Farlie

by ElizabethMarlowe

Summary:

Izuku thought his life ended in a coffee shop.

He gets it back in an alleyway.

_______

A TodoBakuDeku continuation of my story Peripeteia!

Chapter 1

Notes:

Hiiiiiii

So I didn't mean for it to take this long to get to part two, but unfortunately, life got a little busy and brain no worky for a while! But thankfully, after much time and many cold brew-fueled writing sessions, I finally feel like I'm ready to start posting this bad boy.

 

This two-parter has been an interesting exercise for me as a writer. Anyone who's followed me knows I'm all about the smut, but my goal with the Peripeteia was to make something a little softer, less smut and more fluff.

Did I accomplish that? I think so!
Did people like it? Jury's still out!

But for any long-time readers that know my style, this part will definitely be a return to form: angst and arguments and delicious, cathartic smutty goodness and best of all, little to no miscommunication!

 

It's been slow coming, but very enjoyable to watch this one piece together, and I'm very excited to see how it lands. I hope you all enjoy!

 

ALSO, for anyone just joining, you can absolutely read this without having to read the first part, but for the full experience, I highly recommend reading the first story to make sure you don't miss anything!! :)

 

Lastly, this story is dedicated to my sweet, lovely Smoochx.
Thank you so much for always being such a wonderful reader, my sweet- this one is for you!

 

 

Air whooshes.

He’s breathing so hard that he can hear the cracking rasp of his inhale even over the chatter of voices. Can feel the pulse of blood in his ears- the thud thud thud of his boots on pavement.

It’s harder to keep up than he anticipated. He’d tried to maintain a certain amount of fitness for all these years, sure- has to to make sure he can keep up with his students- but now that he’s actually back out on the job, actually needing to run properly, he finds himself lagging. 

In his defense, the perp is quicker than any of them had previously planned for, especially for a man carrying what equates to a bazooka. But he and Kacchan are quick, too. And so is Hanta, where he swings through buildings. 

 

He smiles up at them as they charge ahead of him, watching their backs with a shiver in his gut and stars in his eyes. 

Even with his license reinstated by the commission, he can admit that he’s barely more than a sidekick right now, certainly hasn’t gotten back to their level in the few short months since getting the suit. No, he’s really only here to support them with this capture, trying to get some fresh experience under his belt as he figures out the ins and outs of all the machinery on his body, but even so, he can’t help but feel a little rush of excitement.

Because they’re gonna get him. And he’s gonna help. He’s doing something. Helping someone. Not just in a classroom, but for real. 

It makes him feel a little dizzy.

 

“Persistent, isn’t he?” Hanta abruptly asks, breathing heavy into comms as he swings in a graceful arc over his head.

 

Izuku cringes. 

Truth be told, this sort of thing must be annoying to established heroes like Dynamight and Cellophane- nothing but a frustrating little blip in an otherwise smooth day. 

But to him? It’s heaven. Heaven because he never thought he’d get this- feel this way again. Never thought he’d feel the wind in his hair and the crunch of gravel beneath his feet and power thrumming in his blood and the intoxicating adrenaline that comes with it. But somehow, by the grace of fate and his friends’ sacrifices, he’d gotten a second chance. And he’s not gonna let himself fall behind. 

 

Gritting his teeth, he activates the Air Force propellers in his boots that he’d read about that morning over coffee, trying for some extra speed. 

It works. Sort of.

He bursts forward as hoped, sucking in big gulps of fresh air as he skitters forward, a bit unbalanced, but still mostly upright. Clunky.

And even though he’s halfway to falling on his ass, it’s a rush.

 

After all, he’d said goodbye to this feeling years ago. Buried it. Mourned it. But somehow, by pure luck, he’s finally here again, doing something good, protecting his community, being a hero. And while the last few weeks have been difficult for too many reasons to name, at the very least, he has this. At least he can help people. Can use it to distract him from all the awful things lurking in the back of his brain.

 

“Alright, slow up.” Kacchan calls into comms. “He’s starting to flag. I think we can pin him down. Cellophane, get up top and tangle him if he tries to run. Deku, come in on the left and see if you can’t knock that pea shooter out of his hands.”

 

“Heh. And what will you be doing, Murder God Lazymight?” Hanta calls, his wide grin audible through the earpiece.

 

Kacchan chuckles, low and soft. 

“I’ll be taking out the trash.” He croons.

 

It’s brutal. Almost sensual in his ear. And try as he may, Izuku can’t help it: a shiver cuts up his spine. His hair stands on end.

God, Kacchan is really good at this, he thinks. No wonder his rank is so high.

 

“Alright, you two got it?” Kacchan asks sharply.

 

Izuku nods to no one.

“Got it.” He and Hanta say in tandem, quickly springing into action.

 

Doing what he’d been told, he quietly slinks through the streets, flattening himself against walls and slowly, slowly inching closer and closer, one block after another as he comes up on the left–

–When suddenly, he turns a corner. He looks up. He gasps. Because there, three stories tall, right in front of his face, almost mocking him, are Shouto and Kacchan. 

Photos of them, anyway.

 

 

Izuku looks up. Stares. Gapes at their handsome faces. 

And as it has every day for the last month, his heart quietly crumbles inside his chest.

 

Now, it’s not a surprise that it was nationwide news when it finally broke to the media. Of course, it was. Shouto and Kacchan are two rising stars. Veterans of war. Darlings of the hero world. And most importantly, two of the most attractive men on the market. It’s only reasonable that everyone had lost their minds over them and their new relationship.

There had been an outcry of public support when they’d announced it. Internet forums. T-shirts. Screaming teenage girls (and boys) bemoaning the loss of their bachelorhood.

And sure enough, Izuku must have lost his mind, too, because everywhere he goes, it seems to haunt him. No matter where he looks, it stalks him. Even when he tries to keep his head down and focus on hero work or teaching or therapy- anything- it’s always there on the edge of his mind, whispering to him- taunting him- almost laughing at him. 

And sure enough, here it is again when he least expects it.

 

 

He swallows tightly.

He can’t get distracted right now. He’s in the middle of a mission. Smack dab in the center of an active pursuit of an armed assailant. He has orders. A plan. A goal. And yet, despite all his training and logic and the way his head is screaming at him to stop gawking and get moving, Izuku finds himself pitifully frozen to the ground, unable to tear his eyes away, watching in horrified wonder as photo after photo flashes across a tall, bright news broadcast in the middle of the square, a few headlines racing beneath it.

 

Shouto and Dynamight: Does Japan have a new It couple? It reads.

 

Above it is a professional, respectable photo; a shot from last week’s charity dinner, the two of them standing side by side in smart suits, their hands clasped, faces neutral. 

And though he knows he needs to turn away- to get back to his mission- Izuku finds himself taking a step forward, unintentionally drawn in, watching in rapt attention until that photo disappears.

 

Shouto Todoroki and Katsuki Bakugou seen arm in arm outside hot, new restaurant! The next headline reads.

 

And sure enough, the first photo is quickly replaced by something new, a much darker, much grainier photo that almost looks like a paparazzi shot: Shouto’s arm locked around Kacchan’s shoulder, his handsome face steely and protective. Kacchan is twisting toward the lens, his face pinched, a blurred-out middle finger raised high and proud as if he’s actively cursing out the person holding the camera.

Izuku feels his neck begin to sweat- his mouth going dry. He takes another step out into the street, his eyes locked, growing steadily more nauseous with each step, too entranced to look away as the second photo fades.

 

Hero Couple Turning up the Heat: Dynamight and Shouto caught in Steamy Exchange! The ticker reads next.

 

Izuku swallows, both completely intrigued and utterly terrified at what the screen will show next– 

–and when the photo inevitably changes again, he almost falls right on his ass.

 

It’s them again, clearly taken moments after the last, but this time, it’s taken from another angle, the shot tawdry and almost voyeuristic as Kacchan leans up onto his toes, throws his arms around Shouto’s shoulders, and kisses him deeply.

Shouto’s eyelashes, pale white and pretty, dust over his sharp cheeks. He can see the press of Kacchan’s lips, full and soft, where they slide against Shouto’s mouth. Shouto’s hands are slipping up the bottom of Kacchan’s shirt, elegant fingers exposing the smooth tan skin of his lower back- the dimples just above the belt line–

–And without warning, something inside Izuku quietly snaps. 

 

Looking up at them, tangled in a lover’s embrace, he suddenly can’t hear any of the chatter in his earpiece. Can’t listen to the instructions being called to him. Can barely make out the raspy growl of Kacchan’s voice in his ear. Because every heartbeat- every second he looks at that dim photo- watching the man he loves being loved and touched by someone else- his heart begins to race faster and faster. His body sinks lower and lower. His chest opens wide, vacuous and empty. Bile races up his throat, lodging high and tight.

 

He tries to pull his eyes away. He can’t. Tries to make his feet move. He can’t.

And though he’s finally out doing the one thing he’d dreamed of for years- the thing he’d wished for with the very fiber of his being- he suddenly doesn’t care about being a hero. Can’t care about anything except for the beautiful horror that’s looking down on him from that screen.

Because, once more, those ugly feelings- that dark, slithering jealousy- has found him again. And though he hates it, tries his best to shake it off, no matter where he goes, it follows him. No matter how hard he tries to focus on something else- anything else- it’s always just there.

 

And he has no one to blame but himself.

 

He’d had years to make his move, after all. He’d had a lifetime to tell Kacchan how he felt. And coward that he is, he’d done nothing. He’d waited for a sign that would never come. Had prayed that someday, he’d grow enough to somehow be worth Kacchan’s time again. To be someone that Kacchan would be proud to have on his arm. Not some quirkless, broken nobody, but a man of substance. 

But aiming for a perfection he’d never reach, he’d waited too long. And now, that door is closed. Kacchan belongs to someone else. 

And of course, because fate is cruel, it isn’t even to a person that he could reasonably hate. Not some faceless person he could loathe from the shadows. 

No, it’s Shouto. Shou-chan. His best friend.

 

He could almost laugh at the irony. Has laughed at it. Until tears had slipped from his eyes and he’d worked himself into an attack, squished into the corner of his kitchen, sobbing into his hands.

Because who could compare to either of them: their beauty and power? Their kindness and bravery? Why did he ever think he had a chance?? What madness possessed him? Who would ever pass him a single glance when next to either of them?

 

Glutton for punishment that he is, he lets his eyes sweep back to the billboard again, body unconsciously trailing toward them as he tilts his chin and looks at them wrapped up together, soft and happy–

–And once more, the open maw of reality looms before him, its jaws dripping cruelly. His heart begins to pound. His hands begin to tremble. His breaths come fast.

He blinks, and suddenly, he’s ten years younger- smaller; not a hero or a teacher, but the shy, unlovable thing he was before the world ate him up and spat him out.

 

He feels the tears rise, choking into his throat.

Stupid. So stupid to believe that Kacchan would ever look at him that way. Stupid to believe that he would ever mean anything to him without his quirk. Naive and foolish to think that Kacchan would ever see him when Shouto was there: tall, beautiful, brilliant Shouto with his insane power and his soft smiles and his warm, gentle–

 

 

 

“--Deku!!”

 

 

 

His hero name suddenly fills his ears like water in a bowl, Kacchan’s voice sharp and shrill.

Immediately pulled back to Earth, his head whips up, every part of him instantly snapping to attention.

 

Oh, god. How long had he been standing here? How long had he zoned out?

 

Kacchan’s voice bellows through his earpiece- through the open air.

“Deku, move!!” He shouts.

 

There’s fear in it- bald, unencumbered fear- the sort he never hears from Kacchan- and hearing Kacchan scream for him like that, everything suddenly pulls into focus as he looks around wildly.

Distracted as he was, he’d drifted out into the open, had actually come out of the shadows into the middle of the square. Like a sitting duck. And worst, when he looks up over his shoulder, prickling with fear, he sees the perp he was supposed to be tailing grinning down at him with a wild, feral smile, his gun pointed, a missile locked and loaded.

 

Izuku gasps. The suit harriedly warns him of incoming ballistics. The shields click autonomously into place, thanks to Hatsumei’s latest update. But shields or no, when the perp’s finger presses that trigger, everything slows to a stop.

 

He sucks in an icy breath.

This would’ve been easy in his prime. With Danger Sense, he would’ve been able to avoid it without batting an eye. 

But Danger Sense is gone and Izuku has been out of the field for years- is only just learning how to use the suit properly. His instincts are dull. His reaction time is slow. And so, all he can do is stumble back and try like hell to get out of the way.

 

His feet scramble. His heart pounds. But a quick glance shows him that there’s nowhere to run- no place to take cover or hide.

He sucks in a terrified breath, his head dully registering a flash of orange and black in his peripheral vision as he tries his best to shield himself with his arms.

 

 

A voice pierces the air like a blade.

“Deku!!!”

 

 

The trigger pulls. The missile launches. Somewhere, he hears his name again, shrieked in fear- screamed with enough terror to cut–

–When suddenly, something white wraps around his waist, hauling him bodily out of the way at the very last moment, flinging him out of the danger with less than a second to spare.

 

Izuku lets out a cry of alarm as he lands safely on the other side of the street with a thud. The missile explodes where he was just standing. Concrete rains down. Sound whistles in his ears, so loud that for a moment, everything just rings. And when he can hear again, it’s a familiar voice calling to him through his earpiece.

 

“Careful, Midoriya!” Hanta calls into his comms, grinning widely at him from across the street, “That was a close one!”

 

Izuku could cry with relief. He could burn with frustration.

Alive. He’s alive.

“Thanks!” He calls back, giving him a wave. “Are you okay?”

 

Hanta nods, throwing up an ok sign.

“I’m good!” He says through his mic, “Can’t say the same about the guy who tried to explode you, though.”

He points to their left, gesturing for Izuku to look, and when he does, he sees the culprit held against a wall by his neck, toes dangling, the bazooka already laid in assorted pieces on the ground before him as Kacchan holds him, panting like a beast and snarling like a rabid dog, his ruby eyes like blood, teeth bared dangerously.

 

Izuku’s heart skips. He gapes in wonder. 

Holy whoa, Kacchan is amazing. In all of ten seconds, he’d not only disarmed the perp, but had broken his weapon- had pummeled the criminal into unconsciousness- had honestly probably gone farther than he needed to-- 

-–and somewhere inside, Izuku knows that that’s his fault, too. 

 

Hearing the easy chatter in his earpiece, Kacchan turns to them like a crack of lightning, pupils like slits.

“Deku, you hurt?” He asks sharply.

 

Izuku swallows tightly.

“No.” He shakes his head, looking at the cracked street around him in sudden embarrassment. “I’m okay.”

 

Even from thirty feet away, he can see the mollified slump of Kacchan’s shoulders- can almost hear the heavy exhale that sends all of the air out of him. But ever the professional, after a single moment of relief, Kacchan straightens once more, instantly back to business.

“Cellophane, can you call it in?” He asks.

 

Hanta salutes him over his helmet.

“Already on it.”

 

It’s casual to them- almost as easy as breathing- and without meaning to, Izuku finds his eyes drifting downward, his sight gliding away from Kacchan’s godlike form and down to his shoes.

Suddenly feeling sick inside despite their victory- weak and small in this big, scary suit- he turns away in shame, hating himself for jeopardizing the mission, quickly thanking Hanta once more before he turns away and calls in the police.

 

They come quickly, roping off the damaged part of the streets and hauling the criminal away, a bomb squad following behind to confiscate and investigate the battered remains of the weapon as the sun begins to steadily set over the horizon. 

He should help, he knows- should take this opportunity to get more experience- but still too embarrassed to show his face, Izuku hangs back from the scene, quietly watching Hanta and Kacchan as they organize the cleanup, only stepping forward for just long enough to give his statement to the police before watching them disappear in a blare of sirens and cherries.

 

The distraction was welcome, honestly. It kept him out of his head, if only for a few minutes. Kept him from thinking about how close that had been. The fear in Kacchan’s voice. The sight of his two best friends on a three-story billboard, happy and in love. His own mortifying misstep.

But now, everything’s died down. There are no more distractions. No avoiding what had happened. And more than likely sensing the tension that begins to simmer between him and Kacchan, Hanta gives him a quick clap on the back and makes himself scarce, calling out a final goodbye as he swings away.

 

Which leaves him and Kacchan alone on the decimated block.

 

It goes quiet.

He looks at Kacchan out of the corner of his eye. Kacchan looks back at him, mouth twisting, eyes worried and furious in equal measure, fingers drumming against his thigh.

And oh, it hurts. Hurts to be looked at like that. Hurts to be so close to him. To know that Kacchan had dove for him when he was in danger- to know that Kacchan had had to save him again.

 

His head bows.

To know that this man that he loves so desperately will never love him back- will probably never see him as anything but a burden: as a rock forever stuck in his shoe- a burr he’ll never be able to buck.

 

And sure enough, when he finally finds the bravery to steal a glance, Kacchan is frowning at him, his hand twitching at his side as if ready to reach out and smack. He takes a step closer, fingers extended, clearly ready to open up his mouth and give him a piece of his mind or scold him for being so useless- something–

–And god, he can’t bear it. Not now. So, like the miserable coward he is, Izuku swallows hard and turns away, walking down the street as fast as he can, hiding his face so Kacchan can’t see the devastation etched into it.

 

 

There’s a dry, shocked gasp behind him. A quick pounding of feet on pavement.

“Deku. Deku!” Kacchan shouts.

 

But he can’t. He can’t. 

So Izuku squeezes his eyes closed, flying as quickly as his feet will take him, ducking into the closest alley, praying that Kacchan will stop following, praying that he’ll leave him alone, that he’ll take the hint and let him mourn in peace–

–But of course, Kacchan, loyal as he is, does no such thing. No, he follows behind him, hot on his heels like a bloodhound, not stopping that dogged pursuit until he’s got a hand around Izuku’s shoulder, yanking him to a sharp stop in the cool darkness.

 

“Deku, stop.” He demands, halting beside him. 

His voice echoes off the brick and concrete, sharp and yet, sort of gentle. It hurts.

And though all he wants right now is to run, Izuku has never been able to deny Kacchan anything, so he does.

 

Finally still, Kacchan bends down to his height.

“...What was that?” He asks hoarsely, searching his face for answers, “What the fuck happened back there?”

He softens his voice, the gravelly rasp he’s known for two decades suddenly smoothing into something tender. And though there were a great many years when Izuku would’ve killed for Kacchan to speak to him like this- look at him like this- god, it makes him sick.

 

“You seemed like you were on top of it.” He remarks, less accusatory and more concerned. “You seemed good. But then, you just went quiet. You froze in the middle of the street.”

His hand trembles on Izuku’s bicep.

“Christ, nerd, you scared the living hell outta me. Thought the suit malfunctioned. Thought you were hurt. Thought that missile would…”

 

He trails off softly, leaving the last bit unsaid.

It’s like a dagger between his ribs.

 

Knowing that there’s no way out but through, Izuku takes a moment, twisting his face into something sheepish and inoffensive, reaching up and rubbing a hand anxiously through his hair.

“Kacchan, I-” He begins weakly, searching for any excuse that’ll stick, any proper reason for him to be acting like this, “I’m- I think I’m just having an off day. Tired. I’m just tired. I think I just need to–”

 

The hand around his shoulder loosens, snapping forward and gripping into the front of his costume, all of the cotton in Kacchan’s voice turning to poison as he growls:

“Bullshit.”

 

Izuku blinks at him, completely taken aback by the sudden shift.

“What?” He blurts dumbly.

 

Kacchan hisses, a sound of dangerous frustration as he hauls him in closer until they’re almost nose to nose.

“I said bullshit.” He glares. “You’re lying. You really think you can fool me? I know you better than you know yourself, nerd. So quit beating around the bush. Quit running from me.”

His eyes narrow, his irises like shards of uncut gems. 

“Something’s wrong.” He continues. “You’re off your game. Majorly. And you’ve been weird all damn day. All week. You’ve barely looked me in the eye. And now, you’re gonna tell me why.”

 

Izuku swallows tightly, a ripple of anxiety instantly coiling up his back like a snake.

He’s right. Of course, he’s right.

Izuku has been off his game. Has honestly been struggling just to get through his days. And of course, he noticed it. This is Kacchan, after all. He knows him better than he knows himself.

And knowing, with equal elation and dread, that there isn’t really anything he can do without revealing the painful, mortifying truth that’s been eating away at him, he just slumps into Kacchan’s steady hold, letting his body go limp, his eyes sliding closed.

“Kacchan.” He whispers, soft and exhausted. “Kacchan, I-”

 

The hand holding him suddenly goes unexpectedly gentle. The rough, sandpaper tone smooths into velvet. And when Izuku looks up, afraid to his bones of what he’ll see, Kacchan’s hard, dangerous eyes are suddenly soft and round and concerned, every bit of that famous grit leeched right out of him.

 

“Why, Deku.” He asks tenderly. “Tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” 

His hand raises again, gently tucking a green curl behind his ear, the brush of skin so electric that it makes his spine straighten- so intimate that it makes his mouth go bone dry.

“I know something’s up with you. So just spill it.” He demands, searching him up and down. “It’s me, nerd. You can tell me anything.”

 

Izuku’s throat instantly constricts. Every nerve in his body wails and screams.

It’s maybe the softest Kacchan has ever been with him- a sweetness that’s unfamiliar. A patience that’s never been there before. A warmth that someone else had clearly coaxed out of him. A gentleness that’s so horribly like Shouto that it almost makes him heave.

 

And worst of all, he’s right. Normally, he would tell him anything- everything. After all, this is his Kacchan. His best friend and confidante. The man he’s adored since before he even knew what love was. 

And god, he wants to tell him; wants to break down and tell him everything: wants to fall to his knees and scream and weep.

But he can’t- can’t tell him that it’s about seeing him and Shouto together- imagining he and Shouto together- being left behind. He can’t tell him that. It would leave too many open threads- make too many questions- possibly alter their friendship permanently.

 

So, quickly wracking his brain, he tries to think of something that makes sense, something that could justify the way he’s been acting today- this week- this entire month. And luckily, he doesn’t even have to lie. Not really. Because just beneath the surface, there is something he’d been worried about; something that’s been eating at him like acid for the past few weeks. And he supposes that now is just as good a time as ever.

 

He looks down at himself, thumbing his cuffs anxiously as he admits:

“It doesn’t seem right. The suit.” His eyes cast low. “Sometimes, I don’t feel like I deserve it. Sometimes, I feel like I should give it back- give it to someone more worthy, y’know. A real hero.”

 

Everything goes still as death. The breeze stops blowing. The world stops turning.

And suddenly terrified of the awful, penetrating stillness that arises between them, Izuku peeks up anxiously, lips trembling.

“...Kacchan?” He asks, trying to gauge his reaction.

 

Kacchan’s canines flash white like lightning in the dark. His eyes boil.

“Fuck you.” He snarls down at him.

 

 

Izuku recoils, completely unprepared for such venom.

“What-??”

 

Kacchan chases after him, a big hand whipping out, grabbing his collar and yanking him up to his toes.

“Fuck you, Deku. Fuck you.” He hisses. “You wanna give the suit away?” 

 

There’s hurt in his voice. Not anger, but pain. Enough that Izuku immediately understands his mistake. 

Oh. Oh, no. Kacchan worked so hard to get the suit made. He must think that he’s rejecting it- rejecting him. 

 

He scrambles to make him understand.

“No, it’s- Kacchan, I- it’s not that I’m not grateful-!!” He squeaks, trying his best to explain. “It’s just- it’s not working. I’m not- I don’t know if that is what I’m supposed to do anymore.” 

His head drops low in shame.

“I don’t know if I remember how. To save. To be a hero.”

 

Kacchan’s big hands uncurl from his front, a low sound of compassion slipping from his throat.

“You just need more practice.” He insists, head nodding. “No one could jump right back into it after that long of a break. You’re only human, nerd. You just need time.”

 

Izuku frowns down at the ground.

He’s right. He knows he’s right. And yet.

 

And yet.

 

“That’s what everyone tells me.” He grumbles, trying not to sound bitter. “Time. Just wait. Be patient.”

 

Despite his best efforts, the bitterness slips through.

“Time never fixes anything.” He shakes his head. “It just makes everything worse. Pulls people apart. Shows you how little things have actually changed.”

 

His hands clench. His jaw bunches. His stomach lurches, a decade’s worth of hurt feelings and anger beginning to rise and churn.

“So maybe I need to stop relying on time and just face reality- face the fact that maybe I’m just not cut out for this anymore.” He breathes, head bowing forward.

 

His heart twists like a wrung cloth, eyes glued to the tops of Kacchan’s boots.

“Maybe there are things in this world I’m just not meant to have.” He whispers flatly.

 

There’s a sharp sound of offense above him.

“What the fuck.” Kacchan grits under his breath. “What the fuck are you talking about? Not cut out for it?!” He suddenly shouts, taking a step closer, “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

He raises a hand, a thick finger poking rudely into his chest as he says, “You were born for this, you moron. It’s in your blood.”

 

He sighs loudly, taking a moment to get his emotions under control before facing him again.

“So you fucked up a mission.” He grits, clearly trying to be more patient. “We all have. It happens.”

His eyes narrow.

“And so that’s it?” He asks sharply. “You have one bad day and you’re just going to quit?” 

 

Izuku presses his lips together, trying to hold in the pain that threatens to burst out of him- the frustration that begins to boil him from the inside.

Because it hurts. Hurts so badly to know that Kacchan thinks so highly of him when he’s nothing but a waste- a coward--

–And though he knows that it's done with the best intentions, that Kacchan means well, he can’t make himself be gentle.

 

He turns and smacks Kacchan’s hand away, brows furrowed deep, mouth twisting.

“Maybe I should.” He bites back, matching the sharp energy bearing down on him, “Maybe I should finally stop pretending- stop deluding myself into thinking I could ever do this again.”

 

His belly lurches, his head filling in the words he’s too afraid to say aloud.

Be with you like this again. It supplies.

 

At his side, Kacchan’s entire body vibrates with anger, his eyes shrunk into slits.

“You stupid, little asshole.” He seethes, not bothering to be nice any longer. “Did you listen to me once? Did you ever hear me?”

 

Izuku sighs, irritation and exhaustion momentarily overriding his broken heart.

“Hear what?” He asks tartly.

 

Hearing the sharp, acid tone, Kacchan growls in frustration, wiping a hand over his face as if he isn’t sure whether he wants to soothe or slap.

“Ugh- you and I fighting together!” He exclaims, taking a step closer. “For the rest of our lives!”

His eyes narrow dangerously, a dare and a threat.

“Did you think I was kidding when I said it?” He asks. “Was I joke to you? Was this- us-,” He points to them each in turn, “-a fucking joke to you?”

 

Izuku instantly goes still, all that bitterness and misery whooshing out of him, leaving nothing but an empty husk- nothing but cold bones and nausea.

Because this isn’t one of their little spats. Kacchan is staring at him with such hurt in his eyes, with stark, unconcealed disappointment, and after two decades of shouted words and blows, it’s somehow the worst thing he could’ve done. The one thing Izuku has never had any resistance to. And damn it, his heart aches at it. It wails. 

 

The fight floods out of him.

“...No.” He answers quietly, his head dropping low. “It wasn’t a joke. It was never a joke. Not to me.”

 

Kacchan crosses his arms over his chest, not backing down.

“A game, then?!” He asks venomously, sneering at him. “Something that you could just pick up and toss away when you got bored?”

 

He might as well have kicked him.

Horrified, Izuku’s head whips up, mouth dropped open in offense, primed and ready to argue- to insist that it isn’t true–

–Only for Kacchan to come up to his front and put his hands on his shoulders, holding his body- his eyes- as he swiftly releases all the fury into the air between them.

 

“And now, after everything, you’re just going to quit?” He asks, nose wrinkling, “Go back to teaching snot-nosed brats?” 

He releases Izuku’s shoulders, taking a step back, his voice going uncommonly hoarse as he croaks, “What did I do it for, huh? What did I do it for?”

 

It’s like being hit with a cattle prod. Because it’s Kacchan speaking, yes, but the words are unexpectedly vulnerable- weak- hurt. And even though he knows he needs to respond, for a moment, Izuku can do nothing but gape, because he’s never seen him like this. Has never heard him sound so…lost.

Terrified and awed all at once, Izuku stares up at him, almost crumbling at the disbelief in his eyes- the raw, honest pain in his words.

 

Not really knowing what to say but knowing that he has to say something, he comes forward to meet him in the middle, stammering over a response.

“I- I thought you did it for you.” He answers earnestly. “To make yourself better. To have something to work against.”

He looks down at the ground with a weak, wistful smile- a self-deprecating shrug.

“You were always gonna be number one, Kacchan.” He chuckles tonelessly. “But look at you. You don’t need me for that. In fact, at this point, I’m probably more of a hindrance than–”

 

 

Kacchan’s rattling gasp is like nails up his back. The sudden blast of heat that comes from him is like standing in front of a bonfire- an explosion.

“--Number one?? Number one?!” He shouts, not bothering to stifle the furious, incredulous ring of his voice. 

His lip curls. His eyes burn.

“Fuck the charts.” He grits, moving close and looming down over him, all bared teeth and righteous fury. “Fuck all of it. Number one means nothing without you.”

 

 

Izuku gapes up at him, so shocked that for a moment, he can’t speak- can hardly even breathe.

But then, it hits, and:

“...What?” He gasps, looking him over fretfully. “Kacchan, I- I don’t understa–”

 

Kacchan doesn’t let him finish. He just throws back his head, howls to the sky, and digs his hands into his hair, snarling:

“God, you oblivious, fucking- I did it for you, nerd! You! Everything I’ve done for the last ten years was for you!”

 

Izuku stares at him, his heart thundering a loud, heavy beat- his pulse drowning out every other sound until nothing remains but a dull ring.

He takes a fretful step backward, almost scorched beneath the intensity of his words- his presence.

“...What?” He asks again, lips trembling, “Kacchan, you don’t- you don’t mean–”

 

Kacchan chases after him, not letting him get away.

“--Of course, I do, dumbfuck.” He bites back. “I took blows for you. I made the suit for you. I–”

 

A hesitation. A flash of trepidation. But then, he continues, his voice going soft and raw.

“--I died.” He continues, shoulders dropping, “And it was for you.”

 

 

Izuku’s entire body halts in place. His heart skips a beat.

 

 

But Kacchan doesn’t take it back. He just turns his eyes away, not looking at him.

“It was for Japan- for the world, sure-,” He rationalizes to himself, “-But also, it wasn’t.” He admits, head shaking slowly, “Not really.”

 

His eyes return, bright and sure.

“It was for you.” 

 

 

It sounds through the alley like a death knell. Rings in his ears. Slithers over his skin. 

So confident just a moment ago, Kacchan shifts himself nervously from foot to foot, his eyes low, hands tight.

“And we never talked about it.” He pushes. “Not once.”

 

 

The air goes cold. Tense.

Izuku’s hair stands on end, his stomach clenching the way it always does when he thinks about what happened that day: the memories he’d suppressed- the panic- the paralyzing terror.

 

Kacchan sinks into a hip, his words weary and soft.

“Eight years, Deku.” He whispers hollowly, “It’s been eight years and we never…” 

 

He goes quiet. His eyes, always so fiery and sharp, go dark and dull. His beautiful body slumps in on itself like the world is too heavy to carry. It’s horrible.

And just when Izuku feels like he’ll have to turn away- to run away- Kacchan speaks again.

 

“I kept hoping that you would talk to me, kept waiting for you to bring it up, but you didn’t.” He says somberly. “You were my best friend- are my best friend. We share everything. But when the war was over, it was like there was this…wall between us.”

 

His throat bobs.

“We won.” He rasps, shoulders shrugging, “Saved Japan.”

His eyes slide over.

“But I think we lost, too.”

 

Izuku’s skin, already cold, suddenly turns to ice.

Because Kacchan isn’t wrong. 

The war had done something to him. Losing Tenko and One for All had broken a part of him that he didn’t think could be broken. His entire life had been upended. Everything had changed. His dreams had been destroyed- his future decimated. 

And though he loves Kacchan more than life, being near him-? Watching him grow? It had been too painful. Too close. Too real. So after graduation, he’d put some space between them. It was for the best, after all. That way, Kacchan wasn’t saddled with a fading star- wasn’t burdened trying to tug along a dead weight. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway.

But now, seeing the agony in Kacchan’s eyes, he wonders if he might’ve been wrong.

 

Kacchan turns to him, a hand bravely reaching as if trying to bridge an impassable gap- an unfathomable distance.

“Every year, no matter how hard I tried, that wall pushed us farther and farther apart.” He explains. “You retreated inside. Buried yourself somewhere I couldn’t reach. And now, you’re so far away.” 

His eyes go round and sad. His mouth twists into this horrible, mournful shape. 

“Was that my fault, too?” He asks weakly, “Did I push you away? Did I ruin us?”

 

Izuku’s heart cracks. He has to cling to the wall to not fall over.

“Kacchan.” He gasps in horror.

 

But Kacchan doesn’t back down. Doesn’t let him run. Doesn’t let him hide. Not that he’s ever been able to hide from him.

“What happened to you?” He asks, searching his face. “Where did you go?”

 

Izuku chokes. 

It’s the worst question he could’ve asked. Simple, but so cutting that he feels himself slowly begin to unravel. Because he can’t tell him the truth. Can’t tell him that losing him may have been the final straw- the final, killing blow to what little remained. He can’t.

His lips are wobbling, but he tries to force them into movement, managing a weak ghost of a smile as he gestures to himself and warbles, “I’m right here.” 

 

Kacchan’s eyes go dark. His head shakes slowly.

“No. You’re not.” He argues. “You’re miles away. You’re worlds away. I look at you and I can see the distance between us. Like you’ve gone somewhere else.”

His beautiful mouth twists into an ugly shape.

“And I hate it, Deku. I fucking hate it." 

 

His eyes soften, giving him a look that doesn't belong on his face- the sort of expression that breaks his damn heart.

"What happened to the quirkless nerd who ran into a fire to save his friend?” Kacchan asks gently. “What happened to the kid that broke his fingers just to win? The guy that fought with everything to save us all? What happened to him?”

 

Every new phrase strikes like an arrow, the sharp tips slicing into skin. They pierce him all over, cutting into old scars and long-ruined flesh, those awful, horrible questions digging with their nails until he can feel muscle tearing and blood spilling beneath them, unearthing all those suppressed feelings- releasing the things he’d tried so hard to forget.

 

He tries to regulate. Tries to keep it together. To breathe.

He shouldn’t get upset. It isn’t Kacchan’s fault. Of all people, it’s not his fault.

But god, Izuku has been here before so many times: with Ochako and Shouto. With All Might and Aizawa and his mom. With his therapist and the media and anyone stupid enough to look his way for more than just a quick, pitying glance- all the strangers that look at him with a half-hearted smile and a cringe as if to say Oh dear, what a waste.

And no matter how many times he tries to explain, no one seems to understand that some part of him died on the battlefield- that the bright core of him was cracked and broken and stomped on- that the kind, wide-hearted, optimistic person that he used be was wiped off the face of the Earth the moment he let go of Tenko’s hand, the moment he watched his Kacchan’s blood spreading across the dirt in front of him.

 

And now, it’s Kacchan asking that same, horrible, hated question: Kacchan that he failed- Kacchan that he loves- Kacchan who still looks at him like he’s worth something even though there’s nothing left of him but a burned-out husk– 

–And he can’t stop it. He shouldn't- he shouldn’t- but his body moves on its own.

 

Furious and heartbroken and half a breath from tears, he pulls himself away like the crack of a whip, his perfect, perpetual mask cracking in two, slipping off his face and clattering to the ground with a thud, revealing all of the horrible, ugly things that had lain hidden beneath as he rears back from his best friend and screams:

 

 

“--He’s gone-!!” 

 

 

Notes:

I'M NOT MAKING YOU A WAIT A WEEK, DON'T WORRYYYYYYYY
The next part should be up in just a few days, trust!!

 

So I know it's definitely been done, but I wanted to take my own shake at the nonsense that was Chapter 431 as I worked through this story, and heheheh it's fun. So delicious and angsty and dramatic.

Really looking forward to the next few chapters!!

 

Until next time,
xoxo, Liz

 

PS. A last note for everyone: I understand that not everyone likes every choice that I make as a writer, but regardless, I ask that you please try to be kind in your feedback. Some of the comments on the last story, while (hopefully) well-intentioned, were incredibly painful to receive and honestly put me off of writing for a time, which really sucked.

Creating is such a joy for me, so let's keep that joy going! <3

Chapter 2

Notes:

Hey, all!
Thank you so much for the incredibly warm reception to the first chapter- it certainly warms a girl's black, little heart. >:)
I am once again completely bowled over by everyone's kindness. Y'all make me laugh and cry and kick my feet.

 

Writing the second half of this scene was devastating and delicious in equal measure- the sort of angsty shit that I eat up with a spoon. My goal was to both melt hearts and break them all at once, so I'm excited to see which one wins out!

 

Enjoy!

 

 

“--He’s gone-!!” 

 

It cracks off the brick and stone. Slices through the air. 

Izuku watches Kacchan’s eyes go wide, sees the horror in his handsome face, but before he can get a response, he bends at the waist, not bothering to silence himself, finally letting it all flood out of him. 

 

Because no one can make him be honest like Kacchan. No one understands him like Kacchan. No one else could pull such painful truth out of him. And after years of holding it all inside and constantly reassuring everyone around him that he isn’t a burden, he just can’t do it anymore.

 

Sick to his guts and hating himself right down to his marrow, Izuku lifts his head an inch, not caring that tears are forming in his eyes as he looks up at Kacchan, beautiful and golden, in utter agony.

“...Why can’t anyone understand that?!” He asks, voice breaking. “That kid- the one you knew- that everyone loved- is dead. He’s fucking dead!” 

 

He grips at his clothes, almost tearing at them in his furor.

“This is all that’s left of him.” He explains, scarred hands falling limply as if to expose his rotting soul. “He died. He died eight years ago and he’s never coming back.”

 

He sucks in a breath, the tremble of his shoulders sending tears spilling down his cheeks as he looks helplessly up to the sky.

“He turned into nothing and his strong, powerful friends left him behind.” He cries. “You all went off to be heroes and I had nothing.”

 

Kacchan’s voice is a rattle; horrified- disgusted.

“Deku.” He gasps, aghast.

 

It’s just a single word, but dripping in abhorrence.

But worse- so much worse- there’s love in it. Hope in it. 

He can’t take it.

 

“I’m not fucking Deku!” He screams at him. “Deku was a hero. Deku gave everything he could to save the world and he failed. He couldn’t save Tenko. He couldn’t save the League.”

It comes out like lava, all fury and fire, burning up everything in its wake, only to suddenly die in a hiss of steam as he unintentionally stumbles upon the next piece- the worst piece: the thing that haunts his every waking hour.

Already sick with what he knows he has to say, he drags his eyes back to Kacchan, raw and bleary and tear-stained, finally making himself say the thing he’d never had the courage to address.

 

 

“He couldn’t save you.” He croaks.

 

 

Kacchan goes white. Pale and deathly.

And god, it’s so much like that day that Izuku can’t help but suppress a sudden heave.

 

For a moment, Kacchan looks like he’s going to pass out. Looks like he’s going to fall into the wall behind him. But Kacchan is so brave- so strong- and so, he manages to pull himself together before he has the chance to fall apart, taking a careful step forward, his low voice smoothed into a comforting hush.

“I’m right here.” He whispers to him, fingers reaching. “I’m right here, nerd.”

Izuku watches in horror and longing as his arms extend, closer and closer, until his fingers touch down onto his skin. It’s warm and pink and real, but for all its comfort- for how desperately he wants it- right now, it just makes him want to weep. Because even now, with his worst failure laid flat before them, Kacchan is still trying to comfort him however he can- is trying to absolve him of his mistakes. It makes Izuku love him. It makes him hate him.

 

It physically hurts, but he makes himself step out of his reach- away from that touch; shaking his head mournfully.

“But you weren’t.” He argues, finally letting himself say it out loud. “You were gone. I saw it. I messed up and when I finally got to you, you were gone. Your eyes were so blank, Kacchan. And the blood, I–”

 

He doesn’t mean to, doesn’t want to, but he suddenly puts a hand over his mouth, sealing it shut with only a moment to spare as he heaves again, a familiar jut of bile rushing up his throat at just the thought of it; the memory of it- of his beautiful, bold, impossible Kacchan, pale as snow on the ground, his brilliant eyes blank and unseeing, his blood pooling around his head like a halo.

 

It stings his throat. Makes his eyes water. Painful as it is, it takes him a long moment to swallow it back down- to blink the wetness away before he can speak again.

 

“I still see it sometimes- your corpse.” He whispers raggedly, almost choking on the words he’d sworn he’d never say. “Laid out on the ground. Blown open and bleeding. I can still see it.”

His hands begin to tremble. He tastes the vomit on the back of his tongue.

“I can’t get away.” He whispers. “Even now. Some nights, I wake up screaming thinking of it- of how close I was to losing you.” He says hollowly, feeling his hands trembling where they lay. “If it weren’t for Edgeshot, I–”

 

He can’t continue. Not as his stomach lurches again, nausea making him dizzy.

He breathes deep. Breathes out. Tries to regulate his pulse- to forcibly will calmness into his bones the way that he’s practiced in therapy.

 

In. Out.

Kacchan is safe. Kacchan is whole. He reminds himself. He’s right in front of you, strong and alive. He didn’t die. He made it.

 

And sure enough, when he finds the courage to raise his eyes once more, there is Kacchan, safe and whole, staring at him with a pained expression that threatens to break him all over again.

Unable to take it, Izuku’s eyes drop a few inches in shame, his line of sight lowering to the center of that broad, heaving chest- to the place where mottled flesh rests just below his costume.

 

“Every time I see that scar, I live it again.” He whispers, eyes locked onto it. “I see it again. I feel it again. The guilt. The responsibility. And it’s painful.”

He tears his face away, burying it into his hand. 

“It’s so painful, Kacchan.” He wheezes. “It hurts.”

 

Choking down a sob, he takes a beat, biting his tongue to stop himself from weeping, roughly wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“So I’m not Deku anymore, okay?” He sniffles. “I can’t be. I’m Izuku now. Just Izuku. I can’t–”

 

The knife grinds in. His heart rips. He hates himself for it, but he suddenly sees Shouto in his head: his smile- his hair- a lightning flash of grey and blue so warm that it boils- so cold that it burns. A man who deserves him. 

And worse, the moment he closes his eyes again, he suddenly sees it: Kacchan and Shouto tangled together like they were in that last photo, safe and happy and powerful, in love and on the top of their game. A level he’d never be able to match. A star he’d never be able to reach.

 

His vision is blurry when he looks up again, Kacchan’s handsome face distorted into splotches as he stops avoiding the inevitable and finally tells the truth.

“--I can’t keep up with you anymore.” He admits weakly. 

His head lowers in shame- in heartbreak.

“I’ve been left behind.” He finishes softly.

 

Kacchan makes a choked sound, horrified and sharp, before barreling forward.

“Don’t say that.” He hisses, taking him by the shoulders. “Don’t you fucking say that. That’s not true. You have the suit now. You’ve got the suit and–”

 

Izuku cuts him off with a sharp, joyless laugh.

The suit. Of course, he thinks it's about the suit. What reason would he have to think otherwise? He's never looked at him like that- never thought of him in that way. He’s never had a reason to.

 

He knows he doesn’t really have a right to be angry. Kacchan is only trying to help. But try as he might, Izuku steps away when he draws forward, slipping through those big hands.

“The suit.” He echoes bitterly, shaking his head. “I haven’t even come close to mastering it yet. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I remember how.” 

His mouth twists downward. 

“Every time I put it on, I feel like a kid playing dress up.” He admits. “It feels like a lie.”

 

His voice is sharp. His tone is sour. He’s being awful. He can feel it. He’s hurting Kacchan. He can taste it.

And sure enough, when he responds, Kacchan’s voice is gut-wrenchingly soft, completely devoid of his usual confidence, utterly stripped of his famous bravado.

“But- But All Might was able to do it.” He insists, almost stuttering, “And if All Might can do it, so can-”

 

It shouldn’t hurt so bad. It shouldn’t cut so deep. But it does.

Stung, Izuku looks up at him through his curls, his eyes hard, not allowing him to finish that thought.

“I’m not All Might, Kacchan.” He whispers coolly. “I’m not even close. I never was. And that fact that I ever tried at all to be like him is just…”

 

He trails away into nothing. He can’t finish. It hurts too badly.

So for a moment, they just stand there in silence, so close and so far, their heavy breath the only sound in the deserted alley until Izuku finally finds his words.

 

He pulls his shoulders back, trying to be brave, faking strength the way he has a million times, slipping the mask back on and practically stapling it to his face, feeling the blood slip down his temples as he plasters on a small, artificial smile.

“I put that life behind me, Kacchan.” He sighs, trying to make his voice gentle. “I gave up on those dreams.”

He reaches out a hand. 

“And please don’t misunderstand me:,” He begs, “I’m touched you put in all that work- and I’m honored. I will never be able to repay you for what you’ve done. You- all of you- are so kind. You’re the best friends anyone could ask for.” 

 

He looks down at the ground, fighting the sting in his eyes, clawing through the lump in his throat as he makes himself say it.

“But I don’t know if this is my life anymore.” He pushes out, trying to smooth the tremble out. “I can’t compare to you, Kacchan. To any of you. This last fight only proves it. I can’t keep up. I can’t do it.” 

 

He clenches his fists. Drops his head. Bites a hole through his tongue.

“I’ll never be a real hero again.” He concludes.

 

 

 

 

There’s a horrible moment of silence. A beat. And suddenly, before he knows it’s coming, there’s a whoosh of motion, a displacement of air, and then, a fist crunching into his cheekbone, practically sending him flying as Kacchan reaches out and punches him in the face.

It’s not a hard punch- certainly not the hardest Kacchan has ever hit him- but even so, it knocks the air out of him. Sends his head spinning and his feet scrambling as he crashes into the wall behind him. In fact, he’s still clutching his stinging cheek, trying to figure out what the hell just happened, when a pair of big, black boots come barrelling forward into his line of sight.

 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Kacchan asks, eerily quiet.

 

It cuts through the ringing in his ears like a dagger. Finally back on Earth, Izuku pulls his head up, confused and shocked.

“Kacchan! Ow! What the hell–” He begins, nursing his jaw.

 

But Kacchan doesn’t stop. No, he springs forward like a striking snake, grabbing him by his collar and hauling him back into the closest wall and up onto his toes, the suit scratching against brick as Kacchan leans close, curls his lip, and demands:

“No, what the fuck did you just say?”

 

Izuku stares at him open-mouthed. 

He’s terrifying. And beautiful. 

It’s the sort of fire that only he seems to bring out of Kacchan. The sort of dangerous inferno that would burn anyone else. But Izuku has never been afraid of that fire- would gladly self-immolate if just to feel Kacchan’s warmth. And though it's a little scary to see him like this, there’s also so much raw passion in his eyes that Izuku can do nothing but gape, enthralled and horrified, as Kacchan gets right down in his face.

 

“You were gonna surpass me, you bastard.” He snarls, giving him a rough shake. “You were gonna beat me. You were gonna be number one and I was gonna fight you for every little scrap. We were gonna do this together!”

 

Izuku gulps tightly. Even as angry as he is, he can understand Kacchan’s frustration.

After all, those were their dreams back then, back before the world had stomped him down- before the war had taken everything and left him hollow. That is what they’d always wanted to do. And though the memory is usually a fond one, Izuku suddenly seethes. Because those dreams that he lauds so highly have been dead to him for years- dead to him since the horrible day that Kacchan debuted and left him behind.

And though he knows it isn’t right- isn’t fair, it makes him so furious that he can barely see straight.

 

Getting his feet back beneath him, he puts a hand on Kacchan’s sternum and physically shoves him away as hard as he can, watching him stumble back in surprise as he shouts:

“Yeah! Together! And where the hell were you??”

 

It’s a cheap shot. Mean. Beneath him. He doesn’t care.

 

Kacchan’s face twists up.

“I was there!” He retorts, pointing at himself. “I was there for years!”

 

Izuku shakes his head bitterly, nose curling in disgust.

“Asking about the embers.” He bites back. “Not me, my quirk. One for All. I knew that you wouldn’t want me around anymore if I couldn’t fight. I knew I’d be nothing to you without it.”

His words begin to crack. His hands begin to shake. 

“And sure enough, as soon as they were gone, so were you.” He grits, fighting through the devastating truth. “Sure, you kept coming back to spend time with me out of obligation, or…I don’t know, guilt? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I lost my quirk and you moved on to something better.”

 

Kacchan abruptly pales. He looks at him in complete horror. 

“...What??” He asks, eyes squinting in confusion, “What the fuck are you talking about? You think I moved on? You think I felt obligated to be with you?”

 

Izuku nods at him. 

“Of course, you did.” He bites bitterly.

 

Kacchan frowns, almost sneering at him as he counters:

“No, you fuckin’ moron. No. That whole time, from the moment I became a hero, I was working on the suit. It was for you. It was all for you.”

 

It hits like another fist. Slithers through his guts.

And though he’s angry- so damn angry- for a moment, Izuku pauses. He thinks. That might be true, but…

 

“But you were gone.” He retorts, soft and hurt. “I didn’t need a suit, Kacchan, I needed you. I needed to know that I was more than the quirk. That you would still want me in your life, even like…this.” He cringes down at himself.

He looks up again, weak and watery.

“But Kacchan has always had a dream: to be the number one. And I couldn’t help you.” He croaks, fighting tears. “Not anymore. So I stepped back. Stepped away. Let you pursue your dream without me holding you back.”

 

Kacchan’s face falls, all that righteous fury pared back into devastation so sharp that he feels it in his chest, in his teeth, his heart.

He didn’t want to cry- not now- but god, he can’t help it. Remembering the pain, the loss, the grief, his eyes suddenly fill with tears.

“I let you go.” He admits softly. “It killed me, but I let you go.”

 

He reaches up, wiping roughly at his eyes.

“So maybe I am far away.” He sniffles. “Maybe I am. Maybe that’s what I need to make it through the day- to not cry my eyes out every night. Maybe that’s how I cope with the fact that you’re not in my life anymore- that my dream is dead and I’m here alone. That I will never be more than a shadow of who I was.”

He lets out a soft, mirthless laugh.

“That I will never be side by side with Kacchan.” He whispers, eyes going blurry. “That I had you at sixteen and lost you.”

 

It goes quiet, so devastatingly quiet that he can hear Kacchan’s gasp of alarm even from six feet away.

“...Lost me?” He asks, uncommonly gentle, “You think you lost me?”

 

Izuku doesn’t look. He just nods his head once, curls falling into his eyes.

 

There’s another gasp, the sound thick with devastation and pain, and suddenly, before he can prepare himself, Kacchan is rushing forward and taking him by the shoulders.

“Ugh, you stupid- you’ve had me, nerd.” He calls, voice cracking. “Since sixteen. Since twelve. Since four.” 

A small, dry laugh.

“Fuck, I always knew you were dense, but this is something else.”

 

To his surprise, after all the shouting and anger and hurt, there’s actually…humor in it. Affection. Enough that Izuku lifts his head, shocked and confused all at once.

“What?” He asks weakly, barely daring to hope, “Kacchan, what are you–”

 

He doesn’t even get to ask. Or say a thing. Because there is suddenly a big body barrelling forward- a big, sugar-scented hand pressed over his mouth.

 

“No. Shut up.” Kacchan snarls, almost pinning him against the wall. “Shut up and listen.”

He closes his eyes. Sighs out a breath. And when he lifts his head again, there’s a determination shimmering in the ruby of his eyes, something powerful and beautiful and terrible. It dazzles him and sickens him the way it always has. Frightens him away and makes him want to claw closer. 

And just when Izuku isn’t sure he can take any more, Kacchan delivers a killing blow.

 

“I got that suit made for you.” He reminds him softly. “Not because I only care about you when you have a quirk, not because I needed someone to motivate me, not out of guilt or fuckin’ obligation, but because no one deserves it more than you. Because quirk or not, you are a great hero.”

His eyes crinkle. His face goes impossibly fond.

“Fuck, nerd, you’re the greatest hero I’ve ever known.” He adds tenderly.

 

It hits like a knee to the gut. It knocks the air out of his lungs and sends his legs wobbling. For a moment, he isn’t sure whether he’s going to cry or laugh or vomit.

Kacchan is always so guarded and prickly. So sharp and dangerous. But right now, at the moment when he should be snarling at him and throttling him, he’s holding him tenderly and whispering honey into his ears. Speaking to him as if he were something precious and delicate. As if he were actually worth the effort. 

 

Those ruby eyes go warm.

“And that’s why I did it.” He continues, “Why I was so busy. Why I didn’t have much time to see you. Why I worked doubles for the better part of a decade. It’s why I hounded every pro and snatched up every grant- why I did ad campaigns for shitty cologne and underwear.”

He releases Izuku’s collar, his hands migrating up up up until they’re curling lovingly around his jaw, holding him tight and making him look into his face as he says:

“It was for you, nerd. It was all for you. Not Deku, but Izuku.”

 

The breath steals right out of Izuku’s lungs.

 

Kacchan’s mouth purses. A bit of the light leaves his eyes. 

“Everything went grey after school.” He confesses quietly. “I love being a hero, I do, but the longer it went on, we got farther and farther apart, and before I knew it, there was so much space between us. And suddenly, all the color was gone. You took it with you. And it hurt.” He cringes, looking down at the ground. “It hurt to be so far away.”

 

His lips wobble.

“Maybe I should’ve tried harder.” He admits weakly. “Built a better bridge. Spent more time together. Made sure you knew how much I cared.”

 

A rattling inhale. 

“But I couldn’t stop.” He grits. “I had to keep going. I had to do whatever I could to get that color back. Because every month, you smiled harder. Every year, you retreated deeper inside. And it killed me. It fucking killed me. Because all that distance did was show me that my life apparently means nothing without you. Being a hero means nothing without you.”

 

His brows draw down. His head shakes slowly.

“And I can’t do it:,” He croaks weakly, “can’t watch you walk through your life like a ghost. Can’t let the world push you down any more than it has. I can’t let it, Izuku. I won’t.”

His mouth twists into a dangerous snarl.

“I don’t care what I have to do.” He hisses, hands gripping tighter. “Don’t care if I have to drag you kicking and screaming the whole way- I’m gonna get you your dream. I’m gonna show you how important you are- how missed you are- how needed you are. I’m gonna do whatever it takes.”

 

Some of the steam slips out. Some of the fire douses. And suddenly, that determination goes cold, flattening into something almost…bitter.

His eyes cast away, the gentle, affectionate look sharpening into dangerous shards of garnet as they look venomously to the floor. 

“Even though you’ve clearly left me behind.” He grits, his jaw feathering. “Even though you’ve moved on to something better.”

 

Izuku blinks. He doesn’t know what he means- can’t even fathom the idea of anything being better than him- than Kacchan–

–And suddenly overwhelmed and confused to the point of breaking, he feels his hands beginning to tremble, his mouth wobbly within those caramel-scented palms as he timidly asks:

“...Why? Kacchan, why?”

 

Those dark eyes raise again, stern and impatient. Tired of his shit.

“Do you really need to ask?” He barks, eyes narrowing. “You’re so damn smart, are you really that stupid?”

 

Izuku looks at him helplessly.

With a loud huff of irritation, Kacchan rolls his eyes and comes closer, so close that they’re nearly nose to nose.

“The rest of our lives.” He prompts, squeezing around Izuku’s jaw. “Do you remember?” 

 

Izuku gulps, fingertips instantly tingling- heart all aflutter.

Of course, he remembers. Nothing could ever make him forget that day- forget Kacchan’s devastation- his tears.

 

Terrified and anticipatory, he nods once, almost afraid to see what comes next.

But luckily for him, the bob of his head sends Kacchan’s face slackening once more, his mouth twisting into a small, barely perceptible smile.

“That’s what I said.” He confirms, sweet and low. “I meant it then. I mean it now.”

 

It hits like a train- like a bus. Like someone had dug their nails into his ribs and yanked them apart, exposing his battered heart to the world.

Because somehow, even after losing the only things that ever made him worth a damn, Kacchan still cares for him. Still wants to be a hero with him. Still wants him at his side. He’s standing here, soul bared, ready to physically fight for the future he’d promised when they were little more than kids.

 

Bowled over, Izuku staggers back, only held upright by the strength in those big hands as it all hits.

Kacchan had done all those humiliating photo shoots for him. Had sweat and bled for him. Izuku had pushed him away, mourning quietly and doing whatever he could to survive, and all the while, Kacchan had worked himself to the bone, not for his own benefit, but to make sure that Izuku could thrive again- could live again.

 

It happens too fast. He can’t help it. Can’t stop it.

Pathetic as he is, the tears he’d tried so hard to conceal return with a vengeance, swelling thick into his eyes until they crest and flow down his cheeks and onto Kacchan’s gloves.

His voice is a rasp, tight and wet and wobbly.

“Kacchan, I- I-” He tries, turning his head away.

 

Kacchan grips him tight, holding him in his hands, not letting him turn away.

“No. Don’t hide them. Don’t run again.” He demands, squeezing him in his palms. 

“Cry.” He begs, voice crumbling, “For fuck’s sake, cry, Izuku. Scream. Hit me. Kick me. Bash my fuckin’ head in. I can take it. I can take anything you’ve got. Just–”

He swipes away a tear with a big, calloused thumb. 

“--Anything but that blank face.” He pleads, shaking his head somberly. “Anything but those sad eyes. You’ve killed me with those eyes. It killed me knowing that you were holding it all inside- that you were hurting and I couldn’t help you.”

 

Izuku hiccups loudly. Kacchan’s only trying his best, he knows, but his kindness only makes the tears come faster- only makes him cry harder. Because Kacchan had seen. All those years that he thought he was fooling everyone- that no one noticed him smiling on the outside and dying on the inside- and Kacchan had seen.

He knew that he was hiding everything behind a smile. He knew he was hurting. And he’d built the suit to try to staunch that pain- to stop the bleeding. He’d given his time and money and dignity for Izuku’s happiness. To give him back his dream.

It’s too much.

 

"Kacchan.” He croaks through shuddering gasps. “You really did it for- for me?” 

 

A soft scoff. An affectionate roll of eyes.

“Yes, dummy.” He bites fondly, reaching up and swiping more tears away, “And I’d do it again. A thousand times.”

 

Izuku lets it wash over him- through him; feeling the warmth of it until he almost feels like bursting.

His head raises, daring a blurry peek at that handsome, scarred face as he wrings his hands in front of his chest and asks, “So you weren’t trying to get away from me? All that time? During college? You–?”

 

Kacchan is suddenly there again, larger than life and prettier than sin as he pulls back his lip and snarls, “--No. Never.” 

A loud sigh. A full-body sink.

“I hated all the distance between us. I hated being away from you. I tried to visit whenever I could, honest, but I was just so busy.” He admits sheepishly. “I had to make that money. Had to finish the suit. I had to do it. I had to.”

 

Kacchan doesn’t look at him as he says it, but even with his eyes cast aside, Izuku suddenly feels light all over, almost as if all the weight he’d been carrying had suddenly been flung from his shoulders.

All this time, Kacchan hadn’t been avoiding him. Kacchan hadn’t stopped caring about him. He’d been working himself to the bone, doing whatever he could to earn that money- to create the suit that would allow Izuku to remain by his side. 

And now that he knows it, there’s only one thing left to ask.

 

He looks up again. Eyes bubbling over, his greatest fear, held tight for so long, suddenly slips out of his mouth and into the space between them.

“You weren’t…ashamed of me?” He asks. “For being…quirkless? You weren’t embarrassed to be seen with me?”

 

Katsuki blinks at him. His mouth drops open. And then, after a moment of perfect silence, he explodes.

So gentle just a moment ago, he releases his face and actually shoves him away until his back thumps against the brick wall, a feral, frustrated groan of annoyance ringing around the alley as he turns away and shouts:

“Are you fucking dumb?!” He asks rudely, hands ripping through his hair. “Ashamed-?? Ashamed-?! You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. The most heroic person I’ve ever known!”

 

He turns back to him, his expression both deeply affectionate and utterly exasperated.

“Embarrassed to be–Christ, Izuku, I died for you.” He reminds him. “And I’d do it again. I’d do it as many times as it took to keep you safe- to keep you happy- to protect you.”

 

A loud, dry scoff. A hissing curse.

“Ashamed. Ashamed!” He says to himself again, laughing in incredulity at the sheer idiocy of it. “I could wring your stupid neck. Punch your dumb, fucking freckles. I’m not goddamn ashamed of you, you moron, I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in crazy, stupid in love with you for almost my entire life, and I–”

 

Mid-sentence, Kacchan suddenly stops.

Izuku stops, too.

Everything just…stops.

 

 

 

Green eyes blink.

Water drips from somewhere in the distance.

A car whooshes by the mouth of the alley.

 

 

 

Izuku stares forward blankly, not quite believing his own ears.

Wait. Did he just-? 

He shakes his head hard, rattling the idea loose before it can stick.

No. No, there’s no way. He’s hearing things. Definitely hearing things. Hallucinating. He must be. That punch must have concussed him or something, because Kacchan would never–

 

 

 

He doesn’t even get a moment to compose himself, to remind himself of how ridiculous it is, because Kacchan’s face, always so guarded- so confident- immediately drains. His eyes go wide. His skin goes ghost pale, his expression so horrified that it almost hurts to see.

Like a shot, those dark eyes whip down to the ground, gaping down at the asphalt in utter terror.

“--Fuck.” He whispers to himself, the curse dripping in fear, “Oh, fuck.”

 

 

 

Izuku almost buckles.

Because that- that tone- instantly answers the question he hadn’t gotten to ask. Instantly solidifies what he’d said. Because until this moment- that whispered word- Izuku had been sure that he’d misheard. But now, seeing the look of horror- the sheer fear in his words- he suddenly realizes, with a rush of both dread and elation, that he hadn’t misheard.

 

Kacchan said that he loves him. Loved him. For almost his entire life. 

And though it’s something he’d longed for with his entire soul, hearing it said aloud? And like this? Izuku begins to scramble- to panic.

 

He takes a step away, retreating like a rabbit before a wolf.

“...What?” He asks roughly. “Kacchan.”

 

Kacchan doesn’t look at him- won’t look at him. It makes it worse. Makes it real. 

And god, he can’t help it; his hands begin to tremble. 

“Kacchan, I-” He stammers softly, barely daring to believe it. 

 

He quickly pulls himself together, taking every bit of hope and shoving it down somewhere deep and cold.

“You don’t.” He affirms, shaking his head, dread spilling up his guts, “There’s no way you--”

 

 

Kacchan turns to him slowly, his eyes raising. His expression is almost otherworldly: weary and resigned, and yet, somehow relieved as he interrupts:

“--Of course, I do.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch fondly. His shoulders fall another inch.

“I…always have.” He whispers.

 

 

It’s like a sock to the gut. Like being kicked in the side of the head.

For a moment, he just stares at him in shock, a faint whine ringing in his ears. But then, it settles. His pulse begins to race. His knees shake. Because he can see it in his face- his eyes: this isn’t a joke. This isn’t a prank. 

 

 

Kacchan lets out a heavy breath, aching and tired.

“I tried, Zu. I tried to show you.” Kacchan insists bitterly, yanking him back to the present. “I tried. But no matter what I did, you didn’t notice. You didn’t give a single shit.”

His eyes squint, the tiniest glimmer of tears beginning to shine in the corners. 

“I gave my everything, and then you turned around and went off with her.”

 

 

Izuku is too stunned to speak. Too much. It’s too much. He’s already floating- falling. Sick and dizzy. Unable to tell down from up. But even so, that last bit shocks him so much that he instantly wakes up.

His head pulls up in complete shock. His mouth goes as dry as dust. Baffled, he tries to take a step back, stumbling over his own feet like a stupid fool as he gasps, “Her?? I- what?” 

 

Kacchan’s eyes narrow dangerously, his nose wrinkling and body sinking like a warrior awaiting the first strike.

His arms cross tightly over his chest: a barrier. His chin jerks to the side: a thin shield.

“Don’t fucking act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He grits, pointedly avoiding his eyes. “Not with me. We all know that you’ve been seeing Ochako for months now.” He explains, teeth bared, “You have your little Fridays together every week. Your dates.”

 

His voice is mocking. Cruel. A dark, angry eye flicks Izuku’s way.

“You’ve been quiet about it, but I know. We know.” He amends, mouth tightening.

 

 

Izuku stares at him, utterly bereft. His stomach tumbles. His head goes completely empty, every thought instantly turning into mindless static- to nonsense.

Huh? Ochako? What–??

 

He doesn’t understand. Ochako?? Why would Kacchan think he’s dating Ochako? Just because of their dinners? After therapy? Is that truly it?

Another scrutinizing glance at Kacchan shows that his guess had been spot-on, because his handsome face, always so confident and bold, is suddenly pinched and dark. Jealous.

 

It sends his hair standing on end. Sends saliva pooling over his tongue.

Kacchan is jealous. Kacchan thinks he’s dating Ochako, and he’s jealous!

 

It’s unexpectedly validating. Devastating. Amazing and horrible all at once. And suddenly feeling a flicker of hope for the first time in god knows how long, he comes forward, doing his best to explain- to assure him that it isn’t true. 

“Kacchan. Kacchan, I-” He begins–

–Only for Kacchan to immediately yank himself away from his extended hand, those big boots scuffing loudly on the ground as he evades that careful touch.

 

“No.” He hisses, backing away from him. “I don’t want to hear it. No excuses. No sorries.”

He takes another step. Another. And then, when the distance begins to feel painful, Kacchan stops, his head hanging low, his words like shattered glass as he whispers:

“You broke my fucking heart, Izuku.” He pushes through his teeth, mouth twisted with pain. “I waited for you. For a decade. And you broke my fucking heart.”

 

It’s such a simple phrase. Said so softly. And yet, it immediately snaps him in two. Breaks him down at a molecular level. Hurts him in a way that he didn’t think he could be hurt. Awakens cold, rusty parts of his heart that he thought were dead and buried.

Distance suddenly means nothing. Time means nothing. Pain means nothing.

Because right now, at this moment, all that matters is Kacchan and his broken heart.

 

So for once, Izuku stops the anxious rambling and tender steps and simply leaps for him- for his Kacchan- reaching out and gripping him tight around those giant biceps, his voice raw and desperate as he looks up at him and nearly shrieks:

“--They’re not dates!”

 

 

 

The world goes still. There’s a beat. Another.

Kacchan’s head tilts. Just an inch. His mouth opens. His eyes blink.

“...What?” He asks.

 

 

It’s a blessing- a gift. And not about to waste this one moment of hope, Izuku pulls himself even closer, forcibly digging his nails into Kacchan’s arms to keep him from running- to keep him from slipping through his fingers again.

He looks up into his face, almost pleading as he harriedly explains himself.

“I’m not dating her. We’re not dating.” He blurts loudly, tripping over his tongue. “On Fridays, we–”

 

 

A pause. A thought. This isn’t how he wanted to tell him, but...

 

 

“--We talk about Tenko.” He finishes softly, eyes lowering to the ground. “And Himiko. We’re in therapy. It’s grief counseling. We do solo sessions and then meet together with our counselors. And then, we go to dinner afterwards.”

He begins to wring his hands nervously.

“I was going to tell you about it. At the coffee shop last month. I was gonna tell you everything. But I was embarrassed. I didn’t know how you’d react. And then, we got a little…sidetracked.”

 

 

It hangs around them like smoke. For another painful moment, everything is still. 

Looking up fearfully, Izuku watches in real time as the gears slowly turn in that beautiful blonde head- as the information settles into those haunting crimson eyes.

Kacchan blinks at him. He hears his words. And then, almost as if all the disjointed pieces are suddenly sliding into place, his body tenses and his face drains, his mouth falling open into a horrible shape as he croaks:

“...You-?!”

 

Relieved, Izuku nods up at him in affirmation, his thumbs brushing reassuringly up his arm, his voice sweet and soft.

“Yeah.”

 

Kacchan sputters.

“But she-??”

 

Izuku’s nose wrinkles.

“Not with me.” He shrugs. “Ochako likes girls, Kacchan.” He clarifies, eyes narrowing. “You really thought I was dating her?”

 

Kacchan is so pale. So still. His mouth barely moves as he quietly responds:

“We all did.”

 

Izuku digests that information, too shocked to temper his tone as he looks up in shock.

“Wait. You…all?” He asks. “Like, the whole gang?”

 

Kacchan nods slowly.

 

Izuku furrows his brow, wracking his brain for a moment before saying:

“Nobody said anything. Not a thing.”

 

Kacchan continues to stare blankly forward, almost dazed.

“...Didn’t want to bother you.” He answers tonelessly. “Thought you two were just…taking your time.”

 

Izuku sinks into his hips.

“Oh.” He returns.

 

For a moment, there’s just…nothing. Neither of them speaks. Or moves. He can’t be sure that Kacchan is even breathing. 

It’s unnerving. Uncomfortable. And yet, the singular moment of silence gives him an opportunity to think- to put everything together. And when he finally does it, finally manages to put all those jagged pieces into place and see the whole picture, he can’t help himself: can’t help the hope that suddenly floods him- the joy that breaks over him like a wave.

 

He glances upward, shy- nervous; pink to the tip of his nose as he awkwardly shuffles forward and asks:

“Kacchan, you…love me?”

 

The question can’t be a surprise, and yet, Kacchan turns to him as if he’d suddenly dropped a bomb, hair sticking straight up, his face equally rosy as his mouth flops and he stammers, “I- I, uh–”

 

Brave and terrified all at once, Izuku draws closer, brows pitched high- a dog after a bone.

“Kacchan.” He prompts gently.

 

Kacchan looks at him helplessly, tense and worried. He purses his mouth. Looks around as if searching for a clue or a way out. Reaches up and rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck the way he always does when he doesn’t know what to say.

A grumble. A heavy sigh, and then:

“...Of course, I do.” He mutters, not looking at him.

 

Kacchan’s mouth twists into a wobbly, nervous smile. His gruff voice goes soft. His words are weak and small, but he says them anyway. 

“It’s your fault, you know.” He laughs shakily. “You’re too damn easy to love, you dork.”

 

It’s said rudely, as usual- a bit catty in the way that Kacchan always reverts to when he’s feeling vulnerable, and though most people would scoff at it, Izuku, knowing him as he does, nearly collapses to the ground.

Because beyond the acid, there’s warmth. So much warmth. Enough to melt the ice around his soul. Enough to finally stir him from that place of melancholy. 

Because Kacchan- his Kacchan- loves him. Has apparently always loved him. Even quirkless. Even broken. No, even with all that, with all his jagged edges and ugly scars, he loves him. He somehow thinks that loving him is easy.

 

He suddenly doesn’t care about how pathetic he looks as tears swell into his eyes- as joy rattles his bones and warms his skin. Because this is everything he’d ever dreamed of. Everything he’d ever wanted. The sort of selfish wish he’d only dared to whisper to himself beneath his All Might pillow as a child: fantastical to the point of untouchable.

But now, Kacchan is here- real- close- so very, very touchable, and before he can stop himself, he’s taking a step and then another, rushing forward until he’s leaping into his arms- that broad, beautiful chest- pressing his cheek shamelessly against his scar–

–And then, holy shit, he’s saying it.

 

 

 

“...I love you, too.” He whispers, quaking with fear- trembling with hope.

 

 

 

Kacchan goes still as death beneath his arms, every muscle taut, his head jerking down, mouth opening wide.

“...What?!?” He asks hoarsely. “You–?!”

 

Izuku doesn’t let him. He reaches up, taking Kacchan’s perfect face into his deeply imperfect hands, not caring that he’s shaking like a leaf as he repeats it. 

“I love you, too.” He confirms, eyes blurring. “God, I love you, too.” 

 

Kacchan makes a choking sound. His eyes dart to and fro, trying to understand.

Izuku should probably give him a minute. He should. This is a huge change. Life-altering. And yet, after twenty years of holding in his feelings, that trickle of emotion suddenly becomes an unstoppable flood, all that fear and joy and pain spilling over the top of those iron walls around his heart. 

 

“I never thought I’d get to tell you.” He breathes rapturously. “I thought I’d have to keep it a secret forever. I never thought–”

A weak, shaky laugh that almost sounds like a sob bubbles out of him.

“I never thought I’d be good enough for you.” He cries, tears spilling shamelessly down his cheeks. “I never thought you’d ever see me that way. Especially since I lost my quirk. I never thought you’d ever–” 

 

Kacchan’s voice, always so harsh, is like cotton in his ear.

“Izuku.” He whispers.

 

It's the way he'd always dreamed Kacchan would say his name. And now? Hearing it like this? It curls around his head. Digs into his soul. And suddenly, he can’t stop himself; can’t hold back the vomit of words that suddenly spill out of him.

His head perks up, sending tears dripping off his chin.

“I’ve loved you since we were kids.” He confesses, beaming up at him like a fool. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

 

Kacchan’s face pales.

“Izuku.” He gasps, taking a step backward.

 

It only pushes him harder.

“I wanted to tell you.” He blurts, immediately drowning in his eyes as he chases after him. “It killed me not to tell you. But you’re you- god, you’re Kacchan. And I didn’t think I deserved you.” 

A deep swallow. A squeeze of hands.

“So I kept it hidden. And waited. And hoped. God, I hoped that someday I’d find the courage- that we’d find each other.”

 

It’s pathetic, but he can’t help himself: he rushes forward and buries his face into Kacchan’s chest, not holding back his tears as he croaks, “Oh, Kacchan, I prayed.”

 

Kacchan’s entire body goes rigid and then begins to tremble beneath his touch, shaking horribly all the way to his knees, his heart like a drum against his ear.

“Izuku.” He wheezes. “I–”

 

Izuku tenses. 

There’s an edge to it- something he doesn’t like- something that makes his guts twist on themselves- but happy as he is, he chooses to ignore it, coming forward and lifting his chin, gazing up into him rapturously as he rises onto his toes.

 

“Kacchan.” He whispers softly, his voice going soft and low as his eyes slip closed, “--Kacchan.”

 

He leans in, heart thundering, soul in his throat, ready- so ready. Because after all this time- all the pain- someone loves him. Kacchan loves him. 

He pulls himself closer, skin singing with anticipation, ready for the kiss he’d dreamed of since he first knew what dreaming was–

–Only to suddenly be pushed away; pushed down as Kacchan’s hand presses him back at the chest, his voice like broken glass as he says:

 

 

“Wait.”  

 

 

Izuku blinks, staring up at him in confusion, trying not to feel the sting of rejection–

–Only for Kacchan to draw away like a wounded animal, his head shaking, eyes pained.

 

 

 

 

 

“I can’t.” He croaks.

 

 

 

 

 

Izuku’s blood instantly turns to ice. The whole world spins and flips around him.

“What?” He asks, searching him.

 

But Kacchan just takes another step back, his warmth slipping away, leaving Izuku to the cold as he shakes his head and brokenly repeats, “I can’t.”

 

Izuku’s throat is suddenly tight. His stomach roils. 

And all that hope- that brilliant, blinding hope- snuffs out like a blown candle.

 

 

No. No, God, please. Please.

 

 

Desperate, he rushes forward again, not bothering to smooth the fear out of his voice.

“I don’t- why- I-” He stammers.

He swallows tightly, putting everything in his hands.

“Kacchan, I love you.” He grits, fighting the fear that curls up his throat. “I love you and–”

 

 

 

 

“--Shouto.” Kacchan calls out.

 

 

 

Izuku freezes. He sucks in a cracked gasp. 

The name slaps him across the face- claws down into his stomach.

Oh god. Shouto. Shouto.

In all the excitement, he’d forgotten- had shut any thought of him away. But now, Kacchan is looking at him with that wretched expression, and he can’t ignore it, can’t pretend for another moment.

Because Kacchan isn’t really his. Kacchan belongs to someone else. To Shouto.

 

Right on cue, Kacchan clenches his hands into fists, looking down at the ground with a pinched look that curls his guts.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, there are tears shining there. 

“...I’m in love with him, Izuku.” He reminds him quietly. “We’re in love. And no matter what I feel, I can’t. I can’t do that to him. I won’t.”

 

Izuku feels his heart shred like tissue paper. Feels vomit rise in his throat. But ever the slave to propriety- duty- honor- he finds himself robotically responding:

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to.” He whispers hollowly.

Then, feeling like the worst person on Earth, he hangs his head and quickly, earnestly adds, “I would never hurt Shou-chan. Never.” 

 

It’s the truth. He’d sooner die than do anything to harm Shouto; would lie down on a knife before making any choice that would cause him pain.

But even so, it makes him want to scream- makes him want to sob knowing what he knows now: that he and Kacchan love each other- that, for the first time in twenty years, he has a chance and can’t take it.

 

He looks up helplessly, trying not to cry and failing miserably.

“But- but what do I-,” He asks through tears, “-Kacchan, how do we–?”

 

Kacchan’s voice is sharp and hard.

“We don’t.” He responds.

 

It’s a stomp on Izuku’s already-shattered heart- so hard and so cruel that he has to take a step back from the blow, wincing from an invisible fist.

He can’t be surprised. He knew it. He did. And yet, he’d hoped; hoped that somehow, there would be a way- a chance.

But it was foolish to dream. Life is never so kind. 

 

Pitifully, he wipes at his eyes with the heel of a hand, clawing into the last remaining rays of hope.

“Then what do we–?” He begins to ask weakly.

 

Kacchan makes a soft, pained sound. His expression is wretched. His voice is like gravel.

“I don’t know.” He responds, shaking his head hopelessly. “I don’t know.”

 

 

It goes quiet. 

Izuku sniffles.

Kacchan stares down at the ground.

 

 

And after a minute that feels like a year, he turns away, pointedly not looking at him, his voice like a death sentence as he says:

“We waited too long, Izuku.”

 

 

 

It’s like being stabbed. Being stabbed would probably hurt less.

 

 

 

But even so, those words ring out. They echo. 

And without anything left to say, Kacchan lets out a long breath, roughly wipes at his eyes with the back of a hand, and begins to walk away.

His feet clatter down the alleyway, each step growing fainter and fainter. His body grows smaller and smaller until it finally turns the corner. 

 

 

And then, he’s gone again, leaving Izuku behind once more.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Hahahaha ow what the fuck.

Happy Dkbk day?? 😬😬

 

So, did it hurt? Was it sweet? Do you want to chase me down the street with a pitchfork? Lmk!

For real, though- this chapter was so, so fun to write (is fun the right word??).

We know how they both feel about one another, but they don't, and so you end up wanting to scream and shake them both because omfg you so obviously love each other, you fools! You oblivious dorks!!

And ofc, because I wrote it, it all culminates in this sweet moment of understanding, only to come crashing down just a moment later. Tell me truthfully, did you think Katsuki was going to kiss him? I'm curious.

 

I haven't quite decided when I'm posting the next chapter- maybe Friday?
Regardless, I hope you're all enjoying, and have a wonderful day! Love you!

xoxo, Liz <3

Chapter 3

Notes:

hehehehehhehehe I had such a blast reading all your reactions to the last chapter! A little sadistic, maybe, but I can't help it: it's so fun to break hearts. 😈

This may come as a surprise to anyone who's read my other works, but believe it or not, I might actually like writing angst even more than I like writing smut! So, naturally, these first few chapters have been an utter delight to write and edit, and the feedback I get is just the cherry right on top!

 

We haven't completely gotten out of Angstytown yet, but this chapter does mix it up just a bit!
So buckle up and enjoy! <3

 

 

The air is cold as Katsuki walks along. Or maybe that’s him. His blood. His skin. Maybe he’s half-frozen inside as he trudges forward. Or maybe he’s dead. He can’t be sure. Nothing feels real. 

But even so, he continues to move, his body propelling him forward on pure instinct. 

He takes a step forward. Another. Another. Blank. Unseeing. Numb.

But then, his toe scuffs on concrete, catching on an uneven edge, the resulting jolt of imbalance bringing him back to the world, just for a second- just long enough for it all to hit him again.

 

 

 

I love you, too. 

 

 

 

It rings in his head like a struck gong, each word beautiful and horrible in equal measure. It digs with its nails, stopping him dead. 

And then, god, there’s Deku in his mind’s eye, those pretty green eyes staring up at him, shiny with tears and glimmering with anticipation.

The suck of breath. The gorgeous, brilliant smile. 

And worst, the hope- the horrible fucking hope.

 

 

 

 

God, I love you, too.

 

 

 

 

The memory is beautiful- it’s poison- and the moment those agonizing words begin to circle in his head, he suddenly can’t take another step; can’t barely take another breath. 

Sick to his guts, Katsuki shudders, his body curling in on itself as if seeking protection, a trembling hand reaching out to steady him on the closest wall as he leans his forehead against it and tries to breathe- to keep a wave of vomit from spilling out.

Because Deku loves him. Has loved him. All that time that he’d thought he was screaming into an abyss- pouring his soul into a bottomless cup- sacrificing bigger and bigger pieces of himself to the void- and his feelings had been returned. Deku had loved him back all along. Vehemently. Passionately.

 

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or weep. Whether to smile or break his fists against the wall in rage. Because those words- the words he’d waited more than a decade to hear- had sweat and bled and cursed for- had finally come.

And come too late. 

 

Because he isn’t free anymore. Isn’t in a place to return those feelings. And even knowing how shameful it is, he’d almost done it: had been so out of his head- so pathetically, stupidly in love that he’d nearly leapt- had nearly forgotten the best partner in the world.

But thank god, he’d stopped. He’d made himself stop. Made himself back away. Made his hands uncurl. Made his heart turn to stone. 

 

It had hurt. Had hurt so goddamn bad. But the moment Deku had risen onto his toes and closed his eyes, he knew. And even as desperately as he’d wanted to reach out and touch, to take that freckled face in his hands and finally claim the kiss he’d waited nearly half his life for, he couldn’t. 

Because in that moment, all he could see was Shouto- his Shouto: his mercurial eyes and secretive smile- his patient heart and beautiful soul. And that had been it: a blade through the whirl of feelings- a razor-sharp dagger to sever them apart once more.

 

Even now, he has no idea how he found the strength to walk away, the willpower to take a step back when the thing he’d wanted most in the world was suddenly there in his palms- at his lips. But somehow, he’d done it- had found the strength to march away from him. Even numb. Even hollow. Even with his heart breaking and every nerve in his body screaming at him to turn back, you idiot, turn back!!!

But he hadn’t. He’d kept his head high. He didn’t turn around. He’d been better than Orpheus; had never once looked back into hell, no matter how it had torn at him.

And he’d done it for Shouto. For Shouto.

 

It was the right thing. He knows it. He doesn’t regret it, even now. And though that logic is a steady comfort to wrap his hands into, it can only do so much. It doesn’t soften the ache. It doesn’t fill the hole that erodes into the wall of his heart. It doesn’t staunch the bleeding.

So, for a long, long moment, he stops justifying and ruminating and just lets himself feel it: the pain and anger and despair. 

 

He lets the blood flood down his body and spread around him on the ground, puddling until it pools up around his ankles. He lets the loss barrel him, blow after blow, his head slowly thumping against the brick as the twist and pull and ache threaten to rip him asunder. 

And though he hates himself for it, he stops fighting and lets a few tears silently drip down his skin, his traitorous emotions refusing to be ignored even as he tries desperately to hold them in.

 

It's pathetic. Shameful.

He’s supposed to be a hero. A force. Solid and sure. And yet, there he stands, so full of power and so goddamn weak, slowly breathing his way through the bone-breaking grief until it finally, thankfully begins to eddy away bit by bit; until he feels steady enough to walk- brave enough to stand.

Because he can't waste time on tears- on a forlorn hope- on an impossible future.

Someone is waiting for him. And he can’t be late.

 

Straightening, he rubs the drying salt from his cheeks. Sucks in a few sniffles. Hardens himself against the misery. And it’s then, back on his feet and unable to delay any longer, that he pulls his shoulders back, digs his heels, and begins the long, agonizing trek to Shouto’s, a thin trail of heart’s blood following him with every heavy, plodding step.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He pulls the key out of his pocket, his arms and hands almost feeling disconnected from his body as he puts it in the lock and opens the front door, poking his head inside.

Shouto’s apartment is huge: maybe as a massive fuck you to his father, or maybe just because he, being so tall, likes the space. He isn’t sure. Hadn’t bothered to ask. 

And normally, he doesn’t mind it. Kinda likes it, even. But for some reason, when he opens the door tonight, his heart in ribbons and his guts in tatters, the cavernous space that normally feels so inviting suddenly feels unexpectedly cold. Distant, maybe. Too big and too empty. Unsettling.

 

Trying to ignore it, he turns and drops his keys in the bowl with a tiny clatter. Leans down to untie his boots, kicking them off one at a time. They hit the floor with a muted thunk- a sound that seems far away even right beside him. His hands are numb as he pulls off his gloves, dropping them straight to the floor of the foyer. 

In fact, everything feels numb.

Completely on autopilot, he makes his way through the apartment, feet dragging, head hanging, following the far-off sounds he hears from the kitchen until he turns the corner and sees that pretty, silky head- the broad back- the strong hand wrapped around a mug of tea.

 

His heart does a sharp jolt. His guts churn.

 

Shouto turns as he enters the room, his beautiful face instantly twisting into a warm, welcoming smile- that look of soft, understated joy that Shouto always manages to find for him.

It thrills him. It makes him sick.

 

Clearly pleased to see him, Shouto leans lazily against the nearest counter, blowing an icy breath over the surface of his steaming tea. 

“Welcome back, Katsuki.” He calls. “How was your shift?”

 

Emotion slithers up his back. Something stabs him deep inside.

 

 

I love you, too. A voice echoes. God, I love you, too.

 

 

Katsuki swallows tightly.

“It was good.” He forces out, lying straight through his teeth.

 

Shouto’s brows immediately pinch at the strain in it, his gentle expression faltering into something curious- something suspicious. Because, as always, he sees. He sees that something is wrong- that there is something awful waiting just beneath his skin. 

It was foolish to think that he wouldn’t. After all, he’s an objectively terrible liar, and Shouto is wildly observant. So for a moment, Katsuki tenses, prepared for the worst- for an interrogation, maybe.

But to his surprise, nothing comes. No questions. No digging. Because Shouto, unlike him, is patient. Wise. More emotionally intelligent than he has any right to be. He must see that Katsuki isn’t ready to talk. Must infer from his posture and expression that he might need some time to let those simmering feelings come to the surface. So he tries a different tactic, instead, turning towards his refrigerator with an extended hand.

 

“I’m glad to hear it.” He answers softly. “Now: are you hungry? You must be.” 

His handsome face twists into a sheepish cringe.

“Truthfully, I don’t have much to cook at present, but I could easily order something if you’re–”

 

Katsuki’s jaw clenches tight, his stomach writhing.

No. No.

He can’t let him do it. Can’t let Shouto be doting and kind. Can’t sit here stewing, letting his boyfriend pet him and coddle him while the truth is right there. He can’t. 

He has to tell him. Has to tell him everything. 

 

Fear lances him. Guilt eats him. But knowing what has to be done, he grits his teeth, braces for the inevitable fallout, and forces it out into the air.

“--They’re not together.” He interrupts tightly.

 

Shouto goes quiet. And then, with eerie slowness, he turns back to him, his two-toned brows bunched with confusion.

“...Who?” He asks, eyes narrowing, “Who’s not together, love?”

 

Katsuki clamps his teeth tight. 

He suddenly feels like he’s gonna puke- like he’s gonna bend over and hurl his guts onto Shouto’s perfect, polished floor. But he manages to hold it in through sheer willpower, forcing himself to meet Shouto’s eye.

Because this is too important. Shouto needs to hear it- deserves nothing but the truth. And so, he pushes through the nausea and the wailing in his chest and just says it.

“Deku. Ochako.” He chokes out. “They’re not a couple. They’re not together.”

 

Shouto goes still. He freezes. Close as they are, Katsuki can see as tiny shards of ice begin to crystallize across the back of a hand, as a wisp of frost billows from his parted lips.

It hangs between them heavily for a moment. Another. Another.

And then, thank god, Shouto breaks the silence, his low, lovely voice utterly cold as he whispers, “Who- who told you that?”

 

Katsuki swallows down bile. His hands clench into fists. His eyes cast down to the floor.

“Deku did.” He confirms.

He sucks in a rattling breath. Lets it go. Prays.

 

“Right before he told me that he loves me.” He finishes.

 

Every inch of Shouto’s body goes taut. The temperature in the room drops thirty degrees in an instant, the sudden, bitter cold almost squeezing him as Shouto’s pretty face drops like a stone.

“...What?” He asks, dry and disbelieving.

 

Katsuki, coward that he is, still can’t look at him, his eyes glued on his feet as he repeats it, his voice scratchy and uneven.

“Deku. Loves me.” He confirms.

 

Even staring at the floor, he can see the way Shouto’s knees begin to wobble in the corners of his vision- can hear the sudden horror in his voice; the dread that almost drips from him.

“...Oh.” He breathes, aghast. “He–?”

 

Katsuki nods nervously.

“Yeah.”

 

For a moment, they both just stand there. 

Shouto’s tea freezes solid in his mug. Katsuki’s neck begins to sweat. It’s a horrible combination of anxious heat and icy terror; debilitating- devastating–

–When suddenly, thankfully, Shouto, always the braver of the two, abruptly moves again, setting down his tea, coming to Katsuki’s front, and bringing a warm, warm hand to his cheek, breaking them from limbo.

 

His face is a mask of quiet serenity. His whisper is feather-soft and gentle. 

“Tell me everything.” He demands.

 

 

So he does.

He sits beside him at the kitchen table, their hands clasped tight, and tells him everything. 

He tells him about the assignment- about how dangerously close Deku had come to being seriously hurt or maybe killed. He tells him about the fight that had followed, about Deku’s suffering; sharing every horrible detail of the last decade and sickening revelation about his best friend’s mental state.

And then, his chest pulled tight enough to snap, he tells Shouto about his own shameful confession; how he’d been so upset at the idea of Deku giving up his dream that he’d accidentally admitted his deepest, darkest secret. 

He tells him the awful things Deku had said in return: his passionate admission- the tears- the fact that he’d loved Katsuki since they were children, and worst, how he’d turned his back on it all, leaving Deku behind in that alley.

 

When he finishes, nauseous and pale and hunched over the table in despair, Shouto doesn’t yell or scream. Doesn’t wail or cry. No, he just looks at him levelly, white-faced and weak.

“You walked away.” He whispers, almost as if he doesn’t believe it.

 

Katsuki turns to him, ready to hiss, only to stop himself; to clamp his mouth shut at the last moment- to choose patience.

“Of course, I did.” He returns coolly. “There wasn’t any other option.”

 

He means it- means it down to his marrow- and yet, the moment he says it, Shouto’s hand shockingly whips away, taking all of his comforting, grounding warmth with it as he quietly returns:

“Yes, there is.”

 

It's a soft, simple phrase, but Katsuki understands it instantly, clarity making him sick as he scrambles back for that hand, desperate to touch- to feel- to know that Shouto is still there.

“Sho- Sho, I-” He stammers after him.

 

But to his horror, Shouto is already gone, on his feet and backing away from the table like a cornered rat.

“--What are you going to do?” He asks quietly, his head hung low.

 

It makes him want to puke. 

“What do you mean?” He asks sharply, rising to his feet and chasing after him. 

He reaches for his hands again, making his tone gentle as he adds, “There’s nothing to do. It doesn’t change anything.”

 

To his horror, Shouto reels away from his touch like he’d been slapped or even burnt, pain blooming across his beautiful face.

“Katsuki, please.” He hisses, features twisting. “It changes everything.”

 

Katsuki goes still at the sudden venom. His stomach is suddenly a void. His arms feel like dead weight at his sides.

“...How?” He asks, searching him for answers, “How, Sho??”

 

And for the first time in a very long time, Shouto’s face goes hard. Mean. Pinched and ugly in a way that looks entirely wrong on him, almost unnatural.

“Don’t be obtuse.” He bites back, sharp and acid. “You only started seeing me because Izuku wasn’t an option. I was your second choice. We both know it.”

 

It’s a low blow. Something he wasn’t sure Shouto was even capable of. And honestly, his gut reaction is to hit back- to return that blow with one of his own. But just as he goes to open his mouth, he stops. Because he suddenly finds that he can’t do it: would sooner die than do anything to hurt Shouto when he’s clearly already suffering.

So instead of railing and yelling the way he would’ve done even just six months ago, he forces himself to take a deep breath, making his voice stern and commanding- firm, but still kind.

 

“That isn’t fair.” He retorts evenly. “You can’t put that on me.”

He looks down at the ground, hating how hurt he feels as he softly adds, “I was your second choice, too, Sho. We both know it.” 

 

Shouto’s eyes go wide. His mouth drops open. He must be able to feel how much his words had stung- how much he hurt him by bringing up that uncomfortable truth- because in half a breath, he’s taking a step forward, his face crumpled in contrition.

“...You’re right. I’m sorry.” He breathes, throat catching. “That was…cruel. And uncalled for.”

 

He lets out a sigh, his big body almost collapsing in on itself- like those broad shoulders have finally become too much to carry.

“And it's not like it matters, anyway.” He whispers to himself ruefully. 

A weak, mirthless chuckle, the movement sending silky hair into his eyes.

“...Everything is finally working out.” He concludes.

 

It sends every nerve prickling, some primordial instinct screaming out within him.

Katsuki stiffens, his blood chilling at the tone- at the implication.

“Sho.” He gasps.

 

But Shouto doesn’t take it back. He doesn’t stop. No, he just backs away and buries his pretty face into his hands, each word wrung and thin.

“I knew. I knew it was too good to be true.” He croaks, fingers digging into his hair. “And I let myself believe, anyway.”

 

And then, a horrible sound- one he’s never heard Shouto make in ten years: a growl of anger and heartbreak that sends chills up his skin.

“I’m so stupid.” Shouto hisses, voice crumbling. “I should’ve known. I should’ve never let myself–”

 

He stops, releasing his hair, his head falling forward in despair.

“You should go, Katsuki.” He urges softly. “You should go to him. Go be happy with Izuku. It’s what you always wanted.”

 

It breaks his heart. Stomps on his soul.

And then, when he isn’t sure he can take any more, a soft sniffle echoes through the air, Shouto’s voice cracking helplessly.

“It’s what you both deserve.” He croaks, beginning to weep.

 

Katsuki gapes in complete horror.

It’s the worst thing he’s ever seen- the worst thing he’s ever heard- and for the second time in one evening, his heart, shriveled black little thing that it is, somehow manages to splinter even further.

“Shouto.” He whispers.

 

Shouto’s head finally raises at the sound of his name, those gorgeous, mismatched eyes pinched with pain and shiny with tears.

“It’s your dream, Katsuki. What you’ve been working towards for years.” He reminds him. “And what kind of selfish monster would I be to keep you two apart now that you finally have a chance to be happy? After everything you’ve done to find each other? After everything you’ve suffered through?? What kind of cruel, heartless–?”

 

Every nerve in his body wails.

He can’t let him do it. He won’t let him do it. He’s already lost one person tonight- already let one person slip through his fingers- and goddamn it, he’s not going to lose another. Not Shouto. 

Please god, not Shouto.

 

Terrified and furious, he barrels forward, ignoring every bit of rational thought and common sense as he rushes into his boyfriend's arms and squeezes him tight around the middle, forcibly holding them together as he throws back his head and shouts:

“You’d be fucking normal!”

 

Shouto stops. Just for a moment. 

Seeing his one chance, Katsuki doesn’t hesitate. He reaches up, taking his face into his hands, looking right into those awful, tear-stained eyes.

“You’d be flesh and blood, Sho.” He whispers. “Human. Not the perfect, pretty, faultless hero everyone expects you to be, but a person. A normal fucking person.”

 

Shouto’s eyes go wide. He gapes. It’s almost as if he’d never considered it- as if he didn’t know that it was even an option for him to be imperfect- to be human.

And using that one moment of hesitation to his advantage, Katsuki softens himself, swiping tears from the rough skin of his scar as he adds, “And what kind of monster would I be to take up with you and then just dump you? To love you so much and then just abandon you when things get hard?”

 

His eyes suddenly narrow. His expression goes stony.

“You really think I’d do that?” He asks.

 

Shouto stares at him levelly. He considers, and then:

“I would understand if you did. I wouldn’t blame you.” He rasps. “You and Izuku are meant for each other. Destined. Like stars.”

 

He looks away, eyes casting down in shame.

“It was foolish of me to ever assume that I could fill that space- arrogant to think that I’d ever be enough.” 

A small, dry laugh. 

“Honestly, I should be grateful that I ever got to have you at all.” 

 

It pisses him off. It breaks his fucking heart.

Katsuki glares up at him.

“Shouto.” He warns dangerously.

 

But Shouto doesn’t listen. He just hangs his head again, eyes going distant: a look of a man watching his last dream flicker and fade, slipping through his open fingers like sand.

His voice is cold. Frost steadily coats his neck, creeping over the skin inch by inch.

“I knew I never deserved you.” He whispers hollowly.

 

 

It’s the worst thing he’s ever heard.

And though part of him knows he should comfort him- be soft and understanding- Katsuki can't help it: he seethes.

 

Oh, that fucking does it.

 

He’d tried sweet. He’d tried gentle. Had even tried cool logic. And now, with all other options exhausted, Katsuki stops trying new things and just falls back into old habits, his teeth bared, palms popping, nothing short of pure venom in his eyes as he grabs his boyfriend by the collar and shakes him.

 

“Shouto Todoroki.” He growls, hard as iron and wild as fire, “Shut the fuck up and listen before I explode your stupid head.”

 

It cracks against the walls. Rattles the appliances. Slices the air.

And to his surprise and relief, it actually works. A bit of that self-loathing flickers out of Shouto’s eyes. His head raises. There might even be a little bit of hope in his features.

And seeing it- knowing that what his boyfriend really needs right now is reassurance, he quickly ditches the fury and fire, wrapping himself around Shouto’s body and coolly, softly whispering:

“I’m not leaving you.”

 

Shouto tenses, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop- for the ‘but’ that will break his heart. And when it doesn’t come, he just cracks an eye and looks down apprehensively, still afraid to trust.

But there’s nothing but steely determination in Katsuki’s eyes- an expression that barks out his intentions; one that has Shouto instantly crumpling into his hold.

 

“Katsuki.” He whispers placatingly, almost as if to talk him out of it.

 

He won’t have it.

 

“No. I refuse.” He hisses, squeezing him tighter, burying his face into the side of his neck. “I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever. That’s fucking final.”

 

Shouto makes a sound of protest, the kind that precludes a bullshit argument, and already entirely out of patience, Katsuki doesn’t even let him try. 

“Don’t.” He cautions sharply. “Don’t say you don’t deserve it. Don’t tell me to change my mind. Deku had a decade to figure this shit out and he fumbled it.” He growls. “I gave him everything and he never saw. Fuck, I had to actually shout it in his face for him to even notice.”

 

Shouto’s mouth audibly snaps shut.

And for a moment, that awful truth hangs between them like smoke, swirling into their eyes- clogging their throats. 

But even as much as it stings, it doesn’t stop him. Not with so much at stake. So with a heavy sigh, Katsuki fans it all away, clearing the air between them.

 

“But you.” He says reverently, looking up into his face. “You came to me like a man and told me how you felt. You were there for me when I needed you most. You showed me what love is. Healed me. You got down on your knees and gave me your entire heart.”

He’s trying to be strong here- really fucking trying- but seeing the way those pretty eyes widen with new faith, his throat suddenly goes tight. 

“And damn it, you made me fall in love with you.” He reminds him, voice going a little choked. “I love you, Sho. You think I’d turn tail and leave just like that? You think I’d just abandon you just because Deku finally woke up?”

 

Suddenly incensed at the very idea, he pulls away from him, lip curling, his face a mask of poison.

“Fuck you, Sho.” He spits angrily. “Fuck you for having such a low opinion of the asshole you’re supposed to love.”

 

It’s rude. Shitty. And yet, the moment it comes out of him, it’s like a light suddenly flickers in Shouto’s eyes- like life is stirring within him again. Like all that heartbreaking despair has quietly turned into hope.

Face paling, mouth flapping, he comes forward in a clumsy rush on those long legs, reaching down and taking Katsuki into his arms, almost scrambling as he grips him tight to his chest.

 

“No, Katsuki. Never.” He insists, head shaking furiously, “I’ve never thought that of you. Not once. Not ever.”

He looks down at him, confused and bereft.

“I don’t- it’s just-” 

 

A frustrated pinch of brows.

“--Why would you stay?” He asks weakly. “When the love of your life is calling, why would you stay with me?” 

 

Katsuki gives him a flat, impatient look. 

“Because you might be the love of my life, moron.” He explains tartly. “Did you ever think of that?”

 

Shouto blinks. His back goes straight. The hair on his arms visibly rises, gooseflesh prickling all over. Surprised as he is, he almost recoils from him, thrilled and shocked in equal measure as he stumbles over his feet.

“I-!” He gasps.

 

And though this whole thing is half a disaster, Katsuki can’t help himself: he snorts at him.

“Right.” He barks, mouth twisting wryly. “So fucking hear me when I say that I’m staying with you. And it’s not out of duty. Or some twisted obligation.”

 

He reaches up, setting a hand over Shouto’s thudding heart. 

“It’s out of love, you idiot. I told you I love you and I meant it. I committed myself to you.” 

He digs his fingers in, feeling the powerful thrum beneath his palm. 

“And nothing’s gonna change that. Nothing.” He vows.

 

Shouto gapes at him, mouth open, heels digging as if waiting for Katsuki to change his mind. 

But Katsuki isn’t going to change his mind. He means it. Means every word. And Shouto must see it, because, big softie that he is, his mouth goes tight, his shoulders sink, and before Katsuki can say anything else, his pretty, mismatched eyes begin to glisten, and then steadily fill with tears. Only this time, the tears aren’t those of grief, but happiness, or perhaps, relief.

And never one to be self-conscious about emotions after so many years of not being allowed to have them, he simply lets himself cry- doesn’t shy away or try to hide when two fat drops go rolling down his cheeks, dripping off that perfect jaw.

“I wouldn’t hate you for it.” He explains between rattling breaths. “If you left. I’d understand.”

 

It’s like being kicked in the gut.

 

“I know.” Katsuki returns, chagrined. “I know you would. And that’s stupid. Noble, but stupid.”

A heavy sigh. A shrug.

“But it’s why I love you so much.” He assures, swiping away a tear track with the heel of his hand. “It’s why I’ll never leave you. That big, dumb heart of yours.”

 

Shouto blinks and then laughs, soft and wet, sniffling between tiny chuckles as he wipes at his eyes. And for all the tears and snot, it’s oddly pretty- so annoyingly pretty that it makes Katsuki twist and ache all over.

 

Unable to stay away, he reaches out, putting his hands around that handsome face, squishing it between his calloused palms until Shouto’s lips puff out, looking him right in the eye as he says: 

“You’re good, Sho. Better than I probably deserve. Better than any of us deserve.”

He pulls his shoulders back, going straight and tall.

“And I’m gonna do right by you, dummy.” He vows. “You gave me that big, dumb heart and I’m gonna protect it. Come hell or high water.”

 

It’s a bit cheesy. Sort of lame, even. But Shouto doesn’t seem to mind. No, in fact, he just continues to stare down at him, sparkly-eyed and impossibly fond. Loving. 

And annoyingly finding that he’s becoming quite the softie himself, Katsuki lets out a long, beleaguered sigh, turns up his head, and brushes their mouths together, sweet and comforting.

“I’m yours, idiot.” He whispers, kissing the corner of his lips. “All yours. Only yours.”

 

Shouto stiffens for a moment, just a single breath, before sighing like an angel and melting right into his hands. 

“You mean that? You’ll stay with me? You won’t go?” He whispers fretfully.

 

Katsuki’s nose wrinkles. He makes a sharp, ugly expression.

“Fuck no.” He bites, clicking his teeth. “You’re stuck with me.” 

 

It’s not particularly charming, but Shouto lets out a shaky little laugh anyway, his mouth wobbling unsteadily into a tiny, relieved smile.

“I never should’ve doubted.” He returns quietly.

 

It makes the air soft. Unspools a bit of the tightness in his chest. 

It’s a relief- a huge relief after everything that had happened in the last hour. And suddenly feeling uncharacteristically magnanimous, Katsuki shrugs, careless and cavalier.

“I don’t blame you. I can be a dick.” He smirks up at him.

 

Shouto lets out another low, contented hum, sinking even deeper into his hands, his eyes closing serenely.

“Sometimes.” He responds with a tiny smile.

 

Katsuki instantly stiffens. His grip goes a little hard. A vein twitches in his temple.

“Sho?” He asks through his teeth.

 

Shouto stirs a bit, an eye cracking down at him.

“Yes, Katsuki?”

 

His words are earnest, his expression genuine, and damn it, it’s too fucking hard to be mad at him: at that face and his sweetness and the guileless little look in his eyes.

So instead of raising hell, he just groans softly to himself, releasing all that ire and sighing:

“This is one of those times when you’re supposed to lie, baby.”

 

Shouto starts in his grip, blinking in confusion. For a moment, his eyes haze as he backtracks through his words, only to quickly realize what he’d actually said- to flush a bit and shyly respond:

“Ah. Noted.”

 

Ugh. Sweet. So sweet.

It shouldn’t work, but it does. So desolate just moments ago, something warm begins to stir in his chest as he takes in the look on Shouto’s face, the adoration in his eyes steadily chasing away all that awful cold.

It makes his heart squeeze. Wrings his stomach like a rag.

And suddenly desperate to know that they’re on the same page- that Shouto knows without a single doubt just how wanted he is- how treasured- Katsuki reaches up again, bringing them nose to nose, his eyes going lidded and dark.

“You’re mine, understand?” He asks.

 

Shouto sucks in a fluttery little breath, a tiny lick of fire feathering over his ear.

“Yes.” He confirms.

 

It makes his face heat- makes his blood sing to hear his lover so breathless.

“Good.” He smirks, bringing him down for another kiss. 

 

Shouto meets it eagerly, moving their lips together in a slow, hot slide, a soft, rumbling groan slipping out of him as their bodies press- as their limbs slot together like puzzle pieces. 

It makes him feel all gooey inside. It feels like coming home. 

And just when he isn’t sure it could possibly get any better, Shouto sighs into him like an angel, giving himself over, bearing that long, pretty neck to his hands- his will- his pleasure–

–And pathetic, maybe, but Katsuki suddenly can’t help the way he wants to devour him.

 

Because this gorgeous, loving, impossible man is his, and nothing is going to change it. Shouto belongs to him heart and soul, and he is going to cherish every moment- savor every second that he has him at his side. Because what they’d been through tonight only proves it; proves that nothing in this world can pull them apart. Nothing can come between them. Nothing. 

The thought of it somehow manages to stifle that dark, aching hole inside. Stirs his blood. Feeds some snarling beast within.

And suddenly feeling hungry- ravenous- dangerously possessive in a way that rattles his bones, he deepens the gentle kiss into something fast and desperate- frantic and animal. He grabs Shouto by his thick, perfect ass and pulls him in close, rolling his hips against him as he shoots a fiery look upward.

“Mine.” He growls.

 

Shouto blinks at him, just for a second, sucking in a breath of surprise before instantly melting into his palms.

“Yours.” He gasps, diving down for another kiss.

 

It makes him feel insane.

He leans up onto his toes, gently turning Shouto’s jaw to lavish at his neck.

“Mine.” He rasps, licking up his throat.

 

Shouto nods quickly, a small, feathery gasp slipping out as he lets his head fall back, red and white hair falling around him–

–And suddenly unable to wait for even a second longer, Katsuki’s fingers flash down to the buttons of Shouto’s shirt, undoing them one by one, revealing pale, glowing skin- a heaving chest- rosy, peaked nipples and rugged scars and sharp, cut abs and hips, and fuck- fuck, he wants him.

 

“Mine.” He repeats shakily, sliding the fabric off his shoulders, nipping into skin as he lets it fall to the floor in a heap.

And god, the moment his shirt hits the ground, Shouto bows his head forward and moans right into Katsuki’s teeth, his voice all soft and breathy, and in an instant, whatever remains of Katsuki’s self-control burns away like paper.

 

Pulling away from him with a heated snarl, Katsuki reaches down and grabs Shouto by his belt, gripping his fist into the leather and hauling him down the hallway to the bedroom by it, forcing him to scramble behind him with a sharp, aroused gasp as he turns wild, feral eyes over his shoulder.

“Mine.” He says once more, throwing him through the open door and kicking it closed behind them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shouto is one of the most gorgeous men he’s ever met. Almost otherworldly in his regal, elegant beauty. A prince of ice and snow. A god of flame and frost.

But right now? He’s a mess. He’s a goddamn mess.

Katsuki isn’t quite sure how they got here- whether it was the heat of their argument or the sweetness of the makeup that followed- but honestly, he doesn’t really give a shit, because now, Shouto is on his back, naked and panting and throbbing in his mouth as he swallows him down, and he’s a goddamn mess.

And even with a throat full of cock, Katsuki grins like the cat who got the cream.

 

Sometimes, it’s hard to pull sounds out of Shouto. As dominating as he is most of the time in the bedroom, it’s even harder to really make him break- to see the softer, more vulnerable side of him. But something must be different tonight because for once, Shouto is lying beneath him obediently, spread out like a feast and leaking into his mouth, biting his fist and kicking his feet and moaning weakly into his palm, and god, it’s a fucking wet dream.

 

Spurred on, Katsuki takes him all the way down, greedily swallowing around his cock with a predatory smirk, opening his throat and bobbing around it, making Shouto curl with pleasure at every cruel, taunting suck.

What a rush. What a fucking rush.

He isn’t being touched- still has his underwear on, in fact, but even so, his eyes roll- his hips thrusting pathetically into the sheets. Because it’s fucking intoxicating having so much power. Delicious to make his baby feel so good. The sort of sinful bliss he never thought he’d ever get to possess. The sort of connection he’d only ever dreamed of.

And so, he enjoys every moment, holding his breath as he takes off the kid gloves and begins to fuck him with his throat, ignoring the involuntary spill of tears that run down his cheeks as he takes him deep.

 

And Shouto? He just bends off the bed, his perfect spine held in an impossible arch, his low voice breaking over a moan as Katsuki pulls out trick after trick.

It’s amazing. Breathtaking. Heart-stopping. But for all its perfect beauty, there’s one thing that he can’t ignore- one teeny, tiny thing that’s noticeably…different.

 

Usually, when he does this, Shouto can’t take his eyes off of him, watching him with razor attention, praising him and thrusting into his mouth and groaning his name as he comes.

He looks forward to it. Loves it.

But today, for some unknown reason, his eyes are elsewhere, his attention focused not on him, but on the ceiling. 

It’s strange. Maybe sort of distant?

It’s not like it’s bad, though. Shouto’s clearly enjoying himself: Katsuki can taste it. He’s getting close to coming: he can feel it in the tremble of his thighs- the pitch of his voice. But even so, even though this is usually the time that Shouto digs a hand into his hair and calls his name and tells him how desperately he loves him, he isn’t doing it.

 

No, he’s keeping it all in. Whispering all of those pretty, loving words into the fist he’s biting. He’s not giving Katsuki his full attention. Eyes glazing, chest heaving, focus fixed on the ceiling, it’s almost like he’s somewhere else. 

And even though he normally wouldn’t mind, tonight, it won’t fucking do. Not after their fight. Not after everything he’d gone through in that alley- the things he’d given up; sacrificed.

It won’t fucking do.

 

So, determined to earn that attention back- to fight for Shouto’s pleasure- Katsuki tries even harder. 

He gags around him. Takes him deeper, ignoring the burn of his eyes. Feeling wicked, he reaches down and brushes his fingers tauntingly against his asshole in that way that always sends sparks up his back- even grabs his balls and gently pulls them the way he likes, the way that normally has him careening over the edge with a shudder and a cry.

And sure enough, Shouto’s eyes go black with every new touch: his pupils round and fat like he’d taken a massive hit- hazy like he’s drowning in pleasure; his throat letting out this soft, squeaking sound of utter bliss. But before any real words can slip out, it’s like he catches himself, a hand coming up and pressing firmly around his mouth as if to forcibly hold it all in, his teeth biting down into his own palm hard enough to almost draw blood.

 

But even so, even through the skin and the heavy breaths and the sound of his own pulse in his ears, Katsuki abruptly hears it: a single word. A muffled word. A word that sounds oddly familiar.

And even with a throat full of cock, something about it has his ears perking. It’s garbled and wrecked and swallowed into Shouto’s hand, but for some reason, it brushes up his back, calling to him, almost…taunting him.

Suddenly intrigued, he listens again as he bobs his head, trying to make it out over the sound of soft moans and saliva, and this time, when Shouto grits it into the meat of his palm, he can hear it more clearly.

It’s one word. Three shuddering syllables.

 

Katsuki sucks down deep, hollowing his cheeks, listening so hard that his ears strain as Shouto says it again.

Three syllables. Short and breathy. Sweet and soft.

He hears it. Hears it again. Again. But try as he might, it doesn’t register. Doesn’t quite click.

 

He frowns as he bobs up and down.

He knows the word. He somehow just knows it. He’s sure he does.

 

And when he gags wetly around Shouto’s cock, forcing him to cry it into his palm, it suddenly clicks.

 

It clicks so hard that he gasps. Clicks so deep that it rattles his scarred heart. Because he suddenly realizes what he’s saying- what Shouto is whispering over and over, thin and reedy and raspy.

It’s not a curse or a whisper or a call to a god, but a name. Not his own, but another. A name he knows as well as his own thoughts.

Suddenly putting two and two together, Katsuki whips his eyes upward, staring at his lover through damp eyes, taking in every detail, noting every breath and twitch and sigh.

 

And in an instant, he understands exactly what’s happening.

 

He should’ve noticed it sooner. Should’ve picked up on it. Because Shouto isn’t like this with him in the bedroom. Shouto has never been like this with him. Not after arguments. Not after makeups. Never once. He’s always so doting, bordering on suffocating with his affections.

But not tonight. Tonight is different.

And seeing the way Shouto viciously bites into his fist to keep in every noise, the way his eyes swim as he stares at the ceiling, Katsuki suddenly understands why.

 

Because even though he’s in his mouth, being pleasured by him, Shouto isn’t thinking of him right now. He isn’t here.

 

Mh-mm-mm. He moans into his fist.

 

I-mm-mm.

 

I-mm-ku.

 

 

And suddenly, there it is.

 

 

Katsuki stills on his cock, eyes cast down, heart thundering as he waits for the jealousy to come; for the burn of anger to roil up and consume him. He waits for his world to implode. Waits for the collapse of his heart.

But to his surprise, he suddenly finds that this- Shouto- his Shouto thinking of Deku as he blows him- doesn’t infuriate him. Doesn’t hurt him. Doesn’t break him.

No, it shockingly only makes him…harder. More determined. Aroused to the point of madness.

 

He’s still trying to parse out how he feels when Shouto moans it again, soft and broken, tears beginning to bead into the corners of his eyes, everything about him desperate and pleading and almost sort of pathetic–

–And damn it, Katsuki’s pupils expand. His hips grind down. His cock leaks. His hands begin to burn.

 

He shouldn’t like this. His boyfriend is moaning someone else’s name- their best friend’s name- and he shouldn’t like it. 

But he does like it. He does.

 

He looks up, hazy and wrecked, at Shouto’s glistening brow and mussed hair and beautiful, wretched expression.

 

It’s sick. Twisted. 

And hot. So hot. 

 

After all, he’s always known that Shouto wants Deku. That was clear from day one. It’s not like those feelings had gone away once they’d gotten together. And more than that, it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it; hasn’t come screaming on his own fingers thinking about what the two of them would look like together- sound like together.

So perhaps Shouto is feeling the same way. Maybe tonight’s argument had sparked something- changed something. Even as scared as Shouto had been to lose him in that moment, perhaps having Deku so fresh on his mind had also brought some of those suppressed feelings to the surface. 

And now, there they are, just on the tip of his pretty tongue- dancing on those perfect lips like forbidden fruit, just waiting- waiting.

 

And though he knows it’s honestly sort of fucked up, Katsuki can’t help it: he wants.

 

He doesn’t know why, especially after the argument they’d had. It’s an objectively terrible idea. It’s gonna go over like a lead pipe. He knows it. 

But despite his best efforts, he can’t look away. Can’t stop wanting. The button is sitting there, all pretty, just begging to be pressed.  

 

Shouto bends off the bed again, his toes curling, whimpering those three little syllables into his hand, and god, after everything he’d been through tonight, all the heartbreak and pain, he can’t help but indulge himself in this single moment of selfishness- of pure, mindless avarice. 

So, even knowing how stupid it is, he lets the grubby little lizard inside his head reach down and punch that button right through the floor.

 

Almost bubbling over with wicked delight and hedonistic anticipation, he pulls away from Shouto’s cock with an obscenely wet sound, looking up at those red cheeks, those beautiful, cloudy eyes. He lets his face go soft and hazy. Lets the head of Shouto’s twitching cock bob lewdly against his lower lip, a line of saliva trailing in its wake. He makes his voice light and airy as he licks over the tip.

And then, he looks up, sweet and heavy-eyed, and says it.

 

 

 

 

 

“Shou-chan.” He whispers softly.

 

 

 

 

 

Everything goes still. Every muscle in Shouto’s body tenses at once. His eyes bug wide, pupils fat and round and black as they flash down to him.

The name hovers. Settles. Sits.

And suddenly, without another word or breath or sound, Shouto throws his head back and comes. Hard.

 

It’s instant. Almost violent. Like a dam breaking, he releases himself into Katsuki’s open, waiting mouth with a high, raw sound that’s almost a scream. His back peels off the bed, his hands so hot that they actually burn through the fire-resistant sheets, sending acrid smoke pluming into the air as he spills onto his lips and down his throat with these tiny, little thrusts that make him feel insane, wailing and whining and shaking all over.

And Katsuki? He just rolls his eyes back and takes it, reveling in Shouto’s pleasure- swimming in the high of it; just rolling and rolling with the waves until suddenly and far too soon, the body beneath him is pulling away from him in a scramble. 

 

Katsuki looks up, proud and sated, licking his lips, ready to ask for a kiss or perhaps, move on to more–

–only to suddenly freeze. Because when his vision returns to him, Shouto’s face is not lazy with pleasure, as expected (or hoped), but white with shock- with horror- with…betrayal.

 

Every bit of that carnal high abandons him in an instant.

 

Shit. Shit.

 

He’d been so confident in it- so lost in the delicious taboo of it- but now, seeing the awful look on Shouto’s face, he suddenly feels like an idiot- the biggest moron that ever lived.

Fear curls up his back as Shouto pulls away from him. Regret burns in his throat as his pretty mouth twists down into a frown.

 

Holy shit. Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that???

 

They’ve never talked about it- never discussed it. Never once. He should’ve communicated- should’ve asked- should’ve made sure that it was something that Shouto wanted, too.

And after the awful argument earlier, this is how he thought he’d bring it up? Without any warning at all? 

Stupid. Stupid!

 

Suddenly desperate to fix what he’d done, he looks up at Shouto beseechingly, grateful to already be on his knees as he reaches up for him, and weakly whispers:

“Sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry, Sho. I didn’t mean- that was– fuck, are you okay?”

 

Shouto halts in place. He blinks at him, almost as if he’s surprised to hear Katsuki apologizing. 

Then, once the surge of surprise has ebbed, he looks himself over as if searching for injury- for harm. But there is none: no blood or wounds.

His eyes come back to him, relief and concern swirling grey and blue.

“I- yes. I’m okay.” He confirms.

 

Katsuki’s heart does a hopeful little flip. His gaze zeroes in, a hand reaching up to curl around Shouto’s jaw.

“...We’re okay??” He asks nervously, fingertips trembling against the sharp curves.

 

Shouto blinks at him in confusion. He considers it quietly.

And then, with a gentleness he absolutely doesn’t deserve, he places his hand atop Katsuki’s, pushing his face readily into his quaking palm. 

His eyes close serenely.

“Yes. We’re okay.” He assures.

 

Relief, thick and heavy, washes over Katsuki in a wave.

Barely believing his good luck, he lets out a rattling exhale as his head slumps forward, endlessly grateful for Shouto’s mercy- endlessly pissed at his own poor judgment.

And for a moment, they stay there, tangled together, bare and sweaty, Katsuki’s hand wrapped tightly around that warm cheek, just breathing and breathing until Shouto finally breaks the silence.

 

“Katsuki?” He asks, not moving.

 

It’s just his name. Completely innocent. And yet, a twinge. A prickle in his gut. Something that forewarns danger.

His voice is hoarse when he answers.

“Yeah, Sho?”

 

Shouto still doesn’t move- still doesn’t meet his eye, and when he speaks again, his voice is low and icy. Hard as flint.

“Why did you call me that?” He asks coldly, brows drawing down.

 

Katsuki’s throat tightens. The hairs on his arms rise tall.

He should’ve known this was coming. It was foolish to think that he’d get off scot free- far too optimistic to believe that he’d somehow manage to slink away from his massive faux pas without any repercussions.

And wanting desperately to run but knowing that he needs to nut up and face what he’d done, he plants himself onto the bed, his gaze shooting askance, too cowardly to look his boyfriend in the eye as he slowly, hesitantly answers, “I…figured you wanted me to.”

 

It bursts a hole in the atmosphere, cracking right through the space between them.

Shouto’s lip immediately curls back over his teeth. He grips Katsuki’s hand with sudden strength, ripping it away from his face as he reels back and hisses:

“No, why??” He asks, voice craggy, “Why did you say that to me? Why did you–??”

 

He has every right to be upset. Honestly. This whole evening has been an emotional mindfuck for him on too many levels to name. 

And yet, the moment those mismatched eyes turn on him, upset and impatient, Katsuki suddenly finds that he can’t silence his own grievances- can’t hold his tongue for even a moment longer.

 

“--Because you weren’t here.” He returns coolly.

 

It’s low and even, nothing like the growling shout he’d normally use in an argument, and just as he’d hoped, the eerie calm of it actually manages to startle Shouto right out of his outburst, the words he’d been ready to say plodding off of his tongue as his mouth drops open. 

His big body recoils a bit, curling in on itself as if seeking protection. His face goes pale. His head begins to shake. 

“I- no, I–” 

 

Katsuki doesn’t give him a chance to defend himself.

“You were thinking of Deku.” He doubles down. “I could see it, Sho. You were whispering his name. Moaning it. I heard you.”

And then, a bit softer and perhaps, a touch raw, he whispers:

“Baby, you weren’t here.” 

 

Shouto’s eyes go wide. His lower lip begins to tremble. For just a moment, Katsuki can see cold fear creeping up his neck- spilling out his mouth in the form of frost.

Caught. He looks caught.

 

An agonizing moment passes, Shouto going paler and paler as he tries to think of something to say- anything to justify what he'd been doing. But after a whole minute of awful silence, he must come up short- must have nothing- because he just bows his head, surrendering himself to Katsuki's judgment.

 

“...I’m sorry.” He eventually gasps, almost white with regret. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I–”

 

Katsuki doesn’t let him apologize.

He absolutely has the right to- absolutely has the right to grill him for it after everything they'd been through- but he doesn’t. Because he would sooner throw himself on a blade than see that pain on his beautiful face- than see him suffer. So, before Shouto can devolve into full-on panic, he gets up on his knees, taking his face into his hands and pointing it right at his own.

“Hey. It’s okay.” He assures.

 

Everything goes still. Shouto blinks at him. He digests the words one at a time. 

And when he finally realizes that Katsuki isn’t upset- that he’s in no real danger- he sags like a popped balloon, staring down at his boyfriend in fearful confusion.

“...How?” He asks roughly. “How is it- and after everything that happened earlier, I–”

 

One of the hands curled around his jaw detaches, fastening itself over that pretty mouth to silence him as Katsuki sends up a weak, pitying smile.

“Sho. C’mon.” He nudges. “I’m letting you off the hook here. Just take the win.”

 

Shouto gives him another searching look before reaching up and peeling Katsuki’s palm from his lips.

“But…you shouldn’t.” He argues. “You shouldn’t.”

 

And yeah, he supposes that that’s true, but…

“Maybe not, but I am.” He shrugs carelessly. “Besides, you’ve said it yourself: I’d never expect you to forget him so quickly.” A glance downward. “I mean, I haven’t, either. Obviously.” 

 

They both go quiet. Still.

Katsuki lets out a long, world-weary sigh.

“It’s not your fault.” He offers tenderly. “I was the one who brought him up earlier. I was the one that put it in your head.”

 

Shouto opens his mouth, clearly ready to protest and argue his own guilt, when suddenly, something winks in Katsuki’s head, a thought so strong that he doesn’t even try to hold it back.

“And honestly?” He asks quickly, not giving Shouto the chance to speak, “I didn’t hate what happened. I didn’t hate it at all.”

 

 

Shouto blinks at him. He searches his face diligently as if waiting for Katsuki to laugh or backtrack- something.

But Katsuki doesn’t backtrack. He means that shit. Means it with his whole chest. And apparently seeing it clear as day across his face, Shouto just gapes down at him, a bit of light returning to his eyes- a bit of color blooming into his cheeks as he bends into Katsuki’s space and whispers:

“You didn’t?” He swallows tightly. “That is, you really don’t mind? Me thinking of Izuku? In that way?” 

 

He doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t. And yet, just to make sure- to turn every stone before answering- he thinks about it again: the carnal bliss in Shouto’s eyes- the sound of his voice breaking in ecstasy- and best, the delicious idea of the two of them rolling together, all long, pale limbs and scarred, freckled hands and wild, green curls and low, cracking voices, and–

 

“--No.” Katsuki immediately answers, not having to consider at all. 

But then, seeing the way that Shouto gapes at him and maybe feeling a touch self-conscious, he looks over and quickly, defensively asks, “What, would you mind?”

 

In perfect serendipity, Shouto’s eyes glaze as he follows Katsuki’s lead, taking a moment to consider it for himself, and–

“--No.” He returns, almost too quickly, “Not at all. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

 

Relief. Pleasure. Pride. A thousand emotions whirl in his chest.

“Well, there’s your answer.” He shrugs, reaching out and tucking a red strand behind an ear. “Honestly? It was fucking hot watching you finish like that. Really fucking hot.”

 

Shouto blushes deep, a burst of steam abruptly rising off his reddening skin. It’s cute.

But just as quick as it had come, Shouto tucks it away, turning back to him with a bashful frown; an expression that Katsuki can read like a book.

He’s embarrassed. Mortified. And wanting nothing more than to put him out of his misery, Katsuki peers up at him owlishly, a finger reaching up to poke him right between his two-toned brows.

 

“Hey. Don’t make that face.” He orders, tapping twice. “You’ve got nothing to be worried about. I liked what happened. You clearly liked what happened. There’s no problem. Everything is fine.”

He leans his way, pressing a soft kiss onto his cupid’s bow before pulling back and looking him dead in the eye.

“We’re good, Sho.” He assures.

 

Relief surges between them. Shouto’s shoulders sink an inch. But even so, his eyes are still a bit fretful as he pulls back.

“You’re sure?” He asks.

 

Katsuki lets an exhale hiss through his lips.

“Positive.” He barks, lifting his ass and shimmying himself under the covers. “Now, quit bein’ so weird and get over here. Wanna hug you.”

 

Shouto smiles weakly.

“Just that?” He asks, a brow rising tall as he looks heatedly down towards the waistband of his underwear.

 

Katsuki grins. That sort of offer would normally be entirely appreciated, but truthfully, after everything that’s happened tonight, all he really wants right now is to curl up in Shouto’s arms and sleep.

“Yeah. Just that.” He nods.

 

Shouto frowns at him.

“You’re sure?” He asks once more, sliding under the covers beside him. “You didn’t–”

 

Katsuki stiffens. 

He’s got a point. He didn’t come. And usually, getting blue-balled like that would be all sorts of awful. But right now, it doesn’t really bother him. So he just shrugs and nestles himself deeper under the covers.

 

“Moment’s passed, baby.” He jokes, curling up into Shouto’s front, resting his head against his collarbone.

He wraps his arms tight around him, holding him close.

“This is what I want right now.” He whispers into his neck.

 

Shouto warms a few degrees beneath him, a soft sigh of pleasure sailing past his ear as he nods silently and comes forward, twining their legs, one of his big hands beginning to gently stroke through Katsuki’s hair in the way that always puts him right to sleep.

And exhausted as he is by everything that had happened, all it takes is a few brushes of his fingers, and he’s already beginning to drift away, buoyed by Shouto’s gentle breathing- the warmth of his torso.

His eyes flutter, already lost, halfway gone, but just before he loses consciousness, he can almost hear it again at the very edge of his head: Deku’s voice, full and soft, whispering.

 

I love you, it calls.

 

I love you.

 

I love you.

 

 

Unsure of how to feel, Katsuki grips Shouto tighter, closes his eyes, and forces himself to fall asleep.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Hmmmmm 👀

The plot thickens.

 

So tell me: how does this make you feel? Better? Worse?

As some people predicted, ofc Katsuki immediately told Shouto what was going on. He's had so much growth since the beginning of this series, especially with communication, and I wanted to make sure that he immediately came clean. But did Shouto's actions surprise you? Or did you expect this from him? I'm all ears!

Something I really wanted with this chapter was to let Shouto mess up. So far in this series, he's been understanding and mature and endlessly kind, and though those are all wonderful traits, it's just not realistic for him to always be so perfect. So in this chapter, I let him be a little more flawed. He gets angry and jealous and insecure. He says things he doesn't mean. And most importantly, he accidentally lets himself drift away during sex. (Eek.)

But Katsuki is there for him when he needs him most. He assures him and comforts him and even matches his freak when he finds out what Shouto was doing during that blowjob instead of getting upset, which is just more proof to how strong their relationship has grown!
 

 

As for the next chapter: as much as I would love to do two chapters a week until the end, I'm not quite that far ahead yet, so I'm probably gonna need a little more time to get things the way I'd like, so expect a chapter next Friday!

 

Love you all to tiny, lil bits and pieces!
Xoxo, Liz <3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Peripeteia