Work Text:
Class 2-A member Midoriya Izuku is fond of another class 2-A member Hitoshi Shinsou, it is plain for every eye to see.
It starts quickly, almost immediately after the school year. The other class members are a little puzzled, and some are jealous. Well, it is an act, way too fond to be anything else.
Izuku is, without saying, a popular one. He is adoring and loyal to a fault, and his friends likewise. It’s been like that before things went south. And you know what happened, so we can skip forward the fifteen-minute war flashback.
After everything, they were close-knit. Forming into something like a gang. Old-fashioned gangs of the lawless days, it means. Bonded by blood and mission. Brotherhood. (your heart walking outside your body). What. Don’t know what that means? Well. Just take these words, it is legit. They are willing to do a lot. Kinda alarming. Plenty sweet.
It was in the morning recess. A Thursday. Two months into their second year, the first days of autumn. Shoto asks why it is so, when he finds out Izuku and Shinsou went out for a private bubble tea date.
Gasp. The scandal. The horror. The betrayal. After the birth of three healthy sons, no less? Oh, I thought it was real, I truly believe there was something between us. Oh, but no. Now, you just find a prettier face, some novelty? (It was not the case, says Izuku laughing.) You are cold and cruel. Coldest and cruelest. Oh, I see how it is, you just find someone better than me.
Izuku was breathless with laughter, he was too appreciative of Shoto’s role-playing humor. Cheesy twice a week sitcom type. Which made the latter worse. Deku said, between each giggly breath, it was not like it at all.
If you remember what happened, then it feels like a dream they are bickering because oh you just like the other one better than me. The war was three months ago. Before the big battle, was the months of stress, the drowning panic of practicing, just be a little stronger, a little faster. One percent counts for something. Open mouth panic of please please please. A few near deaths experience. Real loss, staggering because it’s real.
The ease of everything now feels unreal. Everyone is in a good mood. Nobody is serious. Izuku, Shoto says, putting a hand across his chest all melodramatic, you just have to go have milk tea with me twice.
Suck to be Kacchan Bakugo in this situation, because he’s stuck in a fight-or-flight response. No. We are getting it all wrong. Out of order, it is. Predate the war, something has made Katsuki afraid and flustered. Made him a messy, sloppy punk. Made him choke before speaking a full sentence. Well. He still chokes, just less frequently. Because he shut up more lately.
In the war, it manifested into a fight-or-flight response. Fear that fuels a barrage of explosions. He can fight, he can save. Keep people in one piece. Or when that's a tall order, just keep them breath. Somehow. Somehow. In any way. Lung rise and fall. Doing its job. Defibrillate the heart. Call him fucked up, but it almost feels easier. Maybe. Per chance. Or maybe he talks big because they won.
Well. Here's the better word. Congenial.
More congenial, the war is. A physical act. He is trained to fight. He knows how a fight works: face smashed in the dirt. Ignite his palms. Kaboom. Shatter the skull. And he would be so happy, everything would be so good, the future positively delectable. He took down the root cause, since this particular villain had personally made his life miserable.
(It was not like that at all. Izuku repeats, giggling, similarly interrogated by Ochako. Ochako turns to Shinsou, flourishing both her hands, because theatrics is contagious. Oh. Who needs him anyway? You. Shinsou. Go get milk tea with me.)
Class 2-A member Midoriya Izuku is fond of another class 2-A member Hitoshi Shinsou, it is plain for every eye to see. And Katsuki understands it for what it is.
~~~~~~~~~~
It just is. By chances. Some kind of affinity. Like toddlers on a playground. A soft-padded part of the park, with a swing set, slides, sandpit,… The sky is blue, their parents looking on all fond, and the equipments painted in playful, bright colors. Stars and sparkles and flower shapes. Across the playground, one four-year-old sees another four-year-old.
They come in front of the other, with all the strength and innocence of four years of age, by which he means to say a lot. Point a finger at the other’s face, addressing, specifying, saying, hi, you. Yes, you and not the others. I like you. Let’s be friends.
Katsuki knows it, because he has been on the receiving end of that affinity-like affection. He remembers it. A chilly winter day, afternoon, a decade ago. He got two coats on, which made it difficult to use his short arms. He kept on anyway, packing sand into a bucket then released it upside down. He was building the height of his sandcastle. The upside-down packed sand made the main tower, which is the tallest one. He was on a mission, as far as he knew this was the finest creation to ever exist.
The Midoriyas just moved into the block. Izuku was also wrapped up all nice. His pants were a little thick and stiff, and he waddled to this side of the playground. He came face-to-face with Katsuki, who was crouching down. From the first moment, he has been looking at him with wide eyes, full of light. Childlike, boyish.
Hi. You. He said, with full conviction. Wholesome, joyful, and obvious. Face full of light. Why shouldn’t it? All of his life, he never knew anything slightly not beautiful. I like you. Let’s be friends.
They were both four years old, so they get along swimmingly. You know how it is. Then they stopped. You know how it has been.
Now, Shinsou is on the receiving end of that affection.
The first sound of it is on another recess, after craft sessions. Almost two months ago now.
UA implemented fun art-and-craft lessons for its war-traumatized class. The students, highly wound up, call it silly. A waste of time. Really, sensei, when Vlad King handed them a stack of colorful paper. At the end of the lesson, everyone was in love with it. They made paper sculptures. Just anything that crosses your mind. Use whatever colors. It’s fun.
Because of his injuries, Katsuki made a collage, which was pretty damn good if he says so himself. Izuku made a bag because it’s easy to do. He painted it because why not. Shinsou made a mini house. With doors and everything.
After class, Izuku walked to Shinsou. Somehow, his gait was less certain than when he was four. His eyelids fluttered, unsure, he knew not-beautiful things quite intimately by now. Yet there’s light. There’s affection. Childlike, boyish. Strength and strength of innocence. A kind of rebirth, rewind. More beautiful, because it is more solid, pliant, and it reaches deeper. Hi. He said, airy, cheerful. Your stuff is real cool.
He did not continue with yes, you. Yes, you, don’t need to look over your shoulder, I got it right the first time. You. I like you. Let’s be friends. He did not, because they are past that age. But the request was there, Izuku was feeling it between his hands. Holding it like a live animal. Breathing, tasting. It's a nervous animal. Alive and vulnerable.
A step forward. A toe on the surface-tension, dipping into it, testing the waters. He went in, waddling ankle deep in the unknown. Prying the mystery of death open gave him some courage, but just some. Just enough. It is still scary. But Izuku acknowledged his heart and took the first step.
It looked normal, but it seemed special. Feel like so. Maybe the whole class was holding their breath, but Katsuki was catatonic. He froze with fear, and after fear was the open-mouth panic of please. Please. Please. A wish, an ask, a need.
Izuku was looking at the other openly, easily. Lightness on his brows, the corner of his lips. Ease on the curve of his shoulders. Light filled his face. Light poured out from his eyes. He was offering affection, so vast it’s scary. So vast it had felt like a threat. An affront. So Katsuki froze with shock and wished, please please please. Take it. Got the guts. Got the thing that I don’t.
And thank everything that is ever alive because Shinsou took it. Wide-eyed and a little tense. He knew what was happening. Maybe even have a hunch of the extent of it. (Vast thing) Must be stupid if he did not have any apprehension towards it. (Scary thing) Yet he took it. Seeing eye to eye. A hand reaching out. Just a nod back, a nice reply.
A risk he took. Looking into a new, foreign scene. A leap in something strange. Taking in a stranger. It felt small, it was enormous. Thank goodness he took it because everything was better for it.
After two months, it settles into an easy, familiar pace. They became good friends and did friend stuff. Almost attached to the hips. Having breakfast together all sitcom style. Going to lunch together. The scandalous private bubble tea dates.
Izuku slinked back to his childish habits, going behind Shinsou’s back and whispering into his ear. Saying something silly. Like he was a shy kid again, full of delight and mischief.
~~~~~~~
Lately, class 2-A has been preparing for an event that is ominously dubbed ‘the Fall’.
“The Fall,” Shinsou says, taking another sip of the milk tea Ochako ordered for him.
“The Fall.” Ochako nods, sagely, ominously. Hands around her own cup of milk tea. Not exactly. White blended to dark brown. It’s brown sugar boba and milk.
They are in the dorm’s kitchen. At three in the afternoon on a weekend, the room is sparse. Ochako is sitting at the end of the long dinner table. Both elbows on the table, fingers interwoven, forehead resting on it. Got the aura of doomsday’s chairman. Shinsou on her left side, taking another long sip.
Katsuki is loitering in the background, sitting on the bottom step of the stairs. Almost out of their sight, though they know he is there. He pretends to swipe his phone, but he sees nothing. Instead, he listens to the other two’s conversation, and tries to keep calm and cool.
The Fall. Another reason why it’s suck ass to be him.
“What is the Fall?” Shinsou says, disrupting the surface-tension. Mouth flat and eyes half-lidded. He looks unimpressed, he always does. Probably think this sounds silly and more serious than it actually is. Well. Teenager unimpressed and teenagers keeping it cool. Katsuki does not have grounds to speak on it.
“The Fall.” Ochako says, “Is Izuku’s last burst of power.”
She looks at Shinsou, her smile a little shaky, “It’s around the corner.”
“Oh,” Shinsou says, seemingly abashed. Sitting up a little straighter. “What’s about it. Is he alright?”
“I sure hope he is. And I think he will be.” Ochako says. Also shy about this—- openness, so to speak. They have the whole class full of macho boys and girls.
But she keeps on, “Anyways, it’s going to be a fall. Likely. Probably. He has been hopping around during practical class. Probably to enjoy the last bit of it.”
“Oh,” Shinsou says, like air knocked out of him and not quite coming back. After a minute, he says, “This sucks.”
Of course it sucks. It sucks majorly. But Katsuki keeps quiet, and Ochako nods sagely. again.
Katsuki hunches down, his thumb swiping even more vigorously on the phone. Hoping nobody else will come around and see him. Or if they see, just ignore him. Leave him alone to fucking die. Fuck his stupid baka life.
“Why are you so sure it’s going to be a fall, anyway?” Shinsou says. Also hunches down a little bit. Head on hand. Rolling a lock of hair on his finger. Tugging it. Not plucking yet. He seems to be the nail-biting type, who chose to cope with the lesser devil of hair-picking.
“It just feels like it,” Ochako says evenly, hands folded on the table. Shinsou nods, lips flat, slow understanding blooming. Yes, it just feels like it.
Katsuki has been imagining the Fall. Or not quite. The image is awfully vivid, so maybe the Fall is imagining him. He is less real than what’s going to happen. He is trapped in a room in the space-time limbo. Next to him is a projector.
It is screening the event of the Fall. Vivid and clear. Crips edges. Brighter than daylight. It’s real, inevitable, and close at hand. Less a screen and more a window. The reality of it says: Katsuki is the one two dimensional.
Anyways, let’s focus on the image that is more real than you. Rocky peaks, Cementoss’ creation, shooting straight up perpendicular from the ground, jagged sides, a round flat landing up top.
Many of those peaks, some tall and some short, are thirty steps away from each other, a distance for a neat jump. Izuku leaps, one leg forward and one leg back. A hand reaching, shoulders down, and core engaged, form for a neat jump. He shoots up, calling for his power, clearing the distance with a curve.
He lands on both feet. Lowered body, wide footing, even pressure, and he perks up. Grinning. Big eyes, something simmering beneath. But what's plain and surface is joy. Just happy for another jump. Another minute of this awesome power. It's good that he jumps and sticks his landing. It is fitting and they are all happy.
But the reality is otherwise, Izuku loses the drive midway. Gone. Lost. Given up. Threw away. A needle on a balloon. Boop. Just gone and never again. Nothing to lift and he falls. Straight down, a dead weight, as heavy as a seventeen-year-old, plummeting twenty-something meters to cold concrete. You have to catch him.
“We have to catch him.” Ochako says, finishing her brief, “When he falls.”
“Alright,” Shinsou says, a little moody.
“Well, it probably will happen in class, so there will be teachers and the whole class around. We have all been kept in the loop. It will be fine, he won’t get hurt.”
“Sure.” Shinsou sigh-heave. Tossing his hair messily. Withdrawn to himself, glancing away, his voice petulant. Not at her, of course. Couldn’t be at anybody. That's why it sucks. Learn to suck it up, sucker.
“When it comes, then whoever is closer to him should react the best they can, but there are some candidates that are better than others. Quirks that suit this type of mission. My zero gravity. Sero’s tape. Stuyu’s tongue. Dark shadow, maybe. Something that doesn’t hurt.”
“Oh.” Shinsou says, “Welp. Todoroki would be upset.”
“Distraught, really. He can make a landing board with a curve, but it’s still ice. I have no idea how fire is going to catch anything.”
“Maybe propelling himself up to grab Midoriya?”
“Flashy.” Ochako smiles, “There, that’s the gist. I think your capture weapon will be useful. It’s exact and gentle. Catch him the best you can, that’s the whole idea.”
She sighs, flexing her jaw. Also tired, and disappointed. At the general state of things. Midoriya Izuku, no longer a hero at the ripe age of seventeen. He handled the power as best as he could, and the reward feels like a slap on the face. A collective slap to class 1-A and more. Katsuki Bakugou’s personally customized go kill yourself slap.
Ochako is having it rough. She has been smitten, she has been the second person to call Izuku a hero. But she holds herself well. Been steering the Fall preparation. A get-it-done girl. Or a macho man.
It’s obvious, it’s on the course of how things go, but lately, from the war and a handful of things before it, Izuku is having fears and regrets he doesn’t know how to handle or how to speak about (beating his heart and looking into another’s soul). It’s an aftermath of a flood, it’s easing out, but still rough and painful.
Ochako has been approaching Izuku with an openness and strength that is nothing short of grace. Gentle. Like-mindedness. Outrun and outlast. A hand reaching, holding. A look, a smile. You can do it. We can do it, which Izuku grabs on to like a lifeline. It probably is.
Katsuki cannot handle it anymore. He stands up heavily. His heart beats loudly, and he grips the stairway’s rail. White-knuckled. Breathe in and out. Cold sweat gathered around his nape and forehead. Calm the fuck down. He looks to his chest. Is this all you can handle? It’s nothing. It’s not enough. It's cheap and poor.
He goes to his room for a nap. He puts his whole body into even out his breathing and ease his heart. On his bed, legs straight, lying on his back, with a light blanket across his stomach. Should get a few hours of sleep before he is called downstairs for dinner. Then he will be fine. Successfully suck everything up. Will learn to live with this somehow.
~~~~~~~~
But because his life sucks ass, he has a bad, terrible, no good dream. Nailed down to the chair looking at the projected image. You know what it's about? Say it with him. One. Two. Three. Dark screen getting bright. Nondescript landscape seen from bird eye view then getting closer. The title card rolls in, all caps, white letters with dark outline.
The Fall.
A horn sounds, long and sober. The camera zooms into the face of Todoroki fucking Shoto. He looks straight on. Address the audience (the one audience Katsuki Bakugo). Heterochromatic eyes handsome and dispassionate. “The Fall.” He says ominously.
The camera does a ninety-degree turn to the left. Zooming in on Ochako Uraraka’s face. “The Fall.” She says ominously.
The camera does another ninety-degrees to the left. Zooming in on Hitoshi Shinsou’s face. “The Fall.” He says sadly. His eyes downcast, his whole face mellow. Yet there is anger in his shoulder jutting high. He is looking at some grand injustice. It has already been done. No chance for redress, and it's going to happen again.
The camera does the last ninety-degrees to the left. Zooming in on Katsuki Bakugo's face (huh).
He looks outright stupid and confused. Wide eyes, contracted pupil, mouth agape. Wheezing short breaths but none give him air. He looks past the imaginary camera, to the scene behind it.
A huge gym with high ceilings. At least eight stories tall. There’s no partition, but only one room making up one wide space. In the center of the room and taking up the majority of it, mapped out with white paint, a rectangle plot. Inside it are rocky peaks, of different heights, about thirty steps apart each.
Someone is whispering urgently. “The Fall,” they say. Are they cueing Katsuki? Has he missed his speech? Is he supposed to say the fall ominously, according to a wicked, unfair, unsatisfying script?
“The FALL!” Many voices screaming, blending, indiscernible. Deafening, but somehow his eyes work so well. The clearest of shapes, the most vivid of colors. Glistening jagged edges. Ashen yellow. Gray concrete. A dream of green, alive, vivacious, springing. One leg forward and one leg back. He leaps and jumps.
The drive is vanquished midway. The spark is no more. The momentum is lost. Midoriya Izuku falls. A deadweight some twenty meters to the ground.
“Catch him!!!” Ochako screams. And Katsuki leaps.
Both of his hands are strong and working, all for this moment. He pushes them backward, the explosions propel him into the air, at seventy-five degree angle, making up for Izuku’s falling trajectory.
They will intersect, and Katsuki will extend his right hand. Grabbing Izuku’s forearm. Pull him close, hugging over the upper body. All the while using his left arm to negate the fall. They will land on both feet. It’s gonna be alright. It’s going to be positively easy. Just a catch. Just a save. Keep him in one piece. Don't hurt his knees.
Yet. The dream happens otherwise. (Dream that’s more real than him.) Katsuki and Izuku intersect midair. Katsuki extends his right hand. But it moves so quickly, in a circular motion. On Izuku’s eye level. Supposed to be gentle, but it is violent. He puts all his strength into it, a wicked right hook.
He wants to hurt him. He will. He does. A thwack with his palm, followed by explosions. A rain of sparks, a noisy firework show. It blinds his eyes, making everything out of focus and out of control. His firepower seems to popped over the upper limit. If Izuku dies from this, then it is just too bad.
Before they intersect, before what’s going to happen actualizes, Izuku looks at Katsuki. Wide eyes. Awe. Confusion. Then the realization.
Realization hits him with full-bodied fear. Fear of what’s going to happen. Ingrained fear, it has happened before. Fear that freezes the mind, no thoughts, but his body reacts. He recoils. Legs draw up, defensive. Body mass centralizes. Arm crossed, held over his temple. Katsuki’s palm connects to his forearms. Kaboom. Their eyes meet. No confusion no longer. Even the fear dies down.
Fear is a shock, it’s a reaction. Like a hammer on the knee. The leg kicks. Izuku hates that he fears. He is grimacing, he is smiling wobbly. Arms crossed over his temple, burnt and scraped and throbbed. Yet he looks, and he is calm: this is just how it is.
Katsuki wakes up. His heart is beating so loud and he almost jolts with pain. He is going to fucking die.
He wheezes open-mouthed. Each breath try to be longer than the last, and more evenly. He looks at the ceiling. Flat wide ceilings. To the left, to his desk, bookshelf, and the All Might poster. The man smiling, grinning, holding up a fist. You can do it. A hike track map, line drawing with flat colors. Bright and bold. The toughest track in all of northern Japan! Lower left, on the desk, next to the keyboard, his digital clock. 4.15. Fuck. He was asleep for a total of thirty minutes, a mid-afternoon nap. And it almost fucking killed him.
He turns under his sheet. He is sweating all over, leaving damp spots on the pillow. He tosses the blanket away, half-sitting up. Dazed. It’s a dream. Because of what Ochako said to Shinsou. The Fall. It’s not real. Well, his dream is not real. The fall is going to happen, probably tomorrow. But the Fall, real one, will be fine. Yeah?
Nothing bad is going to happen, right? They are so well prepared. Half the class is hovering close and trying their best at their version of keeping a respectful distance. They jump at the smallest pebble.
Katsuki is going to be at the rear and watch. He is not expected to do anything, really. A legion of better candidates, with two working hands and quirks that won’t explode to the face. Asui, Tokoyami, Sero. Todoroki, in a pinch. Deku can walk off the bruise. But the best candidate is obvious. It’s her Katsuki look these days.
Ochako. She is going to swoop in and save the day. Zero gravity is something to lift. The ground wouldn’t hurt and the earth can’t pull you down. Izuku would be willing to be saved, grinning, crying. Show her grief and love and adoration. She can take it. She is willing to take it. She had been nothing but an angel to him.
Cradling his hurting chest, Katsuki stumbles out of bed, walking out of the room. It’s more airy in the hallway. The school turns on the hallway’s air conditioning in fucking autumn weather.
His room is stuffy, he should have left the window partly open. He breathes more easily in the well-ventilated hallway. His gait regains some respectability. He wipes away his sweat and returns to somewhat of a functional human being. Walking down the stairs. Where is Ochako? It’s her. It’s always and only her. He must tell her what’s going to happen. She's gotta save him.
Conveniently, Ochako is walking up the stairs. She doesn’t see him until they are just a few steps away. Katsuki must look worse than he expects, because the other almost jumps. She looks at him with wide eyes. “Bakugo! You alright?”
“I’m good,” Katsuki gurgles out. Didn’t check his voice when he woke up. His throat is sore and scratchy. He clears his throat and repeats with more composure.
“Just fine. Peachy. But Deku.” Voice scratched, Katsuki presses on, this is going to happen, it’s already happened.
“He is going to get hurt.” He says. At that moment, he admits that the dream is more real than he is.
Ochako is taken by surprise. She stays in place, looking at him, searching. Eyes flitted to his chest. Katsuki takes another step forward. Putting his working hand on her shoulders. On his bad arm, the fingertips twitch. He doesn’t care, he needs help. He groans out, “You have to save him.”
Ochako looks at him bewildered, but regains her composure, “Uh. Where were you? What’s happened? I just left him downstairs. Only been a minute, really. He is fine. They are watching a movie. Almost the whole class is there.”
Katsuki is spooked silent. He picks out what she just said. Movie. Downstairs. The whole class. They are in the stairway. It’s not yet dark, yellow light filtered through the long window at the landing in front of them.
Katsuki is lifted out of his daze. His knees are weak. But he doesn’t want to slump down, so he grips the railing. It is interesting so he stares at it.
“Oh.” He says, breath knocked out of him.
“Alright. Wow. Yeah. It’s fine.” Clearing his throat.
“It’s fine. I thought—. But it was a dream. I know it was a dream.” The last sentence quick and biting. Like Ochako has already accused him of something. Stupid is one of them. Much ado about nothing is another.
Surprise, surprise. When he looks up, Ochako is looking at him full of concern. And an unhealthy degree of understanding, because Katsuki is going to flip the fuck out.
“It’s nothing.” He says gruffly.
Ochako sighs, unimpressed. She does the tough guy act better than him. “Let’s get you some tea. Or do you want boba? We can get it delivered. I can do a second round.”
~~~~~~~~~~
They decide on tea. They walk into the kitchen, passing the group watching a movie in the living space. (Kacchan. Kaminari says, amused. You got bed head.)
Katsuki is pulling out two mugs when Ochako takes the three-liter barley tea bottle from the fridge.
“No,” Katsuki says, disgusted, “You want to kill me?”
He gets the kettle going. Ochako shrugs, reaching to the overhead cabinet for Yaoyorozu's fancy tea. Decaf one. They stand side by side, looking at the tea bag steeping. The steaming water slowly turned a reddish brown.
The class is turning its back on them, a fair distance away, eyes glued to the screen. The TV volume is loud as fuck. If they talk normally, they wouldn’t be overheard.
Which is not an issue anyway, because Katsuki doesn’t want to talk. He feigns interest in the screen, then it turns into real interest. The movie is pretty, crisp colors and tight compositions. The young bride got a gift, a snazzy new car. In the driver's seat, grabbing the steering wheel, grinning hugely. She presses the horn to call for her husband’s attention. The car exploded.
“Why?” Shinsou exclaims, genuinely shocked.
“It’s how it must be.” Izuku says sagely, “For the movie’s sake.” (It’s just terrible. Another exclaims.)
Ochako says normally, “So what’s up with your dream?”
Katsuki glowers at her. She shrugs, hands flaring around. “You already mentioned it. Might as well spell it out.”
She takes a sip of her cup, a third done already. Katsuki realizes he forgot his tea. He reaches for his mug, lamely.
“I think.” He says, “I think I know that. This is how it must be.”
“Hmm?”
“Deku. Throwing away his power.”
“Really?” Ochako says, amused. They got the brief. It’s really a heat-of-the-moment tactic, a dead man suggestion. Nobody even knows it can work like that.
“Not exactly.” You see why he says half a sentence at one. He is awfully equivocal when speaking it fully.
“It’s more like. Him. Because of me. Being quirkless again. And unable to do hero work."
Ochako looks at him, bright doe eyes. Katsuki is flustered, he hates that type of look. But he keeps on. Eyes on the mug.
“It’s like my personal punishment. You know? Because it’s all my fault, all on me— so I can’t have it. Doing hero work with Deku, I mean. Of course I can’t have it. It’s going to make me so glad and pretend the past years never existed whatsoever. Of course it’s going to be so. I cannot be let off the hook that easily.”
Ochako hmmm, then takes another sip of tea. Katsuki glances at her. Her face is neutral. He huffs, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“Tell me what you think,” Ochako says. Did not meet his eyes.
“It’s incredibly self-centered,” Katsuki says. Exhaling. Exhilarated. Relieved for being able to move to this part of the confession so quickly.
“It really is,” Ochako smiles, wryly. “I don’t really know what to say, to be honest. Your stuff.”
She swipes her hand back and forth, in an attempt of mapping out their stuff. It's abstract, “Usually escaped understanding. Why don’t you try talking with Deku? Oh. Never mind. I know.”
“He won’t even wait for me to say it’s shockingly self-centered." Katsuki scoffs.
"He will say it’s crazy I blame myself at all. He will say nothing is ever my fault. His forgiveness is so ready, you know. I don’t know what to do with it. I think it functions as the opposite. Like he is not accepting me at all.”
“Really,” Ochako says. A little sharp.
“Just stick with me. I know it’s awful.”
Ochako sighs, “Are you going to take it if I say it’s not?”
“No. I won’t. And you know it is awful. Just hate me for a while. Then forgive me. It would be easier.”
“Alright,” Ochako says, patting his shoulder. “Yeah. That works. Yeah. It’s a little wild, to be honest. I do really need a minute to sit with it."
She smiles, not thrilled. Just. Being nice. And gentle. Approaching Katsuki like he is a spooked animal. Katsuki feels really much like a spooked animal. Fucking hell.
"It’s alright." She says. Placating. Guessing good things in the future when the facts show none. It seems like Katsuki is the stupid one.
She searches his eyes, grinning toothily. A smile that can rival an All Might billboard, "I will come around eventually. Especially when you are speaking so nicely.”
“I can’t even speak. It’s terrible.” Katsuki gestures wildly to the living room group. “It feels wrong to speak. It feels cheap. You know. Just words? I need to do something.”
“I think.” Ochako says. Then she is quiet for a minute.
“You think?” Katsuki prompts.
“I think you should still try speaking,” Ochako says, sober.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Katsuki complains.
“No. It means something. You just shook it off because it’s hard.” Another pat on his shoulder. “But we gotta commit to the hard way. That’s the only way.”
"And I think. Deku, in this particular area. He is also taking the shortcut." She says.
"No." Katsuki groans. Suddenly worried he is being too loud. He glances at the group, they are still unsuspecting. He hisses, but mind his volume.
"Don't pin it on him. Fuck. Why does it always come back to him? It's also a shortcut." The word quick and rushing. He has been sitting on it for a while.
"It's me," Katsuki repeats. Entreating. He looks at Ochako, earnest. "It's really me. Don't try it otherwise. Just accept how terrible it was."
"Alright." Ochako sighs, "You have been trying hard."
Katsuki snaps, "You are too nice."
~~~~~~~~
The next day is a Monday. They have Heroics fundamentals in the afternoon. Cementoss’ class, with Aizawa sensei observing. A find-the-button game, with the view to improving their maneuvers. They go by groups of five. Izuku’s group is the second one to go, with Izuku, Ochako, Kaminari, Satou, and Yaoyorozu.
Needless to say, Katsuki has been on edge with Cementoss’ class. The ragged peaks are right before his eyes, multitudes, full-bodied, and absolutely no comfort.
The unease is common. On this side of the gym, the class stares at the ones on the field. Many eyes on Deku. With him out of sight, the class allows itself to look a little down. The deadline is near. All Might used up his power three months after transferring it, and Izuku is approaching that milestone. It’s even lenient that he got it until now, but nobody is grateful. Well, save for Izuku, if you want to take his words.
Both teachers are ready, observing. Aizawa sensei sits on his heels at a vantage point on a high peak, shoulders square, a hand on his capture weapon. Cementoss stays closer to the remaining students and is ready to crouch down to use his quirk.
Ignore the other factors, many of which are dear to them, it’s still going to be a sore pity when One for All dies down. It is a beauty to behold ( how does it feel to hold it?). Pure, simple strength, manifested itself in light, wrapping around Izuku. His footing is sure and exact, the power congenial in his body. Pulsing, singing, merging. He darts around the room like a bullet, oh, more graceful than that, like a hummingbird with rapid-beating wings.
On the edge of the high peak, at the center of the room, he jumps. On leg forward, one leg back. Shoulders down, core engaged. He leaps in a taut curve.
And he falls.
The class gasps. Many leaps forward for action. Shoto, despite everything, blasts forward ice. Dark shadow darts. Two sets of capture weapons are sent flying. Asui hops from one cliffside to another, her tongue reaching. She is too slow.
Oh god, oh god. Breath coalesces on his throat and sticks on his nose. Catch him. Help me. Katsuki feels his palm crackle more than he hears it. His heart is beating too loudly. Two dozen drums straight to his ears. Thump. Thump. Thump. He is not getting any air. The image vivid. Izuku is going to fall. Green falling from the blue sky. Earthward bound. He is going to break. Oh. Fuck. Please.
Yet, what is he thinking? Why does he drown himself in wild fantasy? What is happening is so much gentler. It’s the probable, the expected, the plan. Yet only when it happens right before his eyes does Katsuki concede that it’s real.
Ochako is on the ground, forty five degree from the left to Izuku, who is falling. Crouching down, one hand aiming for him, and the other steadying it. From a huge projector strapped on her forearm, she shoots a disk at Izuku. An upgrade of her power, a disk that negated by her zero gravity. The gun-like support item is to propel it. The disk attaches itself to Izuku’s shoulder, and he is made weightless. Hovering in the air.
Ochako applies her quirk to herself, jumps, pushing herself upward with another shot of the support item.
Izuku looks at her. His face is hard to read. Wry. Wrinkly. Narrowed eyes. Wobbly pulled lips that can be a smile or a frown.
“You have been waiting.” He accuses. Ochako flies to him and catches him. Her hands press to his upper arms.
“I’m sorry,” she says, earnestly.
Izuku chortles. Choked. Tears falling, big fat tears that lately he let fall freely. They also float, like soap bubbles. He coughs, clearing his throat. Arms crossed, clasping her hands. Squeezing them.
Still grimacing and crying, but he grins, meeting her eyes, “What’s for? Thank you. You saved me again.”
“Yeah.” She says, lamely. It’s her turn to fluster. They float further to the ceiling. Are not aware of it, as they stare at each other dramatically.
Aizawa sensei heaves loudly and sends his capture weapon to them. They catch it, but the man has to do the wheeling himself. Like he just caught a pair of floating carp.
“Are you good?” He asks when they lands at the ground. Ochako is on her feet, but Izuku is still airborne. He floats like swimming in the air, legs dangling.
“Yeah,” Ochako says, smiling. “I’m fine. We are fine, but maybe we will spend the rest of the day at the nurse's office, is it alright?”
“Are you hurt anywhere?” Cementoss hovered close, alarmed.
The class takes it as a cue to crowd them. They are not noisy, which is a rare achievement, but they want closeness and hands clasping. Many hands are pulling at Ochako and Izuku. Asui hugs the former, and Iida is going to cry. Shoto pulls Izuku, wrapping his arms around his neck. More people are getting teary. At this rate, they would refuse to ever graduate. A band of nonfunctional members of society. Just demand the school keep them forever as a class.
As the class moves forward, Katsuki slips back, behind one of the peaks. Back pressed against it, leans to it to stay upright, as his legs cannot withstand his body weight. A hand clutching the fabric on his shirt's front, the other covers his mouth. Both are sweaty, his whole body sweaty, but he is cold. Feelings like his eyes are gonna pop out of the socket. He is going to throw up. Making a royal mess looks like a half-digested lunch. What would Izuku say?
Anyways, he won’t say anything, won't get a chance, Katsuki is out of sight, probably out of earshot. He wheezes open-mouthed and loudly, which does not thrill him. But he has to breathe. Get air to your lungs. Oxygen to your blood. Get your heart something to work with.
After an hour or two minutes, Katsuki calms down. Head bowed, staring at the ground. Everything else is too bright. The class is on the verge of being too loud. But he is cooling and calming down. Breathing on the cup of his hands. His chest was released as active pain passed, now it just aches.
A pebble is kicked his way. Katsuki’s head snaps up. Shinsou stands right in front of him, both hands up in placating. Their eyes meet. Shinsou looks at him evenly.
He does not do the fluttering doe eye bullshit, which many of their classmates do. Worrying melting look, which lit his fuse on his best day. Thank fuck.
Shinsou is tense. His face carefully blank, every line smoothed and pulled taut. Trying to poke out a safe road among the landmines which is Katsuki and his heart.
“Hey.” He takes another step, and Katsuki bristles, but he stays his ground. He tried to stay still and calm. Yet he will flip the fuck out if Shinsou continues with a are you alright? Does your chest hurt? He would tell him to fuck off if he is not in so much pain and stress his throat freezes up.
On the other side, Shinsou is doing an impressive cold reading. What he sees does not thrill him. He sighs and pulls his hands down. Just hung by his side, one thumb inside a pocket.
“Let’s go to the nurse's office.” He says evenly. Katsuki breaths. Shinsou takes his inability to speak as consent.
On the other side of the gym, the commotion has gotten under control. Ochako and Deku successfully detached themselves from the class. Izuku is still airborne, well, if he does not ask for it, Ochako is eager to keep him weightless forever.
She is playing it cool, doing a good job at it, but the Fall is a terrible high. They rode down from it reeling. She wants to keep Izuku up and give him the lift for flying. Just too bad it’s fucking impossible.
They made their way to the gym’s door, with Izuku grabbing onto Ochako’s shoulders, floating behind her. They both look a little pale.
Shinsou steps out from the peak that hides him and Katsuki, standing at an angle in front of Ochako and Izuku, the class a distance further behind.
“Sensei!” He calls loudly. Aizawa looks at him, unimpressed. A little nod stands in for go ahead.
“I got a stomachache. Can I be excused to the nurse's office also.” He gestures to Katsuki, “I got a volunteer escort already.”
Many light bulbs go up at once. Ashido exclaims, thrilled. “Sensei, what a coincidence! I also got a stomachache.”
“No.” Shoto declares, solemnly, “My stomach hurts worse.”
Then the commotion starts up again. Aizawa sensei has to step up to do damage control. No. You don’t all have a stomachache or explosive diarrhea. You have to complete the class. Don’t crowd the old nurse. What is left unsaid is don’t crowd Izuku, and half of the class got it. The other half is being bound by his cloth and forced to make a line.
Shinsou also takes Aizawa's lack of saying no as consent. Gesturing to Katsuki to go with him. Katsuki is frozen in place and stays silent.
Shinsou sighs. Rubbing his eyes, being so done at mid-afternoon. He calls for Ochako and Izuku, who have been watching them. Katsuki can feel their eyes. With perfect clarity, he can visualize two pairs of melting doe eyes and wobbly frowns. Positively paralyzing.
“A little lift?” Shinsou asks, and Ochako shoots at him. Katsuki floats, and his wrist is bound by Shinsou, who is holding him with the capture weapon as one would tie a balloon.
They walked outside. 3 pm during class time, the campus is quiet and without people. It will take fifteen minutes to go to the nurse's office.
Katsuki looks away from the three others. The sky is blue but shady. Ordered lawn and gentle breezes. Izuku falls on a mild day.
Izuku is staring at Katsuki. Well. Maybe not staring. Maybe he just sneaks a glance, to see if Katsuki is coming down from a heart attack or not. Wondering about his trigger. Yet the presence of a look is digging into Katsuki’s nape. Katsuki, who cannot bear to look or be looked at. Not now. Not when he is at risk of a second fit.
But he is at that risk anyway. Wow. He just has to make it all about himself. Izuku, beyond himself, despite himself, now worries about him. It must be a curse. A definite how-it-is. Comedic tragedy. Mean humor of a twice-a-week sitcom. Fuck.
The tension is palpable. Katsuki wishes Izuku would stay silent. Katsuki is close to telling him fuck off also. Yeah, going to snap. Then go to the nurse's office to kill himself.
Shinsou breaks the silence. Dive into the murderous awkwardness with great swagger. “So. Midoriya", he says, voice a little shrill. "How are your interviews doing?”
“HUhhh?” Izuku says, surprised, “What—? Oh. Those. Yeah. They are going fine. I got another one scheduled tomorrow, actually.”
Ochako squeezes his hand, which is still on her shoulder. She audibly exhales at a chance for a nice normal talk. “So soon? Aren’t you just having one last week?”
“Oh. Well. They will have me, and I think it’s best to ride the wave. Gotta let words out before they know that I’m here to stay, you know?”
“I never thought you were the type to like the cameras,” Shinsou says.
“I don’t.” Izuku says, “ They freeze me right up. We got the training and all." He draws circles in the air as he says training and all.
"But I was never very good at it. I just feel— scrutinize, you know? And don’t know what to do with myself. Not sure what to speak about, either. But I feel like there’s something to say.”
“Like Spinner?” Ochako says softly.
Izuku smiles, one of his teary smiles, “Like Spinner. He is writing a book, but it will take me years to do the same. Better to write, probably. But I don't think I should wait.”
“You are already a hero.” Katsuki says, “What’s there to wait?”
The other two suck a breath, while Izuku is spooked silent. Looked at him wide-eyed. Katsuki does not know what face he is making, but Izuku turns away. Feels like it was for his sake. “Thank you,” he says stiffly.
“So,” Ochako says, chipper. Trying to keep the mood light, “You decide to speak up, huh? Quite a way to go. Does All Might have his talkative phase?”
“No.” Izuku says, taken off guard another time. “He is the action man…” Flustered, his voice petered out.
Then he speaks again. Soft but sure. Sometimes, in his interviews, when they hit a good spot, he sounds like this. Sounds like he is speaking what he knows is true. “But I got another one for inspiration. Oh, I never come to ask about it, but when you float up to speak up for me. Um. Were you scared?”
Ochako breaths in sharply. Yet her voice is soft. “Dead-scared.”
“Did you have a script?”
“Not really.” Ochako says, a hand moving in circles, mapping out something, “I got a hunch, though.” She says, “I know I have to speak. I know there’s something to speak about.”
“Yeah,” Izuku says, smiling. Ducking his head, hiding it behind her shoulder, “Seems like I’m in a good track.”
“Uh-huh,” Ochako says. A little swollen up.
“That was seriously awesome. Thank you.”
“Gah.” Ochako says, “Don’t even mention it.”
“Seriously. You have helped me so much over the past year.”
“Yeah. Well. Buy me a cup of milk tea for every save, and we call it even, alright?”
Izuku laughs, quietly. “Yeah. That will be a thousand milk teas. You are set for life. I will do right by it.”
Now it’s Ochako’s turn to blush so hard she shuts up. Katsuki checks the urge to roll his eyes. Wow. The nerd can talk. Just a little bit, alright.
“Talking about the virtue of speaking up.” Ochako suddenly says. Her voice rose, chirpy. “Why don’t we all share what on our mind lately?”
“That was seriously forced.” Shinsou says, laughing, “What? You have a lesson plan tucked somewhere?”
“Sh. Sh. Shinsou. Cooperate, and it will be better for the class.”
“I do,” Izuku says. “I do have something to share.”
“You sure are,” Shinsou says.
Ochako laughs, “Yeah. We can go over what you want to say for tomorrow.”
“No.” Izuku is a bit flustered, “It’s not something for the interviews. It’s personal. Kacchan.”
Fuck.
Kacchan’s mind is blown the fuck out. Shoot from his eye sockets. Forgetting himself, he turns to look at Deku, and the second missile hits. The reason he has been hiding himself: Izuku's trademark searchlight look. Shocking understanding and openness. He jolted backwards.
Katsuki is making a spectacle of himself, because when their eyes meet, Izuku also recoils. Pin-needle pupil and shoulder jutting up taut. His breath hitched. Both hands grab Ochako’s shoulders, to ground himself better. Almost go behind her back. His eyes are familiar. A terrible, inevitable fear. Ten-year-old fear.
What’s Izuku going to say dies on his throat. Yet Katsuki gets a good guess of what he is going to say. Yes, they are trapped in this four-dimensional chess game. Each of them can predict the other’s move by sixteen steps. So they stare at each other, paralyzed. It’s been ten years.
Izuku knows Katsuki’s minor heart attack was probably for him. And for the Fall. The pity of the Fall. The years that were ugly and irredeemable. For strength loss, strength regained, and strength of innocence, Izuku wants to help him.
Yet, what’s about the fear that was a shock and a knee-jerk reaction? Izuku is willing to be poked full of holes for Katsuki ten times over, and likewise. But they cannot hold a normal conversation. Cannot do something that is not extreme. A body poked full of holes is congenial. Everything less is not.
You remember. Kirishima’s hand was put forward for Katsuki. It feels like an insult, in some way, but if it had been Izuku’s hand, Katsuki would bite it. He knows. They both know.
And here comes Izuku’s trademark: a searchlight look that pokes thirty different angles. Katsuki’s heart revealed. Izuku got a hunch about his incredible guilt, which stems from his incredible self-centeredness. Well, and he does not know what to say about it.
Yet he always has something to offer. Forgetting. Forgiveness. The ‘you don’t have to’ is on the tip of his tongue, if Katsuki is not quick, Izuku will beat him to it. Gather enough strength for the words, and Katsuki is forever deemed guilty.
(Props to Shinsou and Ochako because they are still moving, albeit really slowly.)
“No.” Katsuki says, and he was taken aback by how swollen and vulnerable it sounds. “No,” he repeats.
Izuku is crestfallen, that his affection once more seemed like an affront to Katsuki. Grabbing Ochako’s shoulders. They are going to go away.
“No.” Katsuki gasps. Fuck. He is just impossible to please. His specialty is torture. His character is that of greed. He jumps at every move of Izuku’s affection. Yet he wants it. The open palm Izuku offers indiscriminately.
No. Maybe not. Maybe he wants more. He wants something prior to it, possibly. Something he exploded with his very own palms. The understanding Izuku gives the villain is grace, yet Katsuki wants something even more precious and fragile. That sandcastle love. Innocence unconscious of itself.
Even Ochako would bark at him if he managed to confess this yesterday. But it would be impossible, this only made itself known today, at this very moment, when Izuku’s forgetful forgiveness is a dismissal. Even Izuku knows how to get hurt.
Oh. Not exactly. More like, even his boundless tolerance will wear out. He wants nice things. He is unwilling to give it again. He is scared that he won’t last.
In front of that vastness, Katsuki got greed in his arsenal. He doesn’t want to atone without forgiveness. He wants atonement and forgiveness. Maybe just skip atonement altogether. Forgive him. More than that. Take him back. Give him vastness itself again.
He clutches his heart, the aching heart that Izuku feels guilty about. Izuku is spooked. He reached out, both hands, and jolted backwards. Ochako has to grab his wrist to keep him grounded. Izuku’s breaths hitching, eyes wide. He is not getting enough air.
“It’s fine,” Katsuki says gruffly, “I’m fine. All good.”
Let him go. Don’t fucking ask. Haven't you done enough? You call it by its name, it is greed. Don’t rub greed on his face. A cruel shove because you couldn’t stomach his affection. Try to have some sympathy. Don’t hurt him again. Yet Katsuki croaks out, “But—- Please.”
He astounds himself every fucking single day.
Izuku inhales sharply, a breath that sounds like a dagger to the back of his throat. He looks at Katsuki wide-eyed. Glistening. Tears swelling up. Izuku started crying again. Short, stunted, and pitiful. Small tears bullied their way out, but Izuku inhales painfully, sucking them back up.
He will cry for Katsuki, but at him no more . Even he wears out. You are destruction itself.
He coughs, sputters. Hand on his face down to his throat. He tries to speak, but it comes out as a wail. He got it better next time. Speaking quickly, before tears choke him up, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
He taps Ochako’s shoulder. Speaking let’s go to her. Ochako left him an unreadable last look. Too early for sympathy, just a wry look at the sorry state of things. They start walking away.
Katsuki, beyond himself, reaches. Shinsou pulls him back. “Let him go.” He says tersely.
Katsuki sucks three painful breaths, and at last, says, “I fucked it all up.”
“No,” Shinsou says. He sounds positively irritated. At the thing just happened, at kids who can’t get over themselves? At the well-worn medley of childhood. Yes, someone, for the sake of everything has ever alive, please hate him openly.
Yet, when Katsuki looks, what greets him is a thin tough guy act. Emotion swelling under his eyes, a storm of pity and regret. But when he speaks, it bleeds kindness, vast and scary, “I think you did fine.”