Work Text:
The email comes in at lunchtime.
Katsuki’s grabbing two bottles of green tea from the vending machine when his phone lights up, where it's discarded on the lunch table he’s sharing with Izuku and a few others. The rest of the table is a ruckus—noisy overlapping chatter about everyone’s impending summer break plans, contributing to the din of the already loud dining hall. Izuku’s sitting the closest to where Katsuki’s left his phone, though. They always sit together. It’s an unspoken rule. An unshakeable fixture set in place. It feels a little wrong to be looking at Katsuki’s phone without permission, especially when he’s not around, but the phone screen is so bright, and he’s sitting at the edge of the conversation anyway, so his eyes can’t help it when they drift down to follow the sudden light.
[CONFIDENTIAL] Internship Offer: Big Red Dot - 4 Months
Izuku’s eyes baulk at the notification for so long he watches the screen go dark again. Four months. Internship. Big Red Dot?
That’s the most alarming piece of information. Training with Singapore’s number one hero would be a great opportunity, but—
“Move your shit, Izuku, here.” Katsuki throws a leg over the bench and plops down into the seat across from Izuku. He tosses a bottle of green tea over, and Izuku catches the slippery surface a little belatedly. He rolls the bottle in his hand, gobstopped.
“... Huh?” How’d he know exactly what he wanted before he said anything? Another instance of Kacchan being Kacchan, Izuku guesses—good at everything.
Across the table, Katsuki shoots Izuku a sharp look. “The fuck’s wrong with your face? You look like you swallowed one of Grapehead’s balls.”
Izuku’s head snaps up.
Katsuki’s eyes narrow. “You didn’t, did you? What’d he do?”
Izuku clears his throat and shakes his head rapidly, shooting his best friend a nervy smile. “No, nothing happened!” He chuckles. “Sorry. Thanks for the tea, Kacchan!”
The suspicion doesn’t fully fade, but Katsuki loosens. “Don’t thank me yet, it was 300 yen. Daylight robbery.”
“Mm.”
“Hey, Bakugou, Midoriya!” Kirishima pokes his head out of the little pile of other 2-A bobbleheads, raving over summer plans. “We were just talking about checking out Okinawa for a few weeks once school’s out, just to chill. You guys in?”
Oh, Okinawa sounds fun. Izuku takes a peek at Katsuki from the corner of his eye, a little surprised when he sees Katsuki already looking back at him. It sounds fun, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realises everyone at the table seems to be—well, it’s not like they’re not all friends, but mostly Katsuki’s usual band of acquaintances. Now that Izuku’s noticed, he does realise that the rest of the table is a spray of the ‘Bakusquad’: Kirishima settled in next to Denki and Mina, Sero and Jirou talking about their favourite band’s newest album. A few extra faces from class 2-B sit by the wayside, grouped into their antics more often than not after their first year by the more extroverted members of the original group.
Izuku almost jolts at the realisation that he’s the only one at the table who’s not a direct staple of the group. He’s just a friend, really, just a prosthetic add-on to the existing body. And he’s here, happily intruding on their summer break discussions!
“Sure. When? We can check our schedules.”
We?
Kirishima grins baldly, a smug and satisfied glint in his eye as Mina slaps his arm manically. Izuku looks around the table, waiting for some sort of explanation to manifest, but nothing comes. Another one of their squad inside jokes he’d never fully understand, he supposes.
Katsuki rolls his eyes, then his neck, and slaps his hand over his phone to drag it towards himself. Dramatic as always, he groans as if picking up his thin brick of a phone was more taxing than building the pyramids with prime All Might on his back.
“Enough. Hurry up and tell me before I change my m—” Katsuki cuts himself off, staring at the lit phone screen. Izuku swallows. A swirling feeling roils in his stomach. He can’t place it yet, but it feels a lot like fear. Fear and something else, achy and hollow.
“What’s up, man?”
Katsuki blinks at his phone and swipes up. “None of your business. Hurry up, I got my calendar open, when’re you nutbags going?”
Lunch keeps going, plans keep bouncing around the table, but Izuku can’t bring himself to look up from his plate until the bell goes off. He grabs his dirty plate and unopened bottle of green tea and heads off to clear his cutlery before heading back to class. He’s halfway towards the tray return area when a hand claps over his shoulder and yanks him back.
“Hey, nerd.” Izuku spins around and comes face-to-face with Katsuki, fingers still digging into his collarbone. “You good?”
“Ah, Kacchan!” Izuku titters nervously, eyes scanning the rest of the cafeteria. “No, yeah! We’re all good! All good.”
“Yeah.” Katsuki nods with furrowed eyebrows, looking over Izuku’s face with an unreadable look. “Okay. Can we talk after class? I wanna—” Katsuki pulls back, clearing his throat, the uncertainty dissolving from his face like he’s wrangling himself from the inside. “I gotta talk to you.”
“Oh! Okay, uh, I was going to go home for the weekend, actually. I’m headed back right after class.” Izuku pauses to look up at him. It was a little bit of a long shot, but it’d be nice to ask. “Are you?”
Katsuki regards him for a while, blinking and running thoughts around in his mind before he lands on an answer. “... Yeah. Yeah, I’m going home for the weekend.”
With his answer, Izuku brightens, feeling a little lighter and excited at the prospect of making the journey home to their neighbourhoods with Katsuki, together. A little extra Kacchan time, a great way to cap off the school term.
“Okay! I’ll meet you at the front of Alliance at four?”
“If you say so. If you’re even a minute late, I’m heading home without you.” Izuku lets a grin slip, letting it widen more when Katsuki rolls his eyes with a flush high on his cheeks. Liar. Maybe he’d do that in middle school, but Izuku’s glad to report that most people stick them with ‘inseparable’ as a common label. That and ‘insufferable’, but that’s only when they get into their bigger, more explosive arguments. Literally explosive, too.
“You’d wait more than a second?”
“Shut the fuck up,” The other boy barks, shoving past Izuku. “I’m not gonna be late for class all so your dumb ass can keep up your delusions. See you at four.”
Class goes on fine, Izuku’s more than fine with spending his last hours of school on a hero history lesson before they all break for the summer. Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki and Asui walk with him back to the dorms before they break off to pack their own bags or head out for their own activities. Coming from different prefectures, Iida and Asui were slated to head back to their hometowns within the week, but since transport fees were a little out of budget, Uraraka was staying with the Todoroki family over the summer, which was great! That meant hanging out more since they’d all be in Musutafu, and both Uraraka and Todoroki were choosing internships and jobs a little closer to UA. And it’s not like Izuku’s headed anywhere for the summer. He’d been lucky enough to have been offered a summer course at the nearby university for quirk sciences and research. It’s not combat or anything flashy, but he loves quirk analysis. If the embers were gonna fade along with the dream of becoming ‘Pro Hero’ Deku, he might as well keep being Izuku Midoriya, the freaky nerd, now that he knows it’s not entirely a bad thing.
It’s about three-forty-five when Izuku exits the elevator with his duffle bag, stuffed with some of his notebooks, favourite hoodies, his laptop and such. Katsuki is already on the ground floor, looking like he's deeply entrenched in an argument with Kirishima.
Despite the seeming intensity of their discussion, their words are hushed and furtive, heads crowded together like they're afraid anyone might try to read their lips. Which, in a dorm full of teenage field operatives in training, is an entirely valid concern. Kirishima’s hands skirt along Katsuki’s shoulders, gently and soothing, so sweetly that it sends a sour pang through Izuku’s gut.
He bites down on his teeth hard as he tightens his grip on his bag strap.
It’s nice that Kacchan has found great friends he can rely on for comfort, he tells himself. It’s great that other people can touch Kacchan whenever they want.
It doesn’t mean he has to watch it.
He strides over with a bright smile and loud cough, loud enough that Kirishima darts his head up. Izuku notes glumly that whatever tension Kirishima had managed to smooth out of Katsuki’s shoulders returns full force. That one makes Izuku a little queasy.
“Hey Mido-bro!” Kirishima crows, slinging an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders casually. “Headin’ home for the summer?”
“Kirishima-kun!” Izuku volleys back as chirpily as he can. Katsuki struggles to wriggle out of Kirishima’s hardened grip. “Yeah, just to visit, I’ll be back. Kacchan and I are headed back together!” He doesn’t mean to, but a slight edge worms its way into his tone. “Are you staying around?”
“Ah, nah, I’ve got an internship lined up back home, so I’m headed back in a few weeks.” Kirishima rocks back and forth with his arm still wound tightly around Katsuki’s neck. He ruffles blond hair with a fist. “Before then, I’ve still got a few weeks to hang with the bros!”
“He doesn’t wanna hear about your shitty summer plans, fuckhead! Now let go of me before I blast your nuts and break your neck.”
“Woof, don’t need to tell me twice,” Kirishima chuckles, completely unfazed. He unlocks his arms and waves happily at the both of them over his shoulder as he trots towards the kitchen, undoubtedly to look for another one of Katsuki’s friends.
“Have a good summer, guys!” And with a wink, he’s gone.
They’re both still for a moment, the quiet sounds of a school let out for the summer echoing through the grounds. And then, as if nothing had happened, Katsuki hoists his bag over his shoulder and kicks the back of Izuku’s knees.
“Let’s go home, nerd.”
The trip home is quiet.
Well, as quiet as half an hour with Izuku can be—he spends the walk and train ride idly chattering about the latest All Might documentary that came out, his correspondence with the ever-innovative Melissa Shield on her support item research and his plans to try out the coffee jelly at a new café opening up near his house. His conversation partner isn’t as enthusiastic. Kacchan isn’t the most talkative guy around, but he’s definitely a little looser with Izuku. Today, his words don’t come as easily, and Izuku’s lucky to get even a grunt or a hum.
It’s clear something’s bothering Kacchan, and if Izuku were to wager a calculated guess solely based on the timing, the email that dropped in at lunch would be his main culprit. It’s a great offer, though—Izuku can’t imagine why Kacchan would feel anything but ecstatic to train under a top hero. Overseas no less.
Izuku’s house is closer to the train station, so they head there first. If Izuku were a little more delusional, he could say that Kacchan was dropping him off and that dropping someone off could be seen as a romantic gesture, but he isn’t going to go down that rabbit hole. They’re just friends! Just friends and classmates. Nothing more.
Despite that, Kacchan lingers by the doorway, even when Izuku’s taking his shoes off beyond the threshold.
“You doin’ anything after dinner?”
“Uh, nope. I don’t think so? I mean nothing that isn’t flexible. Are you doing anything after dinner?”
Kacchan shrugs. “Talking to you.”
Heats slams into Izuku’s face with the weight of a sledgehammer. “Oh! Yeah, yeah, we can do that. I can call you later…?”
“Please. I live 5 minutes away from your mom’s house. I’ll see you on my rooftop, you lazy asshole.”
“Roof?”
“What, do I gotta throw in some All Might merch and some candy to get you up there? Scared of heights all of a sudden?”
“Kacchan!” The laugh that bubbles out of him is involuntary. “Fine, I’ll see you. Rooftop. I’ll text you when I’m on my way over.”
Kacchan’s mouth twitches, which looks like a smile. Close enough to one. “Whatever. See you later, Izuku.”
Dinner with his mom is nice, he pretends he’s doing okay. It’s not like everything is terrible, far from it. There are just some… hiccups on the emotional and mental front he doesn’t care to extrapolate in front of his mom. She doesn’t need to worry any more. She’s had her fair share of panic while he was in his first year; he just wants her to feel like he’s rounding out his second year of high school in a normal, very chill way.
Which it is!
Existential crises are normal for any seventeen-year-old.
Once he’s washed the grime of the day off his skin, helped his mother shelve the clean dishes and self-consciously rubbed a little bit of deodorant on, he shoots Katsuki a text while he stuffs his feet into his sneakers and begins the short trek over to Katsuki’s neighbourhood.
The cool night air pricks his skin, but the warmth of Katsuki’s presence on the roof keeps him grounded. Stars dot the sky above, a vast spread of twinkling lights mocking the quiet tension between them. It’s too quiet for his rabbiting heart. It beats so loud, Izuku’s sure the entire neighbourhood is listening in.
The Bakugou house was a grand, sleek edifice, but still so familiar to Izuku. Even though they’re old enough and don’t have to take such precautions, Katsuki beckons Izuku in quietly. So softly does he slip in, static electricity pooling in the palms of his hands as he trails silently in Katsuki’s footsteps. Charged with the thrill of surreptitious sneaking around, the hike up the stairs to the roof feels like a delicious secret meant for just the two of them and nobody else in the universe.
Izuku would like to think Katsuki made it so on purpose, but he just wouldn’t do that.
The air is brisk on the rooftop.
It’s nice and windy tonight, high enough that the air smells a little fresher, a little greener and Izuku can feel the cool moisture in the air moving against his skin.
“I like coming up here,” Katsuki grumbles, the statement so plainly fond that Izuku is almost taken aback. He’s used to inferring with Kacchan, watching close to see what colour M&Ms he eats around, or which condiments he doesn’t make nasty comments about when they go out to eat skewers.
(The red ones are saved for last, always. And he loves sansho pepper on his grilled chicken.)
The admittance is new, no guards up or aggressive foiling. He just likes it up here.
Izuku looks out to the deep horizon, and then to the terse slant of Katsuki’s back, shoulders inching higher towards his ears.
“Mm, I see why. It’s amazing up here, Kacchan.” Izuku ambles toward the lip of the roof and sits gingerly, looking up at the blinking sky. He can hear Katsuki shuffling over to him and grins up at the sky when he feels the metal squeak and shift under Katsuki’s weight.
The other boy plops himself criss-cross applesauce on the roof, knee barely brushing against Izuku’s thigh.
Under the inky sky, sitting on the cool metal roofing, they joke. They talk about school and friends. The conversation is light, unlike the solid mass of anxiety sitting on Izuku’s chest.
He leans back on his hands, trying to look casual, but the way Katsuki’s laugh makes his stomach flip isn’t something he can ignore. His friend continues his rant with an easy drawl—recounting Kirishima’s valiant efforts to thwart Sero and Denki’s latest scheme—but focusing is an impossible task. Distractions are everywhere Izuku looks. The way the moonlight catches the soft curve of Katsuki’s jaw, the way his lips move when he speaks.
Just sitting next to him is overwhelming.
“You ever want to travel?” His voice travels like molasses across the metal and over Izuku’s shoulder to tickle his ear. “Out of Japan, and not for a mission. Just go somewhere and experience it for the hell of it?”
Izuku chews on the inside of his lip, knocking the rubber of his sneakers together in thought. “Yeah, ‘course! I’d love to see the world, all the heroes and quirks out there that I haven’t seen yet—”
Katsuki barks out a laugh. “Nerd.”
“As if you wouldn’t look for the exact same. You’re a nerd too, Kacchan!”
Kacchan hums. “Yeah, maybe I am. Not the worst thing in the world.”
Izuku smiles at the sky, before sobering thoughts lick it away. “What about you? Are you planning on going anywhere?”
Katsuki goes quiet. A distance away, the echo of a dog’s bark rings out softly. Izuku wonders if Katsuki heard it too.
“I saw the email.”
Katsuki scoffs, scrunching up his body into a cagey ball. His arms settle around his knees like a brace. “Figured. Not as slick as you think you are, Izuku.”
“I’ll…” The words feel like they’re trapped in a bubble right beyond his lips. He forces it to pop. He’s got more bubbles, but those… he’s not sure when they’ll be ready to burst. He’ll give Katsuki all he can, while he can. “I’ll miss you.”
“Yeah?”
“... Yeah.”
Katsuki turns away, but Izuku can see the tips of his ears turning red. He hides his face in his sleeves. “I’m not fucking dying. Don’t be such a baby.”
The night goes quiet. Izuku stomps the disappointment down, drinking in the red splashed across Katsuki’s pale cheeks. Maybe he just needs some time. Maybe he’s got his own bubbles, too.
The whisper barely carries over the nighttime breeze. “I’ll miss you too. You’re not special.”
Izuku smiles.
The lilac sky above them melts into an inky navy, the stars pinpricking through the vast canvas. Katsuki has his own thoughts about the internship, and Izuku loves hearing what he thinks. People peg him for a rambler, but so is Katsuki if he cares. He snarks about hostel situations, how he wishes he had learned to drive before he was offered the placement, and how strong his quirk was going to be in the dense heat of the tropical sun. Izuku soaks up the hope that trickles out of Katsuki’s voice as he speaks, tender eyes locked on his friend, and wills himself to be happier for him.
From where they're lying down, Izuku’s arms tucked behind his head, he’s acutely aware of how close his elbow is to Katsuki's. Just a few wriggles, maybe a covert stretch and their elbows would brush, touching each other in the night air.
“Don’t forget about me, okay?” Izuku's only half-joking, but there's a nagging fear that Katsuki might see the world a little differently without Izuku constantly asserting his presence as he has for the past thirteen years.
“Stop overthinking, you dumbass. It's four months. You couldn’t even finish One Piece in a year, just read half of it again.”
Katsuki shifts, the sound of the roof creaking under his weight making Izuku’s heart skip. The movement brings him closer, the skin of their elbows brushing, and for a moment, the night air stills. The air between them is thick with something Izuku can’t place. He can only wish.
Gosh, he wants to kiss him.
It wasn’t just a fleeting thought—it was a deep, throbbing ache that had kicked at his ribs harder and harder every day.
He tries to breathe normally, tries to act like it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world to be this close to him and not reach out, not close the gap that had grown between them over time.
They’re friends. Again, finally. The thought of ruining everything, and tearing down all of the progress they’d made in the past few years and making things awkward, feels like a lead weight in his chest.
But the stars above and the quiet of the night were starting to get to him. He didn’t know how long he could pretend. The longing in his chest burned hotter with every passing second.
And then his best friend in the whole world turns to him, eyes locking, and for the briefest moment, Izuku sees something else there. Something he hopes is more than friendship, something that makes his pulse race, and the world outside them fades away.
The moment feels perfect, so familiar, like it was always supposed to be just like this.
Izuku scrambles to his feet.
Too familiar. Izuku swallows hard and looks back at the small ladder they climbed to get to the roof and steadfastly avoids Katsuki’s look of alarm.
Seventeen years he’s been alive. Conscious for give or take fifteen. And he’s had Katsuki right by his side for fourteen of them.
The bubbles have had time. Maybe they’re there because of it. Maybe it’ll take half of One Piece for them to fizzle out and rest.
“Izuku—”
“It’s getting late! Thanks for having me over, Kacchan.” He inches backwards, watching Katsuki almost reach out before thinking better of it, like Izuku’s a spooked animal, or worse, a coward.
“You’re going home already?”
Izuku considers the night sky, which looks considerably darker and colder than when they’d crept up here. He’d guess they’d been up on the roof for maybe three hours.
“Kacchan, it’s been hours! I think I’d better… I mean, at this rate, you’re going to get sick of me,” Izuku half-jokes, but his laugh is strained.
Katsuki grumbles something under his breath.
“What’s that?”
“Nothin’. Lemme walk you home.”
Izuku laughs for real this time. “C’mon, Kacchan. Don’t be silly, I’ll be fine.” As if he’s not a fully grown teenage boy who regularly beats up superpowered individuals for class credit. Kacchan was a babier. Always acting like Izuku was his dumb, stupid baby brother. Izuku stops laughing, smile sliding off his face.
He looks at Katsuki warily. “I’ll see you.”
Katsuki is persistent, as always. He spins to face Izuku fully, back to the cosmos. “When?”
“Soon?”
“When.”
“You’re leaving… next Saturday? So next week?” Izuku shrugs, feeling a little cornered. Katsuki shakes his head.
“It’s a long trip. I need help packing.”
“O-okay.” His help? “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” Katsuki deflates a little, the tension in his shoulders easing.
Izuku nods, confused and hits the top rung of the ladder absently. “Okay. Um! Night, Kacchan! I’ll see you tomorrow!”
He doesn’t wait for a response before scuttling down the rickety ladder, back the way he came.
ᯓ ✈︎ ⋆°•☁︎
It’s the asscrack of dawn, as Kacchan had groused in the car on the way to the airport, yet Izuku doesn’t feel as tired as he usually does.
Weary, yes. Tired? Wide awake.
At 5 am, Izuku, his mother, Kacchan and his parents had all crammed themselves into a private hire van with the biggest suitcase Japan had ever seen and Katsuki’s favourite old duffel bag.
Their friends texted in the class group chat, some bidding their quick farewells and some reporting their own arrival times to see Kacchan off.
It’s a nice morning—everything is going blessedly smooth, and they’ve managed to squeeze in a warm, soupy breakfast at one of the eateries outside the departure hall.
Tightly hugging Kacchan’s duffel to himself as he watches as small groups of their classmates start popping up, Izuku stands at the far edge of the small, growing crowd.
Kirishima clings to Katsuki like a starfish, all open arms and legs wrapped around him stubbornly. Mina is brusque enough to forcefully nuzzle her cheek into Katsuki’s blonde tufts, and Kaminari wails, blubbering into Kacchan’s taut shoulder.
Izuku admires it wholeheartedly. He likes to think he’s a kind, generous person, someone who freewheels joy and earnest encouragement. He doesn’t doubt that. He’s had a couple of damning therapy sessions since the war, though that points to a crippling hesitance to being open with how he really feels in situations that call for any sort of profound emotional response.
So he’s taken a break from therapy. Just for the time being.
“Oi,” Katsuki grunts, beckoning Izuku with a hand outstretched. Izuku looks around, for a split second, wondering if Katsuki was barking at some other guy standing around. “Quit hogging my shit. You’re gonna make me miss my flight.”
It’s not malicious; he can tell Katsuki’s trying to lighten the mood in his own Kacchan way, although he can tell the bravado falters when Izuku can’t muster up the will to laugh.
Izuku shifts the strap of Katsuki’s carry-on off his shoulder and hands it over, trying not to let his fingers linger too long on the worn leather. His heart thuds in uneven beats, and his cheeks hurt from forcing a smile for too long. He’s not fooling anyone, though, judging by the way his mother and Ochako peek over at him every so often with twin looks of concern.
Even Shoto seems to look at him pitifully, and he wouldn’t usually expect him, of all people, to pick up on social cues.
Respectfully.
“Four months, huh, Kacchan?” Izuku hums, voice just a little too light, watching the frantic blur of early morning travellers stream past them. “You’ll probably forget about all of us the second you land.”
Katsuki scoffs, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “Shut up. You’re not that easy to forget, nerd.”
Izuku wants to laugh, to cut through the fog hanging over his head. Not a sound comes through.
Instead, he watches the way Katsuki’s jaw ticks, how his brows pinch just slightly as he looks at him. It’s all in his head, but Izuku keeps feeling like Katsuki’s waiting for him to say something before he goes. Like he’s stupid and missing some obvious clue sitting right under his nose. Like he’s supposed to know what to say.
But he doesn’t.
And he won’t risk it. If he says the wrong, stupid thing now—if he ruins it—Katsuki will get on that plane, and whatever idiotic slop that comes out of Izuku’s mouth will sit with both of them, untouched and festering for four whole months.
“You’ll be busy,” he says instead. “New city, new mentors, probably a million new fans.”
“Pfft.” Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Like I care about that shit.” Izuku sees the faint twitch in the corner of his mouth, though. Nervous. Excited.
That’s good! That’s all Izuku has ever wanted—for Kacchan to do amazing things. Incredible, brilliant things he’s always known Kacchan would achieve one day, ever since they were little.
Still, a selfish, sharp ache blooms in his chest. The thought of Kacchan loving a life thousands of miles away from him, from home…
“Promise you’ll text?” Izuku asks quietly. It’s childish, clingy, too soft, but he can’t help it.
Katsuki looks at him, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says. ‘Course I will. Izuku.”
His voice is rough. Not sharp, not mocking—soft, almost. It makes Izuku’s throat close up.
The boarding call starts over the intercom, and Katsuki’s eyes flick to the gate. He shifts on his feet.
Izuku blurts, “You’re gonna kill it.”
Katsuki huffs. “Obviously.”
“I mean it,” he says, and it comes out cracked, fragile. “You’re gonna be amazing.”
And before he can think better of it, before his brain catches up to his heart, he steps forward and throws his arms around him.
It stuns Katsuki for half a second, but then strong arms wrap around his back, warm and grounding, and so Katsuki it almost breaks him. Izuku thinks they hold on a little too long for best friends, but who’s to say? Neither of them says anything about it.
Izuku will take a win where he can.
When they finally pull apart, Katsuki looks at him like he wants to say something. He doesn’t. He just grabs his bag and nods once. Sharp.
“I’ll see you.”
And Izuku watches him walk away. Watches him disappear past the gate.
He waves with a big smile at Katsuki’s back as he stops at the immigration counters, before his arm and the corners of his mouth drop heavily.
“Mom?” He calls out softly. Over everyone’s loud goodbyes and ‘don’t forget to call’s, he’s surprised she hears him at all. His eyes train on the back that shrinks in the distance with every passing second.
He doesn’t wait any longer to see if Katsuki turns to look back.
ᯓ ✈︎ ⋆°•☁︎
kacchan
if you saw my explosions over here you’d piss yourself
its like satan’s asshole
hot. sweaty as shit
works great for my quirk though
izuku
I SAW!!!!!!!!
kacchan your explosions look amazing its so interesting how your quirk work so differently in another environment. there’s actually an open lecture coming up soon at the university on it i signed up for i did some pre-reading and i read this paper a while back on the study of environmental quirks that was really fascinating
kacchan
yeah you would
nerd
izuku
HEY!
lay off it was a good read
kacchan
yeah you’d think that
nerd
kacchan
hey where’d you go
izuku
did you fucking block me
####
kacchan
ACs down again
this place is a shithole
kacchan
oi
finally picked up a hobby or did u find someone more interesting than me
as if
kacchan
actually its fine dont bother im busy. gotta go
izuku
hi kacchan!!
noooo I'm here I'm here
oh :( is the outside any better? have you tried cracking a window?
its late…. you must be tired
kacchan
tried cracking a window
its so fuckin humid i feel like I'm about to explode
you didnt answer me
what were you doing just now i saw you online
chatting up some girl from your lecture? dog
izuku
NO
WHAT
its nothing like that kacchan dont be silly!!!!!!
shinsou was just sending me some videos. we were sparring earlier with shoto and uraraka
hand to hand combat this time!
kacchan
so its exactly like that
dog
izuku
ehh????
kacchan
whatever
i gotta sleep
night loser
izuku
????
KACCHAN
####
izuku
you’d like this lecture
i’ll send you my notes later!
kacchan
quit texting
i’m at work
what was it about
izuku
discourse of combustible quirks
kacchan
send me a pdf
easier to annotate
your stupid word doc crashed on me last time
izuku
:D
knew you’d like it
kacchan
k now quit it
ur gonna make me crash into a fkn skyscraper
izuku
are you flying and texting??
kacchan thats dangerous
you could just ignore me yknow
kacchan
cant
izuku
oh
heh okay!
kacchan
youd get mad and shit because i didnt reply
dont get it twisted
izuku
oh right
okay ill text you later
bye! be safe
kacchan
fine
####
kacchan
[food.jpeg] your ass would hate this
izuku
nuh uh. what is that!
kacchan
mala hot pot. sposed to be fuckin spicy but its not that bad
not for me tho
the other interns are sweating their balls off. squid-face is crying lmao. weak
izuku
well you’ve always been good at taking spice!
kacchan
the best*
izuku
the best at taking spice! ofc ofc
what does it feel like
kacchan
like my tongues shriveling up with ant bites all over. and spicy
not that it affects me
izuku
😥
kacchan
see? coward baby
izuku
youre calling me baby?
kacchan
I'm calling you A baby
ᯓ ✈︎ ⋆°•☁︎
The skies are the bluest Izuku’s ever seen, and the people move around him, inching to and fro, feet falling in time with the lapping of pristine waves on white sand.
It’s hot in Okinawa, the sun battering down on the group of them stretching their legs outside of the van Kirishima’s been driving since they’ve touched down at the airport. Izuku himself takes a deep breath and lifts his arms high, feeling his creaky joints crackle and pop as he takes in more and more of the salty summer air.
“Doin’ good Mido-bro?” Kirishima chirps as he slaps a big paw against his back. Izuku jerks forward, air getting caught in his throat with the unintentional force of the pat. “A bit of a drive, but look at this weather, huh?
“Y-yeah, it’s really pretty!”
“Ugh, bummer Blasty couldn’t be here to see this!” Mina sighs wistfully with her eyes closed, face turned up to drink in the sun next to Sero.
“Please, he’d be grumping in the back of the van. Probably taking a nap.” Denki laughs. “Like this sourpuss,” He crows, dragging Shinsou out from behind the van by the neck. Shinsou looks like he’s barely tolerating it, but doesn’t pull away from Kaminari despite a slight grimace painting his features as Denki shakes him back and forth.
Izuku frowns. Kacchan would have come out to enjoy the sun and stretch with them. He doesn’t speak up, though, content to let that sit in his mind by itself.
Izuku feels like he’s been flown into a social minefield. He knows he’s being dramatic, but what if he isn’t, because that’s what it feels like, standing in the midst of five of his classmates who, while still being his friends, aren’t really his in the way that they’re Kacchan’s. He was touched when Kirishima insisted on him coming, even after Kacchan announced that he wouldn’t be able to make it. Even over their texts, Katsuki was pushy, telling him to just go.
Kacchan
what, u scared?
you should go
unless they make you uncomfortable or smth
wait
did they do something
izuku
wtf did they do
i’ll beat kaminari up idc
It took a while to make up his mind to go. Any overseas trip is a commitment—a relatively long one—to being in close proximity with the rest of whatever group you’re on that trip with. As much as he likes his classmates, he’s never had to be in close quarters for an extended period with this particular set.
Okinawa is slow in the way summer should be; the sky is always just about to kiss the sea, and the wind carries salt and hibiscus through the air with a gentle nonchalance, as if it knows it doesn’t have anywhere to be. Every morning starts with the hush of waves brushing up against white sand, and every night ends with cicadas singing into the dusk like a lullaby. Izuku wakes up each day to warm sunlight spilling across the tatami floors, the soft chatter of Kaminari and Ashido arguing over breakfast snacks, and Kirishima calling everyone outside for a morning swim like it’s tradition.
It’s beautiful. Like he’s stepped into one of those travel magazines his mom would get in the mail every few months. Every corner seems handmade for resting — beaches that stretch out forever, sleepy streets with shisa statues guarding sun-bleached walls, cafes with ceiling fans spinning so slow you could count the blades if you took the time to look up.
It should be relaxing. And it is, in pieces.
But there’s an empty space next to him wherever they go. An extra bowl set aside when they eat. A voice missing in the laughter. Katsuki was supposed to be here.
He’s not.
He’s in Singapore, sunburned and overstressed, throwing back canned coffee between his aggressive texts like:
kacchan
don’t forget to stretch dumbass
Izuku texts him every day. Photos of shaved ice, of Sero passed out in a hammock, of Kaminari trying to hold a crab. Katsuki sends back selfies with messy hair, shots of spicy food, and texts so familiar they feel like thumbprints.
Izuku misses him terribly.
Shinsou, though, is unexpectedly grounding. He’s quieter than the rest—not shy, just observant. At a table of hooting and hollering, Shinsou seems more than content to lean back and eat slow. Izuku finds himself drifting towards him in the slow afternoons when everyone’s dozing or splitting off to explore.
It’s only natural in the pool of old friends and bosom besties they sit in.
They talk. Not about big things at first, just about the food, the heat, the fact that Sero keeps leaving wet towels on the floor like a heathen. Shinsou’s funny when he wants to be, dry and sharp-edged, and Izuku laughs more than he expects to.
One afternoon, they sit under a huge banyan tree, drinking cold tea from cans and watching the others mess around in the water. It seems like Sero’s holding a mini-talent competition; lording the last papico over the contestants as the grand prize. Ashido’s doing back-handsprings, Kaminari’s trying to build the world’s most lopsided sandcastle, and Kirishima is definitely killing a few brain cells trying to hold his breath underwater.
He’s athletic, but not that athletic.
Shinsou leans back against the tree trunk with an old-man grunt. “Still feel like an exchange student around these guys, sometimes.”
Izuku blinks the sun out of his eyes, then huffs a small laugh. “I know what you mean.” He shrugs and ducks his head to look at the sand guiltily. “Sort of.”
He can feel Shinsou’s flat, almost apathetic stare watching carefully.
“Nah, you get it. They’re, y’know… nice.” Izuku nods encouragingly. “But I just feel like I’m speaking a second language sometimes. Still assimilating.”
Izuku grins at Shinsou, rolling his can in his grip. “Kacchan always says it’s stupid how I try too hard to translate myself for people.”
Shinsou smirks. “He says everything’s stupid.”
“That’s true,” Izuku says, smiling. Then, quieter: “He wanted me to come. Said Kirishima’d kill him if I didn’t.”
Shinsou hums in vague comprehension, the way people do when they’re trying to change the subject because an elephant just made an appearance in the room, tapping his fingers on his knee awkwardly before glancing at him sideways. “So… you and Bakugou?”
Izuku immediately flusters, aluminium can crunching in his sudden grip. “What? No! I mean, we’re close. He’s my best friend.”
“Uh huh.” Shinsou takes a long sip from his can. “Are you his?”
The words come unexpectedly harsh. Izuku clamps his mouth shut and looks out at the sea.
“I mean…” Shinsou starts back up again, sounding a little apologetic. “Does he know you guys are just best friends?”
Izuku whips around to look at him sharply. “Wh– of course he does! I mean, of course he knows we’re—” He splutters, face turning an impossibly redder shade than it already was. “Don’t say things like that!”
“Well, I’m just calling it how I see it.”
“You’re not seeing anything!”
“I see that your ‘best friend’ is texting you thirty separate times a day.” Shinsou points out over the lip of his can. Izuku ignores him, watching as a pearl of condensation glides down and drops onto Shinsou’s black swim trunks.
“Kacchan texts everyone.”
“Bakugou? Absolutely not.” Shinsou shakes his head as Mina darts past them, tackling Kirishima to the ground, wrestling a rugby ball out of his hands. “Kirishima got a text from him yesterday and he gasped out loud.”
Izuku digs his feet further into the sand and shrugs.
“We’ve known each other a long time. It’s just something that childhood friends do.”
Shinsou studies him for a beat. Clears his throat.
“If you say so.”
Four days into their week-long trip, when everyone’s sufficiently water-logged and sun-roasted, Sero suggests going into town and doing some activities the local spots have to offer.
After a quick Google search, they’re loaded into Kirishima’s van again, blasting the global top 40s and trundling towards some pier-side outdoor bouldering wall, blurring past the cafés and boutiques lining the lush, stony streets.
The bouldering wall is hot under Izuku’s hands, the late Okinawan sun making the holds feel like they’ve been baking all afternoon. It’s a fun kind of burn, though—his fingers aching in that way that means he’ll feel it tomorrow, and the day after. Mina’s halfway up the wall with a war cry, and Sero’s already plotting how to leap from one side to the other without dying. Kaminari yells, “Don’t be a dumbass!” while encouraging it. Kirishima cheers like they’re competing in the Olympics.
After maybe two solid hours, Izuku’s laughing too hard to climb again. His arms are wobbly from his last attempt, when Shinsou sits next to him and passes him a cold drink. Izuku accepts it gratefully, slumping beside him under the shade of a tarp strung between two trees.
“Your hands look like shit,” Shinsou says plainly, nodding toward them.
Izuku lifts them. They do look like shit. Blisters, ripped skin, that familiar sharp sting of overuse. “Yeah,” he says, sheepish. “Didn’t tape up.”
Shinsou takes one gently without asking, turning it over with light fingers. “You should’ve told me. I’ve got ointment for this kind of thing. Used to patch people up all the time in Gen Studies. They make us take a bunch of medic courses; learn to be ‘everyday heroes’ and whatnot.”
Izuku smiles a little, looking down at their hands—his own battered, Shinsou’s surprisingly careful. “Thanks.”
“You’re lucky,” Shinsou says. “If you were Kaminari, I’d let you suffer.”
Izuku harrumphs half-seriously, bottom lip pushing out. “Mean.”
They sit like that for a while, the sun dipping lower, turning the air golden. The others gather wood for a bonfire, the smell of salt and fire mixing in the soft breeze. Everything’s warm. Still. Kind of perfect.
And then Kirishima yells, “Bakugou! You’re alive!” and the speaker on his phone crackles as Katsuki’s scowling face fills the screen, grainy and a little too close.
“Oi, Shitty Hair, you can’t keep a phone straight for one second?"
Izuku blinks, automatically turning toward the voice, that little thrum of excitement sparking in his chest before he can stop it. It’s only been a day since they last video-called, but still. He shifts, lifting his free hand to wave—
And freezes when he sees that Kacchan is already staring back at him, eyes bouncing between him and Shinsou.
Their heads are still close. Shinsou’s hand is still loosely cradling his, fingers brushing the edge of a forming blister. From this angle, it probably looks like they’re holding hands. Like they’ve been together like this for a while.
Katsuki’s mouth opens, then shuts again. His eyes narrow.
Izuku opens his mouth, heart thudding stupidly. “Kacchan—”
“Oi, Bakugou!” Kaminari leans into the frame, oblivious. “You should see how many blisters Deku got today. He’s like a sexy spider monkey!”
“Tell me about it,” Shinsou says dryly, glancing up. “I’m getting a first-hand tour of the damage.”
Katsuki’s jaw clenches.
Izuku pulls his hand back like he’s been caught doing something wrong. “Shinsou was just—he’s got this ointment, it’s not—”
But Katsuki cuts him off, voice tight and distant. “Whatever. Good to see everyone’s having a fuckin’ blast without me.”
The call ends two seconds later.
Izuku stares at the blank call screen, stomach sinking. Kirishima groans in consternation, shutting off his phone and flopping over into the sand. Around him, the others don’t notice the shift in the air, still laughing and poking at the fire pit.
Izuku sweats, not because of the humidity, as he scrabbles to find his phone tossed into the bags-and-others pile at the edge of the bonfire circle.
His heart sinks.
42 texts and five calls. All from one same number.
“... Oof.” Shinsou pulls a face, glancing in Izuku’s direction.
ᯓ ✈︎ ⋆°•☁︎
izuku
hey!
sorry, missed your messages!
didnt get to talk to you much earlier
how was your day
kacchan
what do you care
you were busy i was busy too
i’m not twirling thumbs here i’m actually doing shit
izuku
?
i know
are you mad
kacchan
why the fuck would i be mad
izuku
i dont know kacchan
did i do something?
that upset you?
kacchan
why the fuck would anything you do make me mad
i dont care
izuku
what?
youre confusing me
kacchan
cool then go talk to shinsou instead or smth
hes easier to talk to right
izuku
he’s asleep already
we both crashed early
kacchan
you guys crashed together huh
izuku
what are you talking about?
kacchan
sounds real cozy
izuku
… kacchan are you jealous?
kacchan
no
just curious
kacchan is typing…
kacchan
dunno
you looked close earlier
izuku
he was just checking my hands out
i didn’t notice how busted they were till he pointed it out
he learned a lot of first aid in the general course, remember?
kacchan
right
hands
izuku
what’s that mean
katsuki
dk
whatever go enjoy your shitty rats nest with eyebags I'm going to sleep
also
im really busy the next few weeks so
dont text me
izuku
…
huh?
katsuki
it’s a text you can read it again
izuku
are you serious
kacchan
kacchan
relax im not dying nerd
enjoy your trip and your lectures
see you when i see you
izuku
kacchan
you cant be serious
kacchan
kacchan
kacchan
fine
kacchan please text back
izuku
okay
ok talk to you when you get home
rest well. be safe
The following days moved bright and fast, tearing through calendar pages and hurtling towards one underlined, circled date.
He outlined it in red first, but he found himself coming back to it a few times over the few months with an orange marker to add a few scribbles just in case he forgot.
That’s not to say that he doesn’t enjoy his summer.
The rest of Okinawa is still fun, if not slightly tense. Shinsou was a little more hesitant at first, slow to start conversations and sparing with any close contact—although it faded into easy camaraderie after Izuku had offered him an apologetic smile and a frosty can of iced tea. It seemed Kirishima had some inkling regarding what had transpired between them over the phone. He’d slunk around carefully, being a little extra vigilant with how he answered any calls from anyone, and sometimes, even more damning, he’d get a ping on his phone and go rigid, sneaking peeks at Izuku as he inched towards the door to answer the messages.
Conspicuous.
Izuku still soaks up the sun and salt where he can (or rather, is forced to) until it’s time to hop on a plane back to Musutafu and get back into the swing of his summer things. He pulls out his laptop and notebooks and locks in, throwing himself into the university summer lectures and making friends with his classmates, all different but similar in their degree of interest in history and sciences.
Between that and his regular training sessions with Ochako and Shoto, who are intent on making everyone call them cousins instead of friends now that Ochako’s lived with Shoto’s family for a grand two months, he’s busy. More than that, he feels fulfilled. It’s a satiating break from school and full of time with friends, training his non-quirked moveset, feeding his interests and taking care of himself. He enjoys the quiet mornings by himself, walking from home to the train station with a fresh-baked bun in hand for his commute to the university.
It’s lovely, but there’s a gaping hole in his life, one explosive rip in the fabric of his everyday. It’s an odd magnetic force that’s pulling his very being in some undistinguishable direction or other, nagging at the back of his head and at the front of his heart.
Yearning is the only way he can describe it, as cheesy and sappy as it sounds. He reads his text chain with Katsuki over and over again, searching for specific conversations and quotes when he feels bored or just craving a hit of Katsuki. Sometimes he sees his status change to online, and he stares at it, quietly hoping it switches to something else, namely typing… but after a few minutes, the letters fade to a dull grey, a steadfast recently seen staring back at him.
Red marker squeaks against the calendar, crossing off another blank square.
Two weeks, three days to go.
ᯓ ✈︎ ⋆°•☁︎
It’s another early morning, which isn’t something new to Izuku. Ever since he was fourteen, he’d become accustomed to launching himself out of bed before dawn to run to Dagoba beach for his morning warm-up and back. No, this time what had him skittering around his apartment at 5:30 am was the flight details and arrival time sitting in his inbox from late last night, with another short, cursory text: “don’t share”.
He takes the train down to the airport by himself and stands outside the arrival gate twenty minutes earlier than the blinking estimated arrival time on the announcement screens overhead.
Thirty-five minutes later, Izuku spots a familiar spike of blond shuffling out to the belt, eyes downcast and hands fidgety inside his pockets.
Izuku pushes to the front, past the considerable crowd that’s gathered near the clear glass border, pressing against the barricade. He waves, swinging his arm back and forth, trying to catch Katsuki’s attention, hopping up onto his tiptoes just in case he actually is as short as All Might makes him feel when they train.
Katsuki is in the middle of dragging his luggage off the conveyor belt when he looks up and finds Izuku in the crowd. He looks alarmed, doing a double take, distracted long enough that his luggage gets pulled along with the belt before falling disgracefully to the linoleum.
Izuku falters, hand wilting in the air before putting it all the way down. From here, he can see the flush exploding across Katsuki’s cheeks just before he yanks his cap lower and turns away from the viewing panel to finish grabbing his belongings.
His head stays down all the while, Izuku watching carefully while the throng shoves around him, doing their best to get to their loved ones first thing out the gate with excited squalor.
When it’s finally Katsuki’s turn to trundle out with his new (he knows, because before Katsuki had cut contact, he’d mentioned needing another bag for his new clothes and gear he’d collected) roller bag and duffle, Izuku’s still near the front, just a little to the side, making way for a large family with a happily sobbing auntie and a clutch of children embracing a fresh-off-the-plane guy with a foreign university plastered across his chest.
How sweet a reunion, he thinks, wondering if his own could, in any universe, be as saccharine.
The blond walks out and past Izuku, eyes trained on him sharply. Izuku, always attuned to Katsuki’s wants and needs, follows after him to a less crowded area of the arrival hall.
When he stops, so does Izuku.
When he turns to look at him again, Izuku waits.
Until the silence feels thick and heavy, begging to be drawn and quartered.
“Welcome back,” Izuku tries, smiling softly.
“... You came.”
“Well,” Izuku flounders, looking down at the phone gripped tightly in his hands. He pockets it roughly. “I thought you wanted me to come?”
“Hm.”
“... I wanted to be here, too,” He rushes out, tacking it on quickly and hoping that Katsuki doesn’t mistake the tremor in his voice for facetiousness. Katsuki doesn’t respond, and Izuku's eardrums feel like they’re about to burst, uncomfortably tight with the blood rushing through them. They stand like that for what feels like hours, feeling the crowd wax and wane around them as people reunite and then leave for their breakfast plans.
“So,” Katsuki says, breaking the silence. “You and Shinsou.”
Izuku’s head snaps up. Shinsou? No snippy nickname? “What about us?”
Katsuki shrugs, not meeting his eyes. Izuku can still see it, the harsh slant of his brow and jut of his lip. “Just looked… close, ‘s’all. On the trip. You looked like you were… fine.” The ‘without me’ goes unspoken.
The fluorescent lights, the smell of microwaved konbini katsudon and sanitiser, the chattering from the dozens of international arrivals flooding the airport all screech to a halt around Izuku, whose senses sharpen into a needle-point just large enough to prick a hole into his reality for a completely upside-down, bizarro Katsuki alone to shine through.
“You thought tha— think?” He sputters helplessly. “That’s what you think?” Shock zips through his tendons. To even consider the possibility that the entire time he’d practically been withering away from Kacchan-withdrawal, Katsuki had been convinced that Izuku was living it up was absurd. That he’d been convinced Izuku preferred it that way was, great All Might alive, inconceivable! It’s such a foreign, baseless thought that Izuku feels his head overheating trying to compute it.
Katsuki finally looks at him, carefully guarded and mouth set in a wobbly line.
“I missed you,” Izuku says, voice steady. He heaves and sucks in a breath that reaches every niche in his lungs, pushing right up against his ribcage and heart. “I miss you every single day.”
“Yeah? And you guys weren’t…”
“How could I?” A tempest kicks up in his belly, indignant and bubbling up fast. Any bubbles he had inside him, over the past years, are bursting, dribbling and spewing past his lips. “Kacchan, this isn’t fair! I’ve never thought about him that way, I’ve only… Just…”
He can feel the tectonic plates below him shifting.
Katsuki’s throat bobs. “I thought I was making it easier. Giving you space.”
For the first time in six months, maybe even longer, Izuku’s lungs feel free to suck in full, deep breaths of clean air. It’s rejuvenating, the fog in his head dissipating and bringing a sharp clarity he’s been hoping for for ages.
“Not easier, never. I don’t want space away from you.” The plates crunch as they ram into each other, and the earth falls apart around him. Dams are felled, and now any walls he’s had up are crumbling, terribly weak against crimson eyes. “Maybe it was good? For a bit. For us. Maybe. Only for that little while. Please, I don’t want it, ever again.”
“Hm.”
“Wait, you don’t…?”
“I get it, Izuku, breathe.”
Izuku takes another big breath for show, and it makes his cheeks hurt seeing Katsuki’s face turn ruddy. Oh, he can’t believe he’s managed four months without him. It’s always been Kacchan and Deku his whole life. As much as he’s enjoyed his time to be by himself, he doesn’t think he could last another second without Katsuki baked into his day-to-day.
Out of the corner of Izuku’s eye, Katsuki’s fingers twitch by his side, like metal catching the passing attention of a magnet.
Please.
Please, please.
Katsuki shuffles back instead.
“Don’t wanna fuck this up,” Katsuki says, voice low and petulant. “Don’t wanna lose you.”
“You won’t,” Izuku promises. “You’re Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, star intern… Future number one pro-hero.” Katsuki’s dimple creases, and Izuku longs to set his thumb in the divot, just to feel what it's like. Now that he can. “You couldn’t lose me if you tried.”
Katsuki nods slowly, even if he doesn’t look wholly convinced. “So… What now?”
Izuku blinks and shrugs. He’s never done anything like this before. The relationship business. He’s the last person anyone should be asking about the lead-up towards… What, what is this? Love? Another, previously undiscovered rung of best-friendship? Or worse, maybe they weren’t even best friends prior, and this is their induction. Izuku’s mind scrambles and offers the best thing it’s churned up.
“We can take it slow?”
Katsuki looks at him—and Izuku can’t help but feel a little pleased that it seems like Katsuki has no clue what he’s doing either on this front—and then he nods, once, with that serious little dip of his chin like he’s agreeing to some deep cover stealth mission from the commission itself.
“Fine. Slow.”
Izuku smiles, tentative but the most genuine he’s felt in a while. “We can start from scratch, even. Let me introduce myself,” he motions to himself, and sticks out an eager hand. “Izuku Midoriya. Hello!”
“Corny,” Katsuki scoffs (affection bleeds into his inflexion despite his clear efforts), but plays along anyway. “Katsuki Bakugo.”
Izuku laughs, breathless, cheeks pink. “Can I call you Kacchan?”
Katsuki stares at him for a second—then reaches out.
Their fingers lace.
“I changed my mind.”
Izuku’s stomach blooms with panic. “Huh? Um–”
“I don’t mind… slow… but,” Kacchan falters for a while trying to pull the words out of his brain and through his tightly set jaw. The panic in Izuku’s stomach settles, and he feels the heat drift into his face instead.
“Can I?”
“Can you…?”
A lot of people think Katsuki is rough around the edges, mean and harsh equally in and out of his hero training. Izuku has spent years refuting that to anyone who’d listen, and if he had to (and in some instances, he’d had to), he’d refute it on belief alone. It stirs the soupy feeling in his chest to say it in full confidence now.
Because Katsuki leaves his sentence hanging, opting to close the distance between their mouths with a soft kiss, warm, syrupy sweet and gentle instead.
Izuku melts into it, pressing into Katsuki. The kiss stays sweet, but with arms wrapped around each other, finding their homes on waists and shoulders, Izuku’s never felt more cocooned. He feels ridiculously lucky—the luckiest guy in the world, somehow stumbling into wonderful dream after wonderful dream.
It feels unreal, even as he pulls back to look at Katsuki, catching him chasing after the kiss with eyes still closed. Izuku wants to reach forward to smooth out the tiny wrinkle between his brows, but, oh, if he touches him again, he might find out none of this is real.
Then Katsuki opens his eyes, bright and deep, the most beautiful red he’s ever had the privilege of laying sight on, and Izuku’s brain explodes, finally processing that yes, Katsuki’s real, he’s home and he’s kissing him.
Kissing!
He can’t wait to tell Shinsou.
Katsuki smiles in a way he’s only caught glimpses of, a soft, lopsided grin carving the most handsome dimple he’s ever seen in his life. Izuku trails his fingers over strong shoulders, feeling the worn cotton of his t-shirt. It’s familiar, a shirt Izuku has seen stretch and billow over years of heavy use.
“Moving a little fast,” he mutters, leaning in to press his forehead into Katsuki’s.
An open hand smacks against his face, shoving him back. He peeks at Katsuki’s pretty face through the gaps in his splayed fingers. “I’ll kill you.”
“Right, right, sorry. I’ll be serious.” Izuku sticks his tongue out, licking his palm. Yanking his hand back, Katsuki barks out a laugh, landing a sharp kick to Izuku’s shin.
“Ugh, gross, you little pervert!”
Another loud celebratory cry rings out from a few rows of seats. It occurs to him that they’re standing in the middle of a crowded airport as two kinda sorta public figures. All of a sudden, hyper-aware of his skin and the skin on his, he pulls back, away from Katsuki’s warmth. Stubborn as he is, Katsuki hooks a finger in Izuku’s shirt so he can’t get too far.
“Have you had breakfast?”
Katsuki toys with the fabric before slipping his hands under to trace the skin of his hipbone, sending a jolt through Izuku’s delicate heart.
“Not yet. Thinking about what I want.”
“Hmm,” is all Izuku can make out against the fettered static frying his nerves as Katsuki rubs circles round and round into thin skin with his thumb.
His body is close to tipping forward when Katsuki pulls his hand back with a shit-eating smirk, shoving both hands into his pockets. “I feel like eating udon. Shit udon in Singapore.” The sweet haze around Izuku’s head dispels much too slowly as his brand new boyfriend readjusts his backpack and grabs onto his luggage handle.
(Boyfriend? Too soon. Maybe? Eventually? His gut fills with butterflies at the thought of Kacchan being his b— ooh, he can’t even say it.)
“Oi, you comin’ or not? Fish lookin’ headass—shut your mouth before I pin you to a wall and make you sing.”
Whoa…
Izuku’s teeth clack with the force he shuts his mouth with as his cheeks burst with heat.
He trots after Katsuki, content to stay quiet and revel in the warmth of having his best friend back, before the other boy switches the teetering luggage in his hand to the one further away from Izuku. The now-freed hand snakes its way into Izuku’s shirt and yanks, pulling him close enough to feel drunk on Katsuki’s light cologne.
“I almost lost my mind over there.”
Izuku’s heart squeezes.
“They didn’t work you too hard, did they? What do you mean?”
Katsuki’s mouth twitches, cheeks going ruddy even in the cold, packaged air pumped throughout the arrival hall. “Lonely. Without you.”
The airport keeps moving, people going places. Izuku slows down and grinds to a halt in the middle of the walkway, forcing Katsuki to stop too.
“I really thought—” Izuku feels the prickles in his palms shoot through to his heart as Katsuki’s voice hitches, eyes avoiding Izuku’s searching ones. “I thought I messed up. I thought maybe you didn’t feel the same way I did.”
“The same… way?”
Katsuki turns to face Izuku fully, face pinched. “I like you. So much. Everything fucking sucks without you, Izuku… Fuck, this is embarrassing, but I’ve liked you for ages. I don’t know how long, might’ve been forever. But I know it’s been a long time.
“And then I almost fucked it up. I kept wanting to text you, but I couldn’t—Izuku, I’m sorry. I really am.”
Like an old VCR tape, memories and moments rewind at double speed through Izuku’s head. Green tea. Rooftops. Annotated PDFs with fat paragraphs in the margins.
Katsuki’s bubble had been swelling and wavering beneath the immense weight of his feelings, and at long last, it had burst. The heavy duffel strapped around Katsuki’s torso gets in Izuku’s way as he throws his arms around his Kacchan in a tight hug.
Strong, corded arms wrap fast around his shoulders, like they’re afraid he’ll evaporate into the air at any moment. As if Izuku’s heart were capable of that.
“I know, Kacchan.”
The squeeze feels so good, so grounding and all-consuming, Izuku doesn’t want to let go. Still, Kacchan’s been on a plane for eight hours with nothing but dry packaged food he probably hated, and his Kacchan-instincts are telling him that if he doesn’t feed Kacchan soon, he’d start taking his hunger out on the more clueless citizens in the vicinity.
Kacchan’s funny that way.
Weasling out of the hold just enough to look Kacchan in the eye, Izuku kicks his calf gently. “Let’s go get our udon? Then we can head home and get some rest.”
Izuku is accustomed to picking up cues quickly, especially when it comes to Kacchan. He carries his bags with the straps sitting on his left shoulder, so it doesn’t jostle his right; he loves eating udon when he’s feeling homesick, and when Izuku suggests they go home and rest together, his cheeks turn the sweetest shade of red that Izuku takes a moment to commit to memory. He loves it, craves the next time he gets to see it, even before it’s gone.
He’ll dedicate his life to making it a recurring feature if he has to.
Katsuki lets a crooked smile slip, a lone dimple crinkling his flushed cheek. He throws his left arm around Izuku’s neck and keeps walking steadily towards the food court, Izuku tucked neatly into his side.
“Sounds good, Izuku. Let’s get home.”
FIN