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The moon hangs low, but bright.
It lights the streets to the point where Izuku almost forgets it is midnight. His mind is still fuzzy from the rice wine, but mostly from the unique feeling of being at Katsuki’s side. His stride is strong and steady, its rhythm the background of much of Izuku’s life.
It is nostalgic, their walk through the neighborhood. Izuku had returned to Japan, just in time to see the last of cherry blossom season. The petals look even more ethereal as they float, doused in moonlight. He couldn’t ask for a better return home. His mother and Auntie Mitsuki had organized a party to celebrate. He is still shocked (but grateful) at the number of people that came.
Ochako, Iida, Todoroki and the entirety of 1-A. Aizawa and All Might.
Kacchan.
Their relationship rebuilt on a fragile foundation – lots of screaming and crying and competing and processing – but also something more. He can’t describe it. It feels too simple, calling it just friendship, too vague to describe it as rivalry. They both skirt around that more, neither brave enough to break it. The limbo filled with lingering touches and heated stares (and lately, with the distance, just vacant longing).
During his time in L.A., he would send Katsuki photos – whenever the ache of their distance was too much. A cat paw, the beach, an All Might statue; it consisted of everything, really. Missing Katsuki is as familiar as the arthritis in his right arm; cause of flare-ups vague and widespread, only remedied temporarily by distraction.
He sways slightly towards the right on the uneven gravel. Their hands brush, brief and light, but the feeling stays. Briefly, Izuku thinks that more is nothing new; but it feels different now, more attainable. A dangerous thought.
They make a left at the convenience store, closed long ago. Old Man Hamamoto sits in front of it, usual cigarette in hand and waves at them knowingly. Izuku puts on a tight smile and waves back. (Despite the years, despite being Pro Heroes and legal adults, Izuku can’t help but feel guilty for being drunk in front of the store owner.)
Katsuki notices, and lets out a quiet snort, offering his own greeting to Mr. Hamamoto. Izuku grins at the soft gesture. If alcohol blurs the edges of Izuku’s mind, it softens the contours of Katsuki. Then again, time has made him years softer.
They round another corner. The wall is closer than he thinks and his shoulder knocks into the stone. Stone pushes back, rebounding him into Katsuki’s orbit, who steadies him with a solid hand, warmth welcome at his elbow.
“Watch where you are going. Your depth perception has been horrible all night.”
“I’m okay, I’m not that drunk. It’s just…” A part of him suddenly recognizes the silence before this. He wonders how long they’d been like this – nonverbal communication – and how much had gotten lost. He marvels at how much they had managed to get right. The other part of him is hyper-focused on how warm his hand is, how good it feels to hear his voice again. “…It’s been off since that time.”
They both know what he’s talking about – the battle that changed everything, leaving particular scars on both of them, leaving certain feelings out in the open. His left eye is more damaged than his right. It didn’t impact his Hero work, the difference too slight, but enough for the doctor to warn him of these things.
He looks at his scarred fingers, “Maybe there are some things that can’t heal.”
Katsuki stops, swaying softly. He’s pretty – has always been pretty. The wind kicks up, swirling petals about, running through the spikes of his blond hair. He looks at Izuku, expression unreadable, “And there are some things you can.”
He knows what he means. They had that talk years ago too. (It is what the fragile foundation is built on, after all.)
“Yeah,” Izuku agrees, catching a petal in the air. Its velvety texture calming between his fingers. “Some things can.”
The rest of the walk is silent – their history laid out before them. They reach the intersection where they should say goodbye. Katsuki’s house on one side, Izuku’s apartment on the other. A familiar point, a natural split, a place they have said goodbye a hundred times before.
But now, they hover awkwardly, suddenly unsure. Katsuki stares at the sidewalk, mouth twisted like he wants to say something.
So Izuku takes a breath and says it instead, “…Did you want to come over?”
Izuku sees the faint rose splatter his cheeks before he turns away.
“Tch,” he replies, but strides towards Izuku’s home anyway. He can’t help but smile at Katsuki’s silhouette – slouched, soft and embarrassed – before half-jogging to his side.
+
Izuku slides the door open, quietly announcing his presence. Katsuki knows it is out of habit more than anything – Auntie Inko is probably spending the rest of the night gossiping with his own mom. He rolls his eyes as he remembers the Hag sneaking two bottles of rice wine into her bag before they left.
Katsuki follows suit, moving around the apartment in silence. He tries to ignore the ache in his chest as he looks around. It is mostly the same, maybe a bit smaller, but then remembers how much he has grown since the last time he’s been here. (In more ways than one.)
They eventually make their way to Izuku’s room. He shouldn’t be surprised at what he sees, but has to roll his eyes anyway, “Fucking fanboy.”
All of his All Might memorabilia find their way here – pieces from UA, the United States and of course, the ones that never left. In a way, it is almost peaceful, seeing the entire collection together. “Aren’t you fucking creeped out by this now that he’s your mentor?”
“My devotion to All Might will never end, Kacchan,” Izuku answers, unbothered, an annoying smile on his face. He glides towards the closet, stripping off his shirt. Katsuki finds himself staring at the solid lines of his back as he digs through a basket of clothes. The stretch and curve of his muscles somehow complementary with the rough patches of scar tissue. It is nice to look at.
Katsuki blinks, “Where did all that confidence come from?”
Izuku pulls on a new shirt. Fluffy curls smushed from the motion. “Hm?”
Katsuki doesn’t answer, turning to look out the window. Being in an apartment complex, Izuku’s bedroom window always had a better view than his. The collective glow of their neighborhood shines below them.
Shuffling sounds continue behind him, followed by a - “Do you want a shirt, Kacchan? You smell like smoke.”
“I always smell like smoke,” he grumbles, avoiding eye contact. He catches the thrown shirt regardless.
From the fatigue (or the relief from being near Izuku), his fingers fumble with the fabric. They slip for a moment, free in the air, before being caught by scarred fingers. They reach out and together, lifting his shirt over his head. When the cloth is finally out of sight, he is met with dark green eyes. This close, Katsuki can smell clean laundry and cheap shampoo.
Crickets chirp outside.
“That’s not true,” Izuku says, after a beat, shifting away to sit on the bed. Katsuki feels like he can breathe again. “You usually smell sweet.”
You’re amazing, Kacchan.
Katsuki watches him stretch, each pop of his bones a coordinated movement. In a fresh shirt (he doesn’t even want to look down at the design), he sits next to him, leaving just enough space to be judged as platonic.
Izuku glances at the space with a raised eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. The silence prompts him to keep going. “…A little bit like medicine, actually. Did you know nitroglycerin is actually a vasodilator?” His cheeks are flushed from drinking. His freckles stand out against the red. His nose is cute. “It helps people with heart problems. It would be cool if you were able to contribute to the supply chain…but your natural antibodies might actually just repel the host, but there is a method that could…”
Katsuki listens. He is always listening, even when he would rather be doing anything else. Somewhere in their childhood, his ear had been tuned to the sound of Izuku’s voice, an unwanted navigation system.
(But handy now, he has to admit. With all the running off the nerd tends to do.)
Izuku starts to move his hands, the explanation needing a tactile representation. The warmth of his shoulder brushes against his, slight but spreading, the gap between them closing. Katsuki clenches his hands, stopping himself before he can reach out.
Despite the years of fighting it, the satisfaction courses through his veins, instinctual as the drool of a dog. He tries to remember when it had first started, but can’t. Ironically, the only person who would know – the nerd’s memory is textbook genius – is the one resource he could never consult.
“Aside from the antibodies,” Katsuki chimes in. Because, of course, Izuku had thought of a way to make his quirk healing. “I don’t think I could produce enough of it to be useful.”
Izuku opens his mouth to talk, but Katsuki moves impulsively, brushing a finger across his bottom lip. It is soft. Izuku stills, almost frozen, cheeks reddening more than before. “You would recognize the smell, spending all that time in hospitals.”
Izuku narrows his eyes, staring pointedly at his shoulder. The old scar flames under his gaze, a physical reminder of his devotion. (It is almost comical how Izuku has not figured it out yet.) “You’re one to talk.”
It’s true. He has had his fair share of hospital visits; some reckless, some unavoidable, but never the lack of self-preservation Izuku had. (Except that time, but then again, the nerd had always been an exception to his rules.) A spike of irritation flares up. It’s not like you were here for the rest of it.
But he holds his tongue and counts his breaths, like he had learned. To pause and not let something as simple and ancient as anger get the best of them – not anymore – it is just a tool for battle now. He knew it would only send Izuku into a fit of guilty tears and going to America is not something to be guilty for.
“…Are you okay, Kacchan?”
His voice is timid, soft. He looks at him, gaze expectant but patient. Always looking at him with those eyes, full of understanding, saying youarehomeyouarehome like he’s earned it, like he deserves it. A scar covers the two freckles on his left cheek, others wrap themselves around his right arm.
The feeling is an ocean tide he’d never been able to stop. You are my best friend.
“…I missed you.”
Izuku turns away, the warmth gone from his fingers. Katsuki sees the red of his neck. His shoulders begin to shake. He’s angry. Of course, he’s angry. As if Katsuki ever had a fucking right to miss him, to feel like this, after everything he has done.
After a moment of hesitation, Katsuki reaches out, his hand only grazing Izuku’s shoulder before he curls in on himself. There is a hint, a sparkle, and Izuku is crying.
Guilt punches him in the gut. “Fuck, I…I take it back,” he rasps out, the bubble popped. “Whatever is making you cry, I take it back.”
“No, no, it’s just…” Izuku says, wiping the tears away, and lets out a single laugh. He turns towards Katsuki, moonlight saturating his curls, and sets those viridian eyes on him, kind and soft and honest. “I think my entire life has been a love letter to you.”
The moment is archived in his mind without his notice.
He can only stare in shock as Izuku grasps their hands together and lets out another small laugh. The scars are rough against his own, but he likes their warmth. “I missed you too, Kacchan.”
His face is on fire. What right did that nerd have to deconstruct him like this? To be bold like this? To clear all the smoke between them? Katsuki left it there on purpose; he is used to explosions; their relationship felt familiar like that, meeting each other always, fire with fire. But here he is, laid out bare, nothing to hide behind.
“…I missed you too.”
Izuku smiles, dimples forming in slow motion. He smiles like he knows something Katsuki doesn’t, close-lipped but blinding, and flops backwards onto the bed. “You already said that.”
Katsuki joins him, back hitting the soft fabric, eyes on the ceiling fan above them.
“Did I?” It moves in lazy, slow circles, like it is waiting for Katsuki to figure it out.
Izuku just laughs, eyes alit.
It was slow and fast all at once. Katsuki just remembers the feeling of their joined hands, the slight dampness and absolute perfection, the curve of Izuku’s grin, the curve of his eyelashes close enough to count and then, the feeling of his breath, a hint of fruit, a hint of sunshine.
His anxiety spikes, a sudden thought runs through his mind. What if I don’t deserve this?
But he is so close and everything he wants is right there and maybe, just maybe -
Izuku leans forward, sealing their lips together. It is warm and soft, lips just a little dry. It tastes like sake and strawberries and good decisions and Katsuki wonders why he ever hesitated.
He thinks this could be forever and lets himself be consumed, Izuku leaning into - then over - him, their bodies pressed together in delicious friction. Everywhere smells like him. Everywhere smells like them.
The need for air has Izuku pulling back, his eyes dazed and lips bruised. Katsuki takes snapshots in case it is a dream.
“Hi,” he says, because it feels like an introduction to something he’s been waiting for.
“Hello,” Izuku says, like he hasn’t stopped Katsuki’s entire world, and presses their foreheads together. “Nice to kiss you.”
Katsuki breathes out a smile, “Corny.”
“Happy,” he corrects, rolling off him. Katsuki immediately misses the warmth but Izuku curls at his side before he can reach out. Every part of him sings.
“I’m happy,” he repeats, mumbling into his shoulder.
Katsuki smiles, wondering how long he’s been waiting for this moment, how long he’s been wanting it. He traces a path from freckle to freckle, his skin softer than he’d imagined. “Me too. I’m happy here.”
With you.
+
He wakes up to sunlight streaming through the window and a trail of drool on his jaw. Izuku’s drool. His cheek is smushed up against Katsuki’s jawline, whistling air through his nose. A stable rhythm, dependable even in sleep. He recalls the night slowly, in pieces, savoring each part. Somewhere in the middle of the slow scar tracing and body exploration, they must have fallen asleep.
Katsuki guides Izuku’s head away from the crook of his neck and onto the pillow, leaving enough space to inspect. (An automatic habit by now, but never this close.) There are new details he is almost ashamed of not knowing. A large freckle is actually made of many. A slight crook of the nose. His eyes travel farther down – a smattering of love bites along his collar bone. A burst of pride swells in his chest. (An enjoyable memory, one he’d like to repeat.)
“Useless Deku,” he grumbles, running a hand into his curls. He can hear the fondness in his own voice, involuntary and embarrassing.
With his cheek against the pillow, Izuku peeks an eye open – because he is a little shit and of course, that would rouse him from sleep – and grins. It lights up every feature. “Yes, Kacchan?”
Because he can’t look at that light this early in the morning, he moves his hand to cover the source. Izuku laughs, the sound filling the room, and grabs Katsuki’s hand before it can completely cover his eyes.
He interlaces their hands, rough scar tissue against the inevitable smoothness of Katsuki’s, and settles it between them. Katsuki has no option but to stare, smile forming on his lips. Izuku starts to giggle again, shoulders shaking.
“What?”
Izuku holds up their hands, like it is a prize. “I guess I caught a Kacchan.”
Surprised laughter escapes Katsuki. That little shit. Two can play at this game.
He wraps his arms around Izuku’s waist and mutters, “You caught me. What are you gonna do next?”
Izuku inhales, stilling for a moment, but moves faster than Katsuki expects. He twists around to face Katsuki and connects their lips, igniting fire. Katsuki melts into the feeling. It is healing, belonging; it is coming home, the final puzzle piece sliding into place.