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“Make them green,” Katsuki said, tapping the accents on his costume. “Forest green, like his.” He looked to his right as he said it, making sure that Izuku heard him.
Katsuki shouldn’t have worried. Izuku was staring straight at him, his pine eyes wide, the sudden tilt of his head giving his surprise away. Katsuki held Izuku’s eye contact for one brief, weighted moment. Then Izuku’s eyes flickered away, dropping down to study the floor instead.
Ignorant of Katsuki’s sudden disappointment, the support student in front of them nodded, wiping her hand across her face, and spreading navy blue oil grease, shiny like a dog’s nose, across her cheeks and lips. Fever-purple bags hung under her eyes, and pencils were stuck behind each of her ears. Katsuki felt the ache of his own exhaustion resonate with hers. “Okay sure,” she said. “Any other changes?”
All around them, UA’s labs were running at full capacity, plus quite a bit extra. Grease-stained students in coveralls yelled at each other over the scream of power tools, and every few seconds the lollipop-orange of safety tape would glint in the corners of Katsuki’s eyes as a student sprinted past. Tucked away in this tiny corner of the lab, Katsuki and Izuku were sitting on this support student’s borrowed time, and they knew better than to waste it.
Since they were making his costume from scratch anyway though, Katsuki didn’t feel bad about making a few changes.
Katsuki reached forward to answer the engineer’s question. “This,” he said, pointing to the blueprints of his utility belt. “Make it red - like vermillion red - and add more of the same green, too.” Then, deciding he wasn’t being straightforward enough, he simplified it. “Just make it match Deku.”
He didn’t look at Izuku this time. Not out of cowardice, but out of restraint. It meant something to Katsuki, to have a piece of his costume match Izuku’s. If it didn’t mean anything to Izuku, then that was okay.
Katsuki just needed to make himself believe that.
“Great,” the support engineer said, slashing with bone-white charcoal down the blue page. “That makes it easy for me. Okay now, let’s talk about your artillery…”
Katsuki nodded, and he settled back onto the bench. Izuku fidgeted in his seat next to him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Izuku inch closer, and then scoot away again.
Katsuki did his very best to not read into that. In the six days since he and the rest of class 1A had gotten Izuku back, Katsuki had been doing his best to not read into a lot of things.
It was nearly impossible to resist though, since he and Izuku hadn’t talked about his apology. He’d wanted to bring it up to Izuku several times, to see where they stood, but honestly, there hadn’t been time.
Stars & Stripes had only bought them a week, and they needed every hour, every second, to prepare for battle. Now, they had less than three days until operation Divide and Conquer, and airing out his and Izuku’s past was simply not a priority.
Still. Katsuki wondered if they were managing to talk, anyway. He wondered if they were both reading into each other’s actions.
Like just now. Make it green, Katsuki had said. Make it red. Give me something of Izuku to carry on my body, and let people see it. Let him see it.
Ever since Izuku had come back, his eyes trailed after Katsuki everywhere. To Katsuki, they said, I see you. I heard what you said. But the way Izuku looked down when Katsuki met his eyes said: give me space.
So Katsuki was trying to give him space.
It was hard. Even now, Katsuki felt Izuku’s eyes on him. He wanted to turn, to look back, to revel in the attention and return it.
He resisted, but still loved the breadth of Izuku’s eyes as they settled strong and firm across his shoulders, like a weighted blanket. When it began to linger, the warmth of it seeped into Katsuki’s skin, sliding between his muscles and bones like honey, soothing him until he felt warm and golden.
Katsuki wished that his own attention could do even a fraction of that for Izuku. If it could, then maybe… but no. If Katsuki looked back, Izuku’s eyes would drop. His shoulders would hunch, and his hands would rise, salmon-pink scars held above his heart.
Katsuki didn’t know how else to tell Izuku that he wouldn’t purposefully hurt him, ever again. But he also didn’t know how to stop hurting Izuku when he looked at him. He just… needed to give him space, he guessed. Though it hurt to avert his own gaze, and it hurt even more when Izuku looked away.
When did this all start happening? Katsuki wondered. A part of him was tempted to say that Izuku’s eyes had always effected him, but he wasn’t sure that was true. Reading Izuku’s goodbye letter though, that was when Katsuki hadn’t been able to ignore it any longer. He’d felt as if every breath he’d ever taken had left his body, all at once.
Katsuki had already said it, but ever since coming to UA nothing had gone as he intended.
He’d lost for the first time at UA. He’d been knocked down. Destroyed. Torn asunder. Again and again. Every battle, every trial, every fuckin’ class had been some kind of failure.
His whole life, Katsuki had been told that the world worked a certain way. He’d grown to not only believe it, but to incorporate it into who he was. When he discovered that his beliefs were false, and the pieces they made up of him were rotten, Katsuki had torn them out of himself. Slowly, violently.
He’d destroyed the black mold belief that the world owed him something, and he’d ripped apart his perception of strength until it lay in scarlett tatters at his feet. He burned pieces of himself to the ground so that something new could rise.
Bit by bit, something new had.
The new color of Katsuki’s soul was no longer in denial of the fundamental truths about itself. It knew that it was built around Izuku. It knew that it was shaped around Izuku’s indomitable strength, and Izuku’s glowing heart.
So when Izuku left UA, it felt like he’d taken everything Katsuki had become with him.
Now that Izuku was back Katsuki knew more than ever that it was true. Izuku was a part of him, and maybe always had been.
He couldn’t tell Izuku though. At least not yet. Izuku still wanted his space, and they had a war to win.
For now, changing a few colors on his costume was the best Katsuki could do.
He sighed as the support student finished up. One more item checked off on the laundry list of things to do before the end of the world.
“And now you.” She nodded at Izuku, and pulled out a large, rolled-up blueprint of his costume, overlaying it atop Katsuki’s. The paper shone like uniform buttons under the industrial lights.
Izuku was looking at the support student, so Katsuki let himself drink Izuku in. The dark circles under Izuku’s eyes from his days as a vigilante had yet to disappear, though they had faded a bit. Some of the scarring on his face had healed too. The downturn on his pale lips though, and the serious angle of his eyebrows, those were still the same.
Katsuki longed to see him smile. It was almost disgusting, how much he wanted to see it.
But unlike All Might, Izuku had never been good at hiding his emotions. He couldn’t ‘save with a smile.’ He was more scrappy than that. He’d been thrown headfirst into danger since day one, moreso even than the rest of their class, and with barely a lick of training. Izuku had been carrying the weight of the world on his teenaged, still-developing shoulders for some time, and it showed.
Though now that Izuku had allowed Katsuki and the others their fair share of his burden, he thought that the shadows across Izuku’s face weren’t quite so grim.
Still. Katsuki wanted to see him smile. Maybe because if he did, Katsuki knew that it would be an honest smile. If Izuku smiled, then that meant things might really turn out okay…
“Okay got it,” the support student said, wrapping something up that Katsuki had missed. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” Izuku said, and he looked over. Katsuki froze. He’d been caught staring, but unlike before, Izuku didn’t break his gaze.
“The black in my suit,” Izuku said, “make it orange, instead.”
Katsuki’s breath stuttered to a halt.
In the first version of Izuku’s hero costume, he’d worn teal and white. Every iteration since had brought on a darker color palette, until he was wearing mostly black and a dark, forest green.
“Great,” the support student said. “Love a good color swap. Okay if that’s it, then get out. I have work to do.”
Izuku stood, bowing politely, and Katsuki followed him out. When they stepped out of the lab, it was suddenly so quiet that it made his ears ring.
Izuku paused, looking at Katsuki again.
I’ll wear your colors into battle, Izuku’s eyes promised.
I’ll wear yours, Katsuki replied.
Izuku looked away.
“I don’t expect anything to change,” Katsuki blurted. He stepped forward, one hand halfway lifted, but stopped.
He hadn’t meant to say that. He’d meant to give Izuku his space. He’d also never expected his gesture to be returned, though. With the final battle approaching, Katsuki knew that if he didn’t seize this tiny sliver of time, he may never be able to say what he needed to say.
“But if you… wanted it to change, then it could.” Katsuki continued. “If you wanted it.”
Izuku took half a step back, regaining the distance between them. “Change into what?” He asked, so quiet that Katsuki felt the words reach him slowly, brushing across his cheeks and skin before settling in his ears.
Into anything you want, Izuku, Katsuki thought. Into friends, into more, anything. I just know that you’re a part of me, and I love you more than I have words for. Whatever you want to take I want to give.
He knew better than to tell the truth.
“F-friends,” Katsuki stuttered. “Let me try again, and I’ll be your friend, Izuku. The one you deserve.”
Izuku lifted his hand, and Katsuki thought for one hopeful moment that Izuku was going to reach out to him again. He thought that he’d finally be able to take his hand.
Instead, Izuku took his hand to his own shirt, just above his heart, and he lifted the fabric away. His other hand came up to support it until his hands rested defensively on his chest. As if he expected to be attacked.
Katsuki’s heart dropped down into his stomach, and his throat burned with regret.
Too much too fast, he scolded himself. Of course he doesn’t want to be friends with you.
“Sorry,” Katsuki muttered. Izuku looked up to meet Katsuki’s eyes, and something there soothed Katsuki. Izuku’s eyes contained their own apology, but something else as well. Something that burned red and hissed orange. Something that desired.
Katsuki’s shoulders relaxed. He didn’t know what the turmoil behind Izuku’s summer eyes meant, but he wouldn’t push anymore. The colors were enough for him. More than enough.
Katsuki would wear Izuku’s green, and Izuku would wear his orange, and that way they’d have each other in battle.
No matter what happened.