still, he looks at you

by arigravity

Summary:

“They’re finally official, huh?”

“Who?” Kirishima asks, glancing up from his phone.

“Deku and Uraraka,” Kaminari says, grinning like he started the rumor himself. “He asked her out yesterday. They’re totally a thing now.”

Katsuki doesn’t move.

Doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t ask what the fuck are you talking about, even though his heart spikes like he’s just been yanked from a dream.

He just keeps eating his protein bar like nothing’s changed.

Like the floor hasn’t shifted a little under his feet.

“Good for them,” Mina says cheerfully. “I mean, it was obvious she liked him. Kinda surprised he finally grew the nerve.”

Katsuki bites down harder than necessary, the wrapper crinkling in his fist.

Notes:

dont ask about my other fic that i deleted.. it was scrapped

Chapter 1

 

Katsuki Bakugou doesn’t care who dates who. He’s not here for that high school bullshit.

He’s here to be the best. Strongest. Number one. The rest of it—dorm gossip, hormone-fueled drama, dumb-ass rumors—he’s above it. Doesn’t even listen. Doesn’t even want to listen.

So he tells himself, anyway.

It’s a cold Thursday when he hears Kaminari say it in the common room, all casual and loud like he isn’t dropping a bomb:

“They’re finally official, huh?”

“Who?” Kirishima asks, glancing up from his phone.

“Deku and Uraraka,” Kaminari says, grinning like he started the rumor himself. “He asked her out yesterday. They’re totally a thing now.”

Katsuki doesn’t move.

Doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t ask what the fuck are you talking about, even though his heart spikes like he’s just been yanked from a dream.

He just keeps eating his protein bar like nothing’s changed.

Like the floor hasn’t shifted a little under his feet.

“Good for them,” Mina says cheerfully. “I mean, it was obvious she liked him. Kinda surprised he finally grew the nerve.”

Katsuki bites down harder than necessary, the wrapper crinkling in his fist.

The thing about Deku—no, Izuku—is that he’s always been consistent. Predictable, even. Always chasing, always working, always looking at other people like they were stars and he was dirt lucky to orbit them.

Now he’s dating Round Face, and suddenly Katsuki isn’t so sure he knows him at all.

---

He avoids the common room that night.

Not because he’s avoiding anything, obviously.

He just doesn’t feel like listening to people talk. Or laugh. Or breathe.

Instead, he takes his gear to the training ground and works out until his muscles burn and his sweat stings his eyes. The explosions from his palms light the dark like sparks off flint—brief, hot, gone.

When he finally comes back to the dorms, it's past curfew. The hallways are dim, quiet.

Too quiet.

He passes Deku’s room.

There’s soft laughter inside.

A girl’s.

He stares at the door for a second too long.

Then keeps walking.

---

The next day, Aizawa pairs them for sparring. Of course he does.

Midoriya looks...off. Not weaker, just different. His stances are tighter, movements more controlled. He doesn’t look over his shoulder to check if anyone’s watching anymore. Doesn’t flinch when Katsuki approaches the mat.

He looks settled.

Katsuki hates it.

“Don’t expect me to go easy on your ass,” he mutters as they take positions.

Midoriya smiles—smiles—like he’s not even worried.

“I wouldn’t want you to,” he says.

The fight is fast, brutal. Katsuki pushes harder than necessary, forcing Midoriya to dodge, flip, think faster. He wants to break through that new calm, tear it apart. He wants to find the old nervous twitch in his fingers, the way he used to second-guess every step.

But it’s not there.

Midoriya counters a right hook, uses Katsuki’s momentum to slam him into the mat. Wind knocked out of him, Katsuki lies there blinking at the ceiling while Aizawa calls the match.

Midoriya offers a hand.

Katsuki slaps it away and gets up on his own.

---

The whole class knows about it now. There’s no avoiding it.

Kaminari won’t shut up. “I mean, look at them. They even walk like a couple.”

He’s not wrong.

They sit together at lunch now. Share dessert sometimes. She leans into him when she laughs. And Midoriya—Deku—he’s... different. Softer. More relaxed. Happier.

It makes Katsuki itch.

When they’re grouped together for patrol drills, Uraraka reaches for Midoriya’s hand instinctively. Just for a second.

He lets her.

Katsuki throws his clipboard at the wall that night.

---

“What’s your deal lately?” Kirishima asks one afternoon while they rest on the track, catching their breath after sprints.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Katsuki grumbles, stretching his arms behind his head.

“You’ve been more explosive than usual,” Kirishima says. “And I mean that literally.”

Katsuki shrugs. “Maybe I’m just not a fan of PDA.”

Kirishima raises an eyebrow. “...PDA?”

“You know. The lovey-dovey shit. Deku and Uraraka. Everywhere.”

“Since when do you care about that?”

“I don’t.”

He doesn’t.

But he remembers when Deku used to look at him like that. With that weird, desperate need to prove something.

Now he looks at her.

Like he’s already been proven.

---

He catches them outside the dorms one night. They’re coming back from somewhere—probably that café Uraraka likes.

Katsuki hadn’t meant to run into them. He was just returning from an extra gym session, hoodie damp with sweat, earbuds still in. He rounds the corner and nearly slams into them.

“Oh—Kacchan,” Midoriya says, startled.

Uraraka smiles. “Hey, Bakugou.”

They’re holding hands.

His mouth tastes like metal.

“Tch,” he mutters, brushing past them.

“Good night,” Uraraka calls softly.

He doesn’t answer.

---

In his room, Katsuki stares at the ceiling. Tries not to think. Fails.

He thinks about the way Deku used to follow him around like a shadow, the annoying little nerd with notebook pages full of notes on his quirk. How he used to flinch whenever Katsuki shouted, but still looked at him with stars in his eyes.

Now he laughs with Uraraka.

Now he kisses her goodbye outside the dorms.

He used to flinch.

Now Katsuki does.

---

Two days later, they fight a villain together in a training simulator—Team Bakugou, Midoriya, and Yaoyorozu.

Midoriya moves wrong. Just once. A second too slow.

The sim’s villain targets him.

Katsuki doesn’t think—he just moves, launches a blast that sends both of them tumbling out of the hit zone.

Midoriya lands hard, gasping, scraped up.

“What the fuck was that?!” Katsuki yells, grabbing him by the collar.

Midoriya blinks up at him, dazed. “I—I was—”

“Don’t give me that shit! You hesitated! You could’ve gotten killed!”

Yaoyorozu calls the simulation off, rushing over, but Katsuki doesn’t look at her.

“You’re getting sloppy,” he hisses. “Is this what dating’s done to you?”

Midoriya flinches, just barely. His jaw tightens.

“Don’t bring her into this.” 

Katsuki steps back like he’s been slapped.

“Tch.”

He walks out of the room before he says something worse.

---

Later that night, he hears laughter outside.

He looks out the window.

Deku and Uraraka are sitting on the grass under the training tower, watching something on her phone. She leans her head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around her without thinking.

Katsuki closes the curtain.

He trains until his palms bleed.

Again.

 

 

Chapter 2

Izuku had always been good with dates.

Maybe it was because All Might’s debut had been July 4th. Maybe it was because his mom used to write the weather, meals, and his childhood milestones on a giant calendar that hung crooked in the hallway. Whatever the reason, he never forgot anything.

So, when his alarm buzzed at 6:30 a.m. and flashed October 14th, he smiled before he even opened his eyes.

One year. He and Ochako had been together for a whole year.

He sat up, stretching until his shoulders cracked, and yawned into his palm. The dorms were quiet. The others had a late patrol the night before, and he had the morning off, which was rare. It felt like the universe had aligned just for today.

He glanced at his phone. No new messages yet.

That was fine. He’d text first.

Izuku💚: Happy anniversary 💕 I’m lucky to have you.

He hesitated, then added a second one.

Izuku💚: I have a surprise planned for tonight. Dress comfy but cute?

He stared at the screen longer than he needed to, waiting for the typing dots. When they popped up, he exhaled in relief.

Ocha💕: Aww Izuku!! 🥺 I’m so lucky too!! I can’t wait 💖

Ocha💕: I’m so excited to see what you planned for us!!! 🥰💕

He smiled. There it was. That warmth. That familiar, fuzzy feeling that came when she used too many emojis and too many exclamation points. She meant it. She really did.

So why did his chest feel… tight?

---

Midday

He spent the afternoon putting the pieces together — literally. Hitoshi helped him string lights around a tree behind the dorms. Yaoyorozu made him a foldable table and picnic blankets. Iida helped him test a solar lamp because he was worried it’d get too dark too fast.

Ochako liked the simple things.

So he packed her favorite onigiri from the little convenience shop she loved, made strawberry-lime sparkling water from scratch (with Iida’s help), and tucked a small wrapped box into his hoodie pocket. The gift wasn’t expensive, but it mattered — it was a handmade ring made from an All Might medal he’d picked up at a charity event. His mom helped polish it. A promise ring, technically.

He rehearsed what he’d say when he gave it to her. Something about the future. Something about how they were growing together.

It should have been perfect.

It should have made Izuku feel something.

---

Evening

When she stepped out of the dorm lobby just past six, Izuku forgot his thoughts entirely.

Ochako looked like autumn — soft sweater, warm eyes, cheeks flushed from the crisp breeze. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun,  and she wore pink gloves.

She was beautiful.

So, so beautiful.

“Izuku,” she said softly, reaching for his hand. “This is so sweet.” 

Her gaze looked at Izuku longingly, like he was the person that ever mattered to her.

It haunted him.

He squeezed her hand. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”

She gasped when they reached the tree, lit with string lights in soft gold, the blanket laid out neatly, the food waiting under covered containers. There was even a tiny speaker playing soft music.

Blackbird by The Beatles was playing that night.

Ochako’s favorite song.

He watched her take it in, and he smiled when she smiled.

Because this was what he was supposed to want. And maybe he did. Maybe he just didn’t feel it right now. Maybe he was tired. Maybe his mind was drifting again because he hadn’t really had time to slow down lately.

But that lie was fragile. He could feel it cracking.

---

They ate. They laughed. She fed him half a rice ball and poked his nose when he complained about too much wasabi. He gave her the ring, and she almost cried.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Izuku, this is…”

He fidgeted, nervous. “I wanted to… like, make something you could wear. That meant something.”

She stared at the ring like it was worth a million yen. “It means everything.”

He kissed her after she said that. Long and warm and practiced. They’d kissed so many times, and it was always good. Soft. Safe.

But something inside him shifted, just barely. Like trying to push a square peg into a round hole. Like kissing her with his whole body, but not all of his heart.

The thought made him feel sick.

---

Later

They lay on the blanket, shoulder to shoulder, watching the stars peek out behind clouds. Ochako rested her head on his chest, and his arm circled her waist.

“Izuku,” she said, voice quiet. “What were you like as a kid?”

He chuckled. “Annoying.”

“No, really.”

“I was… different. Quiet. Not a lot of friends. I think I spent more time on notebooks than talking to people.”

She hummed. “I’m glad I met you when I did.”

He swallowed.

“I mean it,” she said, shifting to look up at him. “You’re… the best person I know. You don’t even realize how bright you are.”

His stomach twisted.

He should’ve said you too.
He should’ve said I love you.

But instead, he nodded and smiled and whispered, “Thank you.”

And the weight in his chest only grew heavier.

---

Night

They walked back hand in hand. She kissed his cheek at the entrance. Told him she’d see him tomorrow. Said it had been perfect.

He nodded again. Watched her go.

When he stepped inside, the dorm was mostly dark. The wind howled outside the windows. His room was cold, and his hands were still stuffed in his hoodie pockets, fingers curling around the leftover ribbon from the ring box.

He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the floor.

Ochako was right.

He had everything. A girlfriend who adored him. A celebration he worked hard to make perfect. Friends who supported him. A future that looked bright.

But the moment the door clicked shut behind him, all of it felt muted. Like the volume had been turned down. Like the colors weren’t as bright.

His phone buzzed. A message.

Kacchan🧡: You coming to morning training or skipping again, nerd?

Izuku stared at the screen.

He hadn’t spoken to Katsuki in a week — not really. Not much since he had gotten with Ochako.

He started typing a response.

Then deleted it.

Then locked his phone.

He sat in the dark for a long time after that, unsure of why he felt like crying.

Chapter 3

Notes:

hiii thank you to those who left kudoses and to the people that are commenting their support too!! it means so much to me, and i’ll try updating everyday because i’ve finished most of the chapters long ago!
also yes ik the UA dorm buildings are kinda hard to like get up to like this but
its just for the story okay 😭😭
please enjoy and thank you again!!! ❤️

It’s just past midnight when someone knocks on Izuku’s window.

Not his door—his window.

At first, he thinks he imagined it. The rustle of a dream, maybe. But then it happens again—sharp, deliberate. A faint tap-tap of knuckles on glass.

Izuku bolts upright in bed.

The glow of his phone screen tells him it’s 12:07 a.m.

His heart’s already racing when he pulls back the curtain.

Katsuki is standing outside on the narrow ledge of the second-floor dorm hallway, arms crossed, looking like he does this all the time.

“What the hell,” Izuku hisses as he cracks the window open. “You’re gonna fall—”

“Shut up and get dressed,” Katsuki mutters. “We’re going somewhere.”

Izuku blinks. “Kaachan, what?! It’s the middle of the night.”

“Lower your voice nerd. And so what?”

“You want me to sneak out?”

“You’re not even gonna get in trouble. I already looped the cameras. You coming or not?”

Izuku opens his mouth to argue.

Then he closes it.

It’s been a year.

A long, agonizing year.

A year since he and Katsuki were alone together. A year since they’d trained together at the gym, or fought side by side on the same team in a mock battle, or even really talked. Ever since Izuku and Uraraka got together, the space between them had stretched thin and tense, filled with static and everything unsaid.

And now he’s at his window like nothing’s changed.

Izuku’s never really been able to say no to him.

“I’ll grab my jacket,” he mumbles.

---

They walk in silence for a while.

The streets around U.A. are quiet, lit by the soft orange of streetlights and the occasional buzz of neon. It rained earlier, and the pavement glistens, reflecting the glow in puddled fragments.

Katsuki keeps his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t look over, but his pace matches Izuku’s exactly. Like it used to.

It’s not until they reach the edge of campus and step into the city that Izuku realizes where they’re going.

There’s a tiny park tucked between two apartment buildings a few blocks away. They’d stumbled on it once in their first year—after a mission, bleeding and bruised and grinning like idiots. There’s a swing set and an old vending machine and a couple of benches. A place no one else really goes.

Katsuki stops when they get there.

“Sit,” he says, nodding to the bench.

Izuku obeys.

Katsuki sits beside him, legs spread, arms resting on his thighs. He stares at the empty street like he’s watching a fight about to happen.

Izuku pulls his jacket tighter. The silence stretches again.

“So,” he says finally, “why’d you bring me here?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leans back, eyes fixed on the sky. “Didn’t wanna be in the dorms.”

Izuku frowns. “You’ve never cared about that before.”

“Yeah, well,” Katsuki mutters, “maybe I felt like punching someone.”

Izuku glances at him. “You didn’t, though.”

Katsuki scoffs. “Didn’t say I would. Just felt like it.”

Izuku waits.

Eventually, Katsuki sighs. “I dunno. It’s been weird lately.”

Izuku swallows. “Yeah.”

Katsuki looks at him finally. “You and Round Face still good?”

The question catches him off guard.

“Yeah,” Izuku says, automatically. “She’s… she’s amazing.”

Katsuki grunts. “Didn’t ask if she was amazing.”

Izuku hesitates. “We’re good.”

Katsuki nods slowly. Then looks away again.

Another beat of silence.

Then: “You happy?”

Izuku’s breath catches.

He turns his head, studies Katsuki’s profile. The sharp lines of his jaw. The shadow under his eyes. The way his fingers twitch like he’s holding back from clenching them.

“I think so,” Izuku says.

“Think?”

Izuku exhales. “It’s hard to explain.”

Katsuki doesn’t push. Just waits.

Izuku finds himself speaking before he means to.

“I love being around her. I really do. She makes me feel like I’m safe. Like I’m enough, even when I feel like I’m not.” He shifts on the bench, fingers curled in his lap. “But sometimes, I feel like I’m watching everything from outside my body. Like I’m performing a role I was given, and I’m scared if I drop it, she’ll look at me different.”

Katsuki’s quiet.

Izuku presses on. “And it’s not her fault. She hasn’t done anything wrong. I just… I thought I’d feel more certain.”

Katsuki lets that settle in the space between them.

“People always think love’s supposed to feel clean,” he says eventually, voice low. “Like this perfect, glowing thing. But it’s messy. It’s fucking awful sometimes. And if you’re pretending it’s not, you’re lying to yourself.”

Izuku stares at him.

“You sound like you’re inlove yourself, Kaachan.”

Katsuki’s jaw ticks. “Maybe I am.”

The air shifts.

Izuku doesn’t know what to say. His throat is suddenly dry.

He doesn’t know why, but his chest starts to tighten at the blond’s confession.

Katsuki looks up at the swings. One of them creaks in the breeze.

“I hated you for so long,” he says.

Izuku blinks. “What?”

Katsuki leans back again, gaze somewhere distant. “I did.” Katsuki takes a deep sigh. “You were this weak, annoying little nerd, and I couldn’t stand how hard you tried. How you kept chasing after me like a lost dog. And then you got One For All, and you got better. And suddenly you weren’t chasing anymore—you were catching up. Passing me.”

Izuku’s chest aches.

“I couldn’t handle it,” Katsuki says, voice rough. “It made me sick. Because all I’d ever been good at was being strong. Being the best. And you made me question if I ever really was.”

He glances over.

“But you still looked at me like I mattered. No matter how many times i’ve treated you like shit, or how many times i’ve been an asshole to you. You stayed. Always.” Katsuki turns his head to Izuku.

Izuku opens his mouth. Closes it.

“I don’t hate you anymore,” Katsuki mutters. “Haven’t in a long time.”

Izuku stares at him, heart hammering.

They sit in silence for a while after that. Long enough that the breeze picks up, rustling the leaves in the trees.

Finally, Izuku speaks. “Why now?”

Katsuki blinks. “What?”

“You haven’t really talked to me since I started dating Uraraka. And now you’re here. At my window in the middle of the night, bringing me to this place.”

Katsuki shrugs. “Missed hanging out, nerd. That’s it.”

Izuku doesn’t believe him.

But he lets it go.

For now.

He leans back against the bench, lets his eyes drift upward.

There are only a few stars visible. The rest are drowned out by the city glow.

“Thank you Kaachan.” he says quietly.

Katsuki turns. “For what?”

“For this. For being here.”

Katsuki looks at him for a long moment.

Then: “Don’t get used to it, nerd.”

But his voice is soft.

---

They don’t talk on the walk back.

But their arms brush twice.

And Katsuki doesn’t pull away.

 

Notes:

longer chapters soonnnnn i swear

Chapter 4

It started with a text.

A blurry photo of a convenience store bento, snapped from a strange angle. The caption underneath just read:

“This shit’s criminal. Come with me next time, nerd.”

Izuku had smiled before he could stop himself.

From there, it snowballed. Katsuki started dragging him along for short errands, brief walks after class, then full-on training sessions. They weren’t sparring yet—Izuku knew better than to test those waters uninvited—but they jogged together. Shared protein shakes. Talked about Pro-Hero stats like they used to. It was easy, somehow. Too easy. Like the tension from five months ago had stretched until it finally snapped.

Now it was back to… something almost comfortable. Almost familiar.

Tonight, they’d taken the long way back from the convenience store, having spent half an hour arguing over the best All Might merch of the early era.

“His 2nd Gauntlet prototype was a mess,” Katsuki barked, swinging the bag of snacks in one hand. “Too clunky. No mobility. Guy looked like he couldn’t scratch his own back.”

“That’s not true!” Izuku laughed, nudging him with an elbow. “It was a design meant for stability, not flexibility. It made sense for the time!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes but didn’t move away from the touch.

Izuku felt warm. Relaxed. His cheeks were pink from laughing and from the cold.

They turned the corner into Heights Alliance, laughter still trailing behind them—and then froze.

Uraraka stood outside the front doors, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Her expression wasn’t neutral. It wasn’t even sad.

It was hurt.

“Izuku,” she said, voice taut, “can we talk?”

Katsuki immediately stopped walking, his body going tense. He shoved the bag into Izuku’s arms without a word and turned on his heel toward the elevator.

He didn’t look back.

“…Yeah,” Izuku said softly, watching the elevator door close behind Katsuki before he followed Uraraka into the common room. It was empty, quiet except for the hum of the vending machine.

She turned to face him fully.

“What’s going on?” she asked, but it wasn’t a question that wanted answers. Her arms were still crossed, her brows drawn together. “Why are you spending all your time with him?”

Izuku opened his mouth, then closed it. He hadn’t thought about it like that. Not really. It wasn’t that he was avoiding her. It was just—

“We’re just hanging out again,” he said carefully. “Kacchan and I. Like we used to.”

“Exactly.” Her voice cracked. “Like you used to. Like before we started dating.”

He blinked. “Ochako…”

“It’s not just once or twice, Izuku. It’s almost every day now. And when we do hang out, you’re distracted. You’re always thinking about him.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp. “You laugh more when you’re with him. You look lighter. You never used to look at me the way you look at him.”

Izuku felt his stomach drop.

He hadn’t noticed. Or maybe… maybe he had.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said honestly.

“But you did.” Her voice wobbled now, the emotion finally creeping in. “Do you even remember last week? I asked you to come to the café with me during our break. You said you had homework. And then I saw you training with him that same afternoon.”

Guilt slammed into him.

He had told her that. He’d lied.

“I’m sorry.”

She bit her lip hard enough to go white. “Are you still in this? With me?”

Izuku hesitated.

And that… was his answer.

Ochako’s face fell, just a little. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. I just—I needed to know.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again, uselessly.

“I know.” She wrapped her arms around herself and looked away. “But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

There was a silence between them, thick and final. Then she turned and walked past him toward the elevators.

She didn’t look back.

Izuku stood there a long time, feeling the warmth from earlier slip out of his body like air from a balloon.

He didn’t go after her.

---

(Katsuki’s POV)

It started with a "read" notification.
Just one.

Katsuki had texted something stupid—something about the limited edition All Might ramen being back in stock. He even sent a damn picture. It was dumb, but Izuku usually ate that kind of shit up.

No reply. Just a gray little "read" under the message.
Then nothing.

He let it slide the first time.
People got busy. It was fine.

But then came the second time. And the third. And the sixth.

Katsuki wasn’t fucking clueless. He saw what was happening.

The green-haired idiot was pulling away. Again.

At first, Katsuki thought maybe he’d said something wrong. Maybe he’d stepped over some invisible line during one of their hangouts—teased him too hard, stood too close. Maybe Izuku was just busy with school.

But Katsuki wasn’t an idiot.

He knew what this was.

It was her.

He hadn’t seen the fight, but he’d seen her face that night, the way she looked at Izuku like he’d broken something sacred. And then the next morning, Izuku had gone quiet.

No texts. No snacks. No walks back from the store. No dumb debates over support gear. No word.

It was like someone had hit reset, dragging them right back to square one.

And Katsuki hated it.

He scowled at his phone for the fifth time that day, staring at the unread messages piling up in their thread.

March 17 — 10:21 PM
you dead?

March 18 — 9:03 AM
i saw that support gear shit you were talking about on TV. you were wrong btw.

March 19 — 3:34 PM
whatever. ignore me all you want nerd. i dont care.

Katsuki tossed the phone onto his bed and ran both hands down his face, hard. He didn’t like feeling this way—restless, impatient, confused.

The silence made everything worse.
Because it wasn’t just silence.

It was absence.

Izuku was still smiling, still showing up to class, still doing his notes and muttering and saving people like a damn pro.

But he wasn’t showing up for him anymore.

And Katsuki could see it.

Izuku laughed louder around her again. Sat beside her at meals. Touched her hand when he thought no one was looking. He had that same look on his face—the one Katsuki remembered seeing months ago when the two of them first started dating.

The look that said I'm trying really hard to be in love with this person.

And maybe he was. Maybe he was in love with her. Katsuki didn’t fucking know.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

But he did.

He cared so much it made his chest ache in a way he didn’t have words for.

And it pissed him off.

So, when a week passed with no answer and Izuku didn’t even look his way in class, Katsuki snapped.

He caught him after hero training. Waited outside the locker room like a damn stalker and cornered him by the vending machines.

Izuku looked surprised. Guilty, even. His hair was damp, freckles glowing under the fluorescent lights.

“…Kacchan?” he asked, voice quiet.

“You ignoring me or just allergic to your phone?”

Izuku blinked. “I’m not— I wasn’t ignoring you.”

Katsuki crossed his arms. “Bullshit.”

Izuku flinched slightly, gaze darting to the floor. “I’ve just been… busy.”

“With her,” Katsuki said flatly.

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m trying to make it work,” Izuku said eventually. “With Ochako. I owe her that much.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. “You don’t owe anyone shit if you’re miserable.”

“I’m not miserable—!”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

Izuku’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked like he wanted to say something—needed to say something—but he didn’t.

Instead, he just shook his head.

“I can’t do this right now. Okay? I need to focus on my girlfriend. Stop acting so upset just because I stop hanging out with you. We aren’t kids anymore, Kaachan. I have more important things to worry about right now.”

”More important things”. 

Those words will forever repeat in Katsuki’s head.

Izuku glared at Katsuki, his eyes feeling like daggers.

He turned and walked away, leaving Katsuki standing in front of a row of humming machines and a sick feeling clawing at his ribs.

---

Later that night, Katsuki sat in his room, scrolling through their old message thread like a fucking loser.

The dumb All Might stickers. The voice memos. The arguments about training styles. The stupid cat video Katsuki had sent one night just to see if he could make Izuku laugh.

He stared at the last message: whatever. ignore me all you want nerd. i dont care.

He didn’t delete it.

He didn’t text again either.

He just sat there, letting the ache fester like an old bruise that wouldn’t fade.

He didn’t know what the hell was going on with Izuku.

But whatever it was, it felt like losing him all over again.

And Katsuki had never learned how to lose quietly.

Chapter 5

Notes:

WERE BACK BABY!!!! hope u guys enjoy this one

 

The mall was loud in the way that made Izuku's head feel fuzzy—bright lights, dozens of voices blending into an indistinct hum, the soft chime of music echoing from open stores.

But Ochako was glowing. Her smile was wide as she tugged him along, her fingers interlocked with his, swinging their hands between them.

He tried to match her energy. Really, he did.

They'd shared crepes a few minutes ago—Nutella and banana, her favorite. She got whipped cream on her nose and laughed when he pointed it out. They took a stupid photo together in one of those glittery sticker booths. She'd held his arm close, cheek pressed against his.

And Izuku smiled in the picture.

He had smiled.

So why did it feel like something was tugging at the back of his brain?
Like he was forgetting something?

Like someone was missing?

They passed a shoe store, the reflection of his and Ochako's figures warping slightly in the glass, and she said something—probably teasing him—but he didn’t really catch it. He nodded anyway. They kept walking.

They were rounding the corner of the food court when it happened.

Ochako had just bumped her shoulder against his, laughter bubbling up as she teased, "You’ve been so serious all day, Izuku! What happened to your post-crepe sugar rush?"

He opened his mouth to respond.

And then he saw him.

Katsuki.

His hair was unmistakable—sharp blond spikes, broad shoulders. He was walking beside Kirishima, Denki trailing behind them with two drinks in hand. They were arguing about something. Kirishima elbowed Katsuki in the ribs and laughed.

Izuku stopped walking so suddenly that Ochako nearly stumbled into him.

“What—? Izuku?”

He stared, wide-eyed, like a deer in headlights.

Katsuki hadn’t seen him yet.

Without thinking, Izuku grabbed Ochako’s wrist and started pulling her toward them.

“Izuku? Where are we going?”

“There’s—uh, I saw—Kacchan’s here. With Kirishima and Kaminari.”

Ochako blinked, confused. “Okay, but why are we—?”

But he wasn’t listening. Not really.

His heart was racing for no reason. He couldn’t explain the urgency, couldn’t explain why he needed to go over there. He just knew that the sight of Katsuki—smirking and relaxed, surrounded by friends, completely unaware—made his chest twist in a way he didn’t understand.

He hadn’t seen him in over a week. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t replied.

He hadn’t wanted to see him.
…Right?

They reached them just as Kirishima was saying something about new gym shorts.

Katsuki turned first.

Their eyes met.

And the look on Katsuki’s face—surprise first, then carefully flattened neutrality—hit harder than it should have.

“Hey,” Izuku said, voice a little too loud. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Kirishima lit up. “Yo, Midoriya! Uraraka! What’s up?”

Ochako smiled, polite but small. “We were just… hanging out.”

Kaminari gave them a peace sign with one hand, sipping his smoothie with the other. “Cute. Date day?”

Izuku nodded. “Yeah. Uh, crepes and window shopping.”

Katsuki said nothing.

His red eyes flicked from Izuku to Ochako’s hand, still looped loosely through his arm. His jaw twitched.

“Oh,” Katsuki finally said. “Cool.”

It was awkward. Way more awkward than Izuku expected.

He didn’t know what he’d thought would happen. A joke, maybe. Katsuki teasing him for eating sugar again. A snarky jab at his choice in mall dates. Something.

Not this.

“Anyway,” Kirishima said, stepping in like he could feel the tension too. “We were just grabbing a bite before Kaminari blows his allowance at the game store.”

“I only do that sometimes,” Kaminari muttered.

Katsuki shoved his hands in his pockets. “We’re leaving.”

“Wait—” Izuku said, but Katsuki was already turning.

Kirishima offered a small, sheepish smile. “We’ll catch you guys later, yeah?”

And then they were gone.

Just like that.

Izuku stood still for a moment, staring after them.

He’d dragged Ochako across the mall just for that?

“What was that about?” she asked beside him, voice quiet but sharp.

He looked down at her.

Her smile was gone. Her expression had shifted—still soft, but creased with confusion, maybe even frustration.

“I just… I haven’t seen them in a while,” he mumbled. “I thought it’d be nice to say hi.”

“But you barely said anything.”

“I—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess it was weird.”

She stared at him.

He couldn’t read her expression. Not fully.

“Let’s just head back,” she said after a beat, already turning away.

He followed.

And somehow, the walk back to the dorms felt heavier than before.

---

Later That Night

The moment they stepped into the dorm building, Ochako pulled him aside.

They stood near the common room entrance, just out of sight. Most of the others weren’t around—probably in their rooms or out late.

Izuku blinked when she tugged on his sleeve.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

His stomach twisted. “O-Okay. Sure.”

She didn’t waste time.

“You’ve been distracted all day.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

“You’ve been distracted all week, actually.”

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically. “I’ve just… been tired.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t lie. Not to me.”

He felt it then—the pressure. The guilt.

The way her eyes were a little glossy, her jaw set like she was fighting not to cry.

“You’ve been hanging out with him,” she said quietly.

“…What?”

“Bakugo. I know you’ve been with him again lately. More than you’ve been with me.”

“I haven’t— I haven’t meant to—”

“But you did.” Her voice cracked. “You didn’t text me back for three hours yesterday. Then I saw you and him outside together, laughing.”

I’m fucked.

Izuku looked down.

“It’s like when you’re with him, you forget about everything else.”

“That’s not true, Ocha—”

“Isn’t it?”

He swallowed hard.

“Do you… still like him?”

That question hit like a punch to the gut.

Izuku’s breath caught in his throat.

He stared at her—kind, sweet Ochako, who had been patient and loving and everything good.

And he didn’t know what to say.

Because the truth was buried under years of denial and tangled emotions.

“I don’t know,” he said finally.

It was the most honest thing he could manage.

She exhaled, slow and heavy. “That’s not a no.”

He didn’t answer.

“I don’t want to be second place, Izuku.”

“You’re not—”

“Yes, I am. Or I will be. Eventually.”

Her voice was quiet, but steady.

She reached for his hand. Held it for a moment. Then let go.

“I need you to figure out what you want.”

And with that, she walked away.

Leaving Izuku alone in the dim hallway with the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

---

Next Day

Izuku woke up the morning after his argument with Ochako feeling… drained.

Not physically tired, exactly — but emotionally hollow, like he was running on autopilot.

Ochako had said what she needed to say, and he hadn’t known how to answer. The truth tangled in his throat, heavy and sharp.

So now, every time he saw her, every smile she gave, every laugh she shared with him, Izuku tried harder to be what she wanted. To be the boyfriend she deserved. The kind, attentive, thoughtful boyfriend who always made her feel like she was first in his world.

He texted her good morning, brought her coffee on busy days, remembered her little quirks, and tried his best to push away the knot in his chest.

For a while, it worked.

Ochako brightened. She stopped looking worried. She joked more, laughed more.

And Izuku smiled with her, like he should.

But inside, the emptiness didn’t fade.

It sat there, quiet and cold, like a room with all the lights off.

During the day, when he was with Ochako, he felt like a shadow of himself — like he was holding together a fragile mask.

It was only at night, when the dorms were quiet and the halls were empty, that Izuku felt something stir inside him.

It was when Katsuki showed up again, knocking softly on his door after curfew.

---

That Night

The clock on Izuku’s desk glowed 11:42 pm.

A faint knock.

Izuku froze. For a moment, panic rose — if they got caught, the dorm supervisors would be furious.

But then the door creaked open.

“Kacchan,” Izuku whispered, relief and surprise rushing through him.

Katsuki stepped inside like he owned the place — casual but sharp-eyed.

“Didn’t think you’d answer,” Katsuki said, crossing the room and flopping down on the bed like it was his own.

“I… I wasn’t expecting you,” Izuku admitted.

Katsuki shrugged. “Whatever.”

They sat in silence, the quiet buzzing of the city outside their window the only sound.

Izuku glanced at Katsuki, noting the way his hair caught the faint light, the way his jaw tightened even when his eyes softened.

“Why do you come here?” Izuku asked softly.

Katsuki smirked. “Maybe I like the company.”

Izuku laughed quietly, a genuine sound that surprised them both.

It was moments like this — unguarded, easy — that made Izuku feel alive.

For a little while, the guilt and confusion melted away.

They talked about stupid things.
The weird new snack they tried in the cafeteria.
Bakugo’s insane gym routine.
A funny story from their childhood.

No pressure. No expectations.

Just two people who knew each other better than anyone else.

Izuku’s heart swelled with a warmth he hadn’t felt in months.

---

Later

Katsuki nudged Izuku’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Izuku nodded, but the truth lingered beneath his skin.

“I try,” Izuku whispered, “to make Uraraka happy.”

Katsuki’s eyes darkened just a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But it feels… empty. Like I’m just pretending.”

Katsuki’s gaze sharpened. “You’re not good at pretending, Deku.”

Izuku smiled sadly. “Guess that’s why I come back here.”

Katsuki grunted.

Izuku reached over, tentatively brushing his fingers against Katsuki’s hand.

“No matter what,” Izuku said, voice barely above a whisper, “you make me feel real.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened.

They both didn’t say anything after that.

---

In the dark, with only the city lights to keep them company, Izuku finally felt something true.

Something real.

And it scared him — and thrilled him — all at once.

Chapter 6

Notes:

happy pride month guysss!!! heres a chapter and sorry if it took long heh….
also follow my tiktok:
@quniili
:)
enjoy!!!

It was just past noon when Katsuki walked through the front gates of Heights Alliance, the summer sun beating hard enough to cast sharp shadows on the sidewalk. His phone buzzed in his pocket—he ignored it.

He’d left the dorms half an hour ago in a navy zip-up hoodie and black tank top beneath it, the sleeves pushed up over his forearms. His pants were olive cargo joggers, heavy-looking, but he didn’t seem to mind the heat. He walked like someone with a purpose. His expression was unreadable except for the faint line of irritation that always lingered near his brow.

Inside the dorm building, the air conditioning hit his skin like a slap. Cool. Sterile. Too quiet for a weekend.

Izuku was waiting in the common room, half-sitting on the edge of one of the couches, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, completely absorbed in his phone. His thumbs flew across the screen, typing something fast, and he didn’t look up until the front door clicked shut behind Katsuki.

“Oh—Kacchan,” he said, standing so fast the motion jolted his phone. “You're here already?”

Katsuki looked him over, eyebrows flicking slightly upward.

Izuku was dressed like he’d changed outfits twice before settling on this one. His shirt was a fitted white tee with a faded All Might logo stretched across the chest, tucked slightly into dark, cuffed jeans. He had a sage green overshirt tied around his waist and wore clean, white sneakers—brand new, probably. His hair was still damp at the roots, the kind of messy that wasn’t accidental. Like he’d run his fingers through it in the mirror and called it done.

Katsuki clicked his tongue.

“I said noon. It's 12:03.”

Izuku laughed sheepishly and slipped his phone into his back pocket. “Right, yeah. Sorry. Ochako just texted—she and the girls are getting lunch after the spa, so she probably won’t be back until late.”

“Good for her,” Katsuki muttered, not quite sarcastically. His eyes flicked toward the phone as Izuku pulled it out again, typing something quickly with his thumb.

Katsuki didn’t say anything.

He looked away, toward the hallway, like it was suddenly very interesting.

“You ready?” he asked after a moment, voice neutral.

“Yeah! Yeah, totally. Let me just grab my bag.”

Izuku jogged back to the stairwell, disappearing for a minute. Katsuki didn’t sit. He waited by the door, arms crossed, the low hum of the air conditioning filling the silence. He could hear faint footsteps above and the sound of Izuku rummaging through something—drawers maybe, or a closet.

When Izuku returned, he had a small canvas backpack slung over one shoulder and a bottle of water tucked under his arm. He smiled like it was habit. Bright, reflexive.

“Okay, I think I’ve got everything.”

Katsuki gave a short nod and turned toward the door. “We’ll take the train. It’s a pain to park.”

“Good idea,” Izuku said, pulling his phone out again. His fingers moved quickly.

Katsuki didn’t look at him.

“Are you texting her again?”

Izuku glanced up mid-message, blinking. “Huh? Oh—yeah, just letting her know I’m heading out.”

Katsuki gave a short, humorless exhale. “You already told her.”

Izuku blinked again, like he didn’t quite register the tone. “I guess I did…”

They walked outside together, the doors hissing shut behind them.

The sun was hotter now, and Katsuki had to squint against the glare as they stepped onto the sidewalk. His hoodie was already too warm, but he didn’t take it off.

Izuku adjusted the straps of his backpack and kept walking, talking about how long it had been since he’d gone to an amusement park. His voice was light, cheerful. Like nothing was wrong.

Katsuki said nothing.

He just kept walking beside him, jaw tight, hands in his pockets.

---

The amusement park wasn’t Katsuki’s idea. He didn’t even like amusement parks. They were loud, sticky, and packed with people who had no spatial awareness. But somehow, here he was—standing in front of a glittering archway that Katsuki couldn’t even care to read. Its colorful bulbs blinking in the late afternoon sun like it was winking at him, daring him to turn back.

He glanced sideways. Midoriya was already taking pictures of the entrance sign, squinting at his phone with a tiny smile.

“We’re literally standing right here. You need a photo for your memoir or somethin’?”

Izuku looked up, unbothered. “It’s for Ochako. She’s never been here before.”

Right. Of course. For Ochako.

Katsuki bit back whatever acidic response was bubbling up. He shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered, “Let’s just go.”

The crowds only got thicker as they pushed into the park proper. The place smelled like cotton candy and fryer oil, and the air buzzed with mechanical clanking, laughter, and the occasional shriek from a roller coaster in the distance. Izuku’s eyes lit up like a kid seeing All Might in real life for the first time—which, fine, was kind of cute. If Katsuki were the type to use the word cute. He wasn’t.

They started with the spinning teacups. Katsuki regretted it immediately.

“I didn’t think you’d get dizzy so easily,” Midoriya said, holding a bottled water out to him once they stumbled off. Katsuki took it and chugged half of it down, scowling.

“Not dizzy. Just hate stupid-ass rides that spin you in place like you’re laundry.”

Izuku laughed. “That’s fair.”

Then his phone buzzed. He glanced down, smiled, and typed out a response. Katsuki didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

They moved on.

The log flume ride was better. Less spinning, more water. They got soaked on the final drop, and Midoriya’s curls stuck to his forehead in wet clumps. Katsuki wanted to say something snarky about him looking like a drowned rat, but when Midoriya turned to him, cheeks flushed and laughing like he hadn’t had that much fun in years, the words died somewhere in his throat.

Then—buzz. Another text. Midoriya looked at it immediately.

“She’s with Mina and Tsuyu at a karaoke lounge now,” he said, grinning. “She sent me a video. Tsuyu’s singing Au Revoir. She sounds really good, actually—”

“Can you not do that for like, one second?”

Izuku blinked. “Do what?”

Katsuki looked away. “Text your girlfriend every ten goddamn seconds like you’re surgically attached to your phone.”

“I’m not texting her every—”

“Feels like it.” His voice came out sharper than he meant it to, and Midoriya flinched.

Silence fell between them as they walked toward the next ride: a giant looping coaster that twisted like a dragon above their heads. The tension was tight, unspoken. Katsuki was already regretting opening his mouth.

They waited in line, inching forward with every cycle of screaming passengers. Katsuki stole a glance at Midoriya, who was now staring at the ground, fingers tapping against his thigh.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Katsuki muttered.

“No, it’s okay.” Midoriya offered him a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I guess I’ve just been… trying to stay connected.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He didn’t. Not really. But he wanted to.

When they were strapped into the coaster and the ride began its slow, suspenseful climb, Katsuki risked another look. The sun had dipped lower now, casting Midoriya’s profile in gold. His lashes caught the light. He was gripping the bar like he might fly out into the sky.

Katsuki wanted to say something. Anything. But the world dropped out from under them before he could.

They screamed their lungs out. They laughed on the way down. When the ride ended, Katsuki was breathless and Midoriya looked alive in a way that made Katsuki feel like he was glowing just by proximity.

“I didn’t know you liked coasters so much,” Midoriya said as they stepped off.

“I don’t. But that one didn’t suck.”

Izuku’s phone buzzed again. He checked it, then slipped it into his pocket without replying.

Katsuki didn’t say anything this time, but Izuku noticed.

They walked through the park a while longer, each too stubborn to bring up the weird tension hanging between them. The sky was getting darker now, the lights brighter. Music and laughter echoed through the air like it belonged in some cheesy high school romcom. Katsuki hated how well it fit.

Then, like fate—or something crueler—Izuku pointed at the Ferris wheel.

“We should go on that before we leave,” he said. “The view’s probably amazing.”

Katsuki groaned but didn’t argue.

---

The smell of sugar hit them like a wall the moment they stepped onto the main thoroughfare of the park—fried dough, sweet syrup, roasted peanuts, the oily tang of popcorn machines working overtime.

Izuku turned in a slow circle as they walked, eyes wide, grin stretching across his face.

“Kacchan,” he said suddenly, tugging lightly at Katsuki’s sleeve. “Do you smell that? That’s definitely taiyaki—maybe even chocolate-filled. Oh my god, we have to get some. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Katsuki barely had time to answer before Izuku was already weaving toward the food stalls, practically bouncing with energy. He stopped in front of a red-and-white-striped kiosk with a paper sign taped to the front: Crispy Taiyaki – Choice of Filling!

There was a short line. Katsuki shoved his hands into his pockets and stood behind Izuku, squinting at the menu overhead.

“I might get two,” Izuku murmured to himself, still not looking back. “One for now, one for later. Do you think they’ll get soggy?”

Katsuki snorted. “Yeah, dumbass, it’s not a vacuum-sealed snack.”

Izuku giggled and turned slightly toward him. “Then I’ll eat both now. Problem solved.”

The line moved quickly. Izuku ordered a custard one and a chocolate one. Katsuki passed on getting anything, just muttering a “Nah” when Izuku offered to share.

They found a spot near the edge of a quiet courtyard—a low concrete wall half-shaded by a tree. Izuku sat down first, legs crossed beneath him, peeling back the paper wrapper around his taiyaki with the kind of reverence Katsuki usually reserved for new grenade gauntlets.

He took a bite, made a happy noise, and reached for his phone.

Again.

Katsuki sat beside him, stretching one leg out, arms folded, eyes scanning the crowd—but his gaze kept flicking sideways.

Izuku was smiling at his phone now. Typing. Giggling.

And then smiling again.

And typing.

And smiling.

Katsuki stared hard at a man walking by in a foam mascot suit, jaw tightening, leg bouncing.

Izuku giggled again—softer this time, almost bashful—and Katsuki’s patience snapped in half.

“Can you fucking stop?”

Izuku blinked, startled. “Huh?”

Katsuki turned to him fully now, eyes narrowed, jaw sharp. “You’ve been glued to that thing since we left. I’m not your fuckin’ chauffeur, Izuku.”

Izuku looked down at his phone, then back up. “I was just texting Ochako…”

“No shit,” Katsuki snapped. “You’ve been texting her all goddamn day.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Izuku started, but Katsuki cut him off with a scoff, standing up abruptly.

“It’s like you don’t even wanna be here.”

The words hung heavy in the air, louder than Katsuki intended, rougher than he meant. A couple sitting nearby turned to glance at them. Izuku’s mouth opened slightly like he wanted to say something, but didn’t.

Katsuki raked a hand through his hair and looked away.

“You know what,” he muttered, “whatever. Forget it.”

He started to walk off.

Izuku stood quickly, taiyaki forgotten on the wrapper.

“Kacchan—wait, I didn’t mean to—”

“You said you wanted to hang out,” Katsuki snapped over his shoulder. “So fucking hang out.”

Izuku stood frozen for a second, phone still in hand, the screen dimming slowly in the sunlight. The sounds of the park rushed back in around him—kids laughing, music blaring from a nearby ride, the squeal of a rollercoaster in the distance.

He slipped the phone into his pocket and ran to catch up.

Izuku caught up to him, steps hurried and uneven on the cobbled path, taiyaki long forgotten and cold in the heat behind them.

“Kacchan, wait—just listen for a second, I didn’t mean to ignore you—”

Katsuki stopped walking. He didn’t turn around.

Izuku slowed to a halt behind him, chest rising and falling with something heavier than the jog. Something he didn’t want to name yet.

“You’ve talked to me maybe like a couple times all day,” Katsuki said, voice low but edged like broken glass. “A couple fuckin’ times, Izuku. It’s been so long.”

Izuku swallowed.

“And meanwhile,” Katsuki kept going, finally turning his head, “Uraraka has, what—like a bomb of messages? Photos? Little heart emojis? You light up when she responds, and I get what? A grunt?”

Izuku flinched, shoulders curling inward. “Because she’s my girlfriend, Kacchan.”

Katsuki didn’t blink. “And us?”

Izuku hesitated. Just long enough.

“We’re friends,” he said. Firmer this time. “We’re friends.”

Katsuki looked at him, and for a second he looked like he might laugh. But his mouth stayed tight, and his eyes were colder than Izuku had seen in years.

“Yeah? Well, we used to be best friends.”

And then he turned and walked.

Just like that.

No dramatic pause. No final look over his shoulder. No time to process before he was stomping off, shoulders tight with something he wasn’t saying.

“Kacchan—!” Izuku rushed forward, heart pounding, sneakers scraping against the pavement as he reached for Katsuki’s wrist, desperate not to let him go like this.

But Katsuki whipped around like fire.

“Get the FUCK off me!”

Izuku reeled back like he'd been hit.

People turned to look, distant and blurry in his peripheral vision. His ears rang. His hand stayed midair for a second too long.

Katsuki’s chest was heaving, his face a cocktail of anger and something worse underneath it. Hurt. Regret. That awful thing he never let people see.

Then he turned again, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and walked off without a word.

This time, Izuku didn’t follow.

Not because he didn’t want to.

But because his legs wouldn’t move.

Notes:

is my love for byler showing…. HAHHAHA

Chapter 7

Summary:

basically internalized homophobia

Notes:

hello guys sorry for not updating for like A WEEK i was super busy and was working on an animation for my tiktok too 😭 anyways enjoy

Katsuki walks off without looking back.

Izuku stands there, frozen in place. The space where Katsuki had just been feels oddly empty, like the wind’s been knocked out of something too big to name.

The noise of the park swirls around him—laughter, mechanical groans from nearby rides, some distorted pop music playing overhead—but it all sounds muffled. Distant.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring down the path Katsuki took, hands limp at his sides. A tight, hot feeling coils behind his ribs. He swallows it down.

Eventually, he turns and walks away. Alone.

---

The sky was dimming when Izuku walked through the doors of Heights Alliance.

The weight of the day hung off his shoulders like waterlogged clothes. His feet were slow. His body felt disconnected, like he was watching himself from the outside.

As he stepped into the dorm lobby, the familiar warmth of the space didn’t comfort him like usual. The distant hum of the TV, the soft kitchen light left on—everything felt out of sync.

Ochako stood up from the couch as soon as she saw him.

“There you are,” she said. Her voice was soft but searching. “Are you okay?”

He blinked at her. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She gave him a look, the kind that said she knew he wasn’t.

“I saw Bakugou storming up the stairs a little while ago,” she said, folding her arms. “He looked pissed. I mean—more pissed than usual.”

Izuku's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He let out a half-laugh, awkward and tight.

“Wasn’t he with you today?”

He nodded once.

“And?” she pressed gently.

He glanced toward the stairs. “He left early.”

“I kind of figured,” Ochako said, stepping closer. “You were with him all afternoon. Something must’ve happened.”

He didn't say anything.

“Izuku?” she prompted again, quieter now. “Did… did you guys fight or something?”

He shrugged, eyes unfocused. “Not really.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a ‘no.’”

He sat down on the edge of the armchair beside the couch, elbows on his knees. The silence between them stretched.

Ochako sat across from him. “Did he say something to you?”

Izuku shook his head, but the motion was small. Hesitant.

She watched him for a beat, her expression softening. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He gave her a grateful smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Ochako tucked her legs underneath her on the couch. “I just… he looked upset. And now you look upset. And—sorry, I guess I’m just worried.”

She reached for her half-finished mug of tea on the table and handed it to him. “Drink this. You look like you need something warm.”

He nodded again, slow and quiet. “Thanks.”

He took it, hands curling around the ceramic like an anchor.

Ochako stood slowly and crossed the room to him. She leaned down, her hand brushing lightly against the side of his face. Then, without saying anything, she pressed a kiss to his forehead.

It was soft. Familiar.

He didn’t move.

She lingered just a second longer, her thumb grazing his cheek before she straightened again. “You don’t have to talk,” she said gently. “But I’m here, okay?”

Izuku nodded again. “Okay.”

He didn’t look at her.

She didn’t press him.

She sat back down and let the silence hold them both, even if it felt heavier on his shoulders than hers.

Neither of them said anything else for a while. The tea tasted faintly of honey and ginger. Izuku focused on that, because it was easier than thinking.

 

---

The next morning, Izuku didn’t wait for Bakugou outside the dorms.

He used to. Not every day, but often enough that it had become a quiet habit—waiting just a little longer in the lobby, pretending to check messages until Katsuki came stomping down the stairs. Sometimes Katsuki would grunt out a “let’s go,” and sometimes he’d just walk past, but Izuku would always follow, catching up with too many words and too little breath.

Today, he left early. Alone.

He made sure of it.

The sun was still low in the sky, painting the path to U.A. in washed-out golds and soft shadows. Students clustered together in twos and threes, laughing, chatting, drowsy. Izuku moved around them, polite and quiet, like fog rolling through.

He tried not to look over his shoulder. Tried not to expect the sound of fast, angry footsteps behind him.

Nothing came.

Katsuki hadn’t answered his messages. Not the one from last night. Not the one from this morning. Not even the “you home safe?” from after he’d stormed off.

Izuku told himself he deserved it.

He kept telling himself that through classes, through training, through lunch—where he sat with Ochako and Iida and ignored the itch in the back of his mind that said someone was missing.

“Midoriya, you’re spacing out again,” Iida said, adjusting his glasses. “Is your schedule too packed? You should be more careful about your rest.”

Izuku interrupted Iida before he could turn it into a full-blown lecture.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

Ochako rested her chin on her hand and gave him a soft look. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Totally.”

She reached under the table, squeezed his hand. Her touch was warm. Kind. Familiar. It grounded him, and yet—it didn’t.

He squeezed back anyway.

---

Days passed.

Izuku didn’t message Katsuki again.

He made himself stop looking toward the seat Katsuki usually took during training analysis. He stopped lingering in the common room around the time Katsuki might come in for water. He made excuses to leave the cafeteria early, before there was any chance of an encounter.

He told himself it was better this way.

Because Katsuki had made it clear—Get the fuck off me. The words rang in his head at night, cold and sharp and echoing.

Izuku replayed it, over and over, every time his fingers hovered over Katsuki’s name on his phone. Every time he wanted to apologize again. Every time he wanted to ask, What did I do? Why did you say that?

But what would he even say? That he felt guilty for texting his girlfriend during their hangout? That he’d chosen Ochako, again and again, because he was supposed to?

That it was wrong to even be upset about this?

He had a girlfriend. A wonderful one. He had everything he’d always wanted: a shot at being the No.1 hero, a partner who cared for him, friends who respected him.

He told himself that the knot in his chest was just guilt. That he didn’t miss Katsuki. Not like that.

Because he couldn’t miss him like that.

That would mean something was wrong with him. That would mean everything he had was fake. That would mean the parts of him he’d fought so hard to fix weren’t fixed at all.

So he didn’t let himself think about how Katsuki had looked on the rooftop of that abandoned house—sharp-edged and windblown, eyes searching his like he saw him.

He didn’t let himself remember how it had felt, for a moment, like something might’ve happened.

Like maybe Katsuki had been about to—

No. No. It didn’t matter. It didn’t happen.

And even if it had… even if Izuku had wanted it, just a little… even if a traitorous part of him still did—

He shoved the thought down, hard. Buried it under everything else.

It was better this way. Cleaner. Easier.

He had Ochako. He wasn’t—

“Izu?” Ochako called softly from across the common room. “Are you coming to movie night?”

Izuku let out a breath through his nose, clenched his jaw, and stared harder at the homework in front of him. The words blurred.

He looked up. She was smiling.

He nodded. “Yeah, just finishing something up.”

He forced a smile. One that didn’t crack.

When she turned back toward the TV, Izuku’s shoulders sank.

He stared at his phone again. No new messages.

And for the hundredth time that week, he told himself he was fine. 

Really fine.

---

By the end of the week, he started telling himself it was better this way.

Katsuki clearly didn’t care anymore.
He hadn’t replied. He hadn’t reached out.
Izuku had just misread everything. That was all.

Of course Katsuki didn’t feel anything. Not now. Maybe not ever.

And anyway, even if he had—Izuku had Ochako.
A relationship. Something real.
He should’ve been focusing on her all along.

He should be happy.

Right?

Then why did he feel sick every time he walked past Katsuki in the hallway and pretended not to see the way Katsuki didn’t look at him either? Why did it feel like something sharp was stuck between his ribs, stabbing him every time he laughed too hard around her and it sounded fake?

He told himself this was how it had to be.

Katsuki didn’t want him.
And Izuku had no right to want him back.

It was wrong. It always had been.

He forced a smile. He kissed Ochako more in public. He kept his head down. He didn’t let himself think about that almost-kiss on the rooftop, the heat of Katsuki’s gaze, the tension just before—

Stop it.

He grit his teeth in the dark of his dorm room, curled tightly beneath the blanket, phone face-down on the nightstand beside him.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t say his name out loud.

He just lay there, silent.

Trying not to think about him.

Notes:

how we feeling bkdk nation

Chapter 8: hiatus

hello!!! im just going to be on a short little hiatus because my school has just started again and i really need to prioritize my studies first :)
thank you to the support ive been getting on this fic! i promise the next chapter will be out once i get back on track with everything.
thank you for understanding.

- Ari <3