Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Therapy today, Izuku?”

“Hmph.”

“I was heading that way, if you wanted some company?”

“No. I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t help. It won’t help.”

“It takes time, right? I mean, don’t you think you should try…”

“I have tried! Don’t tell me I haven’t!”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Shouto— God, what’s gotten into me? I think I’m just not a good person to be around right now.”

“That’s not true. You’re a good person.”

…

“You’re the best person I know.”

“Stop. Please, I’m not. I’m angry now. I’m angry all the time. I can’t smile anymore. I hardly remember how! A hero should smile—”

“No one expects that of you.”

“What?”

“You know who else didn’t smile?”

“Shou.”

“I know you’re thinking it. I won’t make you say it.”

“… Kacchan didn’t have to smile to be a hero.”

“So why do you?”

“Shouto, can I raincheck again?”

“If you need to.”

…

“Could I just stop by to check on you?”

“I’m just too tired for company.”

“Of course, you should rest if you’re tired. But I’m worried about you.”

“I—”

“You can’t just stay in your room all the time.”

“I go to class.”

“You’re my best friend, Izuku. I care about you.”

“I… I’m okay.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to stop by?”

“Not tonight, Shou. I’m sure.”

“Izuku?”

…

“You don’t need to say anything. I brought udon.”

…

“I’ll leave it by your door.”

“Thank you. I… I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Take all the time you need. Just know that I’m here.”

…

“I will be here when you need me.”

“I came as quick as I could—”

“Shouto, I saw him!”

“Katsuki?”

“It was him, just for a moment, Kacchan was right there, Shou—”

“Where?”

“Standing by the window! But it was just- just part of his face, he looked right at me and— and then he was gone! Oh God, don’t be gone, please!”

“Okay, calm down. We’ll figure out what you saw.”

“Dammit, I know what I saw!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”

“I said I know what I saw! You’re supposed to help me!”

“Izuku, I will.”

“But you don’t believe me.”

“I’m not rejecting it.”

“But?”

“I just think it’s healthy to question it for now.”

“His eyes, Shou, I saw his eyes. I know Kacchan’s eyes! He looked at me.”

“By the window, right?”

“Yes.”

“Could it have been the light, a stray reflection?”

“I—”

“Combined with a memory?”

“I don’t- know. I don’t know! It was so real.”

“Hey. It’s okay to be upset. Anyone would be upset—”

“I’d rather it be real!”

“I know. Izuku, I know. Me too.”

“I can’t take it, Shou. I can’t take any more of this. I’m... I’m losing it. I’m losing my goddamn mind.”

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. Do you want me to stay here tonight?”

“Can we go to your room instead? I just can’t be in here right now.”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

“You’re sure?”

“No question. Izuku, you’re always welcome with me.”

“Are you feeling okay, Izuku?”

“Huh?”

“You seem distracted. Are the nightmares back?”

“No, not recently. Feels like I haven’t had one in so long.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I guess so. Except that it’s the only time I see him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Is it cold in here, Shou?”

“Not sure. I regulate my own temperature. Do you feel cold?”

“Just a little. Seems like I can’t ever get warm anymore.”

“Come here, then. I’ll warm you up.”

“What if I never feel that way again?”

“What way?”

“Like he could still be here. Like it could be real.”

“He… can’t be here. Except in our memories.”

“It’s not enough. That won’t ever be enough.”

“I know.”

I know.

Izuku only managed to sleep for a couple of hours, but Shouto had to admit that was better than nothing. An hour before sundown, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Izuku put the kettle on to boil.

Shouto hovered in the kitchen with his arms crossed. It helped with the temptation to reach, to touch. To help. He tried to act casual about it, though Izuku wasn’t one to comment on his awkwardness.

Katsuki sat in the armchair, same as before— and somehow not the same at all. Shouto was still working it out. Something about his posture, the curve of his spine, seemed softer, more settled. No more heavy, restless footsteps stalking around the apartment. No more rubbing at his arms like he’d remove them post-haste if it promised any relief. (It did not, of course. You don’t have arms anymore, Katsuki would be quick to point out.)

Katsuki kept his gaze turned out the window. He might be watching the sun, tracking its path and ticking down the minutes to sunset, go-time. But Shouto had the distinct impression that he wasn’t looking at anything at all.

He’d been like that ever since Izuku woke up. It felt like a spell Shouto was reluctant to break.

“Excuse me, Shou.”

“Oh. Sure.” Shouto shifted over so as not to block the silverware drawer— not that he could block it even if he tried. It was probably best not to remind Izuku of that unwelcome fact.

But when Katsuki didn’t drag him for it, well. That was mildly concerning.

Shouto went to sit across from Katsuki, meaning to catch his eye. When still Katsuki didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest, Shouto cleared his throat.

“What d’ya want?”

“Are you feeling alright?”

Katsuki huffed a breath. “He really has rubbed off on you with all the touchy-feely shit. Cut it out.”

Shouto hummed noncommittally in response. Katsuki wasn’t complaining before, cuddled in Shouto’s lap for the last couple of hours. He didn’t complain when Shouto’s fingers threaded through his silky blond hair, over and over, while Izuku’s breathing nearby lulled them both into a haze of rest almost like sleep.

Izuku had snored like a kitten every once in a while. Shouto could’ve sworn Katsuki cuddled closer, held tighter, at each unconscious little sound of contentment, staying planted until the afternoon had entirely melted away.

When Izuku stirred, the first sign of waking, Katsuki moved fast. He launched himself up and out of Shouto’s lap to perch on the edge of the mattress instead. There he faced the far wall, but not before Shouto caught the new tightness in his jaw. Steeling himself, Shouto realized, for the coming rush.

Izuku woke slowly. The sensation broke over Shouto like a sunrise, warmth seeping and pooling with all the gentleness of a golden light. It wasn’t so bad this time. Not at all, in fact… it was lovely. A low, soft hum of contentment reached Shouto’s ears, and only then did it dawn on him that the sound came from his own throat, that he’d voiced the feeling aloud. The next moment, Izuku opened his eyes to find Shouto there by his side.

A brighter spark followed, a potassium flare in his veins, and that sweet, sweet rush of lifeforce, but somehow it didn’t wholly swamp Shouto like it had before.

“You are still here,” Izuku said, his voice weak and muzzy with sleep.

“Of course I am.” The alternative was something Shouto refused to acknowledge. We’ll be okay, Shouto thought, taking in Izuku’s aching expression and the whole parade of emotions there. We’ll fix this together.

Izuku let out a shaky sigh. “Good. Um, good morning.”

“Evening, technically.” Shouto didn’t think he was very funny, but Katsuki snorted a low laugh that somewhat changed his mind. An answering smile tugged at Shouto’s lips. If they could laugh, well… it was somewhere to start.

“Kacchan?”

“Tch.”

“He’s here, as well.” Shouto didn’t look in that direction, unsure if Katsuki wanted to draw attention to himself. When he hadn’t retreated any further than the edge of the bed, it felt like a win. Shouto didn’t want to push him.

Izuku didn’t quite manage to smile, not with his lips, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. It was a Kacchan expression, one that Shouto recognized with a heart-pang. Gratitude. “It felt like he was.”

“Oh?” Shouto thought back, wondering what expressions he made, how he may have signaled… but that wasn’t what Izuku meant, was it? “Felt? How?”

“Hard to explain. Just… a feeling.” Izuku turned onto his back, arching up to stretch before flopping back down with an exhale. Eyes on the ceiling, soft-focused, Izuku clutched the bedsheet in twin fists over his heart. “Good morning, Kacchan,” he whispered.

Katsuki jerked away from the bed as if stung. Shouto didn’t understand, not immediately, what gave a mere whisper of greeting the power to wind him, to wound him. It did, though. A knowing whisper. A pillow whisper, so light as to reach a lover’s ear and no further.

What did Izuku feel, when Katsuki was near? Unheard, unseen, what was it that gave him away?

Shouto pondered the question as they rose together, he and Izuku falling into a ‘morning routine’ that entirely ignored the odd hour of the afternoon. He thumbed the question like a hangnail, pressed the spot like a passion bruise, all the more so as Katsuki looked to the horizon rather than meet Shouto’s eyes.

Izuku seemed not to notice their quiet stand-off, preoccupied with measuring loose tea into the diffuser. He snatched the kettle off the stove before the whistle did much more than breathe a warning. A familiar routine, including when Izuku paused to stare despondently at the contents of their refrigerator.

“Delivery for dinner?” Izuku mused aloud. There was a self-deprecating burr in his tone, and that too was familiar. Neither of them had a strong track record with planning meals, but they got by.

Shouto turned in his seat to meet Izuku’s questioning gaze. “I won’t be eating. So,” he hesitated. “You should get whatever you feel like.”

Izuku frowned a little, more to himself than anyone else. “I hate cooking just for me.”

Katsuki grunted. “Hopeless.”

Shouto gave him a look. “Hopeless?”

“Yeah, the both of you.” Katsuki met his eyes this time. Progress. “The two of you don’t cook half as much as you should.”

“We try, but it’s hard to keep up with meal prep,” Shouto admitted. Katsuki would always find fault their house-holding, but Shouto missed that, too. The complaining, demanding, the constant haranguing— because he wanted only the best for them, for all the people he cared about. From the very first time he took charge of 1-A’s dorm kitchen, Katsuki never could hide that he cared. Shouto studied him. “We’ve gotten better at least, haven’t we?”

“Hardly.” Katsuki rolled his eyes. “The way you chuckleheads eat, it’s like you want an early grave.”

Shouto winced only a little as he relayed the accusation. Izuku, for his part, didn’t so much as flinch at the wording. He groaned dramatically instead.

“We aren’t that bad, Kacchan.”

“I think being just home from the hospital is reason enough for takeout,” Shouto defended. “But Aizawa’s team won’t be arriving for an hour yet. Maybe Katsuki could whip us into shape in the kitchen? Give us a pointer or two, if you’re feeling up for it.”

Katsuki leveled him with a look. “Right, let’s play a fucking game of telephone while I watch you two losers butcher a simple recipe. Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” He scoffed. “Better off just doing it all myself.”

Shouto sat up a little straighter. “Really? You can do all of that yourself?”

“Probably. I dunno.” Katsuki’s eyes darted over to Izuku, approaching from the kitchen with a steaming mug and a familiar stack of takeout menus. “I try not to move shit you’d actually notice. It freaks you guys out.”

Shouto made sure to repeat that back to Izuku, still trying to get the hang of echoing his words. Izuku’s eyes widened as he listened.

“Now that we do know, Kacchan, I hope you won’t hold yourself back.”

“Whatever.”

No doubt Shouto envied all the things Katsuki could do. Things Shouto desperately wished he could do for Izuku, both big and small, Katsuki probably could without much difficulty. He’d make it look easy, even if it wasn’t always so simple.

“Can you teach me?”

Katsuki scowled at him. “To cook? Dammit, Icy-hot, what’d I just fucking say ‘bout playing telephone—”

“No, not the cooking.” Shouto squared his shoulders. “Can you teach me how to touch things like you do?”

Something. Someone.

From the deadpan look on his face, Katsuki seemed to hear the quiet part just fine. “Not happening, princess.”

“Why? I’ve been trying to work out how it works, but I haven’t been able to piece it together.”

“Tch. Took me months to get anywhere with it, even just basics. You don’t have that kind of time. And I’m better at shit than you are, so I’d say you’re screwed.”

“Rude.”

“Sometimes the truth hurts.”

“But you didn’t have a teacher. That should help speed things up, right?”

Katsuki chuckled darkly under his breath and shook his head no.

“I’m only asking you to try,” Shouto said. He did his best to sound firm. It came out sounding more desperate, exposing how this desire clawed at his chest, tearing at the cage of his ribs. Wasn’t it obvious how badly Shouto needed this one, simple thing? “There has to be a way. I even had it for a moment— I felt it, but it didn’t hold. I couldn’t hang onto it. Because I don’t understand how it works.”

“You... what?”

Shouto met Katsuki’s eyes again, and wasn’t sure he liked what he found there. That red gaze was sharp enough to cut. All around them, the air seemed to chill.

“What?” Katsuki said again, deathly still.

“Earlier,” Shouto answered quickly, remembering back to that moment in the shower with Izuku. “It was over as soon as I realized what had happened, but. For a moment, I had it. I touched Izuku.”

In a flash, Shouto was yanked up by his collar. The bond crackled along his spine, signaling Izuku’s sharp alarm, as Katsuki shook Shouto hard, teeth bared inches from his face. “How? HOW? What’d you DO?”

“Nothing?!”

“TELL ME WHAT YOU DID!”

“Kacchan! Shou! Stop, stop it, don’t fight!”

Katsuki tore himself away as Izuku moved too quickly into his space. Shouto stumbled out of the hold, landing awkwardly when he forgot he couldn’t catch himself on the arm of the sofa. The fall was jarring, even if he didn’t have knees that he could bruise.

“What the hell was that about?” Izuku demanded of the open air.

“Did he hurt you?” Katsuki snapped.

“No, I—” Shouto swallowed thickly. The question wasn’t meant for him, not really. He turned to Izuku. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Izuku just looked confused. “What? I told you, Shou. I was totally fine.” Wide green eyes searched the scene for Katsuki, missing him completely. “Shouto isn’t going to hurt me, Kacchan. You need to get a grip. Both of you.” The words had an edge to them now. He added bitterly, “It’s not like I’m suddenly made of glass.”

“I know that,” Shouto said, once again brushing himself off as he stood. Force of habit. “Look, I think we’re all a little worked up.”

“H-how in the hell…” Katsuki’s voice grated, low and dangerous. He didn’t move for a long moment. “No, impossible. Doesn’t make sense. None of it makes any fucking sense.”

Shouto frowned. “I’m not lying to you. I definitely touched him.”

Izuku nodded, his cheeks tinged slightly red. Shouto didn’t want to say what they’d been up to, not in so many words, but it would not be hard to guess if Izuku kept on blushing like that.

“But I don’t know how I did it,” Shouto continued. “Maybe if you’d teach me, then I would be able to control it better.”

“What, so you can get it on from beyond the grave?”

Shouto made a conscious choice not to repeat that. “You know it’s more than that,” he answered coldly.

“Tch.”

“Of course I want to be with Izuku.” Shouto felt the bond surge then, like the blast of a furnace. Like crashing wave, and with it an undertow—this ferocious want that threatened to swamp Shouto where he stood. To be together. Izuku wanted that, too. “But that isn’t the point, because I still need to learn whatever I can. I need to help.”

Katsuki looked up at him then.

“What if something happens with the mission?” Shouto asked.

“Shou, stop. Don’t talk like that.” Izuku made an effort to sound calm, if a bit stern, but Shouto felt the storm of anxiety building beneath. It made his nerves come alive all at once. “I’m not letting anything happen to you,” Izuku insisted, like he needed to hear it most of all. Not like before. Not again.

“Just leave the villain scum to me,” Katsuki told him.

“This guy got the drop on us last time,” Shouto challenged.

Katsuki growled. “Not this time!”

“So much could still go wrong.” Shouto hardly got the words out before he felt himself pulled sideways, caught in the wake of Izuku’s mounting distress. The rush made him dizzy, and it took more than a little effort to stay planted on his own two feet. “All I’m saying is that we’ll be vulnerable. I can’t just stand by, helpless, while a dangerous criminal—”

“You guys, stop it! Just… let’s talk about something else, please.”

“I’m sorry, Izuku. You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to. But I need Katsuki to hear me out on this.”

“I heard you just fine!” Katsuki snagged Shouto by the wrist, anchoring him hard to the spot the very next time he tried to drift away. Green eyes latched onto the movement sharply, but Katsuki looked only at the floor.

“Don’t pull shit like that without telling me.” Katsuki gestured at Izuku, but still wouldn’t look at either one of them. “Any spooky shit, no matter how small, I need to know.”

“I… okay. I meant to,” Shouto said, hesitating. “It’s just a little awkward. Considering.”

“Oh, grow up, Halfie.”

“When you came back, Izuku was resting, and you were exhausted—”

“Shut up! No excuses. This is important, goddammit.”

Shouto swallowed, nodding his agreement. “Alright. You’re right.”

“I don’t get what’s going on with you, but it’s not normal.” Katsuki peered past Shouto’s shoulder to get a good look at Izuku. “He seems just fine.”

Shouto burned with mounting questions, and every one of them was bound to upset Izuku further.

You really think I’m a danger to him, don’t you?

“Just don’t spring shit on me like that.”

“That’s… fair.” Shouto sighed. “I’ll tell you. I promise.”

“I sure wish someone would tell me,” Izuku complained, pouting as Shouto turned to catch his eyes. “Shou, we talked about this.”

Katsuki dropped his wrist as Shouto straightened up.

“Just that I should have told Katsuki what happened,” Shouto answered sheepishly. It seemed he was screwing up right and left. “He doesn’t know what it means either. He doesn’t think I should be able to do that so soon.” So soon after death.

Izuku made a face. “You’ve always been strong, Shou. Why are we assuming it’s anything bad?”

Shouto didn’t have any answer for that, just an unsettled feeling he couldn’t shake. He knew in his gut that something was off— that Katsuki’s reaction was the right one, somehow. He couldn’t account for it.

Katsuki puffed out a sigh. “You’ve clearly got something working in your favor, Icy-hot. We just gotta figure out what and how it works.” He pursed his lips, pausing while Shouto played translator. “So we’ll give this a shot. Find out what you can do.”

“Wait, really? You’ll help me learn to touch the living world?”

“Oi, what’d I just say?!”

Shouto had been ready to let that topic drop. Maybe. Possibly. “Thank you.”

“Fine, whatever,” Katsuki muttered. “The way I see it, you might just be in luck.”

Shouto tried very hard not to crack a smile. “You mean, because I have such a great teacher?”

“Not that, you brown-noser!” Katsuki shoved past him, stomping over to the windows. He glared at the setting sun like it had offended him personally. “Let’s just say that it helps to be properly motivated.”

Oh. Right, then. Shouto had that going for him, without a doubt.

Shouto wasn’t sure how to feel about being protected like this.

That was the plan, after all. Come nightfall, the heroes got into position and settled in for the long night ahead.

There was a whole team in place, mostly underground heroes hand-picked by Aizawa for stealth and a range of capture-type quirks. Izuku’s eyes widened at one or two of the codenames as they reported in. To think that even Izuku didn’t have all of these heroes on his radar before tonight; he would be starting a brand new notebook in the morning, Shouto felt sure.

Key players were stationed in neighboring apartments, after buying out the leases of some nearby residents and relocating them for their own safety. Other heroes were hidden in shuttered shops on the ground level, monitoring the street. Shouto could not make out his father’s hulking figure on the roof across the way— dad left the flashy flame hero costume at home, at Aizawa’s insistence— but something in the back of Shouto’s mind left him sure he was out there even now.

They had numbers, enough to cover every entrance, to burst out of every door on cue. The goal was never to keep their opponent out, but to spring a trap as the villain tried to flee with the bag.

The bag being Shouto’s bond, his share of the lifeforce Izuku spent simply by loving him. He hung on to Shouto with his very life, keeping him tethered to this world, and someone was coming to take that.

It angered him. It was an ugly feeling and not easy to name, but the mere thought of anyone touching that gossamer thread filled Shouto with a simmering rage. It was his, it was theirs; it was a gift given freely and without reserve. It felt personal.

Sometimes, anger could be fuel. Shouto had been raised on that, for better and very often for worse. But what good was all that anger now? Someone was coming, and what could he do about it?

Nothing. He was powerless for the first time in his life.

Shouto had been on stakeouts many times before. It was all familiar, with the glaring departure that Shouto wasn’t here as one of the heroes. He was the asset, the bait. All of these defenses, all these people poised to put their lives on the line, and Shouto wasn’t among them. This was all for his sake.

Katsuki may have agreed to teach him ‘how to ghost’ from here on out, but that didn’t change the fact that Shouto currently had no way of defending even himself, much less anyone else.

With nowhere to go, the anger sat stewing, souring his stomach.

There was only one light on in their apartment, casting a wan glow over the dining table. Aizawa crouched by the windows, blanketed in shadow and coiled to spring. From there, he had line-of-sight with several other heroes in their rooftop positions.

Other than that, the scene in the apartment was almost laughably mundane. Izuku made a strong pot of coffee. Shinsou brought over Izuku’s favorite takeout, a good start in terms of patching things over between them. Then Shinsou brought out a game of Go. Katsuki started sorting the pieces on the dining table into piles of white and black. His hand worked in the air, fingers splayed in an approximation of the motion, but his fingers never touched any of the stones. They didn’t need to. Shouto marveled at each little flick and clack as Katsuki moved the pieces around with ease.

Izuku stood rigidly at the far side of the table, watching the stones move. Surely it looked like they were moving of their own volition, but Izuku was terribly good at seeing Kacchan between the lines.

“You’re playing a game?”

“We are,” Shinsou answered him. “C’mon, have a seat.”

“Me?” Izuku stiffened. “I don’t know how to play this.”

“Time to learn, nerd,” Katsuki shot back. Then he eyed Shouto. “Bet you have, though. Ain’t that right?”

Shouto nodded. His father played Go; it wasn’t a great association, recalling how he used to demand that Shouto study the game. It was yet another tool to prepare him, to sharpen his mind for strategy, when Shouto was just a boy who wanted to play the kinds of games his siblings got to play.

“I can’t say I ever got the hang of it,” he confessed.

Katsuki smirked. He slid a smaller game board between the two of them, a grid of 9 by 9 squares etched into the wood. “Kiddie board for you two, then.”

Shinsou didn’t repeat that. “Don’t worry, we’ll explain. This is a training board, just until you get your bearings.” Then he set out the standard board, 19 by 19, between himself and Katsuki.

Izuku wasn’t buying it. “But why?”

“It’s good mental exercise,” Shinsou suggested. “Something to do to stay sharp while we’re waiting to see action.”

“Liar,” Katsuki complained. “This fucker loves a captive audience.”

Shinsou smiled slyly. “I may have twisted Bakugou’s arm to pick it up. Only when he complained about how fucking bored he was— which was often.”

The answering groan confirmed it.

“Got good at it, though,” Shinsou continued. “Now we’re pretty evenly matched, but at least when he ‘murders’ me at this, I don’t get my bell rung for real.”

“I can fix that,” Katsuki quipped.

“I like my eardrums intact, thank you.” Shinsou sipped his coffee. “Besides,” he gave Izuku a look, “what else were we going to do all night?”

Izuku’s frown set even harder. “Protect Shouto.”

Protect. That word again. It felt awkward, ill-fitting, like wearing the left boot on the right foot. When Shinsou didn’t react to his objection, Izuku only dug his heels in harder.

“I just don’t think we should be playing around—”

“Calm down,” Katsuki growled, but it was Shouto who answered Izuku.

“We have to let the attack come. Right?” Shouto watched the words strike their target, and felt Izuku’s reaction scrape sharply along the connection they shared— that elusive bundle of nerves. Shouto grit his teeth and pressed on, pushing through the overstimulation. “That’s the point. If our opponent doesn’t strike first, then we’ll have no way to capture our quarry.”

“Huh. So there are brains in that skull of yours.” Katsuki arched an eyebrow. “So we bide our time.” He placed a black stone at 4 and 4 near the corner of the board in front of him. “Your move, Shitshow.”

Shinsou huffed, placing his own first piece onto the board.

Izuku looked across the room to Aizawa for backup, looking for someone responsible and serious to take his side, but he got nothing back from the elder hero. Izuku paced a little more before giving in, anxious with waiting, wandering back after a minute to drum his hands on the high back of the chair that he refused to sit down in.

“I really think we should all focus on the mission.”

“We are,” Shinsou countered.

“I can’t see how,” Izuku grumbled.

“That is why you should play.”

“Why?”

“Because then you’d know not to burn it all in the opening.”

Izuku clicked his tongue, annoyed and not really hiding it. “That is not how real fights work.”

“It’s how this one does, nerd,” Katsuki said. Shinsou echoed the sentiment, with barely half as much bite.

Katsuki and Shinsou continued to trade off placing stones, black then white, until they’d staked out all the corners and some of the sides. Katsuki was more aggressive but not foolhardy, while Shinsou cooly scaffolded a few strong borders.

“Bakugou likes to grab for more than he’s earned.” Shinsou rolled a piece between his fingers before placing it. “I can’t let him keep it, and he knows that.”

“Mighty big talk for a wallflower like you.” Katsuki’s smile was sharp.

“He has more than he can protect, and he knows I want a piece,” Shinsou explained, placing another white stone in an innocuous-looking position. “He’ll force me to invade. But I decide when.”

“Oh.” That’s when Izuku finally sat down in his chair. “I see. So white is like our villain,” he said quietly, halfway to muttering, “and the black stones are us.”

“Maybe. Not necessarily.” Another white stone. Katsuki was starting to frown at the developing pattern, though Shouto wasn’t sure why. “Can’t really say; all that depends on moves we can’t yet see.”

After a few more plays, Shinsou placed a white stone in the heart of the territory Katsuki was making a big show of claiming.

Katsuki grinned like a maniac. “Here, kitty kitty.”

Izuku studied the invading piece. “Doesn’t look good, Kacchan.”

“Oi. Pay attention, moron.” Another black piece clacked against the board, meeting Shinsou head-on. “Once he shows his hand, my turn to cut him off at the knees.”

Shinsou didn’t rise to it. “The middle game is when all the major combat occurs.” He went on to explain more of the gameplay: claiming territory, divide and conquer, capture rules. Shouto remembered a fair bit of this from years ago, but it took on new life, new implications, as Shinsou laid out the conflict in terms that hit very close to home.

“Cut off all liberties around a piece and it’s captured,” he explained. With that, he finally claimed one of Katsuki’s black stones, the first sacrifice of the match. It was not lost on Shouto how little reaction that elicited; Katsuki didn’t growl or snap or even complain. He simply made his next move, calm and watchful.

Every time Shinsou would advance, Katsuki would extend, preventing Shinsou from cutting and slowly closing in around Shinsou’s position. Every now and then, Shouto recognized a vulnerability, but Katsuki got there first to defend. Except one time…

Katsuki’s black stone did not land where Shouto thought his position weakest, but inexplicably inside the group of Shinsou’s invading pieces.

“Wait. Won’t you lose that piece now?” Izuku asked.

Katsuki grinned. “I don’t need it.”

Shinsou’s expression had soured considerably since that last move. “Son of a bitch.”

“You got cocky.”

“What just happened?” Izuku leaned even closer.

Shouto made sense of it slowly, rechecking what Shinsou had and what he notably lacked. “Life and death.”

Izuku nearly startled at the words, but Shinsou agreed. He was still frowning at the board as he spoke.

“The principle here is called life and death. Bakugou took a move that I needed— before I realized how badly I needed it. Without that eye, I can’t protect this group. It’s dead.”

“Dead?”

Shinsou nodded again. “Asshole doesn’t even have to waste his stones surrounding me.”

Katsuki looked like a cat who’d gotten into the cream.

“But can’t you take Kacchan’s piece? Right here—”

“No reason to.” Shinsou chuckled, eyes rolling in a kind of fond annoyance that Shouto brightened to see them share. “I’d just spend another piece on a lost cause.”

“Better cut and run, bitch,” came Katsuki’s taunt.

Shouto couldn’t resist a small smile. “That was impressive, Katsuki.”

Izuku looked over at Shouto. “Are you following any of this?”

“Yes, some.” He took stock of the rest of the board, wondering where else either one of them might be on the verge of a sudden collapse. “It’s something my father used to say in training, a reminder of this exact lesson: Your opponent’s best move is your best move.”

“Todoroki gets it.” Shinsou took a long drink of his coffee. “That wasn’t the best example of a game.”

“Fuck you, my game was a perfect example!”

“Is it over already?” Izuku asked.

“Not over, no, but more decided than I’d like.” Shinsou smirked darkly. “The end game is different again from both the opening and the middle.”

He placed another piece, testing Katsuki’s borders and forcing him to react. Izuku wondered aloud, “How so?”

“Everything’s on the table now. All the stakes are known, and the value of every move can be calculated precisely to tip the balance in a tight game. Even if you are dominating, you have to see it through to the end; against an able opponent, losing focus here can still cost you the whole game.”

“As you so ably demonstrated,” Shouto said with a smirk. Katsuki flashed him a look, something bright-eyed and pleased. It made Shouto’s chest feel warm.

“And when your opponent is dominating?” Izuku asked.

“You stay in there,” Katsuki said, speaking low. Shinsou echoed him as he spoke, though his words felt distant as Shouto watched the set of Katsuki’s mouth as it pulled into a frown. Even the tingling rush of the bond couldn’t tear his focus away. Katsuki had many frowns, more than almost anyone, surely— but this one winded him. It was the edge of desperation, he thought, showing far too much of the whites of his eyes. “You play every angle, make a stand, until you’ve got nothing left to lose.”

“I feel like we aren’t really talking about the board anymore. Are we?”

“What do you think, Midoriya?”

Izuku’s mouth was a hard-set line as he thought for a long moment. Then he angled his chair to face his own, smaller board with Shouto— a grid of empty intersections, all of them possibilities, whether risk or reward. Thinking of it like that, could they afford not to learn?

Shouto watched as Izuku made up his mind: Anything for an edge. It was, after all, a matter of life and death.

“Teach me,” Izuku said.

The day broke without fanfare. When dawn came calling, a dozen or so heroes staggered their departures, leaving as though heading off on their daily commute. That was honestly not far from the truth. They’d all be back the next evening to take up their vigil again.

Aizawa left when the others did, but Shinsou lingered a while longer— with what must be his fifth cup of strong black coffee that night— to answer a few more of Izuku’s questions about the game of Go. Once Shinsou managed to pique his interest, Izuku dedicated himself to the activity with characteristic zeal.

Shouto had a head start with his past exposure to the game, but he wasn’t as diligent a student and Izuku soon had a beginner’s proficiency that Shouto had hardly managed in years’ time.

“That’s the nerd for ya,” Katsuki had said under his breath.

Shouto was more interested in the comparatively straightforward task of moving his own stones across the board— something he had not made any progress on whatsoever in the hours that had passed, but which he nonetheless worked at all through the night. This left Izuku to move his pieces for him to whatever intersection Shouto indicated, even if the move sometimes cut Izuku off at the knees.

“Should’ve made him do it himself, nerd.” Katsuki’s grin sharpened as he said it. “Make him work for it. You’d win more that way.”

Hearing the comment relayed, Izuku huffed a sigh. He looked so exhausted as the sun rose over the city, golden morning light glinting in his emerald eyes; he tried for a smile and missed. He honestly looked like he could just drop, then and there, if he’d only ever let himself.

“Then it wouldn’t really be a win, would it, Kacchan? Besides,” Izuku hazarded a glance up at Shouto, breaking through Shouto’s concentration without even trying. Damn. “He’s… still getting the hang of it. Gotta give him time.”

“All the more reason to kick his ass. Needs a little incentive.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Sometimes the truth hurts.”

“Tell me again,” Shouto cut in. He was pointing to one of the stubbornly unmoving stones, one of the last left lying around as Shinsou continued to pack the game away. “How do you do it?”

Katsuki shrugged. “You just do it.”

Shouto flicked ineffectually at the glossy surface of the game piece. Nothing Shouto tried had any effect.

“I think you almost had it,” Izuku encouraged. “Don’t you think so, Kacchan? I think it might have moved a little.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think Katsuki’s as impressed as you are,” Shouto told Izuku lightheartedly. He pulled his hand back before Katsuki could have the satisfaction of correcting him.

“Maybe something else would be easier? Something lighter?” Izuku leaned across the table to set out an aluminum soda cap for him to try again.

Katsuki snorted. “It’s not the stone’s fault, nerd, I promise you.”

Shouto didn’t repeat that, maybe out of spite. He did give Izuku a little smile for trying to help. “Thanks.”

Maybe Izuku was getting a little too invested in the exercise. This was something Shouto would just have to figure out for himself, however long it took, and the last thing they needed was for Izuku to take that failure personally.

If he could just feel it again, that sensation— even once more— then Shouto was sure he could work it out from there. Both the cap and his last Go stone stayed stubbornly still whatever he tried, until he sighed and let Shinsou take his last piece to pack it away with the rest.

Shouto never thought himself easily discouraged but… that was a lot of failure for one night.

“Alright, Icy-hot, listen up. First, picture what you want to do.”

Shouto nodded at the bottle cap that Izuku had laid out for him. “Okay. I want to move that.”

“No, no, you gotta really imagine it,” Katsuki said. “All the details. How it’ll look and feel and sound as it moves. Picture exactly what you want to do to that goddamn cap, until it feels so real.”

Shouto stared down at his small aluminum target. He really thought he’d done all that the last hundred times he tried. “And then what?”

“Then you just let that feeling explode out of your chest.”

Shouto blinked. “Explode?”

“Hell yes!” Katsuki grinned triumphantly, before that look faltered. “Or, whatever. That’s just how I think of it,” he muttered.

“I mean, of course you would.” Shinsou’s smile was slow and wry, leaning back against the kitchen island with his arms crossed. He didn’t really look like he hadn’t slept a wink, not like Izuku did— but Shouto realized that Shinsou mainlined his caffeine exactly like there was nothing else propping him up. He must be used to running on empty. “That’s the explosion hero for you, am I right?”

“I’ll explode your face, loser! That’s not my deal anymore,” Katsuki grit out under his breath. “Now concentrate, Halfie.”

Shouto exhaled, focusing again on the bottle cap. He imagined the bite of the aluminum, the sharp texture of the crimped edges if it were pinched between his fingers. He kept his hands down in his lap the whole time, mostly so that Katsuki wouldn’t swat them away and distract him further.

He imagined how light it would be— trivial, really. The sound it would make, scooting across the tabletop at the lightest touch. He wanted to give it a flick, a nudge, just to know that it was possible!

Just. Move.

Please.

Shouto felt his focus narrow and narrow until that cap was all he could see and hear and think. Or… almost all.

Because there was also Izuku watching him, silently and yet earnestly hopeful. Shouto didn’t look up at him, but he could feel him staring. He felt the way Izuku’s attention buzzed through him like a drug, even if he was growing more and more used to that feeling.

Drawing from Izuku would make him stronger. That’s what Katsuki said. In practice, it divided his focus almost all the time, pulled at him in a way nothing else could— and little by little, his focus scattered, dashed on the rocks.

Slowly, Shouto raised his eyes to find Izuku’s.

Maybe this was pointless, just like Katsuki had said. No amount of mental calisthenics was going to make reality just do his bidding, just because he wanted it. Right?

But he had done it before. He’d done it. There had to be some trick to it.

Izuku nodded encouragingly, saying, “Go on. Just give it another try.”

Meanwhile, Katsuki had found a pack of playing cards in a forgotten drawer. He started with cutting the deck, tentatively at first and then more confidently. Then he graduated to actually shuffling. Shuffling. Shouto could hardly do that when he was alive. And sure, Katsuki scattered the cards a few times, and when he did Shinsou helped gather them up off the floor— but he was managing it bit by bit, testing his limits and pushing farther every time.

Amazing.

“Come on, Kacchan,” Izuku chided gently. “We should be encouraging him. Everyone knows that you can do it.”

“I told you this wouldn’t be easy,” Katsuki said. “Most spooks take years to learn this shit, if they manage to do it at all.”

“How long did it take you?”

Katsuki shrugged. “A little while.”

“Don’t act like you don’t remember,” Shinsou accused. “I call bullshit.”

Contrary to that, Katsuki seemed to have to think about it. “I remember it wasn’t very long. Months, maybe half a year? You guys were still in the dorms. But I didn’t really keep track of days and dates, not in the beginning. Not until…” he trailed off like he was lost in a memory.

“Until what?”

Katsuki shook himself. “The two of you were suddenly talking about visiting my grave on my birthday, and I realized how much time had passed. Kind of a mindfuck, when you think about it.” He sighed. “When you’re dead and stuck in one place, in one state, the passage of time kinda feels like a shitty joke.”

Shinsou repeated that back to Izuku, a bit more gently, but even then he turned a little pale.

Shouto didn’t know how to respond at first. “Sorry,” he started, but Katsuki waved him off.

“Just forget bottle caps, alright? Cards are bullshit, too.” He tossed the deck down on the table. “Don’t bother trying with stuff that you don’t care about one way or another. You have to want it. That’s the only way that this is gonna click. So think of something else.”

“I have to want it,” Shouto echoed. He wanted a lot of things. To be strong enough to protect himself, able to protect Izuku if it came to that. To comfort him. Hold his hand when he needed it, kiss him, touch him— and he had managed it, a burst of something breaking through when they were alone together, even though he hadn’t found his way back to it since.

Katsuki was probably right. Wanting it, needing it, seemed to count for a lot.

“What was the first thing you managed to manipulate?” Shinsou asked Katsuki, studying him. “I don’t think you ever told me.”

“This ain’t about me,” Katsuki hissed. “Why do you care?”

“I care.” Shouto cocked his head questioningly. “You just said you had to really want it, so it must have been important to you. What was it?”

Katsuki didn’t answer for a long second. Then he muttered, “It’s stupid.”

“Okay, then it won’t matter if you tell me. Maybe it’ll inspire me to find something of my own.”

“Tch, whatever,” he sighed. “I tripped the switch on one of Izuku’s shitty extension cords.”

Shinsou snorted.

“Um.” Shouto blinked at him, not comprehending. “Why?”

“Listen here, Half-wit.” Katsuki pointed at Izuku accusingly, not that he could see it. “He had that power supply totally overloaded, and plugged into another extension cord. It was a fire hazard. He’s always doing that shit. Just looking at the damn thing day in and day out made my eye twitch.”

Shinsou covered his smile with a hand. “You can’t be serious.”

“Fuck you, asshole! I was stuck in his shitty dorm room every night while the nerd slept, sitting around with fuck-all to do, and it annoyed the crap out of me. Fucking disaster waiting to happen. So, I tripped it.”

Shouto and Shinsou cracked up at the exact same time.

“Oh, sure. Laugh it up, fuckers.”

“What is so funny?” Izuku asked. “What’s he saying? Guys?”

But Shinsou couldn’t answer because he was still wheezing, gasping for air. Shouto was helpless with laughter himself, and he wasn’t completely sure if he had ever laughed uncontrollably before. Katsuki kept adding fuel to the fire.

“For all we know, that shit-nerd is only alive now because of me!”

“But- but wouldn’t he just flip it back on the moment he noticed his things weren’t working?”

“Yeah, he fucking did, and he never even inspected that shit to see if it was faulty! That’s, like, electrical 101, when a circuit’s tripped! So then I’d have to turn that shit back off again the next time he wasn’t looking.”

Shouto sobbed with laughter. Ghost electrical audits were not on his bingo card; apparently, it should have been. His sides would surely hurt from laughing, if he’d had a body that could ache. But oh, laughing? He could do that with abandon.

“This nerd gave me lots of fucking practice flipping that switch, I’ll tell you what—”

“Shouto,” Izuku pleaded, growing exasperated. “Shinsou? Look, I know you guys think I can read Kacchan’s mind, but I can’t actually, and it’s really very frustrating trying to follow half of the conversation. Especially when it is, apparently, hilarious.”

“I’m sorry, Midoriya,” Shinsou wheezed, rubbing tears from his eyes. “Apparently Bakugou is extremely concerned about your electrical safety.”

“What? Why is that funny?” Izuku demanded. Then he shot up from his chair like he’d just sat on a tack. “The power strip! Oh my God, Kacchan! You haunted me over that?! That went on for months!”

“Oh, NOW he gets it!” Katsuki cackled. His laugh was loud and bright and, God, Shouto wished in that moment Izuku could hear it, too. “I saved your fucking life, loser, I’m sure of it. You should thank me.”

“He’s rather confident that he saved you from an electrical fire.” Shouto fought down another laughing fit. “You should probably thank him. And I think this is the funniest thing I’ve heard in my whole life.”

Izuku turned redder and redder, but he was smiling. “Well, that’s embarrassing. You know, for years now I just thought my quirk affected electronics or something.” Izuku carded his fingers through his messy curls. “Anything else you feel the need to tell me, Kacchan?”

“The list is too long, nerd.” Katsuki grinned sharply.

“What I’m hearing is it’s a long list,” Shouto told him, delighting again in Izuku’s deepening flush. “But don’t worry. I think we’ll get it out of him eventually.”

“Tch. We’ll see about that,” Katsuki said. “Point is, I wanted to trip that damn switch. I stared at it, cursed at it—”

“—Told it to DIE, no doubt,” Shinsou teased. Katsuki flipped him off.

“All I’m saying is it’d help if you actually wanted to do the thing you’re trying to do.” He gestured at the tabletop— all the bottle caps and playing cards— with absolute disdain. “But what does it fucking matter if that shit moves or not? Plain and simple, it doesn’t. So pick something that does.”

Shouto thought about it. Maybe a pen, something he could write with? That would be handy to learn. But even with all of Katsuki’s skill, that one had seemed hard to pull off. More than anything, he wanted Izuku to feel him— even for a moment.

So he looked at Izuku. The way their eyes met sent a shiver down his spine. He always gave Shouto the softest looks. Truly, he was so, so lucky to be in Izuku’s life, to have shared that time. It hurt to even think of what he’d lost, and what he still may lose.

Katsuki saw them both looking and sighed. He got up from his chair, kicked it closer to Izuku and gestured for Shouto to sit. “Well, why don’t you ask the nerd if you can try touching him next?”

“Keep it PG, kids,” Shinsou drawled, shouldering his bag.

Katsuki swatted at Shinsou’s shoulder. The force of it nearly staggered him, but Shinsou merely laughed at the rough handling. (Izuku didn’t. Izuku watched them very, very closely.)

“It’s not like they aren’t eye-fucking as it is!” Katsuki spat.

“You’re not wrong.” Shinsou shrugged. “I should be going anyway.”

Shouto waved as Shinsou left, his attention already elsewhere as he shifted closer to Izuku. That much was easy. Izuku wanted this, too, so badly it hurt. That would light a fire under Shouto, too, right? Giving Izuku his whole attention had a way of blasting back at him tenfold.

“Izuku? Can I try this with you? If you would lend me your hand—”

“Shou, of course!” Izuku’s hand appeared on the table between them. He flexed his fingers against the table, barely managing not to shake with anticipation. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

“Jeez, don’t get too excited,” Katsuki griped. “He still has to pull it off.”

Izuku looked at Shouto with his big, soft eyes, and Shouto knew that, yes, this was what he cared about most of all.

Shouto tried to tune everything out, but he still felt Katsuki looking, watching as he tried.

And tried.

And tried.

As the day progressed and Shouto still had nothing to show for his efforts, Izuku drew all the curtains in their flat and forced himself back to bed for a while.

Katsuki didn’t stick around for most of it, claiming a restless energy from ‘all this damned waiting around.’ But he was back and perched on the bedroom window well before Izuku stirred some hours later in the afternoon.

Shouto could only make out a sliver of Izuku’s face smashed against the pillow, but he could see that his eyes were still closed and he was… smiling. Just a little, to himself, perhaps lingering at the edge of a pleasant dream.

Dreaming of him, Shouto realized, from the way the bond buzzed between them. At least it seemed to be a good dream.

Izuku muttered, “Shou,” and then, “come back to bed,” in a breathy voice muffled by his pillow. His heart squeezed, and his toes curled in unexpected pleasure.

“Careful,” Katsuki told him. He sounded miles away, though he could close the distance in just a few steps. Shouto didn’t take the time to wonder about it; caught in the rush, he only had eyes for Izuku.

“I’m here,” Shouto said, leaning closer. Close enough to kiss him. God, he wanted to kiss him. He tried, and missed, while Izuku was none the wiser.

Izuku’s lips quirked in a sleepy smile, eyes still shut, and then he reached for Shouto. He pawed over the sheets, searching, and suddenly Shouto understood his mistake. In the heartbeat before Izuku’s eyes flew open, his stomach dropped like a stone.

Izuku saw him then, pale and insubstantial as a ghost, and his face crumbled.

“Baby, oh, it’s okay,” Shouto cooed. “I’m here, I’m sorry, we’ll fix this—”

He had forgotten. In his sleep, safe in a dream, Izuku had forgotten all about the attack. About Shouto’s predicament, this limbo he was in. As the illusion shattered, Izuku shattered with it.

Shouto felt it flood in. Izuku’s anguish hit him full in the chest, his fear, his pain, twisted into something sickly-sweet. It was a lie, and not a convincing one, either; Shouto could tell the difference now. He’d felt it the moment before, when Izuku was happy. When his heart was light and free.

He wanted to take his pain away, not feed on it. It swamped him all the same.

And Izuku? He poured himself out like a pitcher, his breath coming in harsh sobs. It poured and poured, so much that Shouto couldn’t hold it all. He felt sick with it, Izuku wringing himself out, giving too much.

It was something Katsuki said before, the words gnawing at him all over again: that there was nothing he could do about it. That he’d spill it anyway— that was just grief. That he would hate it, but he’d have to accept it. Surely Katsuki knew what he was talking about, but Shouto… couldn’t. He couldn’t accept that. He pushed against it, until the tide ebbed somewhat, flowing back the way it came.

Maybe he imagined it. Maybe Izuku had just cried himself out— but he felt something, a shift in the scant space between them. Izuku breathed easier, blinking up at Shouto with his eyes rubbed red and raw.

“I’m sorry, Shou. It’s… so hard.”

“I know.” Shouto shushed him gently. “And I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I’m here. I’m here and I’m holding you as tight as I can.”

Izuku was actually hugging himself, self-soothing, but that’s why Shouto wanted to say it. He didn’t need it to be his hands for it to be his wish, his hopes for that moment. They could help each other. He watched Izuku’s fingers flex around his bicep like he was testing it out, trying to feel Shouto in the touch.

Shouto nodded his encouragement.

“Thank you,” Izuku answered. His breathing evened out, tears dried on his cheeks, and his hands had stopped shaking. “It helps me, when you talk like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Izuku shuffled a little closer. “Think you could…”

Yes, he could. He wanted to continue, to talk him through touching again and let Izuku be his hands. To wrap Izuku up in his voice, his words, until the rest just fell away. Until they felt like they shared one pulse.

Shouto was very suddenly aware of Katsuki’s eyes on them.

He had been quiet throughout all of this, and still didn’t make a sound when Izuku asked him for what comfort was in his power to give. Katsuki sat quietly, watching.

Shouto tried to be subtle about it when he glanced across the room, but Izuku caught onto the movement immediately.

“Kacchan,” he breathed a whisper.

It wasn’t a question, but Shouto nodded. He felt more than a little tongue-tied knowing Katsuki would hear every word. He probably wouldn’t want them to—

“Don’t mind me.”

Shouto met Katsuki’s gaze and frowned. “What?”

“You deaf now? I said go on, don’t mind me.”

“But,” Shouto faltered. “Could you give us a little privacy?”

Izuku tensed, and Shouto wished he could take it back. He knew Izuku wanted Katsuki close, too; the last thing he wanted was more distance, whatever the reason. Shouto resolved to find another way, a way that wouldn’t ask Izuku to choose.

Katsuki wasn’t moving, anyway.

“Why?” It was Katsuki’s turn to frown. “Been there, seen that.”

Shouto hesitated. He couldn’t mean…

“You think I haven’t seen you go at it before?” Katsuki challenged. “Have you seen yourselves? You’re damn near always pawing at each other.”

“You watch us?”

Izuku choked.

“Tch. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Katsuki rolled his eyes, but then he just shrugged. “I didn’t at first. Felt weird about it. But I’m fucking dead and most of the time there’s fuck-all to do around here. Eventually, I decided to take the entertainment where I can get it, so sue me.”

Shouto wasn’t completely shocked. He had even wondered what Katsuki had seen, if not thinking about it too deeply. But hearing it straight from Katsuki’s mouth was another thing entirely.

“I guess I can’t blame you,” Shouto said.

Izuku whined; he didn’t even know what Katsuki had said, and still he looked about ready to expire. He hid his reddening face behind both hands.

“I can’t cope with this, you guys. Kacchan watches us in b-bed.”

“What?” Katsuki balked, exasperated now. “You’re hot together.”

“You think we’re hot together?” Shouto echoed. Izuku shrieked, stuffing his fist in his mouth.

“Not think. I know you are.” Katsuki crossed his arms. “And that’s not any kind of surprise, not to me, so calm the fuck down about it, you prude.”

Izuku finally peeked out from behind his hands. He stage whispered, “What else did he say? Shou, I swear, the suspense is going to kill me—”

Shouto laughed. It was a relief when Katsuki laughed, too.

“He definitely said we’re hot together, and that it’s not surprising,” Shouto said. His voice pitched low, and it wasn’t until he heard himself that he realized how turned on he was. Katsuki watches us. He enjoys watching us. “Then he called me a prude and said to calm down.”

“Calm?! How am I supposed to be calm about this?”

Katsuki snorted another laugh, muttering, “So fucking cute.” He looked a little distracted now, lightly shaking himself. “Fuck, nerd, cut it out!”

Shouto thought he recognized it, the way Katsuki’s eyes darkened when the bond lit up all his nerves. It didn’t look painful this time. It looked… good.

Shouto decided to push his luck. “He says you’re so fucking cute,” he told Izuku with a wry grin. Playing messenger could be fun sometimes.

Izuku whined.

“So you tell him that, of all things? Fuckin’ traitor.”

“What should I tell him?”

Katsuki cursed under his breath. He cursed, and squirmed, but he didn’t back down.

“I want you to tell him how good he sounds.”

Shouto’s mouth suddenly went dry. He knew he was playing with fire, but he didn’t really expect it to blow back in his face— not like this.

“Go on,” Katsuki demanded. “Tell him.”

So Shouto did. He met Izuku’s eyes and he told him what Katsuki said. Izuku’s breath caught in his throat; Katsuki watched it all like a hawk.

“Tell him I like his voice. I like how he whines when you break the kiss. How his voice shakes when you work him over.”

You, Shouto thought. Me.

He tried to keep his voice even. He was hot in the face as the words left his mouth, watching Izuku’s eyes widen, his pupils blown and dark.

Katsuki purred with approval.

“That’s how I know you’re doing it right. Doing good. His voice hitches up higher and higher, like a whistle only dogs can hear.”

It was hard to talk about himself like this. Hard, but not impossible. He could do this for Katsuki. For Izuku.

“He sounds desperate, every time, and it does things to me.”

Me too, Shouto thought. Izuku whimpered.

“I like that he gets so worked up. Every inch of skin, every small touch, he’s a live wire. I like how he could wipe the floor with you, and he’s still a pillow princess half the time.”

Izuku balked at that accusation. But, half the time? Easily. Sounded about right to Shouto, if a little generous…

“Tell him he can touch himself,” Katsuki said. “I know he wants to.”

“Do you wanna touch yourself, sweetheart?” Shouto watched, transfixed, as Izuku’s eyes blew wide. For a moment, Shouto wasn’t sure if he would, but then his arms moved beneath the blanket, hands sliding down to his lap.

Shouto wanted to crow. He wanted to see, but if Izuku felt shy then he wouldn’t push his luck. He didn’t want to break the spell.

“Tell him I was watching on your birthday.”

Shouto had to think about it. My birthday?

“That little getaway the nerd planned to blow out your back? Remember that, don’t you? Halfie makes some pretty sounds, too.”

Oh. Okay, that had been a rowdy night. Shouto watched realization wash over Izuku’s face as he repeated the message, but Katsuki wasn’t done.

“I was watching after that shitty gala, too. The one where you idiots got caught in the rain. When you came home soaked and didn’t even make it to the bed. Not for hours, anyway.”

Shouto remembered. He’d practically torn Izuku’s clothes off, nice clothes, but it was definitely mutual. He found his own things mangled in the morning, along with stinging marks and scraped knees— but all he really remembered was the humid heat of Izuku’s skin as they fucked on the rug.

“Kacchan.” Izuku sighed a panting breath. Palming himself under the covers, knowing they were both watching.

Shouto felt too warm, his mind buzzing, fizzing over. He was all shaken up.

“Shou, please, I— please.”

“Go on, baby,” he answered. “Whatever you need, I’m here. We both are.”

It was the right thing to say— or maybe it was wrong in the right way. Izuku’s back arched off the bed. Katsuki hissed a sharp breath, and that’s when Shouto saw him standing by the bed. So much closer, his eyes blown, jaw tight.

Had he drifted? Must have. Katsuki pulled himself back, one step and then several, until he could almost reach the wall of windows— his anchor. Shouto wished that he wouldn’t pull away like that, but he didn’t dare voice it now. Izuku didn’t need to know.

Izuku whimpered, caught in a bright web of pleasure, and then he came.

“Beautiful,” Shouto praised. He tasted his pleasure in the air, on his tongue. Katsuki was quiet now, prompting Shouto to ask, “What should I tell him?”

Still quiet.

“Katsuki?”

“Tell him I missed this.” Then he slipped away. He was gone before Shouto even saw where he went, let alone had he gotten through relaying the message.

“He says he missed this,” Shouto told him.

Izuku’s smile was so soft, so fragile. How could Shouto deny him that? Izuku closed his eyes, and Shouto left out the part where Katsuki was already gone.

Let him enjoy it. At least a little longer.

It turned out Katsuki hadn’t fled the apartment. He had only disappeared to the kitchen, where it seemed he’d spent the last half hour making pancakes. It was probably the only thing he could manage with the current state of their pantry.

Izuku zeroed in on him right away— not only the flurry of movement above the sizzling stove, but the dusting of flour all down the front of the pastel-colored kitchen apron Katsuki was... wearing? Holding up as a shield?

It was hard to make heads or tails of it, other than the fact that he had opened the pancake mix far more roughly than the packaging could take.

Shouto pondered the scene for a moment.

“I thought you didn’t have a body.”

“I fuckin’ don’t.”

“Then how are you holding that apron up? And why? It’s not like you’d get your uniform dirty.”

“Yeah, but then the flour exploded on me and I figured it was better to mess up this old thing than try to get another food mess up off the floor. You lazy bums would probably just live in the mess rather than find a damn broom for yourselves. Like pigs in slop.”

Without missing a beat, Katsuki took great care to manipulate a spatula just right, flipping the final pancake in the pan and then flicking off the heat. At his side there was indeed a broom and a dustpan, stationary but recently used. There was steam rising from the kettle, a mug of black tea steeping, and a healthy stack of two (soon to be three) large pancakes— enough to refuel one severely depleted nerd.

He’d been busy. All that Shouto had managed in the same time was to sit idly by as Izuku attempted a ‘morning routine’ in the middle of the afternoon. Shouto had observed him quietly, thoughtfully, as Izuku settled his breathing and then gathered himself up from the bed. He’d been quiet ever since.

Shouto had to admit to being lost in thought himself. Had they… they’d had sex, right? Together, the three of them, in a way. It was as close to such a thing as Shouto had ever experienced, teaming up to help Izuku get himself off.

So… had Shouto had sex with Katsuki, now? It felt like it, at least a taste of it, and now Shouto was hungry. Not for pancakes, though.

From the weird, flushed look on Katsuki’s face, busying himself at the stove and then the sink and avoiding both of their eyes, maybe he was in a similar frame of mind.

“Um, Kacchan?”

“Do not distract me right now, dumbass! I’m doing about five things at once over here. I know I make it look easy, but it’s fuckin’ not—”

Shouto wanted to echo all that for him, but he’d gotten there too late.

“Kacchan, I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

Shouto startled at the words, turning to find Izuku looking anxious, miserable. Ashamed? But… why? Surely it wasn’t the first time Shouto found himself unable to follow all the social cues, even with the one person he felt he knew best in the world— and with the two of them together, all the corkscrew turns of Izuku and Katsuki together, it was even more complex. It was their history, sure, and the unique access each of them had to the other’s most exposed nerves.

“Don’t do this,” Katsuki sighed heavily. There was something about his eyes again now, dark and wide, and the set of his jaw that looked like he was hanging on for balance, standing up by sheer force of will. “C’mon, give it a rest.”

“I shouldn’t have let that happen,” Izuku continued. “I feel awful.”

“Izuku,” Shouto hurried to get the words out, “don’t be like that. It’s— he’s fine. We’re fine.”

“He says he is,” Izuku sniffed. “Doesn’t it hurt you, Kacchan, to see us? Those things you described? It must hurt you. And then I- how could I—”

I got off to that, Shouto understood. Oh.

Katsuki shook his head. It looked less like a ‘no’ than some broader protest, rejecting all of it, or refusing to play by any of those rules.

“It’s not like that, Izuku. You’re not mine anymore.”

Shouto repeated this faithfully, though it gutted him to do it. Even though he was forced to watch the heartbreak flash over Izuku’s face. He felt the pain rush in— only he couldn’t have felt that, not really. That wasn’t possible, was it? That wasn’t how it was supposed to work.

But Shouto felt something. He felt them, their feelings, tearing at each other. He felt Izuku pouring too much of himself out, dragging Katsuki down, down, down in the undertow.

Something in Shouto rejected it. He couldn’t bear it, standing by as they hurt each other. He wanted to tug on it, change it, fix it, but…

The whole scene snapped into sharp relief. He caught Katsuki, giving him somewhere to land as he was being pulled, dragged, into Izuku’s orbit. He didn’t seem to have the will to stop it, but Shouto could be there when he needed an anchor. When he needed a… bridge.

Shouto knew he couldn’t protect them from each others’ rough edges. That wasn’t his place. And everywhere that was raw and aching between them, that’s where the love was, right? The air was so thick with it, he could almost taste it. It felt like an answer.

Without thinking, he felt for Izuku— not with his hand, but his mind— and he pulled.

Izuku didn’t yelp, though his eyes flew wide as he registered the tug and moved into it in a daze. He didn’t gasp or cry out, but neither was he quiet about it. Instead he groaned deep in his throat, as though whatever Shouto had done felt unspeakably good.

Katsuki gaped at the sight, frozen in the curl of Shouto’s right arm as Izuku tripped forward at the tug from… well, not his other arm, that was for sure. He didn’t reach out with his body but with something else, something more. It wasn’t until Izuku was right there, about to crash into Katsuki, that the blond tipped back on his heels, skidding away like he just dodged a punch.

Shouto lost his grip on Izuku then, whatever kind of grip it had been. Thankfully Izuku didn’t seem winded this time, not like he was after that happened in the shower. He looked energized, eyes bright with focus.

“Oh my God, Shou. Was that you? Can you do that again? That feeling…”

He tried. He thought it should be easy— he felt it so clearly just a moment ago, but now he couldn’t find it, couldn’t grasp it. It was so unfair.

Shouto turned to Katsuki for help, for advice, only to find him standing a little ways off with a look of shock on his face.

“How did you do that?”

“I don’t really know.” Shouto felt his confidence buckle. “It’s just. It’s like you said: I wanted it. I wanted… to fix it. You said he’s not yours, and I hate it. That just isn’t true.”

“Stop. Talking.”

“No, that’s never been true. I wanted you to go to each other,” Shouto said, almost pleaded. “I… I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything that much.”

He wasn’t sure how to feel about those words. He wanted Izuku selfishly, too; there was no question about that. Shouto wanted him desperately, loved him, clung to him— but was there anything he wanted so much as the end of Izuku’s pain? All those long years he had watched him bear it. What if Shouto wasn’t watching helplessly anymore? What if he could help?

“You can go to him. You know you can.”

Katsuki’s spine pulled ramrod straight. Izuku’s did, too.

Was there anything Shouto wouldn’t try, anything that he wouldn’t give, if it meant tearing through that wall they’d built between them?

“And you can show me how,” Shouto said. “Please. Show me.”

“Oi! I’ve been showing you this ghost shit all day and night, and it hasn’t made any difference!”

“Well, this is different, isn’t it? How would you do it if you were going to touch Izuku?”

“Well I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Shouto,” Izuku breathed. He looked unsettled in a way that cut through Shouto’s single-minded focus.

“What’s wrong?” Shouto asked.

“I- It’s okay, really. I’m sure there’s another way to learn,” Izuku said, his voice shaking. “Please, don’t push, okay? If Kacchan doesn’t want to, then just—”

“OF COURSE I FUCKING WANT TO!”

His shouting stirred Izuku’s hair, raising gooseflesh all over his body, and Shouto just… stared, dumbfounded. Izuku’s legs shook like his knees might buckle beneath him.

“Fuck,” Katsuki said, taking another step backward. And another. “No, fuck this. We’re not doing this.”

“K-Kacchan? Was that you? I felt something.”

Shouto answered for him, quietly, cautiously. “Yes, it was.”

“Don’t,” Katsuki warned.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Izuku asked, eyes looking not at Shouto, not at Katsuki, but somewhere far away. “It was real. All of it. After you d-died.”

Shouto stared at him. “Wait, what?”

“I used to feel you here. Here with me.”

“I—” Katsuki stood shaking his head as words seemed to fail him. His eyes were too wide.

“You were here all the time. Not just here, in the room, but. Close. Right there at my side. All around me, sometimes. Is that right?”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Izuku’s expression said everything. He knew.

“A year after I lost you, the nightmares were still so bad,” Izuku went on. “I couldn’t sleep most nights, but then I had the worst streak in a while. I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt so… hopeless.”

Shouto remembered that time, the darkest it ever got. Every day, he was afraid for Izuku. Every day, he tried so hard to be there, to not let him slip too far, slip out of reach. But sometimes Izuku just shut him out. He shut everyone out.

“Izuku?” But he still wouldn’t look at Shouto, eyes fixed on the wall instead, remembering. “Something happened?”

“I was just trying to cry myself back to sleep again,” Izuku whispered, “like I had so many other times. But then suddenly, that one night… I felt you.”

“‘zuku, wait—”

“I thought I’d imagined it. Made it up. But- I didn’t. You were here. Here with me, but in a way you’d never been before.”

Katsuki hung his head.

“You held me. You… touched me, didn’t you?”

Shouto’s stomach dropped to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Katsuki spoke weakly. “You’ve no idea how sorry, Izuku. I crossed a line, I fucking know that now, but— dammit, you were so lost! I thought I could help you, I really did. But I only hurt you in the end.”

Tonelessly, Shouto echoed his words, and all the words that followed after. He felt like he was walking in a dream.

“You were trying so hard to heal,” Katsuki said. “You’d been doing a little better, for a while there. This was just a… a rough patch. And I dragged you right back down, didn’t I?”

“I don’t regret it, Kacchan.”

“Well, you should!” Katsuki bit out. “I was selfish, and I regret it every goddamn day.”

“Don’t say that. Please! I waited every night for you to come back.”

“Fuck, no. I couldn’t do that to you again. I wouldn’t. I was dead. I was gone, and I needed you to live! I needed you to make it through, to get better. Don’t you get that?” Katsuki’s voice broke over the words. “If you didn’t make it, then what was it all for?”

Shouto repeated what he said, and every word felt personal, visceral, like a stitch in a wound.

“I swore I’d never touch you again.”

That’s why you made me promise, Shouto thought. It already happened to you.

Izuku was quiet for a long moment. “And then the time I saw you?”

Katsuki cursed under his breath.

“It was an accident, I swear to you. I didn’t even know it was possible!” He bit back frustrated tears. “I just kept thinking how I’d fix it if I could. How I’d give fucking anything to apologize to you, explain myself to you. At least then you’d know you weren’t losing your damn mind!” He shook his head. “Guess I wanted it too damn much.”

Tears filled Izuku’s eyes while Shouto stood frozen, speaking the words and playing his part in breaking his tender heart all over again. But he’d say whatever Katsuki needed him to say. Those words weren’t for him, but he would never forget them.

“Dammit, Izuku, I only wanted to fix it,” Katsuki sighed. “And in the end, all I did was give you the scare of your damn life.”

“You looked afraid.” Izuku’s breath rattled from his lungs. “That was the worst part. When I saw you, you looked so afraid, Kacchan, and I was scared, too—”

“I was terrified! Of hurting you. Of losing you, of— of tempting you?! Of missing a single moment I could still share with you.”

His eyes burned with an emotion Shouto couldn’t even name. Not jealousy. Not disgust. It had to be what it always was, that same ugly thing— grief. For all Shouto knew about Izuku’s grief and his own, he had never faced Katsuki’s before.

“But I was confused, and addicted to you. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Seeing me like that was never going to help you, not in a million years. I should never have let that happen,” he spat. “I died and I needed to stay dead, for everyone’s sake.”

Shouto repeated every last word. He felt like throwing up.

Katsuki could have destroyed Izuku. He could have dragged him down with his own weight, his own suffering, but he didn’t do that. He made sure that he didn’t do that.

Shouto could only hope that he would have been so strong, walking in Katsuki’s shoes. Without him here to keep an eye on Shouto, what then? If Shouto died alone and had nothing and no one but this strange, intoxicating connection to the most incredible person he’d ever known, what would he have done?

Would he do what was right for Izuku? Would he do what he needed, what was good for him, nothing more and nothing less?

Or would he take?

Shouto rushed to the window. He ignored Izuku’s protests, cowardly as it was. They couldn’t communicate without him, but he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay here, where he couldn’t breathe. Where he couldn’t think.

God, he needed to think.

Shouto phased through the glass without looking back.