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Izuku, as he came to find out, had been willingly blind to a lot of things over the years. It wasn’t that he didn’t notice, it was more that he chose to disregard things that created even the slightest wrinkle in his otherwise smooth life. Everything was so much easier if he didn’t have to really think or feel anything beyond contentment. He wasn’t built for the rollercoaster of a life he had when he was younger. And so, as a rule, he put aside whatever complicated occurrences until it righted itself or he forgot about it.
However, if there was one thing Bakugou Katsuki never tolerated, it was being ignored.
It came to a head on an inconspicuous Thursday evening.
Katsuki had been a guest lecturer today, and as thanks for both that and the ride home, Izuku had invited him in for dinner. They had done that a hundred times before, but this night, something was brewing. It had been for weeks now, but Izuku had convinced himself it would be fine.
Even when the training Katsuki put the kids through today was brutal, even when he spoke to Izuku as little as possible and only in a clipped tone that meant trouble, even when Izuku realized he was also starting to feel a little antsy. Through all of that, Izuku told himself it would be fine.
Years had passed, and Izuku dealt with enough bouts of temper from the horde of teenagers he was with on a daily basis. He couldn’t handle nor did he want any more of it in his own home. He had neither the strength nor the patience for that. Katsuki knew that.
That’s why there were very few things they argued about anymore, nowadays. They always recycled through the same three things, and Izuku had learnt to side-step the sensitive questions, the accusatory looks, to reply only through blank looks and stony silences. Katsuki, as stubborn as he was, gave it up much faster this way. And so, Izuku was convinced it would be fine.
He told himself it would be fine, even when he locked the door behind them and felt the silence like a physical weight. Even when he stepped into the kitchen, Katsuki on his heels, and almost snapped at the way he could sense Katsuki’s gaze boring a hole into the back of his head.
Izuku repeated to himself over and over again that it would be fine, that Katsuki knew better by now.
Clearly, he had been wrong.
“If I had known you would come, I would have bought the ingredients for katsudon,” Izuku laughed, rummaging through his embarrassingly bare cupboards. “I haven’t had any in so long.”
“I bet,” Katsuki said, and there was that tone again. Quiet but sharp, as if his every word had a double meaning. As if they were double-edged.
Izuku clenched his jaw for all of two seconds before forcing it to relax. It’s going to be fine. “I have just enough for some fried-rice and chicken, if that’s fine with you?”
He turned, looking at Katsuki with a smile he knew was strained and a pleading in his eyes to let whatever this was go.
Katsuki looked at him, saw all of that, and metaphorically spit in his face.
“Izuku, are you happy?”
Izuku looked back calmly, and spoke in a perfectly measured voice. “Yes, Kacchan, I am.”
Please, drop it.
Katsuki drummed his fingers on the counter, a storm raging in his eyes.
No.
“Really?” Same sharp tone, except that the quietness was fading. “That doesn’t look like the home of someone happy.”
Neither looked around, but they both knew what he was talking about. Izuku’s apartment was simple and functional. He had rented it furnished, and in the near decade he had spent in it, he had barely changed anything to it. Which was the whole point of buying something already equipped with what he needed, but Katsuki never accepted that explanation.
Izuku breathed in, wrangled down his frustration, and said as softly as he could, “Kacchan, can we please not do this?”
And that was the light to the fuse.
“Not do what, Izuku?” No more quietness, no more sharpness. Just anger. “Talk? Yeah, I’m aware you hate to do that when it’s not about the fucking weather. Too fucking bad, I’m getting real tired of it.”
“I’m more than ready to talk about anything you want if we can do it calmly, like adults.” Izuku knew his tone translated too much of his own budding anger when Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, fists clenching. Well, calmly was no longer an option, then.
“Except that I have fucking tried ‘calmly’ with you, Izuku,” Katsuki said, and the way all anger seemed to drain out of his voice to leave it blank made alarm bells ring in Izuku’s mind. “I tried it all. I hinted, I pushed, I waited, I have done fucking everything but nothing has fucking changed.”
Izuku exhaled sharply. Well, there was no avoiding this one, then.
“Say what you mean or don’t say anything at all, Kacchan.”
Katsuki slammed his hand on the counter. “Fucking fine. It’s been weeks since I gave you the suit, since All Might fucking talked to you and you finally stopped shutting everyone out of your damn life. But whatever fucking epiphany you had is clearly gone already since you still act like some sort of puppet going through the motions. I can’t take any more of this.
“You have been a shell of a person for the past fucking decade, Izuku, and I’m sick of pretending I don’t notice just because you don’t want to talk about it. I thought the suit would help, I thought giving you the opportunity to actually achieve your dream would wake you the fuck up, but it’s like you are purposely sabotaging yourself at this point.”
Katsuki exhaled sharply, clearly trying to calm down and failing. And had it been any other day, Izuku would have bit his tongue and let him cool down before things got even more out of hand. It wasn’t any other day, though. Because Katsuki hadn’t been the only one getting worked up since that whole suit debacle.
“You know what I can’t take anymore?” Izuku all but snarled, making Katsuki’s eyes snap back to him and widen slightly. “This. You always ‘hinting, pushing, waiting’ as if you know what I want more than me. I’m grateful for the suit, Kacchan, and I will make sure that all your hard work doesn’t go to waste, but I don’t owe you turning back into a child for it.”
“Turning back- What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Katsuki’s palms were fuming, but Izuku ignored it.
“It means that I’m not the same person I was eight years ago. It means that dreams change, that people sometimes outgrow them, and it doesn’t make them a ‘shell of a person’ who needs some sort of saving. It means that I’m damn fucking happy about my life and I wish you would stop trying to convince me I’m not!”
Katsuki threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, painful sound that grated on Izuku’s already frayed nerves. It made him dig his nails into his palms and pray it gave him enough restraint to not say what anger was making him think.
“You know what?” Katsuki said, looking back at him with a nasty curl of his lip. “I will believe that when it doesn’t feel like I’ve been hanging around some nameless salary-man who doesn’t have a fucking personality beyond his work.”
“Key-word: feel,” Izuku said, ice permeating his words. Anger had truly gotten a hold of him now, because he straightened and stared Katsuki down, an ugly feeling blossoming in his chest. “All of this is about how you feel, Kacchan. It has always been all about you. This isn’t about my supposed lack of happiness, this is about you being hurt because I won’t join your agency. You think I didn’t notice? Your bruised pride enters the room before you do. You don’t actually care about me, you care about being rejected.”
Some distant part of Izuku knew there was something heavily wrong with the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, especially when Katsuki took a step back as if he had been slapped. The flash of hurt that crossed his face almost made Izuku falter in his anger, almost made him reconsider.
Other key-word: almost. Because in the next second, every and all emotion drained from Katsuki’s face to let place to utter fury.
Katsuki’s personality hadn’t changed much over the years, but one thing everyone agreed on was that he had mellowed down a lot. His heart couldn’t take as much stress as it used to, after all. As such, it had been a long time since Izuku was faced with that level of anger from him. Unfortunately, where he should have felt worry, only a matching feeling grew in his chest, clawing its way up his throat.
“I don’t care about you?” Katsuki repeated, voice shaking. Tears were starting to form in his eyes, but Izuku knew better than to mistake them for sadness. “You fucking- Are you blind?”
“If someone is blind between the two of us, it sure isn’t me,” Izuku immediately shot back.
“LIKE HELL IT’S NOT YOU!” Katsuki suddenly bellowed, a small explosion punctuating his words and scorching Izuku’s counter. Neither of them cared, not when whatever Katsuki had been mulling over for weeks – hell, maybe even years – finally found an exit.
“You fucker! I have done fucking everything to prove to you how much I care since fucking UA! I apologized a thousand times, I helped you with your shitty quirk, I tried to keep your fucking dream alive when you gave up. Fuck, Izuku, I got myself stabbed for you! I DIED FOR YOU! Yet, it feels like the one who didn’t come back alive from that battlefield is you.”
The words seemed to echo in the deafening silence of the apartment, only disturbed by their panting. Izuku stared at Katsuki, at the way he swore and angrily wiped away the tears, but all he heard was static. All that filled his head was static.
And then, one image. One that he had refused to let pop in his mind since his second year at UA.
Katsuki, laying on the ground. Katsuki, covered in blood. Katsuki, motionless.
Katsuki, dead.
Blind fury flushed out all rational thoughts.
“I do not remember asking you to do any of that.”
The voice that came out of Izuku sounded foreign even to his own ears. It was an ice block shaped around words, it was low, it was dangerous. It was mean.
Katsuki looked at him, a myriad of emotions crossing his face that Izuku didn’t bother making sense out of. He had spent enough time listening and understanding Katsuki. About time they swapped roles.
“Those are things that you chose to do, Katsuki. I never once asked you to be anything other than yourself, to do anything other than what you felt like doing. I always respected you and your choices. Rather than getting yourself killed for me, don’t you think you would prove yourself more by doing the same for me?”
Wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Everything about what he had just said was wrong, it sounded wrong, it felt wrong. But he was too far gone to notice. Too tired, too angry, too done. This had been a long time coming. He had put up with Katsuki’s irritating prodding for years. That was ending today.
Katsuki stared at him for a long time, quiet. His mouth was slightly open, but no words came out even a full minute after.
The silence helped Izuku cool down some. He closed his eyes and took several breaths, breathing out his anger and pushing down all the other nasty feelings Katsuki had brought out from their dark corner.
Turning away and leaning against the counter, Izuku spoke, voice blank. “I’m tired of this. Can’t you just accept me for who I am now, rather than dig around for a version of me that doesn’t exist anymore?”
There was a long silence.
Then, “No.”
Izuku let his head hang, whole body heavy. “Kacchan, I don’t want to fight anymore-”
“It’s Katsuki now, apparently,” Katsuki interrupted, and there was an almost derisive edge to his otherwise neutral voice. “And I didn’t say we would keep on fighting.”
Izuku had Danger Sense for very little time when put into perspective. Yet, sometimes, when he sensed that something was going into a very bad direction, the full-bodied shiver and flash of pain he felt were eerily similar to the quirk.
He looked up and back at Katsuki. He knew his dread was justified when all the anger seemed to have been drained out of him. Katsuki’s arms hung limply on either side of him and he was staring at the floor.
Izuku had never seen him look so… defeated.
When he finally raised his head and met Izuku’s gaze, he smiled. Izuku hated everything about that smile.
“Maybe it’s about time we put an end to this, don’t you think, Izuku?”
Another jolt of phantom-Danger sense.
“Put an end to what?”
“This.” Katsuki gestured between them. “Us. Or well, you and I. There hasn’t really been an us in a long time, I think.”
Izuku straightened, slowly. “Kacchan, what are you saying?”
“Katsuki,” he corrected, and Izuku hated that too. Katsuki shook his head and looked back down. “You’re right. I’ve stuck around for a part of you that hasn’t been out for a very long time. It’s selfish. Ain’t fair to you. You’ve got your great little life and you want to live it in peace. I’ll let you.”
The only reason Izuku wasn’t shaking like a leaf was because he was clenching the counter for dear life, probably denting it with his nails. He didn’t care.
“Why does this sound like we aren’t going to see each other anymore?” He asked, but before Katsuki could answer that, he hurried to add, “It doesn’t have to be like that. I have the suit, I will use it. I will still be a part-time hero. We can still… we can still be us, Kacchan. A new us.”
“Katsuki. And I don’t think we can, Izuku. You know me.” And there was that sad smile again. “I’m an all or nothing kinda guy. You used to be too. But that doesn’t matter anymore.”
None of it does, he didn’t say but Izuku heard all the same. And he wanted to refute it, because nothing about them didn’t matter. But his mouth was sewn shut as Katsuki took a step back.
“I think it would be better if you set up your occasional patrols with Todoroki’s agency from now on. As for me being a guest lecturer in your classes… set up the time and date with my agency’s receptionist, yeah? He handles my schedule. Probably will be happy that I don’t mess it around anymore without telling him.”
The attempt at humor fell flat. Izuku watched, frozen, as Katsuki backed away more and more, until he was completely out of the kitchen. He still wouldn’t look at Izuku.
He stopped just before he reached the genkan, hesitating. Then, “For the record, I never said you were the one who forced me to do all that shit. I did it because I wanted to. I don’t regret any of it. I just…” His face twisted then, and he finally looked at Izuku for a fleeting second. The pain Izuku saw in his eyes punched out all the air in his lungs. “I wish it mattered to you as much as it does to me.”
And with that, Katsuki grabbed his shoes and was out of the door before the words properly registered in Izuku’s mind. He remained rooted in his spot, staring at the door until his legs ached.
Then, all of it hit him at once and for the first time in many, many years, Izuku crumpled down and cried.
Thing was, if there was anything Izuku was wickedly good at, it was picking himself back up and moving on. And so, after crying out all the water in his body, he stood back up. Working on auto-pilot, he made himself a small meal – not fried-rice and chicken –, showered, graded some papers and turned in at his usual bedtime.
All the while, he ignored the gaping void in his chest.
The next day went by in much of the same fashion. That was the advantage of having a set routine that hadn’t changed much in nearly a decade. He could go on about his day without thinking, just letting his muscle memory do the job.
Get up, go for a run, eat, shower, dress, bike to school. Greet his colleagues, ask Vlad King about his dog, drink a cup of coffee with Aizawa in comfortable silence. Get in front of his class, repeat the same lecture he had perfected five years ago, eat lunch, oversee quirk training. Pack his things, bike home, eat, shower, grade papers, go to sleep.
Repeat.
The first week was fine. He and Katsuki frequently went a week or two without really hearing from each other. Nothing strange there, nothing to unsettle him.
Repeat.
The third week, the ache in his chest made it a bit difficult to breathe. He took public transport rather than his bike.
Repeat.
The fourth week, a student asked him why Dynamight hadn’t shown up in a while. Izuku mentally thanked whoever immediately replied that such a popular Pro-Hero ought to be busy and couldn’t spend all his time with them. Izuku just smiled and moved on with his lesson.
Repeat.
The fifth week, he locked his door, let the silence of his apartment wash over him, and broke down in sobs.
Only the ringing of his phone broke him out of the painful haze he was caught into. Wrangling his breathing back under control, he picked it up without checking the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Deku-kun!” Uraraka greeted. Izuku blinked, not able to understand how she could sound so chirpy when it felt like the world was closing in on him. “I haven’t really heard from you this past month. We are both notoriously bad for keeping contact so I wanted to reach out before years went by again, haha.”
“…Right. Sorry. I have been busy.” Clearing his voice, he rubbed at his face, momentarily surprised at the wetness. “How have you been?”
There was a short silence. When Uraraka spoke again, the lightness of her voice was gone. “Deku-kun, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why are you asking?”
“Your voice is very… I don’t know. Empty?” There was some shuffling on the line. When she spoke again, she sounded much closer. “I know we haven’t really been close in ages, but you can still talk to me, you know? That’s what friends are for.”
Izuku’s eyes burned. He wanted to assure her that he was fine, that this was just exhaustion after a long day. The kids had been overexcited today, with the approaching holidays. It had been a bit of a fight to reign them in.
But when he spoke, what came out was, “Uraraka-san, do I look like a shell of a person to you?”
There was a sharp inhale. A pause. Then, “I’m coming over.”
Izuku couldn’t find it in himself to protest.
Half an hour later, there was a knock at his door. Only then did he notice that he hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor. He still didn’t have the strength to.
“It’s open,” he called, voice feeble.
He watched as the door opened, revealing Uraraka. They had seen each other a few times after the Class-A reunion to catch up, but he was still surprised every time he saw her. He sometimes forgot how much time had passed since UA.
Uraraka startled a bit when she spotted him a mere feet away from the door, sitting cross-legged and probably looking miserable. He felt miserable.
Without a second thought, Uraraka pushed the door closed, dropped to her knees and wrapped Izuku in a tight hug. That was his last straw.
“I messed up, Ochako,” he whispered brokenly. “I messed up so bad.”
Sobs shook his entire body, making him feel oh so fragile. Every single time that happened, it reminded him of that time after the Jaku hospital, his ‘vigilante stunt’ as the others had called it. He had yet to have as much control over his emotions as he did nowadays. There were times when everything was too much, and the only way to relieve the weight threatening to pin him down was to cry.
Each and every time that happened, Blackwhip came alive without his say-so. It would wrap itself around him, and hold him together as he trembled, and trembled and felt seconds away from falling apart. It wouldn’t let go until he got a handle on himself again. He had once asked the Fifth User about it.
“Yeah, it does that sometimes,” he had said with a fond look. “It’s as I told you. It’s a quirk that takes root in your heart. It responds much more easily to emotions than cold hard logic. It does what it thinks you need in the moment. Seems like what you need right now is a good hug, kiddo.”
The next day, Class-A had shown up. The next day, Iida had caught his hand. The next day, Katsuki had held him while he fell apart. Blackwhip hadn’t needed to manifest, then.
Izuku continued to cry.
By the time his mind returned to his body, Uraraka had maneuvered him onto the couch. He heard her bustling around the kitchen, kettle screaming while she opened cupboard after cupboard.
“The one below the sink,” Izuku called out weakly.
There was a pause, then a mutter. “Who on earth puts cups below the sink?”
That almost made him cry again. Katsuki had said the exact same thing years ago.
Uraraka returned with two steaming cups of tea.
“Sorry for not asking you before serving myself, but I think the warmth might help. This is still your favorite, yes?”
Izuku nodded just as a hint of warmth spread in his hollow chest. He had missed Uraraka’s thoughtfulness. He had missed her a lot those past few years, now that he really thought about it.
They drank in silence for a little while. The warmth immediately helped Izuku feel more settled, even if everything about him still felt… raw. Exposed to the light after years of living behind shutters. He wasn’t sure he liked the feeling.
“This was a long time coming,” Uraraka said softly, and Izuku’s eyes burned again.
He nodded. “Yeah, I think it was.”
“To answer your earlier,” she put down her half-empty cup, “yes. You feel like an echo of who you were back then.”
Izuku didn’t expect the bluntness, but he couldn’t fault her for it. Sugarcoating had never worked with him.
Katsuki knew that.
Uraraka’s gaze felt piercing when she looked at him. “I think you knew that.”
Izuku considered that for a moment, reluctantly.
God, he hated having to look back on his behavior in the past years, trying to make sense of his actions, of his thought-process. Overthinking had nearly drove him into an early grave back in second-year. The constant panic attacks, the carelessness whether in training or actual fights, the lack of sleep and appetite.
He had been a utter mess, worrying everyone around him. He had hated it. Hated the feeling, hated himself. And so, he had shut it all down. He had shoved the mess of feelings threatening to drown him in a corner of his mind and told himself he would deal with it when he was better equipped. That he would enjoy those last few moments of being a hero, of having a quirk, before facing reality.
He failed himself along the way, though he was still struggling to see how or when.
“I think…” he started, slowly. “I think, unconsciously, I did.”
“But visiting your unconscious isn’t something you ever did,” Uraraka concluded, and Izuku hung his head in shame. A warm hand rubbed his back. “It’s fine, Deku-kun. I did the same. Still do, sometimes.”
“You do?” He glanced up.
“Yeah,” Uraraka said sadly, eyes looking through him for a moment. “There were many things that I simply refused to come to terms with. It was easier to push it all down than deal with all the pain and grief. Some days are harder than others, but I’m getting there. The process isn’t pleasant but it feels… freeing to not feel like I’m drowning whenever I get reminded of some things or people.”
Drowning. It’s exactly how Izuku had been feeling. Or at least, as if water had slowly been going up and he was helpless to stop it. It had finally reached over his head this past month.
“I was planning on doing that,” he admitted. “Dealing with it. Back in UA. I knew I needed it. But then time went by and I started to feel fine. I didn’t want to mess that up by bringing back everything to the surface.”
“Did you feel fine or did you just not feel anything anymore?”
Izuku inhaled sharply. Maybe letting Uraraka come over had been a mistake. The way she seemed to just know, to understand what he was feeling, or at least the way he dealt with it… it felt like someone looking at his very core that he had spent so much time trying to hide.
Maybe that’s exactly why she was the best possible person to help him through this.
He tried to answer once, twice, then eventually gave up. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t have an answer than he was incapable of putting it into words just yet.
Uraraka seemed to sense that as she didn’t push.
Instead, she softly asked, “Mind telling me what brought all of this on?”
And that got the waterwork going again. He buried his face in his hands, pain and shame and self-hatred threatening to swallow him whole.
“It’s… Kacchan he- he has been trying so hard those past years to reach me, t-to make me understand that I have been running away from everything. But I wasn’t- I couldn’t-”
“You weren’t ready,” Uraraka supplied.
“Yeah. It just felt like too much, especially that I knew I was letting him down every time. It’s all I have ever fucking done anyway. And it made me feel worse, but I didn’t want him to know that, I didn’t want to know that. So it all just built up on both sides and it came to a head last month.”
“Okay,” Uraraka said, hand still rubbing circles onto his back. It was the only tether he still had to reality, the only thing that prevented him from falling down the pit in his own mind. “Okay. What happened?”
Taking a deep breath, Izuku fought down the shame and guilt. He had to say this. Not only for Uraraka to understand the full extent of his mess-up, but also for himself. He had to rehear the awful words he had spoken, let the full weight of them wash over him and maybe even crush him, if that’s what he deserved.
“We came here after my classes and he asked me if I was happy. We’ve had this argument a dozen times, so I was already a bit tense from the beginning, plus the day was long and exhausting and-”
“Deku-kun,” Uraraka interrupted softly. “What did you answer him?”
Izuku breathed. Once, twice. “That I was. I asked him to drop it but he wouldn’t. Said that he was sick of seeing me being a shell of a person and refusing to talk about it, that he had given me the suit partly to help with that but that I was rejecting the opportunity it gave me out of self-sabotage.”
“Pause,” Uraraka suddenly said. He blinked, looking back at her. “Do you think that’s the truth?”
Izuku blinked again, thrown off-kilter. Between avoiding to think about the confrontation altogether then breaking down at how miserable he felt, he hadn’t exactly taken the time to actually think about what Katsuki had said. He had rejected it all back then, but clearly, Izuku had a bit of an emotional repression issue, and God knew Katsuki was wickedly good at bringing out the emotional side of him.
As painful as it was, he forced him to consider the question.
“I- maybe?” He swallowed, rubbing his hands on his pant legs. “It’s just… I am grateful for the suit, more than I could ever say, but it isn’t… I can’t be a hero again with it. The most I can do is join in on patrols and help with villains here and there, but I can’t do what I used to back in UA.”
“Why not?” Uraraka asked, and she sounded genuinely confused. “It’s basically the same as One For All, isn’t it? Bakugou made sure of that.” A soft smile crossed her face, then. “He thought each detail through. When I called him to ask about the project, he talked my ear off about it for a good hour.”
And Izuku could perfectly picture it. Katsuki may call him a nerd, but in the rare instances where someone could get him going, Katsuki proved why he was as good in academics as he was in battle. When his focus narrowed down on something, he wouldn’t let it go until he knew everything about it. Until he had thought through every possibility, answered every hypothetical question, and could talk about it for hours on end.
It had happened once when Izuku had brought up the fact that the hero ranking being maintained after the war wasn’t such a good thing. It had been a passing thought, but it had seemingly awakened something in Katsuki that he had been mulling over a lot. At first, Izuku had thought he was just annoyed about his own low ranking. But the more Katsuki talked, the more he explained his thought process, the more Izuku understood that it went far deeper than that.
He remembered watching Katsuki, how his cheeks were slightly flushed in his passionate rank, how he gestured almost wildly, used a thousand metaphors to make sure his point got across.
Izuku imagined him doing exactly that while talking about the suit, and his heart clenched so hard, he momentarily thought he was having a heart attack.
“He’s very passionate about things he puts his heart and soul into,” he whispered, guilt threatening to choke him. “The suit is amazing. A perfect replica.”
Uraraka rubbed his back that much harder. “But?”
“But…” and there it was, that horrible, guilty thought that had crossed his mind after the first time he used the suit. The one that had made him unable to properly face Katsuki, who had been glowing in happiness. The one that spoke of something far deeper, far more sensitive he wasn’t sure he wanted to bring to light just yet.
But if not now, when?
“But it isn’t One For All,” he whispered, and promptly burst into tears.
And wasn’t that the crux of the issue, the very thing that had made him shut down all those years ago?
The inability to come to term with the fact that he had lost it. That there was no bringing it back. That he was once again quirkless and would remain so. That his dream had gone up in ashes with Shigaraki.
He hadn’t lied to Katsuki back in the hospital. He didn’t regret it. If asked, he would do it all over again. There had been no other way to reach Shigaraki, to put an end to All For One. He had accepted that much.
That’s why it made the shame so much worse to still resent it. To feel like it had been ripped away from him rather than willingly given. To feel jealousy towards Katsuki or Jirou, who had nearly lost use of their quirk, but managed to slowly build their power back up, to recover.
There was no recovery for Izuku. It was gone and it wouldn’t come back. He would never again feel the power surge in him, feel the electricity cracking all around him, feel as if he could do anything.
He was back to quirkless Deku. Useless Deku.
In his darkest moments back in second-year, he used to think it would have been kinder to never experience this than having to go on knowing what living his dream felt like.
One year. That’s all he was given. Two, if he counted the embers. Two miserable years compared to over twenty years of yearning. How was that fair?
It wasn’t, was the conclusion he had come to all these years ago. It wasn’t but he could do nothing about it. And so, he had picked himself up and moved on.
Or at least, he thought he did. But as he sat there, sobbing to the point of his vision swarming, he started to understand that maybe he had never truly moved on from any of this. Maybe he hadn’t so much picked himself up than taped his pieces back together and pretended he couldn’t see the cracks.
Maybe he hadn’t been able to properly accept the suit as the second chance it was because he was still, at his core, an all or nothing guy. Real One For All or no One For All.
Except that the choice had already been made years ago.
Izuku had no idea how long it took him to calm down. By the time his tears finally dried, he felt like someone had scraped his insides and left behind a hollow husk. That wasn’t such a new feeling.
His head was lying on Uraraka’s shoulder, her hand still firmly on his back.
He didn’t wait for her to break the silence. “I can’t possibly tell him that. He spent so much time and effort on it, how could I ever…?”
Uraraka hummed. “It would probably hurt him, but not for the reasons you think. He would just mourn not being able to properly give you your power back. If the perfection of the suit is anything to go by, I think that’s already a guilt he lives with.”
Izuku pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “And I just went and spit in the face of that.”
“How so?”
Right. He had been in the process of telling her about that whole shitshow of a conversation. God, he was already such a mess when he hadn’t even gotten to the worst part.
“I told him that the suit didn’t mean I owed him anything.”
He didn’t even have to look up to sense Uraraka’s wince. “I mean… it’s not wrong, but maybe there was a better way to go about it?”
Izuku snorted. It was an ugly sound. “Story of my life.” He sighed, then continued. “I also said that he was trying to revert me back to who I was back in UA. Which is actually the case, now that I think about it, but not the terrible thing I made it sound like. It’s just… in the moment, it felt like he was rejecting all that I was right now for some sort of ghost. And I get I’m not much right now, but still.”
Uraraka hummed again. “I get it. It does sound like that, even if with some hindsight, it is clear that’s not what Bakugou was trying to communicate. But I guess that you were both heated up, not much room for careful phrasing.”
“There has never been any careful phrasing between us,” Izuku sighed, years and years of miscommunication flashing back into his mind.
Uraraka chuckled, but it was a sad sound. “I guess.”
They basked in silence some more before Izuku picked up his retelling. It took him a moment to work up the courage. The worst was to come, after all.
“I-” his throat closed up, and he had to fight to get the words out. They sounded strangled. Uraraka said nothing. “I accused him… of being selfish. Of not actually caring about me.”
Uraraka’s hand on his back stuttered in shock. Izuku nearly laughed. Yeah, the ridiculousness of the statement would make him pause too if he hadn’t known exactly what pushed him to say that. The feeling that Katsuki didn’t see worth in his quirkless self, that he only wanted Izuku’s power back for his own entertainment.
I guess I thought we’d be competing and I’d be on your heels for the rest of our lives.
His brain had gone and twisted what was by far the most vulnerable thing Katsuki had ever shared with him. Bile rose in his throat. He talked around it.
“It pissed him off. A lot. He said- he said that he did everything to prove to me how much he cared. Helped me with One For All, kept my dream alive, got-” That was the hardest part to get out. That was the most important one to speak. “Got himself stabbed for me. Died for me.”
Uraraka made a pained sound somewhere above him. He ignored it. She would change her mind about her concern real fast once he told her the full story.
“And I went and told him I never asked him to do any of that.” Uraraka’s hand froze and she went rigid. Izuku plowed on. “Told him that I always respected his choices and he should start doing the same for me, rather than get himself killed-”
Tears started to flow again, but silently. He detached himself from Uraraka and wasn’t surprised she didn’t try to stop him. Truly, it would make the most sense if she got up and walked out. He would have if he could leave his own ungrateful self behind.
“Deku-kun…” she started saying again, shock and hesitation permeating her voice. “That’s…”
“Cruel.” There was no hesitation in his voice. “That’s a cruel fucking thing to say, no matter how angry I may have been.”
A pause.
“Yeah,” Uraraka finally said. “It really is.”
And strangely enough, there was something appeasing about an exterior voice confirming that. He couldn’t quite explain it, but it made his shoulders slump down.
“Did you… There’s no way you meant that, right?”
That got him tensing right back up. “Of course not! I never- I could never mean-! That’s- I can’t-”
With a cry of frustration, he buried his face in his hands, tears not stopping. How could he even justify that? Should he even justify that? He had no excuse, he never would. He couldn’t even understand why he had said that. What got him so rattled that he would resort to cruelty to get Katsuki to back off. That was hardly their first argument about Izuku being an ostrich about his feelings.
Uraraka let him wallow in his misery for a few seconds before asking, oh so quietly, “Deku-kun, did you and Bakugou ever properly talk about his death?”
Izuku went very, very still, his entire body feeling cold. He didn’t like the direction this was taking. He would rather she called him every name under the sun for being so awful than talk about that.
“No,” he replied shortly as he removed his hands, voice even. Too even. He saw Uraraka narrow her eyes in his peripheral vision.
“Deku-kun-”
“No.” He interrupted, and his voice was harsh enough to make her startle. “We didn’t. There’s no point. He’s alive, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
I wish it mattered to you as much as it does to me.
He shut down the thought. Hard.
However, much like Katsuki, Uraraka didn’t back down. What was it with him and surrounding himself with people who didn’t know when to quit it?
“I think it does,” she said calmly, almost serene. How she could sound so when Izuku felt like an angry beast was tearing at his insides, he would never know.
“He’s alive,” he stressed- maybe snarled a little.
“I’m well aware. I saw him just last month, I would know.” That appeased Izuku for all of two seconds, but she had to go and continue speaking. “I don’t think you do, though.”
His hands curled into fists. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Uraraka remained silent long enough that he glanced at her. She was observing him with an unreadable expression.
“You sound like Bakugou when you are mad,” she calmly stated. “You act a bit like him too. That explains it, then.”
Izuku stared at her. “Uraraka-san, I’m really not in the mood to deal with cryptic sentences.”
“Then listen to what I say without interrupting, and only speak if I’m wrong.” She waited until he nodded to continue. “I have never been excessively close to Bakugou, but it doesn’t take a genius to notice that most of his emotions used to translate into anger. Right?”
Izuku nodded. Anyone who spent some time around his teenage self would be able to tell.
“Right,” Uraraka repeated. “What’s more, he would get particularly angry when something upset him. And I don’t mean upset as in annoyed him. I mean upset as in hurt him, disturbed him or the likes. The more sensitive the cord struck, the harsher he would respond. Right?”
A picture started forming in Izuku’s mind and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Still, he nodded.
“Right. Now, there’s you, who has always emulated some parts of Bakugou’s personality. It’s the most obvious when you fight, yes, but there are little things here and there that I noticed. Mainly in second-year, actually. Whenever someone pushed you too far on something you didn’t want to talk about, you reacted just as badly as Bakugou would. Bakugou who is no stranger to cruelty. You would know. Right?”
Fucking hell.
“Right? ”
“Right,” Izuku gritted out. Uraraka looked way too satisfied.
“Right. Do I need to continue, or do you get it?”
And all at once, all the fight that had been building up in Izuku drained out. He went limp, falling against the back of the couch. He made a noise, something he hoped translated to assent.
“Mmh. Not good enough. I will say it, then: Bakugou inadvertently brought up the one thing you never want to hear about and you lashed out before he forced you into thinking about it. Right?”
A sigh. “Right.”
“Right.” Uraraka let the silence hang for a few seconds. “Deku-kun, while what you said was probably horrible for Bakugou to hear, I think he of all people know you best. You will still need to apologize, maybe even grovel, but I doubt he hasn’t more or less figured what that was about. Especially if he has been dealing with you for the past few years.”
And Izuku wanted to believe that. Truly he did. Almost liked the image of groveling because it was totally the type of thing Katsuki would make him do. There was one problem though.
“He doesn’t want to see me anymore.”
“Deku-kun, I’m sure-”
“He said it,” he interrupted. “He said, and I quote ‘Maybe it’s about time we put an end to this’. Said he couldn’t accept my choices, that there hadn’t been an us in a while, that I should stop calling him Kacchan now because I said Katsuki when I basically told him his death meant nothing to me, and that I should fucking go through his receptionist to have him come to my classes.”
Even he couldn’t understand the significance of that last part, but clearly, that had upset him more than he was ready to admit. The meaning did. That he couldn’t contact Katsuki directly anymore, that he couldn’t ask him to come as a favor between friends. Now he had to basically book an appointment with Pro Hero Dynamight. He hated it. Hated the distance.
Despite how rocky their entire history was, if there was one thing that had never been a thing between them, it was distance. They were always orbiting around each other, for best or for worst.
The idea of them straying apart… hell, he would take Katsuki bullying him again over this.
…Well, maybe not. God, he just wanted to have him back. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it, but he missed Katsuki. Not just this past month. Nor the weeks since the suit and agency offer. No, this was something that had been building up for years and that Izuku was entirely responsible for.
Giving up on his dream had equaled giving up on Katsuki.
Katsuki who was his Symbol of Victory. Katsuki who had inspired him as much as All Might, if not more through their proximity. Katsuki who had gone through the unpleasant trials of improving himself because that’s what a hero did, and gave Izuku all the more reason to marvel at this amazing person in his life. Katsuki who accepted nothing less than absolute victory. All or nothing.
The very embodiment of everything Izuku had ever aimed for. Reached for. And yet, when Katsuki had reached back, he had spurned him. Because how could Izuku stand next to the one person he had continuously failed?
Katsuki who had spent years trying through every mean to awaken Izuku’s dream. Katsuki who saw the chasm Izuku opened between them widen with every passing day but refusing to back down. Katsuki who had given up his life for him. Katsuki who he had failed to save a thousand times over.
Fuck.
“Deku-kun.”
Izuku startled. Lost as he was in his thoughts, he had forgotten about his friend still there, still watching him. He looked back.
Uraraka bit her lip, clearly hesitating, before she steeled herself. “Again, I’m not very close to Bakugou. But he has always struck me as a very blunt guy. If he didn’t want to see you ever again, he would have said it point blank. None of this ‘maybe’ and cryptic ‘end to this’ bullshit. What even is ‘this’?”
Izuku gaped like a fish for a moment. “Our- our friendship?”
“Did he say that?”
It was like a light-bulb lit up in his brain. Of course. Of fucking course. Katsuki had been purposely vague in his wording. He hadn’t said he didn’t want to see Izuku again. That was all Izuku. What Katsuki had said was that he would leave him alone and stop trying so hard to fight Izuku on his stance.
I’ve stuck around for a part of you that hasn’t been out for a very long time. Not a part of him that was gone. Not a part of him Katsuki had given up on ever seeing again. A part of him that was buried very deep and that Izuku hadn’t been ready to let back out.
Katsuki had been careful to not say anything about Izuku reaching back out because he had still held hope. He had still thought that Izuku would get his head out of his own ass eventually, and that maybe he needed space to do that. Space away from Katsuki.
Except that was the last thing Izuku ever wanted. Or his suddenly enlightened-self, at the very least, since idiotic Izuku from a month ago had let Katsuki walk away from him while standing still and silent like a fool.
His body moved on its own. He was on his feet before he thought about it.
There was a soft huff from behind him. Izuku looked back at Uraraka. There was something utterly unimpressed in her gaze, but she was smiling. She slowly stood up and gathered the forgotten cups of tea.
“Go get your man. I will take care of this.”
Izuku paused long enough to look at Uraraka. All he could really think about right now was Katsuki, but there was a part of his brain that reminded him Katsuki hadn’t been the only victim of Izuku’s withdrawal.
Though, if the slightly tired look in her eyes, the way her cheekbones poked out a bit more than they should, and the utter understanding at Izuku’s terrible coping mechanisms, was anything to go by- maybe they could share the fault. Maybe they had a lot to talk about that went beyond catching up and Izuku’s chaotic relationship with Katsuki.
Later, he promised himself, looking at Uraraka and praying all his thoughts were laid bare on his face.
She smiled. “See you later, Deku-kun.”
And with that, Izuku was out of the door.
One thing he had failed to take into consideration when he grabbed his bike was that it was raining like God wanted a repeat of the deluge. However, even a divine cataclysm wouldn’t be able to stop him from reaching his destination.
He pedaled through the nearly empty streets of Tokyo, the late hour and terrible weather pushing people into the warmth and dryness of their home. All the better for him. He could go even faster.
Katsuki didn’t live all that far from Izuku, but through bike, it was a solid forty-five minute trip.
He made it in twenty.
Punching in the code, he burst through the door of the building and overlooked the elevator for the stairs. Katsuki lived all the way to the top, in a penthouse he had bought right after he finished funding Izuku’s suit.
Despite the several floors to climb, Izuku found himself in front of Katsuki’s door before he even realized, pounding it like there was no tomorrow with not a goddamn clue what he would say. That didn’t make him stop.
It took a full minute for the door to suddenly swing open, a very pissed and slightly frantic Katsuki looking back at him. His expression dropped the moment he saw who was behind the door.
“Izuku,” he said softly, breathlessly.
And before Izuku so much as thought about it, he dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor. Katsuki let out a sound between a gasp and a choke.
“Izuku, what-”
Only one word flashed through Izuku’s mind at that moment.
Grovel.
“I’m sorry,” Izuku blurted out, and tears immediately started flowing. What a pathetic few words for everything he meant to say. “I’m so fucking sorry, Kacchan. I could repeat that for a lifetime and it still wouldn’t be enough. What I said last time- everything was bullshit. Every last thing I have said in the past eight years has been utter bullshit, but last time, I was cruel.
“I know what you have been trying to do, I have always known, but I couldn’t- I was too much of a coward to look back on all this time and accept that the way I chose to deal with everything wasn’t a solution. That I had been hurting you by doing that. That I did sabotage myself just for the sake of the simplicity of the life I had made. I’m not happy. I haven’t been happy in many, many years, but that was a terrifying thought to have and I was awful to you when you made me think about it.
“You put up with so much of my cruelty over the years, I can’t even begin to think about how to fix any of it, to take it all back. But Kacchan, you have to know that everything you did- It matters. Everything you have done, everything you have said, everything about you- just you matter to me more than everything else in the world. That’s why I couldn’t stand it when you talked about- about your- about you not being there anymore. About what you had been forced to do for me because I have always been too fucking late when it comes to you. I have failed you so many times, Kacchan, I-”
Tears were streaming down his face onto the floor, choking him, but he talked through them. He had held in those words long enough. Nothing would stop him from speaking them out loud.
“I rejected your offer because I didn’t believe I was worthy of standing beside you. Still don’t. You- You died because of me. You were hurt a thousand times because I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t smart enough. The suit- the suit isn’t One For All. And if even with One For All I couldn’t protect you or catch up to you, how could I do it now? How could I stand proud next to you and promise you that I have got your back when I never proved that before?
“I can’t be the reason you get hurt again, Kacchan. I know that’s a fucking hypocritical thing to say when I have spent all this time hurting you, but I still- I can’t-” He cut himself off just to take a deep breath, clear out his stuffed throat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I will ever be able to be the person you want me to be. Even back in UA, back then with One For All, I wasn’t. I didn’t have the time. B-But if you will let me, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, however you want me to.”
And there was still so much more to say, so much he had to say, but words well and truly failed him then. He sobbed on the floor, on his hands and knees before Katsuki, and thought that this is where he belonged.
He would have stayed right there until the end of time if a sniffle didn’t make him whip his head up, instincts kicking in. He may have forcefully dulled them over the years, but his entire being was still tuned onto Katsuki’s like a sunflower turned towards the sun.
Katsuki was also on his knees, and that immediately struck Izuku as wrong. Katsuki should never be brought to his knees, much less in front of Izuku. A panicked sound formed at the back of his throat and he started to reach out, but the two hands that cupped his face made him stop and actually look up.
Katsuki was crying. Silently, because he never allowed himself to bring attention to his pain, but there was no missing it. But what was the last hit to Izuku’s already crumbling barriers was the look in his eyes.
So tender. So loving. So understanding.
“I know,” he whispered, thumbs swiping under Izuku’s eyes and collecting the tears still falling freely. “I have always known, ‘Zuku. All of it.” He chuckled, and the sound was wet and rough. Izuku was convinced that’s what heaven sounded like. “That whole knowing you better than you know yourself isn’t a one-way street.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispered brokenly. Even if relief was obvious all over Katsuki’s face, even if he knew they weren’t tears of sadness, Izuku had always hated to see Katsuki cry. That dislike must have been woven into his very soul with how strong it was. “Kacchan, I’m sorry. Please stop crying.”
Katsuki snorted. “You first, idiot.” And then he pulled, and Izuku scrambled to follow the touch. Right now, the idea of losing that one point of contact was worse than having all his limbs broken again. He crawled right into Katsuki’s lap and pushed his face onto his neck, grabbing onto his hips.
Katsuki wrapped one hand around his waist and the other buried into his hair, stroking. Izuku melted into him and sobbed, a constant flux of apologies whispered into Katsuki’s skin. They were met each and every time by the same two words.
“I know.”
Because of course he did. Izuku was an idiot for ever thinking that because he could fool himself, he had fooled Katsuki. But well, that was hardly the only thing he had been an idiot about.
God, he had so much to make up for.
He didn’t know how or when, but Katsuki managed to make them worm their way into the genkan and close the door. It wasn’t like he had any neighbor to worry about, but there was comfort in existing in this closed little bubble of space. Just the two of them. As it should be.
Izuku used to think that he was a never-ending source of water with how much he could cry, but even his body had its limits. Eventually, the tears tapered off, but he didn’t move a single inch. Katsuki didn’t make him.
“Done soaking up my shirt?”
Izuku snorted. “Brought that one upon yourself.”
“Tch. Cheeky little shit.”
Before Izuku could reply to that – he probably wouldn’t have, nuzzling into Katsuki’s warm skin sounded much more tempting – a full-body shiver nearly dislodged him out of Katsuki’s hold. That one had nothing to do with some sixth sense.
Right. He was drenched.
“Did you bike all the way here?” Katsuki asked, pushing Izuku away so he could look at him and glare properly. Izuku would have protested more if Katsuki didn’t bring back his two hands to cup his face. He must make quite the picture, completely melting into Katsuki’s touch while soaking wet. Very similar to a drowned rat, probably.
“It was faster,” he said, as if he had even thought about any of that before rushing out. He was on a mission.
Katsuki clicked his tongue and properly pulled back this time. Izuku was a second away from bursting into tears again. “Come on, up. Get out of those damned clothes. I’m not nursing you back to health when your stupid ass catch a cold.”
They both knew that was bullshit, so there was no need to call him out.
After that, it was a slow process of getting up even through their achy joints, undressing – Izuku had actually soaked Katsuki from head to toe – and moving towards the shower.
Having lived in close quarters for three years and having known each other for literally their whole life, there was absolutely no shame left to have about their naked bodies. What was new, however, was the intimacy. The way Katsuki grabbed his hand and softly pushed him under the spray of water to warm him up. The way he muttered about Izuku’s oily hair as he grabbed the shampoo bottle. The way Izuku couldn’t keep his eyes off him even if he tried.
The way Izuku reached out a hand and laid it over the starburst scar right in the middle of Katsuki’s chest.
Katsuki paused for all of a second in his ministrations, gaze searching, before letting it happen. He only spoke when he washed the shampoo out of Izuku’s hair.
“It wasn’t because of you. It was for you.”
“How does it make it better?”
“By the fact I chose to do that.” For a second, the softness that had permeated Katsuki’s whole being was replaced by steel. “I knew what I was doing, Izuku. I knew what I was risking all the way back to when we came up with that strategy. I knew it was a possibility and I accepted it. When the time came, my heart was light.”
“But you wanted to live,” Izuku whispered, tears mingling with the warm water.
“I did. And here I am.”
“But what if Edgeshot hadn’t been fast enough? What if your quirk hadn’t saved you? What if-”
“We can make a goddamn world with what-ifs, Izuku,” Katsuki interrupted. “Great thing is, no matter what, that’s not the world we live in. Because they are what-ifs. Not facts. Facts are that I died, yes, but because I’m a tough bitch, I got back up and kicked that bastard’s ass. Saved your ass at the end there too. Even if you throw me back into that battle with the freedom to do whatever I want, I’d keep it the same.”
Izuku watched him for a long time, searching his face for any trace of doubt, of fake bravado, of misplaced pride. There was none of it.
Katsuki always said what he meant, after all.
“I’m sorry I never asked,” he said in the end, voice so feeble he wondered if the rush of water drowned the words.
Considering the way Katsuki’s eyes widened before softening, it didn’t.
“’S okay.”
“No, it’s not. Nothing about this is.”
If he expected Katsuki to fight him on that, he was proven wrong. “Fine, then. It will be okay. We will both be.”
“Us?” Izuku didn’t try to hide the hope in his face, in his voice.
There hasn’t really been an us for a long time, I think.
“Us,” Katsuki confirmed.
And swore as he immediately grabbed onto Izuku and avoided him a concussion as he went boneless in relief.
Later, when they had both found warm clothes to put on and ate a late dinner – katsudon; Izuku may have cried a bit again – they laid in bed, facing each other.
There was still so much left to be said, a lifetime of half-spoken sentences and implied meaning they only ever hoped the other would catch on making sure of that. But in that moment, watching Katsuki blink slowly, sleep softening him even further, the only thing that felt absolutely necessary to whisper was, “I love you.”
And maybe this should have been a groundbreaking moment. Maybe that should have called for shock, excitement, surprise. Maybe they should have fallen into each other like starved beasts, trying to make up for all the lost time.
However, in this world, in this moment, Katsuki only smiled and whispered back, “I know.”