgot my password and got caught up with the holidays and everything, so I'm sorry for the delay (again... ).

There's definitely going to be an epilogue chapter to close things out, but the next chapter is going to be our BIG FINALE, and because of this, we will have NEW POV's!!! Woo!

Thank you very much to anyone still following along who is excited to see how things turn out for our SpideyDeku and BakuPool. This fic has grown so much from my original outline and gotten so much deeper and richer for it. It's truly been a labor of love to write this.

As a side note, if there are any tags you think I've missed / need to add, or adjustments that need to be made, please don't hesitate to let me know.

The light from the window casts the bedroom in a faint, foggy glow when Izuku blinks his eyes open. The first thing he really notices other than the dreamy lighting, is Kacchan's face only inches away from his, looking strangely troubled for what must be a terribly early hour. Scarlet eyes regard him quietly, the furrow between his brows making itself known earlier in the day than typically normal. 

"C'mon, nerd. Get up." 

 

If Izuku was more awake, he might've asked Kacchan if something was wrong, or if their friends were okay, or if another fire had broken out, anything to explain the tense expression on Kacchan's face. 

Because he isn't very coherent, however, Izuku finds himself fixated on pale lips instead. They're drawn into the faintest grimace, almost pouting.

Still, despite the mood he's in, Kacchan isn't complaining about Izuku's morning breath, so Izuku decides to push his luck and lean forward slowly, giving ample time for his lover to pull back. He doesn't reject the kiss, thankfully, choosing instead to remain still as stone, and letting Izuku peck at his lips softly.  

 

"Good morning, Kacchan." Izuku's voice is a little rough from disuse - and maybe their escapade on the couch yesterday - but Kacchan doesn't tease him for it like he usually does, the first of many missteps in their typical routine.

 

In fact, Kacchan just rolls his eyes a little, the faint blush on his nose the only indication the blond heard him, at all. 
While Kacchan's not the most talkative partner in the world, he usually acknowledges Izuku a little more than that.

Blinking himself more awake, he more consciously considers the noticeable shift in Kacchan's behavior this morning, lingering on his frown, and the defensive way he folds his arms over his chest, which really only serves to accentuate the hard lines of his... no! 

Bad.

Focus, Izuku. 

He peeks at the blond from the corner of his eye, noting a distance between them that Izuku can't quite put his finger on just yet. He considers asking about it... but as he drags himself from the bed, and Kacchan continues dressing around him, words fail him. Every conversation he plans in his head sounds even more ridiculous than the last. 

Maybe he'll have a better opportunity to bring it up later?

 It's clear that Kacchan doesn't seem his usual self this morning, but that just means it's Izuku's job to turn Kacchan's bad mood around! With that in mind, he sets out to make the day as easy and comfortable for the blond as possible, even choosing one of Kacchan's sweaters instead of his own. 

On any other day, Kacchan loves seeing Izuku in his clothes.

This has been made obvious by the preening the blond does when he wears them and the way his eyes go dark and heady every single time Izuku plucks an item from the blond's overflowing closet.

After all, Kacchan has plenty of nice, soft sweaters to steal; ones he'll never wear simply because Auntie Mitsuki was the one to pick them out. He runs his fingers over the ones pushed furthest back, all the older, well-worn ones that Kacchan must've gotten back in high school based on the size of them. Izuku chooses a nice burnt orange one with grey and ivory stripes. It's only a few shades off the color of the X on his mask, and Izuku grins to himself as he plucks it out, knowing wearing Kacchan's colors should perk him up at least a little bit. 

He tries not to be disappointed when he turns around and Kacchan regards the choice with more confusion than the expected appreciation, but Izuku isn't one to give up so easily! 
 
Breakfast is... fine. 

Not that Izuku is ungrateful! 
Not at all!

Of course Izuku appreciates anything Kacchan makes for him, even this simple, nutritional meal that Kacchan prepares both quickly and quietly. There's no music playing on the little speaker on the counter, nor is there any banter as he cooks, despite Izuku's best efforts to spark a conversation. It almost seems like Kacchan doesn't even hear his rambles, his shoulders stiff and hiked up almost to his ears with some unknown worry. 

Calm down, Izuku, there's plenty of reasons Kacchan might be a little grumpy this morning. 

Maybe Izuku is just imagining things?
Maybe Kacchan just slept poorly? 
Maybe the realities of that mission have finally settled in?
Maybe coming back from the dead hit him harder than he thought? 

It's silly to expect Kacchan to be operating at a hundred percent after everything that's happened over the past couple of days.

Kacchan died, after all. 
That's gotta be jarring, at least, if nothing else. 

Izuku considers asking about it, really he does... but as he tries to find the words, Izuku realizes the examples he could provide would likely just sound like pointless criticism. If Izuku is wrong and just misreading these interactions and projecting his feelings onto the blond, then he might actually push Kacchan into the bad mood he fears is waiting in the wings.

So Izuku doesn't roll his eyes or refuse when Kacchan slides another serving of fish onto his plate, despite not really feeling hungry anymore. Instead, he puts on his best smile and doubles his resolve to give Kacchan a nice day regardless of whatever funk he's in. 

 

"So, uh... what are we doing today, Kacchan?" He asks after a particularly lengthy silence, trying to keep his voice light as he watches Kacchan begin to wash off their dishes.

 

Usually that's Izuku's job, but apparently today Kacchan won't be giving him much of an opportunity to do the task himself. 
Kacchan blinks at him as he turns the tap off, as if just now realizing for the first time that Izuku is still perched at the counter, waiting for an answer. 

 

"Uh- Was planning to hit up the fish market by the pier for ingredients if you're cool with that. S'posed to be getting in some nice shit since the weather's gonna be warming up here soon. I've been meaning to take you for awhile but we haven't exactly had the time lately. Thought we could do some shopping or some shit." He half-shrugs, a faint pinkness on the tips of his ears.

 

Kacchan can be so unintentionally cute sometimes! It's been awhile since he and Kacchan really went anywhere that wasn't the League or somehow mission-related, and Izuku sees the gesture for what it really is: a date!

This has to be why Kacchan is acting funny! Poor guy's probably just nervous about them going out so soon after the raid, or maybe he's still feeling a little overprotective over Izuku since he is still technically on the Most Wanted list?

Either way, Izuku injects as much excitement as he can into his voice.

 

"Of course I'd love to go with you Kacchan! Maybe the Oki Mariner will be in port and we can wave at Tsu-chan!" He chirps happily. 

 

Despite his agreement, Kacchan doesn't seem all too excited about their plans, and this is made even more obvious when he just turns back to the sink with a sigh. 

 

 
"... Great. Just - Let me finish up these dishes first and we'll go." Kacchan grunts, submerging his hands in soapy water once more, the tension still visible in his posture. 

Izuku waits as patiently as he can for the blond to finish up, half-heartedly tidying the clean living room just to have something to do, but all the while he chews anxiously on his lip as he steals increasingly worried glances at Kacchan's broad back. 

 

---

 

The ride out to the bay is nice, if a bit chilly due to the early hour. Izuku tries his best to snuggle against Kacchan's warmth as they go, but between the layers of their jackets and the route Kacchan takes, a few inches remain between their bodies. Riding on a motorcycle isn't the same as flying around with Black Whip, and it isn't as thrilling as parkouring off the skyscrapers in the busier districts, but the roar of the engine is a welcome reprieve to the stony silence between him and Kacchan. 

It's not all bad though. The morning air is clean and crisp in his lungs, and by the time they arrive at the market, they just manage to catch the first real rays of light across the waves cresting at the pier. It's lovely, honestly, all sparkly and peaceful as the sun warms his cheeks. Izuku inhales the salty air with determination.

Operation: Shopping Date is a go!
  

First things first... 

Izuku wiggles his hand into Kacchan's, despite the strange angle of where the blond rests his hand half inside his pocket. Thankfully Kacchan allows this, but when he raises an eyebrow, Izuku tries not to lose his nerve.

"So we don't get separated!" He defends quickly, linking their pinkies together like they used to do as kids when they were exploring busy shopping centers.

 
Kacchan must remember, because he doesn't pull away from him, and even gives a small twitch of a smile at Izuku's words.

Baby steps!

They move through the crowd as best they can, and even though it's hellishly early, there's plenty of people clamoring for the freshest cuts, the best deals, the newest varieties. 
It's quite loud and chaotic, and Izuku is surprised Kacchan is willing to brave the din until he spies some of the offerings. There's more kinds of fish and vegetables scattered along the tables than Izuku even knew existed, and further down are bazaar booths full of spice jars, kitchen utensils, big bags of rice, and all sorts of culinary necessities that serve to draw in talented people like Kacchan. 

Kacchan gives a brief list of things for him to keep an eye out for, like squid and eel, saffron, and a few specialty items Izuku doesn't really recognize by name alone. Still, he takes his job seriously, doing his best to keep track of the price points as they pass by, asking questions here and there when he can. He notices that the fisherman are more willing to talk with him than he'd anticipated in a crowd this thick, even if he doesn't end up making a purchase from them at that exact moment. 

A nice older lady with deep set eye bags smiles warmly at him from her tiny stool, offering him a good deal on radishes, and he spends a good ten minutes talking with her about her granddaughter and the harvest this year. To his surprise, Kacchan doesn't rush him as he speaks with the merchants, remaining by his side the whole time, even if he does roll his eyes and shake his head when Izuku gets caught up at every other table.   

 

"Ain't you getting cold? I don't want you getting sick, 'cause then I'd have to take care of your ass." He gripes, pulling Izuku's hat down more firmly to cover the tips of his ears since Izuku's hands are full of boxes and shopping bags. He had tried to take them several times, but unless Kacchan wanted to physically fight him for them, Izuku wouldn't dare let them go.  

 

"Mm, I'm fine, Kacchan! Is there anything else we need?" He asks, pleased that Kacchan's mood seems to be improving little by little, even if he does glare at some of the other shoppers as they pass. 

 

"Let's look for bean paste and then get the hell out of here." 

So they continue their shopping trip, with Izuku tugging Kacchan through the crowd despite his full hands, and pressing close to him whenever possible. They tend to keep their distance on the rare occasion they find themselves out in public like this, but Izuku is determined to enjoy their date to the fullest. It certainly helps that when he nuzzles into Kacchan's burly arms that the blond leans ever so slightly back into him, just barely closer than typical friendliness allows.
 
Sure, he might scowl and complain, but when Kacchan looks down at Izuku with obvious fondness, he thinks those cheeks might be pink from more than just the cold. 

Izuku and Kacchan will never be a "normal" couple, not in the traditional ways at least. 

He's long come to terms with the fact that no matter what they promised each other as little kids, it's likely they'll never actually get married or experience the typical relationship milestones they would have if one of them had been born a girl. They'll probably never kiss under the Christmas lights at Yebisu Park, or share a straw at a cutesy cafe, or take silly pictures in a photo booth at the arcade... but he doesn't mind missing all of that, so long as he gets things like this instead. 

Because it's moments like this that Izuku treasures more than anything. 
The ones where he can pretend, just for a few minutes, that they're just like everyone else.  
 
Just simple comforts, like shopping hand in hand at the market. Opportunities for he and Kacchan to go on secret dates together, and do normal, every day things that have nothing to do with evil yakuza heads, explosions, spider bites, or murder contracts. Of course, he doesn't mind the added benefit of his abilities, especially when they come in handy like they did today, carrying their groceries with ease and making sure not to drop anything thanks to his conveniently super sticky fingers. 

It's admittedly still kind of tough to keep things balanced on the back of the bike, but Izuku doesn't really mind so much, since it gives him the excuse to lean more heavily into Kacchan's back as he drives. 

After they've arrived back home and unloaded their haul, Kacchan tugs Izuku by his belt loops, craning down to look him in the eye. 
Taking the hint he's been waiting (somewhat impatiently) for all day, Izuku crashes their mouths together greedily. 

Kacchan might not be a very communicative partner, but this? 
This is a language they speak fluently. 

If spending the afternoon on his knees will improve Kacchan's mood even a little bit, then it's more than worth the soreness, in his opinion. 

However, as sincere as his efforts are, it seems that it isn't enough. 
Especially when their phones vibrate on the coffee table, interrupting their lazy make out session on the couch. 

Izuku would just as easily ignore them, but Kacchan's lips slow to a stop. He grumbles a bit at the noise and the lack of kissing, pressing closer to Kacchan in an effort to distract him. His tongue traces the seam of Kacchan's lips, but just as he parts his mouth their phones begin to chime impatiently. Kacchan pulls away with a grunt, resituating Izuku on his lap and swiping the offending devices from the table.  

Izuku opens his mouth to complain about it, but when he swipes the screen up to read the notification, he begrudgingly slides off Kacchan's lap. 
They share a brief moment of eye contact upon reading the subject line of the email.

 

Subject: New Term Announcements for Tokyo University 

 

Good afternoon Students of Tokyo University

We are pleased to inform students and faculty, that thanks to the tireless work of our volunteers and construction crews, the updates to campus will conclude as scheduled, before the first day of classes for the 20XX Summer semester. With this success in our remodeling of the USJ and surrounding buildings, Tokyo University will be hosting hybrid classes for those seeking degrees in the Sciences, Technology, Engineering, and Health fields. Faculty and staff update announcements will be made public beginning in April, and tours of the new facilities will be available for scheduling in May, well in advance of the August term. 
 
Department Head announcements will be released as they are finalized, and we ask for your respect and cooperation during this restructuring period.

 

Thank you for your attention, 

Tokyo University Registrar and Dean of Students Offices

 

The lack of acknowledgement for the professors they lost, or the fire at all really, puts a bad taste in Izuku's mouth. 
He expected to feel... something at the news that he can soon return to his courses, actually move forward in the wake of the last semester, but for some reason, he's strangely ambivalent about it all. 

After all, he has his job at the League. He has a place to call home. He has a loving, supportive mother, and a partner (that he loves!) to watch his back. He has friends who care about him, and a growing support network for his hero-ing. He has superpowers and patrols and a serial arsonist to catch... asking for anything more than all of that would be selfish on his part.

For awhile after the tragedy, he considered dropping out of University, altogether. 
But of course he couldn't do that, as tempting as it sounded at the time. 
It would've broken his mother's heart if he dropped out, and Kacchan would likely bite his head off if he found out Izuku was seriously considering throwing away all their hard work like that. 

It's just that his career goals, the mentorship, his field of study, all of it comes back to Dr. Toshinori. 

Without the financial aid award provided by the program, Izuku couldn't have afforded Tokyo U in the first place. If he'd been rejected, Izuku probably would have taken an internship someplace else or perhaps settled into boring salary work, just so he could afford to send money back home to his mother. The mechanical engineering program at the university was his dream at one point, yeah, but even that was really just a stepping stone on his path to saving people, to making a difference in the world. 

He doesn't necessarily need higher education to do that any more, does he?

Because those plans were made before the spider bite happened. 
Before the fires, before reuniting with Kacchan, before the suit was completed... before his mentor died. 

Going back to classes, going back to homework and parties and the typical college lifestyle without Dr. Toshinori at the center of it... it feels almost like betraying him, in a weird way. He wonders if that's how Mirio and the other Behavioral Science students see it too... and just as he thinks of his senpai, he realizes there's an email from him just underneath the announcement.

 

Subject: Goodbye Video

 

Hey Mido! 

Hope you're doing okay! Sorry for the delay in getting this over to you, but I didn't have Bakugou's student email and to be honest I've been kinda out of it since I banged up my shoulder. Those painkillers are no joke! Haha! Anyway, like I told you a few days ago, I just so happened to find this video while I was going through the files stored on the Cloud. 

I only watched the intro before I realized what it was, so rest assured his words are for you and Bakugou-san alone. 

Don't forget I'm here if you need anything!
PLUS ULTRA!  

 

See you tomorrow :)
Mirio Togota 

 

"What now?" Kacchan's surly voice brings him back to the present, and Izuku isn't sure what prompts him to lie, but the words are out of his mouth before he can think to stop them. 

 

"Hm? Oh. N-Nothing, just some reminders about applying for financial aid since the program has ended." He fights to keep his voice casual, barely managing to keep the tremor from his words.

 

Internally though, he cringes. 
He's never been a very good liar, despite all the secrets he's kept, and he's an especially bad liar when it comes to Kacchan. 
Izuku hopes against all hope that Kacchan will simply let it go. 

Of course, he's never been particularly lucky on that front. 

 

"Wasn't the program fully funded already? Just cause the old man isn't mentoring us anymore doesn't mean we didn't do our part. You earned that tuition, so you should get to keep it." 
Kacchan huffs, the furrow between his brow deepening again with misplaced anger towards the poor admin at the Financial Aid Office.
 

He gives an awkward shrug, clicking his screen off and setting it back on the table face down - just in case. 

 

"I'll talk to them about it before the term officially ends. Honestly it's not a big deal." Izuku adds vaguely, doing his darndest not to fidget with the hem of his borrowed sweater out of guilt. 

 

In an effort to keep his traitorous hands busy, he unearths a notebook from the bin under the table, throwing himself into planning an academic future he admittedly has very little interest in actually participating in. The odds of Kacchan pressing him for more information while he's mid-mumble is pretty low, but definitely not impossible. He'll have to be careful to keep his muttering to a minimum.

After all, the suit is already complete so he really doesn't have a reason to tinker around in the labs, anymore. Despite how uncomfortable the idea of putting it on right now is, he knows he won't stop helping people or patrolling. While he has plenty of ideas on support gear and assistive technology, Izuku doesn't know if he can realistically handle going back into a lab under anyone other than Dr. Toshinori, let alone actually developing the designs they had been working on together.

Maybe he can do something unrelated to mechanical engineering entirely?
Nursing like Ochako, or law like Shouto. Business dev like Tenya, perhaps? Keep to the sciences like Tsu-chan, or do an apprenticeship with Mei if he really misses working with his hands...  

As he counts up the credits he's already attempted, he wonders if they'll end up counting against him if he switches to another concentration, or perhaps another degree path entirely.
Despite the grief and general understanding the administration of the University has shown him since the fire, he doubts very much that it will carry on past this interrupted semester. It was already a relief that he'd been able to sit out on the end of term exams, but he knows better than to expect much more grace than that. Calculating out of pocket costs for the upcoming semester makes him slightly nauseous, seeing all those zeroes in the final tally. Admittedly staying here with Kacchan has significantly improved the room and board estimates, but Izuku realizes he might have to reach out to the financial planning office after all...

 

"Wonder who they'll hire to take over the empty departments." Kacchan muses, a strange emptiness to his voice.

 

"No telling. Probably going to be hard to fill those vacancies honestly, unless they hire outside the country." Izuku adds passively. 

 

They, like the announcement he was just complaining about, don't mention why the replacements are necessary in the first place. 

Kacchan starts tapping his foot against the table leg, all the restless energy and tension from earlier this morning returning tenfold. Izuku notices, and jumps at the chance to spar a bit, get out from under the weird oppressive quiet they've been stewing in today. 

Tossing each other around and grappling on the mats burns off some of the tension, and since he has to keep a handle on his strength to lessen it into a more human degree, Kacchan doesn't make the wins easy for him. Sweat pours down the side of his face, and Izuku is mindful not to rely too heavily on his advanced agility, even if he's pretty sure there are no cameras in the building's gym. A hard right hook to Kacchan's face makes a sickening cracking noise, and Izuku recoils. That brief moment of hesitation is just enough for Kacchan to sweep his legs and send them crashing to the ground. 

Izuku can hear Kacchan's thunderous heartbeat pounding in his ears, or maybe it's his own?

As he tries to figure it out, a strong arm locks across his throat, demanding his submission. 

 

"Match, nerd." There's a coy grin on Kacchan's face, his voice pitched low. 

Rippling heat echoes through Izuku's veins as drops of percolating sweat drip down Kacchan's nose and dampen his hair. All that bundled up tension that's been building up through the day slowly oozes into Izuku's lower stomach, and suddenly he's burning from the inside out.  

That victorious smirk, those blood red eyes, the sweet scent of caramel and the heat of their skin... he doesn't even consider resisting Kacchan's magnetism. He'll be mortified about sullying the locker room showers later - they are technically in a shared a community space! - but for now, he's willing to luxuriate in the adrenaline and pleasure that hazes his mind. All the awkwardness that's lingered all day long, it all but evaporates under Kacchan's rough, eager hands.

Getting back up to the apartment with their clothes still on is a feat of skill, if not a bit annoying, but getting tossed onto the mattress and immediately resuming their fevered grappling is worth the wait. Kacchan's filthy mouth runs a mile a minute, crooning into his damp skin and slamming into him with punishing thrusts that scatter all worries and anxieties far, far from his mind.      

And yet, when the sweltering heat dissipates, leaving them physically exhausted and left adrift in the quiet of their bedroom, that simmering unease begins to steadily boil once more. 

It's not particularly quiet to Izuku anyway, not really. Thanks to the "gift" of super-hearing, he can hear the neighbors chatting and walking around both upstairs and down, a nature documentary playing on the TV next door, the electricity humming through the wiring of the building, a toilet on the third floor flushing and the subsequent rushing of water through the pipes- but he does his best to focus on what's important: Kacchan's steady pulse under his ear. 

He hears it pick up a bit, feels the deep breath Kacchan takes before he speaks, rough and rumbling from deep in his chest.

 

"You've been acting weirder than usual today." 

 

He freezes up immediately, somehow not anticipating such a blunt statement and simultaneously unsure on how to answer. 

On the one hand, Izuku is certainly tempted to argue back. To point out all the many ways Kacchan himself has been acting weird today, to defend himself - but the guilt of lying earlier has his tongue tied up in knots, so what comes out is a woefully unintelligent: 

 

"Uh..."

 

He should've known Kacchan would notice immediately. 
That he'd sniff out the lie as soon as it left Izuku's lips. 
He's an idiot for not just coming out with it, in the first place. 

So what if he has the last recorded goodbye of their shared mentor burning a hole in his inbox?
So what if he has to see those kind eyes again?
So what if he has to hear the warm, gentle tone he's missed so much these past few months?

So what...

 

"I fucking knew it!" Kacchan accuses, his muscles bunching up and growing rigid under Izuku's cheek. 

 

"I-It's really not that big of a deal, Kacchan-" He tries to hedge, keeping his eyes low, looking for something, anything to focus on that isn't Kacchan's disappointed face looking down at him.

 

"Oh yeah? Try me." Kacchan scoffs, sounding more annoyed than anything. 

 

"Uh... p-promise you won't be mad?" He whispers softly, fisting the sheet anxiously, trying to will the tears welling up to go away. 

 

"Nice try. Spill." Kacchan's voice is hard like steel, and Izuku can admit he should've anticipated that reaction too.

He takes a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for this conversation, but deep down, he knows it's pointless to try. 
If time and space to collect himself were enough to uncork this bottle, he would've been ready by now, wouldn't he? 

Here he is, safe, in Kacchan's arms despite everything, in the home they share, with their future ready and waiting for them... and yet all he wants is to run away, to put it off another hour, another day, another week, or month, or year... any amount of time before he has to face these feelings again. 

 

"Well, it's not a secret or anything, it's just... Mirio-senpai sent me that video file. The one addressed to both of us." He admits hesitantly, doing his best to keep his face blank, to focus on the facts. 

 

Surprisingly, Kacchan doesn't yell or scoff at him again, but the bone-weary sigh he lets out is somehow inexplicably worse.
Kacchan sounds disappointed, and it brings hot shameful tears to prick at Izuku's eyes.

 

"... Ya wanna watch it?" Kacchan asks gruffly, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling.

Does he?
No, not at all.
Not even a little bit, actually. 

He remembers all too well the way it all felt, holding Dr. Toshinori's hand as he bled out in that office. Hearing his tearful goodbye and promising he'd do his best to be happy despite everything... he thinks Dr. Toshinori would be very disappointed in how awful Izuku has been at keeping that particular promise. The guilt and the sorrow, the way he begged the older man to stay alive, to stay with him, and the emptiness he still feels even now...

 

"Not... really. I... already got my goodbye. I'm also worried that I won't like whatever I see." He admits, hating the weakness in his own voice, the tremble in it. 

He's supposed to be a hero, dammit.  

 

"Ya don't gotta, if you don't want to." Kacchan mumbles, hesitant despite the supportive words.  

 

Figures that Kacchan would be too forgiving to Izuku, after keeping his mentor's last words to himself all this time. Not just the video, but the events that transpired. They talked around most of it, kept it to the barest of facts, really. Kacchan has never directly asked for the play-by-play, probably for Izuku's own comfort more than anything. 

He's so kind to Izuku, even when he doesn't really deserve it. 

 

"But..." He wants to argue, to point out all the ways Izuku has failed: Not just as a hero, but as a partner, as a friend... but that's a fight he knows he won't win. It won't do anything but invalidate Kacchan's own feelings on the matter, and he shouldn't have to comfort Izuku, not over this. "Seems childish to ignore it? I don't know. I swear I was going to tell you, Kacchan, believe me, you can definitely watch it if you really want to, I just..."

 

"So that's  why you've been all over me today." The smooth hand encircling his wrist tugs him away from Kacchan's skin pointedly. "You don't have to do that, y'know. You don't have to fuckin' keep me busy or whatever so I don't ask questions you don't want to answer." The words are said with venom, something bitter, almost brittle in his voice. His free hand tangles through his own hair when Kacchan tips his head back to stare at the ceiling again.

 

Izuku scrunches his face up in confusion. Admittedly, this isn't the way he thought this conversation would end up going, and he's more than a little lost. 

Has be been bothering Kacchan with his touchiness? 
Is that why he's been in such a foul mood today? 
But that doesn't make sense? Up until today, Kacchan has been just as clingy as Izuku has been, especially since they confessed. 
Is Kacchan growing bored of him? No, that doesn't make sense either...
What does he mean by 'keeping him busy'?

Despite all their efforts to communicate better, sometimes it still feels like they speak completely different languages. 

 

"Kacchan."

 

"Fucking what." 

Kacchan doesn't look down at him again, the muscles in is jaw tensing, the tendons standing out stark in his neck. Izuku tries to guide his chin down to look at him, but Kacchan stubbornly resists. Izuku's frown deepens, watching the troubled expression growing ever darker on his lover's face. He's tempted to use his strength to force eye contact, but that feels unfair... So he waits as patiently as he can until it looks like Kacchan might actually start crying.
 
That's when he tries again. 

 

"Look at me, please?" 

 

It takes awhile, but eventually Kacchan flicks his eyes down to his, and whatever he sees on Izuku's face must take the wind out of his sails, because his whole body relaxes almost at once, giving up on the anger and bluster he'd been attempting to wall himself off with. 

 

"Can you tell me what you meant by that? Keeping you busy? I don't get it, but I do want to understand." He whispers, tilting his head to the side in confusion. 

 

"Just... I want you to touch me because you fucking want to, because you love me, and you want to, not cause you're hiding shit, or guilty or scared I'm gonna go off the rails or whatever. I fuckin' like it, obviously, but not if you don't actually mean it. Quit looking at me like some goddamn war widow, or like I'm some kind of animal you need to-" He's getting more and more agitated as he speaks, but instead of yelling or getting angry, or even speaking harshly, Kacchan's voice only grows more desperate, almost... pleading. 

Every word serves to break Izuku's heart a little more, and every word is just so completely false he doesn't even know what to dispute first?

Stupid Izuku. 
This is all his fault.

Being touched and held instead of actually talking things through might satisfy him in the moment, but Izuku definitely regrets that coping mechanism now. 

He never should have lied to Kacchan earlier just to avoid a conversation he wasn't ready for! 

All day, instead of asking what was wrong, what had Kacchan so upset, Izuku tried to soothe him with touches, instead. Tried to distract him with sparring and his body and their date... and all it did was make everything worse. Even yesterday, when Izuku was panicking and so very sad at the idea of coming home without Kacchan in tow, he'd defaulted to sex as a way to manufacture the kind of closeness he wanted.  

Of course Kacchan doesn't understand what's been going through Izuku's head, it's not like he's been very forthcoming.
He hates that he's hurt Kacchan's feelings, especially to the point that he could possibly doubt Izuku's affections were actually genuine! 

No more running away, he's determined to fix this.  

It's clear this misunderstanding is Izuku's fault this time, and while he doesn't know what the right words to say are, he knows he needs to make sure that Kacchan is in the right frame of mind to actually hear him this time. So, despite the awkward angle, Izuku reaches up to grip onto Kacchan's shoulders, which are now shaking with the force of his breathing. 

 

"Oh, no, no it's not like that, Kacchan!" He fights the arms draped haphazardly over his back, and moves to make sure Kacchan has a good view of his face, so he can see the sincerity in his eyes. 

It proves harder than anticipated, because Kacchan just huffs a breath and rolls his eyes. He looks out the window again, but before he can disengage completely, Izuku turns his face back down to his insistently.      

 

"I'm sorry, Kacchan, I didn't... I p-promise, everything I did today, I did because I wanted to. I just got a little greedy, I guess." The words come out shaky and small, practically a whisper. "I'm just terrified that I'm going to wake up and this will all just be a dream. That I'll open my eyes and have really lost you for good. I really wasn't trying to take advantage of you or anything." 

 

There's a hurt-sounding little rattle in Kacchan's chest, one he's sure the man himself can't hear, and it plucks at his heartstrings to hear it.
He's still not understanding how they could be on such different pages, and he does his best to parse through his own words for whatever hidden meanings Kacchan is hearing that he's not.

 

"What, so instead of fucking me to keep me quiet, you're being clingy because you're convinced I'm actually dead? That's somehow even worse, Deku. I'm NOT dead. I'm here, right now, with you. Why aren't you happy about that?" He asks seriously. 

Izuku blinks rapidly at the question, taken off guard again. 

Of course he's happy Kacchan is alive! Of course he's glad to be here in his arms, it's the only place he wants to be, it's everything else that's the damn problem. He doesn't want to think about this stuff. Izuku doesn't want to admit that he's tired, that he's beaten down from what the press are saying, from the horrors he's seen, from the people he's lost...

Shit, he should've come to Kacchan sooner, should've asked instead of assuming, should've...

 

"I am happy, Kacchan, I swear. Being with you, being your partner, it's everything I've ever wanted... I'm just scared it's all going to go away somehow! I feel- I don't know how to explain it! There's this- it... feels like something is about to go wrong." Izuku whispers haltingly, trying to force the words through this awful weight in his throat that's stopping the words from getting through.  

He really thought he'd gotten better at this stuff. At being honest, at not running away... and sure, he might not be disappearing into the night anymore, but here he is, somehow just as avoidant and evasive as ever, apparently.

 

"That's dumb. Stop thinking so damn much, nerd. 'M not going anywhere, and neither are you, if I have anything to say about it, which I fucking DO. We're a team, remember? I'm here, you're here. That's all that fucking matters." 

Izuku blinks up at Kacchan, the seriousness on his features. He looks so strong, so confident, like just saying the words is a promise alone. 

Of course, Kacchan is right. 
If he says things will work out alright, then Izuku will believe him. 
He'll trust that Kacchan knows which way to go, or that he'll figure it out if he doesn't. 

Kacchan will lead him through the woods when Izuku can't see the forest for the trees, just the way he always has. 

 

"Mm. O-Okay. You're r-right, Kacchan. Still, I'm sorry I made you f-feel like that though." He cries various apologies into Kacchan's neck and shoulder, doing his best not to let the relieved tears completely soak through the pillow beneath them. "I really didn't mean to hurt Kacchan's feelings. And I'm sorry." 

 

"Piss off, I don't HAVE feelings, asshole." 

 

"Yes you do." Izuku argues with a tiny watery smile, letting his thumb brush across Kacchan's bottom lip with as much gentleness as he can. "You have a lot of feelings, Kacchan. Kiri would say they are very manly."

 

Izuku hasn't been trusting Kacchan near enough, lately. 
Somehow, he forgot that Kacchan is just as human and imperfect as he is infallible. 
He can be strong for Kacchan, to be a safe harbor for him to be vulnerable just like Kacchan is for Izuku. 

 

"Shut up, you and Shitty Hair are both idiots." He grumbles, shoving Izuku's head back down to lay on his chest with one hand. "It's late. Go the fuck to sleep, nerd."  

 

"Okay, if that's what Kacchan wants." The smile doesn't leave his face, even if he has it hidden in Kacchan's shoulder now. It only gets wider when he's hugged tightly, and gentle kisses are pressed into his crown. "Love you, Kacchan."

 

Kacchan doesn't say it back, but he does ruffle Izuku's hair in response. His smooth warm hand settling against that patch of freezing cold on the nape of his neck, so different from the metal that he can almost still feel gripping at him. 

That reminds him.

He needs to tell Kacchan what happened with the suit. 
There's no room for error or miscommunication anymore, and this is too important to keep to himself. 

Kacchan can't read his mind, even if it feels like he can sometimes. 
He can't make things better if he doesn't even know what's wrong in the first place. 

But as he tries to find the words to tell him what happened, the slow, errant caresses and the rhythmic bobbing of their breathing slowly lull him into aa dreamless sleep instead. 

 

---

 

The next morning starts more true to form, with the normal amount of rough handling and an irritated gruff voice needling him awake.

"Oi. I am not going to be late to this stupid meeting because you're being a lazy little shit." Kacchan's voice grumbles from somewhere above him, peeling back the warm blanket and exposing him to the chilly air of the apartment. 

Izuku groans, trying to burrow himself back into that comfortable safety that he'd found in sleep, smacking blindly at the hands that stubbornly try to drag him from the bed. 

 

"Five... more minutes." He mumbles into the pillow, the one that smells of Kacchan and his own woodsy scent clinging to the fabric.

 

He remembers waking up and having to drag himself from the soft sheets months ago, lamenting that he'd never get the chance again, and yet here he is. A sleepy sort of vindication blankets him and Izuku is just about to drift off again when Kacchan's voice pipes back up. 

 

"Should've known that sweet and obedient act yesterday was a limited time offer. But if you really don't want to go see the Brat, then I guess I'll just go by myself and let her know-"

 

At the reminder that he'll be seeing Eri today, and the looming threat of Kacchan potentially hurting her feelings, Izuku whines his displeasure. 

 

"Kacchan, noooo!" 

 

"Kacchan, yes." A petulant voice mutters. 

 

Mean old grumpy Kacchan, being so unfair, threatening to weaponize a child against him, doesn't he know that he's still sleepy?

 

"If you quit bitching and get ready in the next five minutes, I'll swing by that fuckass bakery you're obsessed with because I'm THAT fucking nice." Kacchan offers, his footsteps padding away, towards the closet. There's a few clatters and rustling noises, probably the blond getting dressed for the day, if Izuku were to hazard a guess. 

 

"... Can we get some for everyone?" Izuku asks innocently, grimacing at the sudden streams of morning light that assault his eyeballs when he finally unburies himself from the covers. 

 

"I don't give a fuck, but you're carrying whatever we get on the back of the bike so don't go overboard. I am not making a return trip if you drop anything." Kacchan grumbles, slipping a sweater over blond spikes as he speaks, just in time for Izuku to cross the room and take advantage of his temporary blindness. 

Now that they've sort of settled the disagreement from yesterday, and fallen into a more normal cadence, Izuku takes a second to grin up at Kacchan when he's free from the neckline, before absolutely covering his face in chaste, noisy kisses. 

 

"I'll be careful. We gotta hurry if we're gonna make it in time, though!"

Without delay, he zips off to the bathroom to get ready for the day, excited to see his friends and see how Eri is doing now that she's had a few days to get used to being free. He's glad that Kacchan had the idea to get breakfast, since he did oversleep a bit by accident. 

Izuku can't wait to see the look on Eri's face when she bites into a pastry for the first time!

 

---

 

Unfortunately, this bakery is pretty popular, especially on weekday mornings, so it takes longer than he'd hoped to secure the goods.  

Surprisingly, Kacchan is strangely quiet about the busy morning. 

Usually he'd grumble about the wait and the amount of people crowding him, or maybe make up nicknames for the other patrons to pass the time with Izuku, a sort of people watching habit they've developed during patrols. This morning, though, Kacchan remains completely silent, a sentinel glaring straight forward, not even glancing at the various patrons that brush past him. 

But still, Kacchan holds his hand and tells Izuku to get whatever he wants. He remains by Izuku's side the whole time instead of lingering outside by the bike. He even rolls his eyes at Izuku when he offers to wait for their turn by himself if Kacchan would rather stay in the fresh air, and makes no move to leave.

As the line slowly moves forward and they get a little closer to the front, Izuku gets a less obscured look at all the beautiful desserts and his mouth begins to water. They look so delicious that his stomach rumbles, anticipating the taste.

The candy apple cupcakes in particular look amazing! They catch his eye almost immediately, since the candy topping is a perfect gorgeous red, one that reminds him of both Eri and Kacchan's eyes. If Izuku remembers correctly, these are usually only carried close to school festival season, so Izuku is glad they happened to stop by when they did. They manage to snag the last two, much to the disappointment of the people behind them. 

Truth be told, if Eri wasn't a factor, he might've caved and let the others snag the desserts, but he doubts Kacchan would have allowed him to do so either way. 

Izuku does feel a little bit bad about being late to the meeting, but he's sure when the others get a good look at what they've brought, all will be forgiven. 

He really hopes Eri in particular likes them. After everything she's had to experience... Well, she deserves all the sweet, yummy things she's been denied so far in life. While Kacchan had been teasing him earlier about ratting him out to Eri, he does feels guilty that he hadn't been up early for her. 

Izuku peeks up at Kacchan as they approach the door. He clearly didn't have the same problem, if the dark circles under his eyes are any indication. The faint shadows in the hollows there suggest that the blond must've been awake quite a while before Izuku too. Maybe that's why he seems a bit tired and a little distant this morning, but Izuku reasons that is to be expected since they did stay up pretty late talking last night. He'll have to make sure Kacchan gets lots of rest tonight to make up for it. 

 
The bell at the door chimes when they push the door open, but he recognizes some of the voices inside before they've even crossed the threshold.   

 

"Toshi! Kaminari-kun! I had no idea you were going to be here!" He grins, carefully dropping the boxes of sweets off on the closest table before hurrying over to wrap his arms around Toshi's middle, burying his face in the soft hoodie his friend wears. It's an older article of clothing, one Izuku recognizes from back in the day, and while it still smells like Toshi's familiar cologne, there's new additions to the scent: like lemon starbursts and the faint smell of coffee.

It's a strangely pleasant combination. 
Very Hitoshi. 

 

"Hi, Izuku!" Kaminari sings, joining in and snuggling close so Izuku can include him in the hug too. A faint zap of static electricity has him laughing when their skin makes contact. "Blasty, what gives? We thought you'd never show up! It's rude to be late, y'know." He teases, putting his hand over his forehead to feign a dramatic pose. 

 

"Yeah, we thought you died or something. Where have you two been? Meeting's started already, Chef." Toshi complains gently, as Izuku untangles himself from the other couple.  

 

"You're late." Comes Aizawa's bored voice from the end of the bar, sipping out of a mug with a cat on it. 

 

"Blame that fucker, he wouldn't get his lazy ass out of bed! Then he dragged his feet and insisted on bringing diabetes to you ungrateful shits. He's the one that made us late." Kacchan gripes, pointing at Izuku over his shoulder grouchily.

 

Izuku grins back, unbothered by the call out.

It's true after all. 

 

"Ooh!" Ochako all but sprints towards the boxes, no doubt recognizing the logo from across the room. She squeals and bounces up and down on her toes, her excitement making him even happier that they managed to get enough for everyone. "Izuku, you're the love of my life." 

Kacchan growls at her like a dog, but she doesn't seem to mind, more focused on the sweets than anything else. 

 

"Actually!" Izuku cuts in, grinning and leaning in to fake-whisper loud enough for the others to hear, "Everyone should thank Kacchan. Supplying treats was all his idea, after all. Isn't he the sweetest?" 

He wants to make sure everyone appreciates Kacchan's efforts, especially since he's a little cranky and tired. He hates being late... and definitely hates waiting in line... and he insisted on paying for everything, too. Izuku knows from experience this was definitely not a cheap breakfast in the slightest, and feels a bit guilty for asking him to get enough for everyone. As well off as Kacchan might be, this might've been a bit too much after their shopping trip to the market yesterday. 

Hmm, Izuku will have to make sure to get Kacchan something extra special for his birthday next month, as a thank you. 

 

"Oh, really? Alright then. Thank you too, Mr. Grumpy-pants." Ochako giggles, still not looking up from the spread. 

 

She sticks her tongue out in concentration as she removes a slice of strawberry shortcake from the box gently before taking a massive bite out of it. Izuku wonders if they can borrow a few forks and plates from the kitchen if he promises to help with the dishes later...? 

 

"What a thoughtful gesture, Bakugou." Aizawa smiles faintly from his bar stool. 

Present Mic nods in agreement, lounging over the bar top beside him. The other staff members assembled here for the meeting also say thank you, some more teasingly than others. Kaminari marvels at the cute little faces on the cookies, and snags one for both him and Toshi... though Izuku has a feeling Kaminari will end up being the one to eat both. Hagakure snags a morning bun and plops herself into one of the nearby booths, speaking with her mouth full to Kouda, who quietly turns down her offer of getting him one too. Atsuhiro also politely declines, but he smiles at Izuku congenially when he offers.  
  

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, fuck you all." Kacchan grunts, already moving back towards the kitchen. 

 

 

"Ah, ah, ah, little listener. Let's get this team meeting done first before you disappear into the back!" Mic suggests as Kacchan passes by him. 

 

Izuku narrows his eyes a bit when Kacchan just flips him off and keeps walking, and Aizawa's eyes do the same. 
For as nice as Kacchan has been today, that was a little... cold?

 

"Um... sorry about... that, I guess. Anyways, is everyone here already?" Izuku asks politely after a few seconds of slightly awkward quiet.

 

 

"Well, mostly." Ochako giggles a bit around her mouthful, a smear of whip cream across her chin. 

 

 

"As far as the meeting goes, Aoyama-kun is the last one we were waiting for." Mic informs him, just in time for the bell to chime again.

 

He turns, expecting to see the twinkling blond, but surprisingly, Mina enters, instead, with an excited smile and a very complicated looking frozen coffee in her hand. 

 

"Hi, Mido-babe!" She calls when she sees him, already shedding her mint puffer coat and juggling the drink in her hands. Kaminari, whether because he's worried she'll drop it or just to steal a sip, hurries over to be her extra hands. 

 

"Oh! Hey, Mina!" He greets her in surprise, as she gives him a quick hug. But before he can ask why she's here, a sweet little voice pipes up from behind him.

 

"Deku!" Eri and Mirio are coming in from the back room, and it looks like Mirio has been relegated to doll-carrying duty, as several are tucked into his pockets and free arm. When Izuku finally turns around and notices her standing there, she hurries over to stand on her tip toes in front of Izuku bashfully. 

He looks back towards Kacchan's friends apologetically, but Kaminari just shoots him a thumbs-up, already pulling Mina into a conversation with some of the other employees easily. 

Looks like Izuku is off the hook for now.  

 

"Hey there, Eri-chan! Nice to see you again. You too, senpai!" 

 

"Midoriya! Nice to see you, man, glad you could make it!" Mirio smiles back with a big grin, despite the bandages still wrapping around his left shoulder.

 

"Kacchan and I got some special cupcakes for you guys to try!" Izuku says excitedly, dragging the small box closer before remembering he should probably check in with her guardians first before offering a child a ton of sugar. "B-but only if it's okay with your, uh...?" 

 

Eri and Izuku turn pleading eyes up at the owners of the bar almost simultaneously. Mic snickers a bit, but smiles warmly regardless. Aizawa just rolls his eyes in their direction before Eri's wobbly almost-smile seems to melt through whatever resistance the teacher had been building. 

 

"... Lucky for you, Midoriya, we already had breakfast earlier this morning, so it's fine. Maybe start with just half for now though, okay, Eri? Wouldn't want to get a stomachache." Aizawa's normally bored, stern voice pivots back to gentle when he speaks to Eri.

 

Izuku smiles at the teacher apologetically, but now that he has permission, he opens the package to show her what they brought for her.  

 

"Wow, those look awesome! Is that apple I smell?" Mirio gushes, crouching down so he's just approximately Eri's height, peering over the lip of the box with her.   

 

"Uh-huh! They're candy apple cupcakes, and they're a limited time only flavor. They kind of reminded me of your eyes, don't you think?" Izuku grins as he hands her one, watching with anticipation when Eri tilts her head to regard the dessert seriously. 

 

"They're red like me!" She stares in wonder at the cupcake for a second, before taking a tiny lick at the frosting. Her big eyes get even wider as she marvels at the taste. "That's the yummiest thing I've ever tasted!" 

 

Ochako, Mic, and Izuku all gush a little over Eri's super cute reaction. He swears he can even hear Mina and the others cooing from across the room, but he's too preoccupied with Eri to pay much attention. 

 

"Aw, I'm so glad you like it! Be sure to say hello to Kacchan when you see him, okay? We couldn't have gotten them without him." Izuku informs her gently, and she nods before taking a bigger bite out of the confection. 
 

"Ooh, that looks super yummy!" Mina calls, perhaps a bit too loudly, running over now that she's officially done chatting with Kaminari and the others. 

 

"... Um... yeah, I-It is! It's um. Very sweet." Eri speaks very quietly and stutters quite a bit at the sudden attention, leaning away from Mina's big grin ever so slightly and gently depositing her half of a cupcake back in the box. 

 

It makes sense that Eri would be shy around new people for awhile, Izuku thinks. He's grateful when Mirio suggests that the two of them play behind the bar for a little while so they can still hear everybody but they can also get the meeting started. Luckily, Eri accepts immediately and Mina doesn't take the dismissal to heart. 

In fact, if anything, she seems far more excited about getting the opportunity to interrogate Izuku.   

 

"Soooo, Blasty didn't tell me you were working here now too, Mido! What a coincidence!" Mina grins, sliding up next to him, and twirling the straw of her drink.

 

"Um, yeah! Sorry, I know we haven't really been all that social lately, that's my bad." He flushes at the sudden interest in her eyes. 

 

"Oh? Why's that?" She asks, her smile only widening when he hesitates to answer. 

 

It's not like he can tell her about the raid, and he certainly doesn't want to bring up the stress around what happened at their school or anything either. 

Oh c'mon, Izuku, think! Quick, what's another excuse...?

 

"They haven't really had the time to hang out much, right, Deku? Moving in and everything takes up a lot of time, after all." Ochako chimes in from beside him with a wink, a big, bright smile on her face.

However, instead of satisfying her need for gossip, this news seems to absolutely shock Mina to her core, because she's stunned silent for a few seconds. 
It doesn't last long though. 

 

"MOVING IN?! You've gotta spill everything, immediately, Midoriya, c'mon! Kami mentioned you two were finally official, but clearly you're more than just dating! Oh my gosh, I had no idea you were already moved in together?! I need details! Blasty never tells us anything! He doesn't even lets us in to his apartment, you know, I've only ever seen it once when he first moved in! This is HUGE! Oh, Eiji is going to freak!" Mina gushes excitedly, grabbing his hands and dancing in place.
  

Uh oh. 

He hopes Kacchan is fine with her finding out, since they never really talked about it before. Kacchan has always been a pretty private person... 

 

"Not to interrupt or anything... But if we want to get this show on the road, someone should probably go fetch the cook." Mic may say the words innocently enough, the smirk he sends Izuku's way, however, is anything but.

 

The man's an angel giving Izuku an out like that.

 

 

"Y-Yes, sir! Um, sorry Mina, I'll uh, catch you later?" He stutters out a laugh, removing his wrists from Mina's grip and crossing the room to peek into the kitchen. 

 He's already halfway through the process of putting his apron on when Izuku finally pops his head in. Kacchan is watching the clock seriously, a frown on his features pulling everything taut.

 

"C'mon, Chef Kacchan. You heard Mic. We've got plenty of time till opening, but for now, we still need you in here, handsome." 

The cute pink flush on Kacchan's cheeks and ears is enough to make him giggle, and apparently Sato agrees if the chuckle he tries to cover with a cough is any indication. Hand in hand, Izuku all but drags Kacchan back to the main room, but when he sees his friend, he stops dead in his tracks. The look on his face is hardly enthused.

 

"Oi, what the hell? We aren't open to the public for three more hours, Raccoon Eyes!" Kacchan snaps, glaring at Mina with suspicion. 

 

"Hello to you too, Blasty." She bats her eyelashes at him innocently, but the manic grin she sports promises a lengthy interrogation in their future. "Lucky for me, I'm just dropping someone off."

 

"Fucking who?" 

 

Again, before the pink-haired girl can explain, Eri finds her courage to speak up.

 

"G-good morning, Kacchan." Eri calls timidly from her hiding spot. Izuku smiles at her encouragingly and gives her a thumbs up for her bravery. 

 

"... Sup, squirt." Kacchan cranes his neck to see her past the bar top, and his tone now is much softer than he had just used with Mina. 

 

Eri looks confused, mouthing the word and looking at Izuku for an explanation. 

 

"Kacchan gives everyone weird nicknames, don't feel bad Eri-chan, it's nothing bad. Maybe don't repeat anything Kacchan says though, he says bad words a lot." He explains coolly, coming to stand next to Kacchan and sliding an arm around his waist. He tries not to notice Mina eying the action with unveiled glee.

 

Eri nods in acknowledgement, seeming to take the instruction extremely seriously, as if she was worried she might forget it. His heart swells with fondness, and from the looks on Mic and Aizawa's faces, they feel it too. 

 

"Hey, man! Don't mind me, I'll just be down here keeping Eri-chan company till you guys finish your meeting!" The smile on his face is wide, and he gives a thumbs up and a wink. 

 

Kacchan doesn't acknowledge Mirio despite the greeting, instead focusing back on Mina with an odd look.

 

"You the one who brought these dorks here?" He questions, confusion evident in his tone.

Hearing it reminds Izuku he's been wondering about the same thing. 

As far as he has heard, Mina is just one of Aizawa's many ex-students, and he hasn't seen her around the League, apart from the time they'd met here on Valentine's Day. Izuku had been so distracted by her reaction to them living together that he hadn't thought to even ask!

 

"Nah! Wish I could've driven around with this little cutie, but I offered to give Kami and Shinsou a ride, since Sensei's car couldn't fit everybody! Eiji and I are supposed to double date with Todoroki and Hanta a little bit later, so it was on my way." 

That makes a lot of sense, actually, and Izuku looks over to Toshi and Kaminari when she mentions them. They're snuggled up in a booth towards the back, with Kaminari playing on a handheld while Hitoshi picks at the cookie Kaminari had brought him earlier. He smirks when he catches Izuku's eyes and ruffles Kaminari's hair playfully. 

Mina continues to chat with Eri, who seems to have overcome her shyness in the pursuit of asking about the pink-haired girl's colorful makeup. 

Apparently tired of the mingling, Aizawa clears his throat and the whole room immediately goes quiet. Kacchan tugs him into a chair, while he waves goodbye to Eri for now. She returns the wave shyly before returning to her game with Mirio, leaving Mina to pout at being left out and begin to whisper loudly to her about names for her dolls.
 
Aizawa glares in her direction but continues anyway.

 

"Now that everyone has finally arrived, we can cover the necessary updates and get back to work." 

Izuku almost pipes up to remind them that Aoyama-kun hasn't arrived yet, but before he can, Aizawa makes a show of swiveling around on his stool and pushing off the bar. Mic quickly presses a black cane into his fingers, before he can lose his balance. Sato moves to intercept, in case Aizawa falls over, but gets an unimpressed stare from the teacher instead.  

Based on the sheer volume of the exclamations, Aizawa must not have mentioned his injury to the others until now. 
He reaches under the table to thread he and Kacchan's fingers together. 

 

"I expect you all to be respectful of my privacy. I was in a car accident. As you can see, I sustained some injuries. Otherwise I am fine. This topic is not up for discussion, no matter how sincere your well wishes. We have a job to do here, so do not slack off or lose focus. Speaking of: Bakugou." 

Kacchan stiffens next to him at the quick call-out, but doesn't answer. Izuku nudges him with his elbow to prompt him into being more respectful, but only gets a jab from Kacchan in return immediately. 

"The truck was late due to a merchant issue. We had to delay inventory as a result, meaning you'll be staying late tonight to finish it." 

 

Dread fills Izuku's chest, and his eyes widen. He can feel Kacchan bristling beside him, the palm in his hand getting considerably hotter.  
It's like watching a car accident in slow motion. 

There's absolutely nothing that will piss Kacchan off faster than being told what to do like that. 

 

"Hah?! Fuck that, I'll just fucking do it now, then." Kacchan argues immediately. He lets go of Izuku's hand, already moving to stand and make his way to the back before Aizawa speaks again.

 

"I wasn't asking. We have other things to get through before that and I don't want you tearing through the freezers and backstock while customers are still here. Despite being a weeknight, there's an event scheduled that takes precedence." Aizawa's voice is neutral, even, but there's an edge to it that Izuku doesn't like. 

 

"An event? But there's nothing on the schedule?" Hagakure pipes up, pointing to the calendar tacked up behind the bar. 

 

Aizawa doesn't seem surprised at the information, but he levels the waitress with a glower that has her sinking back into her chair.  

 

"Thank you, Hagakure. This reservation came in late, but has already paid in full. They've rented the front of house from 8pm to midnight for some kind of club meeting, which means our regular dinner service is opening up at 4pm to make up for the lost revenue." He sighs, sitting back down on his stool, apparently already expecting an explosive reaction to the news and deciding to be comfortable while he listens to it.

 

"What the fuck?! So not only am I running a full service by my fucking self for whatever geriatric bastard is hungry at four-o'-fuckin'-clock in the afternoon, but you're keeping my ass here till tomorrow?! And that's before I can even start the goddamn inventory, that'll take hours already? Fuck that! Get another loser to cook, I'm not working an eighteen hour shift, you can kiss my fucking ass, Sensei!" Kacchan bellows, standing up harshly and knocking the chair backwards with the force of it. 

Izuku wraps a gentle hand around Kacchan's bicep, a calming touch, and thankfully Kacchan doesn't immediately yank his arm away.   

"Erm, sorry to be a bother but Kacchan is my ride home, sir, and by the time he finishes, it'll probably be morning already. Especially if he has to prep, cook, clean, and do inventory all on his own?" He points out carefully. 

Based on his experience with Aizawa during his shifts here over the last few weeks and the way Kacchan has spoken of him before, this is certainly an abnormal level of confrontation. 

Sure, the old assassin and Kacchan will snipe at one another and bicker, but typically, Aizawa often leaves most things up to Kacchan's discretion, these days. Especially since Kacchan runs the kitchen so militantly. Jin was a fantastic cook, but as far as procedure goes, the handover to Kacchan has largely been completely uncontested until right now. 

This cold, authoritative instruction usually only comes when something more serious is going on. 

Does Aizawa need Kacchan here for something in particular? 
Has something happened that he can't talk about in front of the others? 
Why would he be so intent on Kacchan adhering to a last minute schedule change, one that the teacher admits was a late-addition to the schedule?

Something's up, and Izuku wants to know what. 

"He won't be alone, Aoyama will be staying late to assist, and I'm sure you can ride with one of the others or take the train home. You can't be attached at the hip twenty-four seven. You're adults, you should act like it." Aizawa folds his arms over his chest, his voice almost bored.

Izuku blinks at the harsh words, finding himself more confused than offended, really. 

Aizawa knows plenty about their relationship, knows more than most actually. He knows the things they've seen and gone through... and just a few days ago they were all bonding through trauma together, and now they're "too attached"? 

This just doesn't make sense.
This fight feels... performative, almost, like Aizawa is intentionally upsetting Kacchan for some reason.

And based on the huffing and puffing beside him, it's working. 

 

"Oh yeah, cause Frenchie's gonna be a big fuckin' help! Y'know what, that's not even the damn point and you know it! I'm not staying in this shithole all night, and you can kiss my ass and fire me if you try and force me."

 

Izuku nods in support, having already heard how Aoyama-kun tends to have mishaps when it comes to inventory. While he could do without the vulgar language, he agrees that this doesn't sound fair to Kacchan at all. 

"I'd like to see your one-legged ass try to cover my shift behind the grill!" Kacchan snaps, much to the horror of everyone else in the room. 

Izuku sucks in a breath that almost sounds like a wheeze, but it's echoed by nearly everyone else. He flicks his eyes back to the bar, knowing Eri and Mirio are listening, and wishing Kacchan would pull his punches just a little bit. As it is, Mic sucking in a high pitched whistling breath and Mina's anxious tapping on the bar are the loudest noises in the room, but all the collective racing heartbeats and uneven breaths are about to give him a headache.

 

"Kacchan! That's way too far! You can't just say stuff like that to your boss!" He whips his head around to look at Aizawa, already opening his mouth to demand an explanation as to why he's trying to antagonize his chef, but the man interjects before he can.

 

"Then get out."

Izuku's eyes bug out of his skull. 

What the hell is going on?
Did he walk into the Twilight Zone?
Is he being pranked?

A cursory glance around the room shows many shocked, incredulous faces, so if it is, he isn't the only one caught off-guard. 

Surprising absolutely nobody, Kacchan squares his shoulders and meets the bluff head on. 

 

"Gladly."

He stands, scraping the legs of the chair back, the squealing against the floor making Izuku's teeth ache in his skull. Ochako goes to say something, but no sound comes out. She looks just as bewildered and unsure as Izuku feels right about now. 

They have a flustered conversation with just their eyes, but neither know what's going on or what the purpose behind all this is. 

"C'mon, Deku." Kacchan calls, before walking slowly, casually, towards the front door.

Izuku is admittedly torn. He watches Aizawa carefully for a tell, an indication that this is an ill-timed joke or something, but the man only glares unblinkingly at them from his stool. He makes no move to intercede, and his expression does not waver, remaining the perfect picture of a disappointed parent. Kacchan's expression is just as steady and determined, but there's something almost wild in his eyes. A forest-fire rage that hasn't even begun to burn just yet.  

He slowly rises out of his seat to join Kacchan by the door, chewing on his lip. He pushes the chair back in gently, unlike Kacchan who left his in the middle of the walkway. 

They're halfway to the door when the others start to desperately chime in. 

 

"Blasty, dude, come on!" Kaminari calls out, doing his best to keep a smile on his face, but the panic in his eyes undercuts it entirely.  

 

"Yeah, man. It's fine! Hey I'll stay late with you, if you want!" Sato begs, wringing his hands in his apron.

 

"Everyone needs to calm down." Hitoshi's voice is ice-cold and clearly wary as he flicks his eyes between Kacchan and Aizawa. He's suspicious too, which means Izuku's not crazy. He shoots Toshi a worried glance, but the faint nod he gets in return does remarkably little to reassure him.  

He grabs at Kacchan's clammy fist, worming his fingers in and lightly tugging the blond into slowing down a bit. 

 

"Kacchan, are you sure-"

 

He gets no response beyond the tightening of Kacchan's hand around his, and the steady increasing heat between their palms. If Kacchan doesn't calm down soon, he'll ignite his sweat with Izuku's hand trapped in his. 

Not that Izuku would really mind a few burns, but without Kacchan's speedy healing, it might cause more problems than it solves. 
The bell above the door chimes as it's shoved it open, the blond in the process of taking a half step out.

 

"Bakugou." Aizawa's voice carries, loud in the awkward hush of the room. 

 

Izuku watches Kacchan swallow his smirk just before he glares back over his shoulder at Aizawa.

 

"What." 

Terse. Short. Disrespectful. 

Izuku shuts his eyes, bracing for emotional impact.

 

"Dinner service, with a prix fixe menu for the private event. You can leave once you finish intake on the inventory." Aizawa offers sternly.

 

He can feel Kacchan's shallow chuckle, more a scoff than anything.

 

"I start now and leave at midnight. I don't give a fuck about a prix fixe menu, I can keep up with whatever the fuckers order off the regular one." Kacchan counters hotly.

 

A short cough breaks through the awkwardness. Atsuhiro raises a gloved hand before announcing:

 

"Yuuga is already scheduled to assist, and I volunteer my aid as well. Bakugou should be well on his way by that time with two additional sets of hands at his disposal, after all."  

 

Kacchan doesn't back down, and neither does Aizawa. It's as if Atsuhiro never spoke, and the showdown continues. They hold eye contact, hardly even a blink to interrupt their tense stand-off. Izuku hears Eri's little sniffles and wishes they could at least have this conversation with the door closed. 
 

Eventually, Aizawa breaks the silence.

 

"Fine, but you're going to be doing all the ordering from now on, I don't want a repeat of this."

 

To anyone else, that would sound like a punishment, but Izuku knows better. Kacchan would love to handle his own ordering, get exactly the right brands the blond prefers, maybe go to the fish market with someone else to foot the bill for the nicer ingredients. He frowns again.

This whole conversation feels... off.

 

"Fine by me, at least if I'm doing it, I know it'll be done fuckin' right for once." Kacchan says with a deliberate shrug, stepping back into the bar and letting the door finally close behind him. 

 

"Damn, dude." Kaminari says aloud, looking owlishly at Kacchan from his spot next to Toshi. "That was dramatic as hell."

 

Izuku has to agree with that assessment.

 

"U-um... I guess that's my cue. See you guys another time!" Mina bolts as soon as the immediate drama concludes. She probably would've left earlier if it weren't for the potential for gossip from Izuku. She does manage to snag a cream puff off the center table as she goes to leave, thankfully. 

Hitoshi watches Kacchan curiously, occasionally lazily glancing Aizawa's way, as if he too is trying to put together what just happened and why. 

Izuku chews his cheek thoughtfully, unsure what, if anything, he's supposed to say in this situation. He's been coming here for much longer than Kacchan, sure, but he never would've considered working here without Kacchan. He respects Aizawa, and the events of the raid and Eri behind the bar all muddy where his responsibilities lie. 

Does he chastise Kacchan for standing up for himself? That doesn't seem right, and Izuku agrees that Aizawa was being unfair, though he wished Kacchan could've handled it a bit better, been a little nicer. It isn't everyone else's fault, after all. But mostly, Izuku finds himself looking at Aizawa in abject confusion. At least until Kacchan yanks his seat back upright and plops down in it heavily. He pulls Izuku's chair out with his ankle, and Izuku frowns at him for it, unappreciative of the cocky look on his face. 
 
He sits down carefully and watches the side of Kacchan's face. It's an expression he hasn't seen in quite some time. His chin is tilted up, making his Adam's apple more prominent. There's a mean upturn of his lip that's more snarl than smirk. Even seated, he manages to look down his nose at the others still stiff in their seats. Obviously Kacchan feels like he's won some kind of battle against Aizawa, asserted himself, something. He looks prideful, almost like he's gloating, but he definitely isn't happy, no- he's still obviously very angry. This is an arrogant sort of pride, a feigned casualness that reminds Izuku of their middle school days. 

The rest of the meeting is less dramatic, mostly housekeeping and reminders about etiquette.

Hagakure is apparently coming in late too often, Sato will be focusing on baking for a fundraiser coming up soon, and conveniently, nobody even thinks of asking Kacchan a single question the entire time.

After the meeting is officially over with, Ochako, Mirio, Mic, Aizawa, and Eri end up heading back into the store room to allow the others to prepare for their shift. Izuku tries his best not to listen in on their conversations, but luckily there isn't too much chatter for him to avoid. Ochako dresses the bandages on Aizawa's leg and Mirio's shoulder and asks routine follow up questions about their injuries. Mirio's shoulder is in fact infected, which Ochako tuts at. Izuku is likely to get scolded for that later, but when Eri mentions the cupcakes were good, it makes him smile despite himself. Mic sounds miffed, probably annoyed with Kacchan, not that Izuku really blames him, but Aizawa doesn't speak almost at all, probably knowing that Izuku can still hear them.

Not that he's listening in intentionally, of course.  

As for Kacchan, he didn't even blink before going straight into the kitchen without another word to anyone... 

Including Izuku.

It's awkward in the main room after the others leave, most of the staff being careful and vague with their words and reactions to the meeting. Most of the prep-work for their shift is already done, or will be soon, so there's a lot of standing around and avoiding eye contact while everyone tries and fails to look busy.

 

"What crawled up his ass and died?" Hitoshi bites out when the others have retreated safely to the backroom. 

 

"Yeah... like he's normally pissy but that was something else, I think?" Kaminari adds thoughtfully, looking off in the direction of the kitchen.

Leave it to Hitoshi and Kaminari to give voice to what everyone in the room is thinking. 
They really do make a good couple, Izuku thinks.

 

"I... don't know. He said he was tired. We were up kind of late last night, I guess, but he was mostly fine this morning? A little quiet, but nothing like... this." Izuku admits softly, fidgeting as he too looks towards the kitchen pensively. 

Should he go in there and check on him?
Should he give him time to cool off?
Should he scold Kacchan for being cruel about Aizawa's injury, even if he had a right to be upset?
Should he stay late to work on the inventory so they can be done even faster, and Kacchan can get some sleep?

"That wasn't your usual 'woke up on the wrong side of the bed' tired. Last time I saw him throw a tantrum that bad, he'd stayed up all night tutoring Hanta and I in Calc." The blond points out easily, chewing noisily on the straw of Mina's drink that she'd left behind in her haste to escape.

Hitoshi purses his lips, picking apart a now mutilated cookie with his long fingers. 

"... Guess Kacchan doesn't play too well with others when he misses his beauty sleep." He drawls, but there's a strange somber tone in his voice. 

"Don't call him that, Toshi."

"You'd know all about that, cranky." 

Kaminari and Izuku speak almost simultaneously, and there's brief mutual eye contact before they start laughing. 

 

"Oh no. I'm outnumbered. Quick. Someone save me from this torment." Hitoshi deadpans, though he smirks so it's obvious he's playing with them. It sends Kaminari tittering into full belly laughs.

That little bit of levity seems to break up the uncomfortable atmosphere, and slowly the front of house staff fall into their usual patterns of gossip and laughter, though noticeably nobody makes a move towards the kitchen door unless absolutely necessary.

Izuku does his best to keep the energy up, smiling and engaging with the others, but more often than not finds himself staring off into space and tuning into the kitchen. He winces at the loud banging of pots and pans, and the sounds of Kacchan's mood getting steadily worse throughout their shift. 

Ochako slips from the back after some time, with Eri and Mirio hot on her heels. Their goodbyes are quick, due to the customers milling around, but the sheer strength of the hug Ochako gives him and the way she tugs at his apron implies she has more to say to him.

 

"Hey, Izuku. You doing okay?" The concern in her gentle voice and big brown eyes surprise him a little. 

 

"Uh- y-yeah! Of course. I'm fine. How are the others?" 

 

Her face looks doubtful, her lips pursing as she scans his face for signs he's lying.   

 

"They're fine. I'm more worried about /you/, dummy. That was... weird, earlier." Ochako whispers from behind her hand, trying to give them some modicum of privacy. 

 

Still, they are in the middle of the dining area, and as Hagakure passes with a tray of food, lifting it over their heads, he feels like they are too in the way. 
Maybe part of him is a little embarrassed that she's so worried for him, seeing as she just re-dressed a gunshot wound and amputation in their stock room. If she can do that, then certainly Izuku can handle a grumpy Kacchan and a longer than normal shift.
 

 

"'M fine, Chako, but I gotta get back to work." He shrugs out of her hold with a tight smile, already hearing the voice of one of the regulars outside before the bell chimes.

 

---

 

It's a couple hours later, well into the early dinner service, when Izuku finally braves a visit to the kitchen. He lingers by the doorway, watching Kacchan work. As usual, the blond is completely in his element, moving with confidence, but his movements are harsher, louder, and more exaggerated than usual. Like he has something to prove. 

 

"What was that about, earlier?" Izuku asks carefully, fidgeting with the dishes on his tray to keep his hands busy.

 

"Nothin'." 

Izuku fights the urge to roll his eyes, but reminds himself to approach this situation gently.

Of course, he should've expected an answer like that from Kacchan, but that doesn't mean Izuku has to roll over and accept it. 
There's no way he's going to give up that easily. 

 

"Kacchan." 

 

Despite his best efforts to keep his tone nonconfrontational, he watches Kacchan's scowl deepen. He's breathing heavily through his nostrils as he keeps his eyes focused on the noodles in the pot on the stove.  

 

"Just fuckin' tired, Deku. Drop it. I'm not in the mood to get bitched at tonight." He doesn't look up at Izuku once, simply adjusting a dial on the stove before moving on, presumably to work on the next ticket. 

 

"I get that... But don't you think you took it a little far? I mean he is your boss-" About halfway through that sentence Izuku already regrets speaking, but the words tumble out of his mouth anyway. He knows he's messed up because Kacchan's pulse immediately kicks up, and the grind of his teeth is almost painful to hear. 

 

"I don't fucking care! Run your food instead of your mouth." Kacchan interrupts before he can clarify his words, still not looking up from his station. Steam and oil and spice linger in the air, and the sweat beading down Kacchan's jaw suggests he's getting overheated. 

Explosive sweat in a hot kitchen - Izuku considers how dangerous that particular combination is and wonders if voicing his concerns would be a help or a hinderance at this point. He's honestly surprised Aizawa hasn't mentioned it to him yet. Not that he thinks Kacchan will intentionally blow up the League but... well. 

The bar has proven flammable once, and if there was ever a night to be worried about Kacchan losing his temper, it might be tonight. 

A smarter person might just crack the back door and let some air in, or give Kacchan some space to cool off, or simply stop bothering him while he's working... but Izuku isn't that smart, apparently. The simmering anxiety curdling in his stomach seems to have unrestricted access to his mouth because without considering the consequences he's already asking: 

 

"A-are you mad at me? If this it about last night-" He begins, ready to transition into his three part apology... but Izuku doesn't get the chance.

Kacchan growls under his breath as he yanks the oven open, knocking into the rack when he reaches in. Kacchan goes rigid before cussing - loudly, even for him. Izuku can hear Atsuhiro tutting under his breath about 'uncouth behavior' as the customers in the other room quiet a little to listen in. Kacchan tosses the offending pan onto the counter, causing another loud crash of metal against metal as it clatters on the stove top. Kacchan grabs at the burn on his arm, seething .  

Izuku, having learned absolutely no lessons from their childhood, expresses immediate concern and reaches out to him to help. 

"Oh, Kacchan, are you okay?!" 

It isn't received well. 

"YES, goddamn it, I'm fucking fine!" He bellows, slamming the oven door shut with much more force than necessary. "Now do your damn job, run your damn food, and get the hell out of my kitchen, Deku!" He yells, slamming the ladle from the udon down against the workstation, uncaring of the hot splatter it causes. He still doesn't look up at Izuku, focusing instead on a pan of butter and red peppers before combining them both.

Never once does he look up through the whole tirade, not even when Izuku lifts his tray and walks out without another word. 

He can still hear Kacchan's aggressive cooking and cursing from the main room, and if he takes a second behind the bar to wipe at the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes before taking the food to the right table, then Hagakure won't tell anyone.  

It's just a bad day, and everyone has them. 
Kacchan is human just like everyone else, he's allowed to have bad days.

They just have to get through this shift, and then they can talk it all through. 
Everything will be fine. 

Izuku just has to be patient. 

 

---

 

Things start making more sense when the infamous late-booking party arrives, and a familiar face just so happens to be leading the pack. 

 

"Long time no see, hero." Shigaraki purrs, his tongue dragging slowly along chapped lips. While his voice is just as creepy now as it was on Valentine's Day, his general appearance has undoubtedly improved. 

Where before, Izuku couldn't decide if he looked dead or dying, there's a strange vitality around Shigaraki now, an eerie kind of strength he exudes, even as he darkens the League's front room with his presence. His hair still hangs in his face, but it's less oily and stringy than it was before, and now the color has all but leeched from it. It's almost stark white instead of icy blue now. He remains pale and lean, but there's newfound confidence in his body language, and his heavy clothing drapes him like a cloak instead of swallowing him up. If Izuku had to guess, there's significantly more bulk under his clothes that was absent before. His skin is still chalky looking and painfully dry, but there aren't any fresh or healing scratches that Izuku can see.  

 

"... Hello." Izuku says carefully, taking a cursive look behind the man at his followers, sizing them up. 

There's a girl with purple and blue hair, probably in her late twenties, chewing bubble gum and looking around the room like she's bored. Behind her, there are several others, all equally mysterious. The youngest of the group can't be much older than Izuku himself, but it's hard to be certain since he's wearing a complicated looking face mask and a bowl cut that obscures his eyes. Perhaps he only looks younger, in comparison with the fairly tall man beside him. He has a scary amount of orthodontal work done, the headgear looking painfully tight and elaborate. A big burly blond man smiles crookedly when his eyes flick that direction. There's an improperly fit prosthetic eye whirring around in his eye socket that looks straight at Izuku, and Izuku has the displeasure of hearing as it focuses in on him, the low humming whine of it setting his teeth on edge. A long haired man huddles over a laptop resting in the crook of his arm, tapping furiously at the keys. Another more jovial woman in a blazer laughs loudly at the dramatic bow Atsuhiro gives her from his place behind the bar. 

Even though each person is interesting enough to draw attention in their own right, all of his focus keeps being drawn right back to Tenko Shimura, otherwise known as Tomura Shigaraki. 

Something about him just isn't right, Izuku can feel it in his blood, and the tingle on the back of his neck becomes an insistent buzz in his ears. If the largely unknown player that's been operating from the shadows this whole time, the one that's somehow distantly related to One For All, the one that never fails to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up... if /he/ is coming out of the woodwork voluntarily? 

Well, that bodes poorly for Izuku. 

"Thanks again for accepting our last minute reservation. We're having something of a reunion, you see." Shigaraki purrs, stepping in far closer than would be considered polite. Izuku roots his feet in place, doing his best not to cringe away from the damp, hot breath of Shigaraki blowing in his face.

Don't let him get to you.  
Don't let him see that he affects you. 

Even in the dim bar lighting, his eyes are wild, almost fanatical, pupils fixed into tiny pinpricks. While Izuku has stared lovingly into red eyes for his whole life, the rusty, coppery color of Shigaraki's irises have him wanting to vomit.   

He feels Hagakure take a hesitant step closer to Izuku's back, so she's ever so slightly hidden behind him. He thinks he can feel her fingers just a hairs breadth away from clutching at his waiter's apron, but he doesn't drop Shigaraki's gaze to check. 

 

"Not at all. Welcome in. Thank you for choosing to dine with us." Izuku replies coolly, though his usual friendly smile has fallen into a determined grimace more than anything overtly welcoming. 

 

"Now, now don't be like that. We have so very much to catch up on, you know!" A sly smile stretches across Shigaraki's face, and if the sight didn't ring every alarm bell in Izuku's mind, he might've thought the man looked almost handsome like that. 

 

"Do we." 

 

"Of course! After all, you owe us a story, don't you? We even brought a captive audience along, you see." He widens his arms to gesture at the people behind him. He smiles again, though this time the way his lips pull back from his teeth makes the gesture look threatening. "You aren't going to keep us waiting long... are you?" 

Before Izuku can reply, he hears the door on the far wall creak open, and recognizes the off-kilter beat of Aizawa's gait. A dark head enters the main room just in time to spot the congregation crowding by the door. His expression falters when he sees them, and he catches Izuku's eye almost immediately. He tilts his head towards the storeroom, an instruction.  

 

"Eraser... it's been awhile." Shigaraki chuckles, a raspy, hollow noise in his throat.

 

There's no way he could have heard the low-spoken words from all the way across the room, but Izuku swears Aizawa stiffens as if he did. 

 

"Would you excuse me a moment?" He doesn't wait for Shigaraki's permission to be dismissed, already turning to look at Hagakure seriously. "Can you do me a favor and start taking their orders? I'll be right back." 

She looks confused by his swift departure and perhaps a little scared too, but thankfully she nods hesitantly before pulling a megawatt smile out of nowhere.

 

"Hey, party people! Let's get those drink orders started for ya, c'mon don't be shy, pick a seat, any seat!" Hagakure cheers, practically glowing as she ushers the group into various tables and booths.

Izuku marvels over how quickly and effortlessly she can shine as he marches through the Staff Door Aizawa left ajar. He can feel his skin crawling at the perverse way Shigaraki's eyes skitter over his back as he goes, but even with the door shut tightly between them, the feeling doesn't go away.

 

---

 

The store room is largely the same as it always is, though the bloodied wads of bandages in the trash and the loose medical supplies littering the couch are clearly a recent addition from Ochako's visit earlier.  

 

"Obviously you see now why I needed Bakugou here." The teacher begins with a sigh, tossing his hair out of his face as he leans against the wall by the door, half hiding the cane under his arm. 

Izuku frowns at the dark haired man, ire raising at the cavalier way he says the words, as if it's their fault they weren't prepared.  

"Is that why you provoked him earlier? You couldn't have just given us a heads up, instead of deliberately pissing him off?" Izuku asks angrily. At Aizawa's raised eyebrow, he chews his lip before stuttering out: "S-sorry... Sensei."

Aizawa scratches his stubble in a way that almost looks nervous, notably not meeting Izuku's eyes for a long moment. 

 

"... No need. You may have a point. But it's more complicated than you think. The people out there right now, they used to work here. You're looking at the first ever League crew, kid. Well. Most of them, anyway." 

 

Anger and betrayal flash hot and heavy in Izuku's chest, stoking the irritation he's been suppressing since the meeting. 
After everything they've been through, knowing Aizawa is still keeping secrets and keeping them in the dark has him ready for a fight. 

 

"You never mentioned any of this before! That he ever worked here. You said he had you confused with someone else, back then. What, were you just lying to me? To Kacchan?" Izuku asks angrily, as if he's expecting Aizawa to disagree, to save face or make excuses.

 

"I did not lie." Aizawa says sharply before knocking his head back against the cinderblock wall. "... He called me by my call sign in the middle of business hours, Midoriya. It was bait to get you or I to react. My response was simply a logical deception. I never once said I didn't recognize him. I simply offered to remove him if he was harassing my customers, because now that he's a journalist, he has a tendency to snoop around for stories. That's all." Aizawa clarifies with a disgruntled expression.  

 

"Tell me everything. Now. No more secrets, no more logical deceptions, or ruses, or tests. Tell me now or I'm leaving, and I'm taking Kacchan with me." He threatens seriously, half considering pulling Kacchan out of the kitchen and going home regardless. At least that way Kacchan will get some much needed sleep.  

If Aizawa is surprised by the venom in Izuku's voice, he doesn't show it. His face remains completely neutral, a carefully constructed mask of calm.

It's quiet for so long that Izuku actually takes a step towards the door. It's very reminiscent of the standoff between Aizawa and Kacchan earlier in the day, because that one step towards the exit is all he has to take before Aizawa finally speaks again.

 

"Back then, the bar was more of a cover story than anything. Sure, we believed in the mission, but from the beginning, our partner Oboro was the one running the League, taking care of the staff. He wanted a way to give those without a safe place somewhere they could go to be themselves, and we supported that. But in those days, we were guns for hire first and foremost. Mic and I... we weren't here as often as Oboro, we were always away on missions. But we needed a home base, and at the time, The League was the ideal set up. Nobody would question us having odd hours, or why Mic was always carrying in so much equipment, or receiving strange packages; so it was perfect." There's a wistful edge to Aizawa's voice, and Izuku watches his throat bob once before continuing.

"Oboro was the front of house manager. He handled all the customers and the outreach projects, all the day to day operating. Mic would do maintenance or run the lights and music when he was in town, and I took care of the books, the licenses, and the legal stuff. In fact, I hardly ever set foot in here during business hours." The faint uptick at the side of Aizawa's mouth is rueful, and he takes a deep breath through his nose. 

"In the early days, Oboro worked shifts at the local community center too. Said he wanted to do something to make up for all the bad we did, all the children we likely orphaned in our line of work. Give something back. And... he did. He found lots of strays to bring back home, each with a worse home life than the last. Most of them were just kids, but obviously a criminal judgment would make it hard to find decent employment, let alone trying to find someone willing to hire minors with a record that wasn't looking to add to it. 'It's our responsibility' he said, 'we have to help them'. So... we agreed. Gave them jobs, or a place to sleep for a couple of nights, or just a second chance at having a support system, a... a family. We did our best to help, but I don't have to tell you how the public saw us."

No, he really didn't. 

Izuku definitely remembers the press releases he saw back in high school, the ones he saw while helping Shouto with his research. He remembers all the media coverage around the incident and how scathing the public had been about it; the distrust, the vitriol, the outrage, the blame.

It's something Izuku can relate to in a weird way. 

After all, the public hates him now in much the same way they hated the League back then. Izuku tries not to blame them for it. People are afraid of what they don't know, what they don't understand. They'd rather let tragedies happen unseen, quickly and quietly, than see someone fail to stop them.  Acknowledging that the system is flawed would make them vulnerable. As things are, they can pretend they're safe, that things are fine, so long as they ignore all evidence that points to the contrary.

 

"So Shigaraki was one of those kids from the Community Center? One of the ones your partner saved?" Izuku asks quietly, staring at the teacher with wide eyes. 

Aizawa nods, closing his eyes.

"Used to wash the dishes. Sickly little kid, used to follow Oboro around like his own personal shadow. They were closer than most."

Melancholy and regret drip from every word.

"So what happened?"

He thinks he already knows, but he has to be sure.
There's a sharp clearing of Aizawa's throat, and the words that follow are little more than a croak, like he's trying not to cry. 

"Then the League burned. W-We weren't even in the country when it happened, we were out hunting down a mark on the mainland. By the time we got back, we'd already lost Oboro, and the bar. The kid didn't come back after that. A lot of them didn't. We were lucky to be able to hire Jin and Atsuhiro back after some time, but everyone else came in new. And Oboro, he - well without him, without the League, those kids went back to doing whatever they had to in order to survive. It took years of hard work to get things back to a place where we could open up the doors again, and by then, the first crew were all grown up, and had moved on."  

When Izuku looks at him, his long dark hair obscures his view of the man's face, but he can hear the stifled sobs in the teacher's chest. 

 

"But now they're back, all of a sudden." Izuku murmurs, almost to himself.

 

"I don't think they are here to catch up, Midoriya." 

 

"Then what are they doing-" Izuku starts to ask, before his phone begins ringing suddenly. 

He's prepared to ignore it, but this ringtone is programmed for someone in particular, and the shrill, upbeat tone startles him into fishing into his pocket for the device.
When Toga's name flashes across his screen, his eyes bug out of his skull. For months now, Toga and Ochako both have been using burners, or unregistered numbers, but this call is coming from her personal cell phone, the one Ochako saved up to buy for her all those years ago. 

It has to be her. 

He quickly accepts the call, slamming it against his ear without hesitation. 

 

"Toga-chan!" 

 

Aizawa's head jerks up to look at him before the teacher hobbles over, trying to listen in on the call. Dutifully, Izuku puts it on speakerphone, holding the device out between them.  

 

"Hey, Zuzu-baby!" She simpers over the line, as carefree as ever.

 

"Where are you? Are you okay? Are you safe? How can I-" The torrent of questions have no end in sight, but Toga is apparently wholly uninterested in letting him finish. 

 

"IZUKU." She interrupts him sharply, the saccharine quality of her voice suddenly turning sour.  

He doesn't think she's ever called him by his first name like that before, without a cutesy inflection or nickname, and the shock of it has Izuku shutting his mouth with an audible clack of his teeth. The retired assassin looks troubled, glowering at the phone with a complicated expression, equal parts fear and interest.

 

"Good boy, Zuzu!" She giggles, cooing at him before her voice smooths out again. "I hope you'll be good a little longer, because I need you to do a little something for me, okay? We're gonna play the cutest game! You see, I'm such a klutz... I seem to have left your present out in Shinjuku, and I'd absolutely hate for someone else to wander across it before you can get there..." She trails off at the end, but the way she says every word is carefully measured, each syllable drawn out to its maximum. 

 

"What is it?" He breathes, the same feeling of apprehension and concern warring in Izuku's chest as he did back at the compound, avoiding her deadly aim. 

Is this who Toga really is? 

In his mind's eye he can still see her circling below him like a shark, the dangerous way she smiles at him, the lackadaisical way she played with Chisaki's blood. But even if it's incredibly hard right now, he has to see her as the girl who took Ochako to prom, the one who held his hand and teased him at the mall. 

Izuku has to have faith in her... but he'd definitely be lying if he said he didn't feel something like dread swirling in his stomach right about now. 

 

"Silly, I can't just tell you what your gift is. That would totally ruin the surprise! I'd hurry if I were you, though. It's awfully crowded tonight, someone might beat you to it." 

 

Before Izuku can demand - or perhaps beg - for more information, the line goes dead. 

Beep, beep, beep. 

Redialing proves fruitless as the call fails almost immediately. The electronic voice on the other end informs them that the number is somehow already disconnected. He meets Aizawa's troubled eyes for a moment, and the tension feels tangible.   

 

"Go. I'll cover for you." Aizawa orders, already turning to lumber towards the door, his cane thumping against the floor as he goes. 

 

Of course he's anxious to figure out whatever Toga could have left for him, but simultaneously he's terrified of leaving Kacchan behind.

 

"But sir, you said-"  

 

"Think about it. Toga might be reckless but she isn't illogical. Whatever she has for you must be important if she's going to these lengths. Go, now." The teacher reasons, speaking back over his shoulder before pulling the door open and shuffling out. 

Izuku has a very bad feeling about this. 

 

---

 

It feels wrong to be back in the suit so soon. 
It feels wrong to leave Kacchan behind, without so much as a word. 
It feels wrong to slip into the night, with only a faint clue as to where he's going.

What feels right, though, is the ability to move through the city like this again. 

It's chilly outside, the Spring evening just beginning to thaw the cold left behind by winter, but the cool air feels good as he works up a sweat jumping from roof to roof, sprinting across landings and swinging in large arcs with Black Whip. The lights of the city twinkle and shine underfoot as beams of colorful haze flash in and out of his periphery, and the full moon overhead makes things seem that much brighter.

Izuku takes deep, reverent breaths as he moves, savoring the familiar ache in his muscles, the flex of his stiff limbs, and the familiar curve of his spine as his back bows mid-jump. As he reaches the zenith of his swing, Izuku inhales once more. There's just a half-second delay before his heart catches up on the drop, and he plummets back down towards the traffic lights beneath him. Adrenaline floods his system, and the clock in the corner ticks on steadily as the minutes pass. He maneuvers his way steadily toward Shinjuku ward, careful not to make too much of a spectacle of himself, while still saving Camouflage Mode - and therefore a direct command for OFA - for when he really, truly needs it.  

Just as he passes the boundary into Shinjuku, he rappels up to the closest tower of the Tokyo Municipal Government building, already scanning the horizon for anything out of place. It takes less than a second to spot the rising column of smoke in the middle distance, and before he even realizes his own actions, his feet are already moving. He dives off the edge, catching himself easily on one of the outcroppings before taking another jump across the chasm in front of him. He rolls on the landing, using the momentum to keep running. 

Emergency vehicles blare their horns and let their sirens wail out into the night from beneath him, drawing his attention. Izuku keeps a careful eye on their progress but quickly outpaces them, not subject to traffic or city infrastructure in the same way. While he might be unwilling to ask OFA for directions, he does push himself to go faster.

Panic begins to claw at his chest as he gets closer to the fire still raging out of control. 

Because he recognizes the apartment building that's currently engulfed in flames. 
After all, this was once his safe place, his temporary home for several months.   

He pushes himself to go even faster, vaulting over a semi-conductor on the adjacent building and sliding down a fire escape across the street. As soon as his sneakers hit the pavement, Shouto's apartment building begins to crumble into ash before his very eyes. 

He strains his ears to listen for any stragglers trapped inside - where is Shouto, did he make it out? - but he only the sounds of destruction greet him. The steel frame beneath the brick facade moans and bends in on itself, and large tongues of flame lick out of every open window on this side, as if attempting to escape through them. Smoke wafts across the street, catching on the wind and leaving an acrid smell in his nose. Izuku doesn't think he'll ever get the scent completely out of his nostrils. The entire building is engulfed, burning so intensely that the sweltering heat is nearly unbearable even from this distance. 

Either everyone evacuated successfully, or any remaining inhabitants have already perished inside.
Izuku frantically scans the crowd, hoping to see a familiar head of red and white hair.

Is this what Toga had meant by a gift for him?
Did she do this?
Was all of this his fault?
Is he too late again?
Is Shouto...

Sho, please be with Sero tonight... please just be anywhere else!

 

"Eiji and I are supposed to double date with Todoroki and Hanta a little bit later, so it was on my way!" Mina's excited chatter from earlier floods into his mind, and he chokes on a relieved laugh.

 

That's right, they should be with the others, out on a date right now! 
Shouto shouldn't be home, so he's fine, right? He's okay, he's...

Izuku isn't sure why his gaze snags on a lone bystander, lingering just at the edge of the carnage.   

He's certainly memorable-looking, or at least what's not hidden under a thick hood, is. He has several piercings, visible in the dark as they reflect the light from the blaze. The flames illuminate large swaths of what look like tattoos peeking out from underneath the collar of his patchwork jacket and up his neck to his jaw. An unlit cigarette hangs from his mouth, where the smallest smile rests on his lips. The rest of his face remains mostly hidden due to the angle of the hood, hiding any other identifying features. OFA highlights his profile, running through an oscillating database of mugshots faster than Izuku can process them, but when the interface blinks red, a sad tone chirps in his ears signaling that it was unable to match the face to any wanted criminals. 

But still, he looks familiar, somehow...

He must feel Izuku's stare, because he dips his head, turning back towards Izuku. Their eyes meet despite the several hundred feet between them. Even through the lenses of his mask, blue eyes gleam brightly in the glow from the fire, looking almost inhuman. The cigarette in the man's mouth dips a little as his grin widens, just before a shrill scream to his left jolts him back into his body. 

It doesn't take long to locate the source. A woman is pointing at him from the crowd, and it takes no time at all before the masses turn on him, already linking him to the crime. Some run away in fear, some jeer and yell insults or threats, while others jostle into one another, beginning to stampede towards him. As the crowd begins to converge around him, Izuku tries not to listen to their fearful clamor, but he can't shut out the many overlapping voices. 

"Monster!"

"How could you do this?!"

"This is all your fault!"

"Leave us alone!"

Izuku knows better than to engage with them, even if just to profess his own innocence, so he's already retreating the way he came, backing himself up onto the wall to avoid the surge of their pressing bodies.

"You've been identified by the crowd, I recommend utilizing Camouflage Mode or engaging evasive maneuvers to avoid imminent arrest. Tokyo Police Department is en route, and will arrive at any moment." OFA murmurs in his ear somewhat tentatively despite the urgency of the situation.

 

"Activate it as soon as I clear the top ledge." He answers softly, knowing OFA will still manage to hear him even through all this chaos. 

Aiming to get up as high as possible before anyone down below can successfully reach him, Izuku hurriedly activates Black Whip, just narrowly avoiding the grasping hands and projectiles lobbed at him from the street. He hears when the sticky webbing splats against the roof's concrete edging, anchoring itself, though the dark viscous strands look almost invisible in the smoke and darkness. 

 

"Understood."

Just as he's cleared the ledge, when he's eclipsed from the view of the bystanders momentarily, he looks down briefly to see his suited body warp into the background. He doesn't have long with this feature, and decides to head back to The League to warn Kacchan and call Shouto. However, just before Izuku can officially make his getaway, he spies a familiar patchwork coat out of the corner of his eye. Disengaging camouflage mode, he watches perplexed as the man does a little jig down the street, heading in the opposite direction to the bar.

The absurdity of someone dancing around while a building collapses behind them... 

All of Izuku's intuition is screaming that this must be the mysterious arsonist, or at the very least someone who knows something about the fires. If there's even a possibility that that's true then Izuku can't afford to just let the guy get away, at least not without asking a few questions first. 

So Izuku takes a running leap off the next edge, pushing his muscles further as he swings in a roundabout route back towards Minato and the Aoyama-don. 

Following the confident swagger of the suspected-arsonist as he oh-so-casually walks down the street is not nearly as difficult as Izuku initially assumes. If the man knows he's being followed, he doesn't seem concerned about it. At first Izuku considers just immobilizing the man using Black Whip and hoisting him up to interrogate him from the safety of a rooftop, but unfortunately for him, the suspect is mainly sticking to the more densely populated areas around Roppongi. While his easy pace and confident gait are easy enough for Izuku to get in close, he does occasionally blend in with the crowd every so often. If Izuku were to make a mad grab for him, the odds of hitting a bystander - or being immediately recognized - are extremely high, and he probably only has one shot at nabbing this guy before he manages to melt back into the shadows again. 

Which means Izuku must be patient.

He needs a trap of some kind; some sort of-

Just as Izuku starts working on a plan, a flashing message appears in his vision, and OFA drones in his ears.

 

"Incoming call from: Aizawa-sensei." 

 

Izuku frowns, flicking his eyes up to the clock, and wincing at the time shown. He's been out here much longer than he thought, Aizawa must've been worried...

He accepts the call quickly.

 

"Sir! Sorry I didn't call sooner, but there was-" Before he can finish updating Aizawa on the fire at Shouto's place and the fact that the suspect in his sights, the older man's gravelly voice pours through the receiver, sounding urgent. 

 

"Get back to the League. Now. Something... something's happened." 

 

"You mean the fire? I know, I saw. I still need to call Shouto, make sure he's alright. He should be out with Mina and the others right now, but-" Izuku rambles, grunting when he catches himself on a sign for a host club as he takes a leap across a small side street.  

 

"What?! Another fire? Shit." Izuku startles a bit at the curse, not used to Aizawa speaking like that. "I'll call Ashido and make sure everyone is safe, and debrief you when you return. Just... focus on getting back here." The stress is palpable in Aizawa's voice, and Izuku can hear clatters coming from the other end of the line. 

 

Izuku slows in his pursuit, suddenly unsure.

 

"Is everyone okay? Is Kacchan-" He starts asking, only for a deep sigh on the other side to interrupt him. 

 

"Kid... Bakugou was taken." The old teacher's voice is stern, but there's a distinct note of pity in it.

That has him stopping dead in his tracks. He must've heard that wrong, there's no way Kacchan... 

"Taken?" He repeats, his voice sounding hollow. 

When Izuku jerks his head around to look back down at the street, there's not a single trace of a patchwork coat. 

He's been played.
They tricked him, led him on a wild goose chase while they targeted Kacchan. 

And Izuku fell for it.