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Izuku catches the rear end of Kaminari’s joke and laughs alongside everyone else. The subject of the joke is sitting next to Izuku, sulking.
Izuku can tell it’s all pretend; the pout at the corner of his lips is too mirthful to be real, and he isn’t holding his frown together all the way.
It’s so, so cute.
And it all falls apart when he meets Izuku’s eyes. They share a knowing look, and then—
Kacchan smiles. Real, and big, and lopsided. Dimpling in his right cheek.
Izuku’s breath catches in his throat, and he tries to smile back, but it comes out all wrong, he is sure of it.
Kacchan doesn’t stop smiling though. He leans in and ruffles Izuku’s hair and bumps their shoulders together before turning to his other side to talk to Kirishima.
The rest of the night is normal. Izuku helps Iida with the dishes and bids everyone good night afterwards.
Kacchan says, “Night, Izuku,” with a more subtle turn of his lips this time. Eyes all soft and sleepy because it’s super late and he worked hard all day, and Izuku is so fucking gone for him that it’s not funny anymore.
--
Things have been…good. Lately.
There’s still no class, but they’re living in the dorms and lending their strength towards rebuilding when they can. Izuku wishes there was more he could do, but everyone has been adamant that he does nothing but rest. Mom, All Might, Aizawa-sensei.
Kacchan.
Kacchan has been hovering a lot. Like, a lot.
Izuku doesn’t mind at all. Not one bit. There’s a part of him that still craves Kacchan’s attention even though he has it in full now.
It—
He never really thought about what it would be like to be friends with Kacchan again. Real friends. Best friends.
It’s better than anything his fourteen year old self ever came up with in his fantasies.
Kacchan calls him Izuku, now. And Izuku meant it when he said he wouldn’t mind Deku, but Kacchan has been adamant and it’s—nice; that Kacchan cares.
And the way Izuku’s name dances on Kacchan’s lips, all raspy and throaty, and like it’s every bit special to Kacchan as it is to Izuku… Well.
Izuku’s not allowed to do anything but take it easy, so he stays in the dorms all day and cooks and cleans and lies down on the couch to stare at the ceiling, thinking about the way Kacchan put his hand on his shoulder this morning while pulling on his boots.
It’s been five hours, and he still has butterflies just thinking about it.
Ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous.
--
Kacchan gets rest days too, where he stays in, and it’s just the two of them in the dorms all day.
Izuku doesn’t get it. If anyone should be taking it easy, it’s Kacchan. Sometimes he can’t get that damned image out of his head. Of Kacchan, lying on the battlefield. Izuku, late and failing. Unable to save the person who matters to him most.
But Kacchan was stubborn. He fought tooth and nail to prove to everyone he was okay to move again. He “made strenuous activity his bitch.”
Izuku doesn’t have that kind of energy anymore. Mom begged him to rest, and she cried rivers, and… Izuku is so tired.
Exhausted, all day, every day, even though he does nothing of importance here compared to everyone else.
“You are important,” Todoroki said the other day. “Like this. Alive and well.”
Izuku supposes it’s true. As hard as it is to wrap his head around, he understands that his friends care deeply about him. Enough to risk their lives, and definitely enough to take his load.
“Besides, you make a mean curry,” Uraraka had said, slapping his back while Iida nodded in agreement.
Not today, though. On the days that Kacchan stays in, he likes to cook. He shoos Izuku out of the kitchen, which works for about five minutes before Izuku inevitably comes back in.
He can’t help it; it gets lonely when he’s by himself, and having Kacchan with him is the highlight of his week.
Kacchan makes enough to feed an army and freezes the leftovers while giving Izuku a pointed look.
Izuku knows what that means. In case you don’t wanna cook.
It’s achingly sweet, in a way that makes Izuku’s heart throb painfully in his chest, and he wants to hug Kacchan so bad, but he settles for, “Thank you,” and washes the dishes.
--
They sit next to each other for dinner. Always happens one way or another. An unspoken agreement their class must have come up with when they were both out of it, because there’s always an empty seat beside Kacchan with Izuku’s name on it.
Not literally, but might as well. Especially when Kirishima or Todoroki spot him and gesture towards the chair like it’s a given that he’ll sit there.
Well. It is, kind of. He’ll never not want to be close to Kacchan, in all senses of the word, but it’s embarrassing that they can see right through him.
Can everybody? Do they all know how hard it is for him to have Kacchan and not be able to take his hand and k—
No, he isn’t thinking about that right now. It’s time for dinner, and Kacchan is looking at him weird, and Izuku really doesn’t want to answer his questions if he decides to ask.
He can’t lie to Kacchan. Not now, not ever. And it was easy to keep this hidden when he wasn’t even admitting it to himself, but who is he kidding now?
He might as well have heart eyes when Kacchan walks into the room, or wear a t-shirt that says I Love Dynamight! with an explosion emoji. (They exist, Izuku’s checked. Kacchan has so many fans now.)
(Izuku will always be his number one fan, though.)
There’s a bowl of soup, and they both reach for it at the same time. Izuku’s right hand bumps into Kacchan’s left and knocks the ladle out of it.
“Oh, no! Sorry, Kacchan,” he says. “That was my fault.”
Kacchan grabs his hand and squeezes. Squeezes Izuku’s heart right along with his scarred fingers.
“Jeez, s’fine, no one died.”
Is he sure? Because Izuku is dizzy and lightheaded, and he might actually pass out. Kacchan isn’t letting go of his hand.
He—he doesn’t let go. Maneuvers their joint hands under the table and uses his free hand, the bad one, to pour them both soup.
Izuku’s vision is blurry at the edges with every unparsable emotion battling for dominance, and Kacchan is just—
Eating soup.
And turning his head to cock an eyebrow at Izuku like he’s the crazy one here.
He lets go.
He lets go, and Izuku’s brain reboots like an old operating system, and if he fumbles with his spoon a few times, that’s between him and the orange stains that will probably never fully wash out of his white t-shirt.
--
Kacchan is his childhood friend.
Yes, everyone knows that. They practically made it everyone’s business with how often they fought when they first got into UA.
It comes with baggage, of knowing each other best, and that part was always there, even at their worst moments, whether they (Kacchan) liked it or not, but there’s more to it now.
Being each other’s closest person, the one who cares the most.
Izuku doesn’t doubt that part anymore. Maybe he never did.
It also means, now that Kacchan has let him in, Izuku gets to show his affection freely.
Not—not in its entirety. Kacchan isn’t ready for that yet. Izuku isn’t ready for that yet.
But some of it. A lot of it. Izuku has mountains in him, of fun facts, of stories, of Kacchan’s preferences that he knows by heart.
And that’s something he’s allowed to share now. He can tap Kirishima’s wrist and tell him, “Kacchan likes chamomile better.” He can name Kacchan’s favourite childhood cartoons. He has stories and pictures, and so much love to share; because that’s the one thing that’s always come easy, even when everything else was hard.
--
Jokes are not Izuku’s strong suit, but Kacchan has such a nice laugh when he’s genuinely happy.
This is, according to Kaminari, a “hot take.”
Izuku doesn’t care. It’s music to his ears when Kacchan and his friends are playing a game and one of them says something funny. The first note of Kacchan cracking up, unable to help himself, travels the distance and tucks itself in Izuku’s chest. That’s where Izuku keeps everything Kacchan related. His smile, his laugh, his victory pose.
And then there’s other moments. Moments so intimate that Izuku isn’t sure how he got there, or what he did to deserve them.
Like Kacchan, sitting on his bed, mindlessly scrolling through his phone and poking Izuku with his foot when he comes across something interesting.
Or funny. Those are—those are Izuku’s favourites.
Not that he doesn’t care about everything else, he does, he wants to see everything that Kacchan wants to show him, but these ones in particular are accompanied by Kacchan smiling and chuckling.
And Izuku’s so weak.
Selfish.
Is it bad that he’s happy that he’s the only one who gets to witness these moments?
Maybe. Maybe it is. But he’s beyond caring, when Kacchan grabs him by the arm to get him closer. When his fingers brush against Izuku’s when he hands him the phone.
When he rests his cheek against Izuku’s shoulder, and they watch the video together.
Izuku lets it loop twice, and Kacchan lets him. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even tease.
His soft hair tickles Izuku’s ear, and Izuku dares to lean into his head, just a bit. Kacchan hums and messes with the phone—still in Izuku’s hand—until another video starts to play. A longer one.
It’s permission to stay like this. Or maybe even a silent demand.
Kacchan should know better by now. Should know that he doesn’t need to come up with an excuse or anything. Izuku will move mountains for him. And this—
This isn’t an ask, or difficult, or anything. It’s what Izuku wants too.
The two of them together, snug, doing something that doesn’t serve a purpose but means the world. That’s how it should have been.
It’s how it will be.
--
Some nights falling asleep is harder than others. Mom always said he had an active imagination, but imaginary monsters and villains are not what keeps him up nowadays.
It’s the real ones. Ones he fought, ones he had to take down, and ones that left Kacchan’s body for him to find. Limp and lifeless, and Izuku failed when it meant—
He dispels the thoughts by focusing on the All Might-themed clock hanging on the wall and counting the seconds.
One, two, three…
Technically, it’s not that late. 11pm. But it’s late by UA standards when everyone else plans to be up and about by sunrise, to work out or complete their tasks or—cook, in Izuku’s case. Tomorrow, he is planning for rice and mackerel for everyone. It’ll take a while to make, and he really should sleep soon.
Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three…
He’s fine. Intrusive thoughts are normal, or at least that’s what he was told at his latest psych eval, where he was fully cleared as long as he took care of himself and made sure to report back any difficulties. Which he hasn’t had.
Sixty.
Would it hurt to check on Kacchan? Just this once, it’s not a big deal if he doesn’t make a habit of it.
--
Izuku makes a habit of it.
It’s probably not healthy, which is why he hasn’t told anyone about it, and it’s probably weird and creepy and…
Kind of hard to feel guilty about it when Kacchan doesn’t mind.
He wasn’t awake, that first night. But his door was unlocked, and Izuku peaked inside long enough to see his chest rise and fall from where he was starfished on top of his mattress without a blanket.
The second night, his lights were on, and Izuku knocked a few times until Kacchan called him in. He was reading a book at his desk. Some murder-mystery novel, and Izuku pulled up a spare chair to sit by his side and watch.
The third time—last night—Izuku cracked open the door a smidge to check again, but Kacchan was awake in bed. He sat up and beckoned Izuku over, and Izuku went as fast as he could, kneeling on the ground, and he didn’t even realize he was sniffling until Kacchan gently tugged at his hair and called him a crybaby.
That made Izuku laugh, then cry harder, and before he knew it, he was on Kacchan’s bed, and Kacchan was holding him, and Izuku’s ear was on his chest, and his heartbeat was so loud and real, and Kacchan was okay.
Kacchan was okay.
--
Izuku wakes up first. Kacchan’s foot is dangerously close to his crotch, and he’s pushed so far to the edge of the bed that it’s a miracle he hasn’t fallen down but, somehow, it was still the best sleep he’s gotten in a while.
Early morning light paints Kacchan so beautifully.
He—he is. Already. Kacchan’s so, so pretty, and now that Izuku has his bearings about him, his mind overheats at the thought that he slept in Kacchan’s bed last night. In his arms.
Kacchan was so nice to him, held him when he cried, let him be as close as he needed.
And now.
Now, Izuku gets to see the way his eyes flutter open, blinking sleepily, thick blond lashes shadowing his cheeks.
“Izuku.”
Izuku’s heart skips a beat, then another.
It’s a normal thing to say, of course, it is. But the knowledge that the first word out of Kacchan’s mouth today was Izuku’s name is going to rattle around his brain all day. As he cooks and cleans and stares at the ceiling thinking about Kacchan.
It’s a disease.
Getting dressed together is no big deal. Not supposed to be, anyways. Izuku’s used to seeing Kacchan naked. In the locker rooms, or in the bath.
But.
There’s a certain weight to it now.
They’re alone, for one. In Kacchan’s room.
And Izuku is borrowing one of Kacchan’s skull tank tops, which hugs him in all the wrong places and makes him wanna evaporate into nothingness. Why didn’t Kacchan let him have one of his shirts that had sleeves?
Kacchan says, “Let’s go already, slowpoke,” and Izuku tries not to think about how exposed he is.
They go for a jog. It’s a morning routine of Kacchan’s, and Izuku’s watched him run laps around the campus through his balcony enough times to know the route, but he lets Kacchan take the lead because he really doesn’t want to explain how he knows.
It’s one of Izuku’s favourite ways to observe Kacchan. In his element, starting his day with a win against the sun, beating it in a self-imposed one-sided battle to finish 5km before it fully rises.
He is so genuine about it, like it means the world to him, this thing right here, and Izuku can’t help but be roped in. Fired up, ready to kick ass with Kacchan by his side.
He’ll always be ready. For anything.
The cooldown is even better than the actual run. Them against the world, and now just them.
Birds sing in the distance, and Izuku sips from his water bottle, sprawled on the grass and keeping an eye on Kacchan’s stretches.
He’s meticulous about it. Covering every muscle group, glaring at Izuku for not doing the same.
Izuku rolls on the ground until he ends up by Kacchan’s hip. Loops his arms around Kacchan’s midsection. Breathes him in.
Maybe the intimacy from last night and this morning is finally getting to his head, or maybe there was something in the water.
Either way…
It’s easy. And Kacchan doesn’t say anything.
Nothing at all. Even the birds eventually stop chirping, and then it’s just them.
--
Everyone else is asleep, and Izuku should be too.
In his own bed, or Kacchan’s. Usually it’s a coin toss where he’ll end up, but tonight is different.
The sleepless nights are not so bad. Izuku calms down once he has his head on Kacchan’s chest and feels Kacchan’s lungs expanding underneath his cheek. Has Kacchan’s steady heartbeat in his ear.
No, that’s fine. He’s learned to cope, albeit unconventionally. In a way that he’s not going to admit on his next psych eval.
The worst nights are when he’s lulled into a false sense of security by falling asleep when his head hits the pillow.
And then they creep on him. The images that he keeps at bay during the day, when he’s awake; they plant their feet into the forefront of his mind and plague his dreams. Nightmares.
Izuku wakes up in cold sweat, shaky and tired despite sleeping for hours.
Stumbling through the hallway and down the stairs, he makes his way to the kitchen somehow. Pours himself a glass of water.
Pours it on himself, more like.
It drips down the side of his lips, and he feels like a child for it. He misses his mom. Going into her room when he was a kid, after a bad dream. Her singing him a lullaby that he no longer knows the words to.
His eyes sting at the thought, and he sinks down to the floor, now-empty glass of water rolling away from him uselessly when he puts it down sideways.
It’s fine. He is.
The war is over, and all his friends are alive. Their families too. His mom is safe, and All Might twisted fate with Kacchan’s help, like he promised.
And Kacchan. He’s alive. Sleeping soundly a few floors above.
Izuku hugs his knees to his chest and takes a deep breath. Hold, one, two, three…
Everything is okay, and no matter how hard Izuku’s brain tries to convince him otherwise, it’s easy to comfort himself when everyone he loves is so easily within reach.
Exhale, one, two, three…
He leans his head back against the kitchen cabinets and focuses on where the handle of a drawer digs into his back. A small pain, manageable and laughably normal.
Izuku doesn’t know when his nervous hiccups turn into giggles.
Interrupted by a scratchy voice saying, “What’cha laughing at?”
Startled, Izuku almost bumps his head into the countertop, except Kacchan’s hand is there, and Izuku meets his soft palm instead. Kacchan pushes Izuku back down, and his blunt nails scratch at Izuku’s scalp while he fills up his own glass of water.
The silence is comfortable, backdropped by Kacchan gulping down his drink and sliding next to Izuku on the ground when he’s done with it.
Izuku holds his knees closer, buries his face further down in them. His chest is flayed open and bare for Kacchan, and he won’t be able to lie if Kacchan asks.
He doesn’t ask. “You should’a come to my room if you couldn’t sleep.”
“Yeah. Sorry, Kacchan.”
Kacchan knocks their shoulders together and leans his head against Izuku’s. Close, so close.
“Don’t push me away again,” he mumbles.
And it clicks, right then. How much Kacchan likes this, just being there. With Izuku. For him.
Maybe not as much as Izuku does—that’s impossible—but enough.
He takes Kacchan’s hand and interlaces their fingers together. “I won’t.”
They sit like that for a while. Izuku loves Kacchan’s hand in his, and tracing circles on his wrist, and feeling the sweat that gathers on his palm after a few seconds. Could have been doing this earlier.
Kacchan huffs out a sigh, and Izuku just—
Loves it. Him. Everything he does, and everything he is, with every molecule of his existence.
As if sensing the sappy direction of Izuku’s thoughts, Kacchan pulls his hand away and punches Izuku’s shoulder. Not hard, but not gentle. A Kacchan-branded type of affection that has Izuku biting his lips to suppress a smile.
“Come to bed,” Kacchan says.
With me, Izuku hears. Reading between Kacchan’s lines is something Izuku’s known how to do since he was a kid. Something he still fails at sometimes.
Not tonight though. Tonight the lines are loud and clear in Kacchan’s eyes, so Izuku stands up and offers Kacchan a hand, drags him up the stairs, and tries not to make it obvious how bad he has it.
It’s okay. They’ll get there.
They finally have all the time in the world to figure all that out.