Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Katsuki's eyes snap open, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, feeling like he's just been thrown into the middle of a fight. His vision swims for a moment, and his head hurts as he tries to adjust to the sudden brightness of his surroundings. Once he can finally see a bit more clearly, he looks around to examine the room he's in. He's in an office - a completely unfamiliar one. Everything about the space screams wealth and power - sleek, modern, and meticulously clean. He blinks hard, trying to make sense of the room he's in, but no matter how hard he tries, he just couldn't tell where the hell he is.

Katsuki sits up, his shoes making contact with the polished wood floors which reflect the sharp line of all the minimalist furniture in the room. The desk in front of him is massive. It's an oversized, commanding thing that looks like it belongs to a CEO from one of those dramas that the girls in his class like watching, and not to a hero that Katsuki expects it to belong to, considering the path that he's trying to pursue and all. His eyes trail over the metallic letters mounted on the wall behind the desk, the words etched into his brain before he can even stop them:

Dynamight Hero Agency.

The world seems to have tilted on its axis, and Katsuki's heart stutters in his chest, a mix of disbelief and confusion overpowering his senses. Dynamight. That's his hero name. And because that's his hero name, then it's only reasonable to assume that this is his hero agency. But it doesn't make sense. Why would he have a hero agency? He just started studying in UA High for fuck's sake!

Katsuki tries to pinch and slap himself to wake himself up, but none of it helps, and once his skin aches from all the pinching and slapping, he's still stuck here in this office which is starting to convince him that he might have time-traveled to his future or something. It makes a lot more sense than him suddenly having his own hero agency as a teenager and without any recollection of having it built.

The reality of it all settles like a weight on his shoulders. No, this can't be real. His palm itches to explode something, to let some steam out and to break through the absurdity of it all. He looks down at his UA uniform, the clothes feeling completely outdated as if it doesn't belong in a place like this. It almost feels like walking into a mansion while wearing boots caked in mud - it just shouldn't be happening.

"What the actual hell?" Katsuki mutters to himself, rubbing his temples in frustration. His mind races in an attempt to catch up with the strangeness of this scenario. This place is too clean, too polished, too expensive-looking, too futuristic. This isn’t UA, where he should be. This isn’t the dorms. Hell, this doesn’t even feel like Japan anymore.

Before he can even start piecing things together and coming up with ridiculous theories - or start yelling to release his frustrations - the door to the office slides open, and his head snaps toward the sound, his body tensing in preparation for a potential fight.

But in the doorway stands not a villain, but someone even more unexpected - Todoroki Shouto. Katsuki stares at him, really stares at him and examines his features. As expected, Shouto looks older. This Shouto looks a lot more relaxed and his hair is slightly longer - definitely not the Shouto Katsuki knows from UA. There’s also a quiet confidence in his expression that Katsuki doesn’t recognize. The Shouto he knows always looks tortured, but this Shouto has a calm self-assuredness around him that feels somewhat out of place.

“You’re awake,” Shouto says, stepping inside with a mug of coffee in his hand. He looks comfortable, too comfortable, to step into what Katsuki thinks is his office without asking for permission. It seems like Shouto has been here a hundred times already, and it’s almost as if him barging into this office is completely normal, something that happens way too often for anyone to even raise an eyebrow at it. Katsuki already knows his future is fucked up, because why does it seem like his older self is actually close to Todoroki Shouto?!

Katsuki glares at him, his nerves already frayed because of the thoughts circling his head. “What the hell is going on, Icy Hot? Where the fuck am I? Am I in the future? How the fuck did that even happen? And why does this place look like it’s straight out of some overpriced superhero magazine? Does my future self not have any personality? What the fuck is happening?!”

Shouto tilts his head slightly, studying Katsuki with that infuriatingly calm stare of his that always manages to piss Katsuki off. And when he speaks, it’s as if he’s carefully choosing his words, as if Katsuki wouldn’t be able to handle hearing the harsh truth, and it only irritates Katsuki more. “You’re in your future,” he says, taking a slow sip of his coffee before continuing. “This hero agency is yours, as you can tell by its name. And it seems you’ve… switched places with your older self. Temporarily, I hope. I doubt this young version of you would know how to handle an agency on our own.”

Katsuki blinks, his brain grinding to a halt. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

But Shouto doesn’t flinch upon hearing his crude words. “Exactly what I said. Somehow, you from the past are here, and your older self is… not. He’s probably in the past where you should be, and hopefully not causing any trouble. My best guess is that it’s a quirk phenomenon.”

Katsuki’s mouth hangs open, but no sound comes out for a moment. His gaze sweeps the room again as he takes in every detail of it with fresh eyes now that he got the confirmation he needed. My hero agency? The words feel too big, too impossible, too surreal to be true. He’s always dreamed of having his own agency, but seeing his future self actually accomplish it is mind-blowing!

“You’re telling me I’m in my future,” Katsuki starts, “and this badass place is mine?”

Shouto nods in confirmation, completely unaffected by the excitement visibly building up inside of Katsuki. “That’s correct. And you’re the number one hero, if you wanted to know.” His voice remains dry and unbothered, as if he didn’t just tell Katsuki that he made all of his dreams come true!

Katsuki’s lips twitch into a huge smile, a smile so huge that it looks and feels like he’s ready to explode - both figuratively and literally. He jumps to his feet, his fists clenched with excitement as he punches the air. “Hell yeah! I’m the number one hero! I fucking knew I’d make it! You see this shit, Icy Hot? You see how awesome I turned out and beat all of you?!”

“Yes,” Shouto answers, his voice as dry as ever, not that Katsuki expects anything else. “I can see that you’re very proud of yourself.”

“Damn right I am!” Katsuki barks, practically vibrating with energy as he heads for the door, excited to see what else his future has to give. “Show me the rest of my agency. I wanna see every inch of this place!”

Shouto leads Katsuki through the expansive halls of the Dynamight Hero Agency with the poise and confidence of someone who’s done it a hundred times and more. His voice is calm and deliberate, each of his words chosen with absolute care, as if explaining Katsuki’s future empire to him is just another item on his to-do list that he must do perfectly.

“This is the main lobby,” Shouto says, gesturing to the enormous open space they’ve entered. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathe the room in sunlight, and the Dynamight emblem, an intricate design of explosions and sharp angles, is prominently displayed on the far wall, like it’s a crown overlooking its lowly subjects. The lobby bustles with activity as clients approach sleek reception desks to inquire, while administrative staff in tailored uniforms buzz back and forth with tablets in hand. “Clients enter here to request assistance or contracts,” Shouto explains, his tone as monotone as ever. Then, without missing a beat, he adds, “Don’t blow them up. They are valuable clients that we can’t afford to lose.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Half-and-Half,” Katsuki retorts. His gaze darts around the space, taking in every detail of the lobby. His wide eyes betray the awe that he’s been desperately trying to suppress. This place looks like a fortress of efficiency, every movement of the staff purposeful and synchronized. For once, even Katsuki has no snarky comment to make about the way the people here are moving and hustling. These extras actually know what they’re doing, he thinks to himself.

They continue walking, and Katsuki observes how the hallway is lined with framed photos and articles featuring Dynamight and some other heroes he recognizes as his friends. Katsuki pauses briefly in front of a massive team photo where he stands front and center while the other heroes that must be working here surround him, his older self looking as fierce and confident as Katsuki always imagined his future self to be. His lips twitch into a satisfied smirk, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in everything that his future self has accomplished.

They continue to make their way around the building, and soon after, the faint sound of very familiar laughter draws Katsuki’s attention, distracting him from the tour. Shouto guides him toward a glass-walled break room where familiar faces come into view. Inside, Kirishima, Mina, Kaminari, and Sero are gathered around a table, snacking on chips and soda like they don’t have a care in the world.

However, the moment they spot Katsuki, the entire group freezes, all of them staring at him as if they had just seen a ghost. For a moment, no one says anything. Then suddenly, Mina lets out a high-pitched squeal, making Katsuki flinch. She clasps her hands together and fucking coos as if she had just found a small puppy.

“Oh my god, it’s baby Bakugou!”

“Holy crap, he’s adorable,” Kaminari adds, his voice breaking with barely-contained laughter.

“I’m gonna take so many pictures,” Sero whispers with a grin, already pulling out his phone and taking numerous photos of Katsuki without even turning the goddamn flash off!

Katsuki’s eye twitches so hard in annoyance that it’s a miracle it doesn’t fall out. “The hell do you think you’re doing, Tape Arms?!” His voice is a mixture of indignation and outright rage, but the group doesn’t flinch, perhaps used to Katsuki’s screaming if they’ve been with him all these years.

“You’re tiny!” Kirishima blurts out, practically doubling over with laughter, his face almost as red as his hair. “It’s like watching a mini Dynamight running around! So adorable!” His sharp-toothed grin does nothing to tame Katsuki’s rising fury.

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not adorable!” Katsuki roars, his palms sparking with tiny explosions in an attempt to prove his point. “I’m still stronger than all you extras combined! Don’t forget that, you hear me?!”

However, instead of intimidating them like Katsuki had hoped, it only seems to make the group laugh harder. Mina wipes a tear from her eye, clutching her stomach tightly as she practically heaves from laughing too much. “Oh, Blasty, you’re exactly the same! Just smaller and cuter! This is hilarious! Sero, dude, you have to send me those photos.”

“You guys are dead!” Katsuki snarls, lunging towards them, his movements quirk and reflexes sharp, but Shouto casually steps in front of him to block his view of the others and place a hand on his shoulder.

“You probably shouldn’t kill your friends. They have important work to do for the agency.”

“They’re not my friends!” Katsuki barks, but Shouto doesn’t budge from his place.

Meanwhile, the group is entirely unbothered by Katsuki’s threats, knowing that he doesn’t actually have the guts to do it. Kirishima waves him off, grinning widely. “It’s good to see you, though, man. Even if it’s the younger you. You’re, uh, less scary and serious like this. It’s refreshing to see.”

“Less scary?” Katsuki hisses, his voice rising. “I’ll show you scary, Shitty Hair!”

“You already did!” Kaminari laughs, ponting at the sparks still popping off Katsuki’s hands.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Shouto says, his calm voice cutting through the chaos. Katsuki couldn’t really comprehend how Shouto is with him and seems to have a good relationship with Katsuki’s friends. With how Shouto carries himself, it makes a lot of sense that he’s more of Izuku’s friend and less of Katsuki’s. “We’re moving on.”

“You’re lucky he’s here to save your asses!” Katsuki yells over his shoulder, flipping them off as Shouto practically drags him out of the room. The laughter that follows them down the hallway echoes like a chorus of victory, continuing to piss Katsuki off even when they’re out of his sight. Katsuki mutters under his breath, fists clenched at his sides. “Those damn extras, laughing at me like I’m some kind of joke…”

Shouto glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “You’re handling this better than I expected.”

Katsuki scowls, not even bothering to look at him. “Shut up, Icy Hot. Just show me the rest of my badass agency already.”

Without another word, Shouto does as ordered, continuing the rest of the tour as Katsuki follows, his simmering anger quickly replaced by curiosity. Katsuki would never admit it out loud, but he couldn’t help but feel proud of his older self. Not only did he achieve all of Katsuki’s dreams, but he also managed to gain the respect of his friends, enough to convince them to stay by his side. Katsuki absolutely loves everything he’s seeing, and he couldn’t wait to see more of what his future has to offer.

Shouto leads Katsuki down another sleek hallway, their footsteps echoing against the floor as they return to the room Katsuki woke up to, the room which Shouto calmly refers to as Katsuki’s personal office. Katsuki is still buzzing with excitement from everything he had seen around his agency, but also with irritation from his earlier interaction with his friends, and he’s now thinking about ways on how he can make them pay for laughing at him and making him feel like an idiot. He barely notices when they stop in front of his office, only halting his steps when he notices that Shouto had stopped walking and is now standing in front of a door marked with a bold Dynamight emblem engraved on its surface. Katsuki couldn’t stop the pride from rising up his chest.

Shouto pushes the door open, letting Katsuki in first. Now, with the excitement and confusion finally simmering, Katsuki is able to examine the room with more attention. The walls of his office are lined with shelves full of neatly organized files, awards, and framed photos of various hero events where Katsuki can even see some notable heroes he idolizes. A cushioned leather couch sits near a glass coffee table, its placement casual yet deliberate. 

“Stay here for the rest of the day,” Shouto says, gesturing around the room as if telling Katsuki to feel at home. “The others have to pick up the slack with older you gone.”

Katsuki approaches the desk, his desk, his hand running along its edge and noting its smooth surface and how everything on it is arranged with almost military precision. It definitely looks like something he would arrange. He narrows his eyes at Shouto, crossing his arms. “Slack? What slack?”

Shouto leans casually against the door, his expression as calm as ever. “You’re a workaholic,” he explains, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and not even Katsuki himself is allowed to argue against it. “You even try to insert yourself in other heroes’ work whenever you feel like their efforts and skills are inadequate. Naturally, with your older self gone, a lot of cases wouldn’t be handled, so we have to give them to other heroes in the agency.”

Katsuki scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right. Like I’d waste my time picking up after those extras. They should be keeping up with me, not the other way around.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow, his tone completely deadpan. “You don’t just work hard for yourself and for others; you also make everyone else work harder, so I guess you bothering them all the time has its own merits. They’ve gotten used to it anyway. Without older you, the entire agency feels the strain. I think it relies on you a little too much, to be honest.”

For a moment, Katsuki doesn’t have a snappy report. He simply takes the moment to let Shouto’s words sink in. He looks around the office again, his eyes lingering on the awards on the shelves and the framed photos, the subtle signs of the tireless work his future self clearly puts into this place. It makes a lot of sense why his office doesn’t have any personality. He probably spends all of his time trying to be the best hero ever, just like what Katsuki had always dreamt of.

Shouto’s voice cuts through his thoughts, his tone lighter this time. “Also, I don’t know if you can already tell, but I work the closest with you. You probably won’t react positively, but I feel obliged to let you know that by default, this makes me your best friend.”

Katsuki freezes mid-step, turning so sharply that it’s a wonder he doesn’t trip and break his neck. “The hell you are! Stop fucking with me! As if I’d believe you!”

Unfazed, Shouto takes a sip from the coffee mug that probably has really cold coffee by now, which he’s somehow managed to hold onto throughout this entire ordeal. “We have lunch together almost every day, Katsuki. Sometimes, we even have dinner together. And I look after you when you forget to eat because you’re too busy micromanaging everything.”

“Micromanaging?!” Katsuki sputters, his voice unexpectedly jumping an octave. “I don’t micromanage!”

“You do,” Shouto replies calmly. “I say so. Your staff says so. And they’re all terrified to tell it to your face because you tend to literally blow things up when you’re upset.”

Katsuki’s brain short-circuits, his mouth opening and closing almost comically as he processes this new piece of information. He points an accusing finger at Shouto, his voice louder than necessary with them not even being too further apart. “You’re making that up, Icy Hot!”

“I’m not.” Shouto finally sets that fucking mug down on the desk, his expression as unreadable as ever. “The evidence is all there if you ask around. You might not know it now, but your future self relies on me for a lot of things. You delegate to everyone else, but I’m the only one you trust enough to tell you when you’re wrong.”

Katsuki feels his face heat up. Whether it’s from anger or embarrassment, he really can’t tell, and he won’t even bother to find out. “That’s bullshit! I don’t need anyone to tell me anything! Least of all you!”

Still unfazed, Shouto shrugs. “Your staff agrees. Your future self also agrees. I’m your best friend, and there’s really no changing that.”

For a second, the room falls completely silent, except for the sound of Katsuki’s heavy breaths as he glares daggers at Shouto. Finally, he manages to find his voice, but it comes out more unsure and hesitant than he intended. “Shut up! You’re not my best friend!”

“Alright,” Shouto says simply, his tone so indifferent that it almost feels like a mockery.

Katsuki growls under his breath, turning his back against Shouto to focus on literally anything else that can possibly distract him from the ridiculous claim that Todoroki Shouto, of all people, could be his best friend. The bastard wasn’t even in his friend group back in UA! But the more that he tries to keep his thoughts away from Shouto being his best friend, the more his mind drifts to it, starting an unending cycle of disbelief and frustration.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters to himself, running a hand through his now-messy hair. “Stupid Icy Hot, acting all smug like he knows everything. He’s probably lying. Like hell I’d ever need him…”

Behind him, Shouto quietly picks up his mug, frowning when he sees that he’s out of coffee, but the faintest hint of amusement soon follows, tugging at the corners of his mouth. For all of Katsuki’s bluster, Shouto knows the undeniable truth. He’s seen it in the way older Katsuki trusts him completely, in the rare moments when he had let his guard down around Shouto. This younger version might not admit it because he doesn’t know everything yet, but his older self isn’t scared to admit that Shouto is a very important friend to him.

Shouto is perfectly fine with that, though. Besides, it’s really fun seeing all these reactions from younger Katsuki. 

It’s been a long time since Shouto had seen Katsuki act so carefree, and seeing this younger Katsuki provides a breath of fresh air that Shouto didn’t even know he needed.

Lunch in his own agency’s cafeteria is an experience Katsuki never thought he’d have - at least not while he’s a teenager. Just like the rest of the agency, the cafeteria is sleek and modern, and it’s bustling with activity as the staff efficiently move around him and Shouto, not even bothered by Katsuki’s weird and younger appearance. Katsuki and Shouto sit at a table near the massive windows so Katsuki can have a clear view of what the outside looks like, with his tray piled high with food that he’s already halfway through demolishing.

Shouto calmly sits across from him, eating his cold soba as expected of him. Katsuki, however, is anything but calm. Even while having their lunch, Katsuki keeps on asking Shouto questions about his agency - how it runs, who works where, what kinds of missions they take, what their achievements are so far. Every answer fills him with more pride than ever, though he tries not to let it show on his face. He refuses to admit out loud just how proud he is of everything his future self had accomplished, but deep inside, he’s damn proud of himself. He always knew he could do it. He always believed that he could have the future he had always wanted.

Now that he had actively thought of the future he wants, he couldn’t help but think of one person he hasn’t seen or heard of so far - someone who was like a permanent fixture in Katsuki’s life ever since he could breathe.

Katsuki lets the thought linger for a while, not really wanting to be caught asking about him, but when their conversation continues and Shouto never mentioned him even once, Katsuki decides it’s finally time for him to ask. “Alright, enough about the agency. Where the hell is Deku?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment as silence surrounds them. Shouto usually answers all of Katsuki’s questions quickly and efficiently, but right now, he seems to be struggling to find the right answer. Shouto’s expression doesn’t change immediately, but there’s a subtle shift in his demeanor - a flicker of discomfort in his usually stoic and expressionless face. 

“He’s… not here,” Shouto briefly answers, obviously hiding some things from Katsuki, which does nothing but piss Katsuki off. How is it so hard to answer a question about Izuku’s whereabouts? Shouto and Izuku are basically best friends.

Katsuki frowns, his shard red eyes narrowing at Shouto. “What do you mean he’s not here? Don’t tell me that nerd chose another agency over mine or something!” His tone is loud and accusatory, as if the mere suggestion of Izuku not being here in his agency is a personal insult to him.

Shouto shakes his head, not at all bothered by Katsuki’s temper flaring up. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what?!” Katsuki demands, leaning forward aggressively, his food now completely forgotten in the heat of his anger and frustration. “You’re telling me that Deku - Deku - wouldn’t jump at the chance to work with me? That’s just bullshit, and you know it! That nerd’s been chasing me around like a lost puppy since we were kids, and now he suddenly doesn’t want to be around me?! What the fuck?!”

Shouto hesitates again, his usually calm gaze flickering with uncertainty and cautiousness. He looks away, as if avoiding Katsukui’s piercing glare can save him from this conversation. “It’s… complicated,” he says. “It would be better if you hear it from him directly. I really don’t have the right to talk about it, and I’m sure he knows a lot more about the situation than I do.”

Katsuki’s frown deepens, and for a moment, he’s just silent as he tries to process what Shouto had just said. Finally unable to maintain his composure - if one can even call it that - he practically growls under his breath and slams his hands onto the table, resulting in a small explosion, which isn’t enough to destroy the table, but enough to startle the nearby employees around them peacefully having their lunch.

“Bullshit!” Katsuki snaps, his voice echoing in the cafeteria, not caring at all if everyone can hear him.”You know something. You’re just dodging the fucking question. Why the hell isn’t Deku here? Tell me now. Where is he?! I want to fucking see him now!”

Shouto pinches the bridge of his nose, finally showing a hint of frustration on his face. “Fine,” he says, sighing heavily as he gives in. “I’ll arrange for you to meet him.”

That is enough to soothe Katsuki’s anger, even just for a bit. “Damn right you will,” Katsuki mutters, crossing his arms and glaring out the window. “This doesn’t even make any sense. Deku not being here to follow me around like some fucking lost puppy? That’s like… like you fucking smiling and showing emotions like a normal person. It’s so fucking wrong!”

Shouto doesn’t bother to reply, simply returning to his food with the same calm and quiet demeanor he’s had throughout the conversation. But Katsuki just can’t let it go. His mind raises with a mixture of confusion, frustration, and even a hint of hurt that he will never admit out loud. Izuku has always been there, always following him, always striving to keep up with him. Katsuki would even go as far as to say that their worlds practically revolved around each other. So the idea that Izuku would choose to be anywhere else but here next to Katsuki just feels off. It’s like a piece of Katsuki’s world isn’t where it’s supposed to be.

He scowls down at his half-eaten food, his appetite now completely gone. “That damn nerd,” he mutters under his breath. “What the hell could be more important than being a part of my agency? He fucking wanted this before. Why the hell isn’t he here now?”

Shouto briefly glances at him as if he’s considering saying something, but ultimately decides against it. Complete silence surrounds them both, leaving Katsuki stewing in his thoughts. For the first time since waking up in this bizarre future, he feels a twinge of uncertainty - a crack in his otherwise perfect future that he’s been adoring all day.

And it’s all because of Izuku - that damn nerd - not being where he’s supposed to be.

And that, more than anything, pisses Katsuki off.

Chapter Text

Katsuki wakes up with a start, his body instinctively tense, and his senses already sharp before his eyes can even adjust to the dim light. The room around him feels unfamiliar but not alarming, and for a few seconds, his mind scrambles to place the sounds and scents that are creeping into his awareness, the faint hum of chatter filtering through the walls, blending with the sound of footsteps in the hallway. He takes a deep breath, his chest tightening as his surroundings come into focus. 

This is definitely not his bedroom in his apartment, and obviously not his office as well. No, this room is much smaller than he’s used to - too cramped, too… childish, and lined with a kind of hopeful clutter that’s entirely foreign to him now. His gaze sweeps over the worn furniture and rests on a poster taped neatly on the wall just near his bed. All Might, in one of those damn victory poses. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching as his eyes scan the rest of the room, the reality of it all now starting to sink in. 

There’s a desk in the corner, laden with clutter that Katsuki can recognize from his teenage years in UA High. Prominently placed on top of it are a few All Might figurines, and a stack of notebooks that could only belong to him, except for two very familiar ones with the label ‘Midoriya Izuku.’

“Shit.” Katsuki’s voice is low and gruff, but it feels like the word barely scratches the surface of what’s churning inside of him right now. He drags a hand through his messy hair, his fingers catching on knots formed from restless sleep.

He stands and stretches, feeling a bit uncomfortable from the size of the bed since it doesn’t really fit him now with how much he’s grown since he was a teenager.

With him now fully awake, he can no longer deny the reality he’s facing. A bitter laugh escapes his throat as he finally accepts where he is. It’s pretty obvious. He’s in UA High. The dorms . 

Katsuki swallows hard as the realization settles heavily on his shoulders. This isn’t just some weird, hyper-real dream. No, Katsuki isn’t in his world. Somehow, by the twisted grace of some quirk-related bullshit, he’s guessing, Bakugou Katsuki, the number one hero, has been hurled back into his teenage years.

“Fantastic,” he mutters to himself, the sarcasm dripping off his words doing little to ease his irritation. This is just completely inconvenient. What the hell is he even supposed to do here? He exhales sharply, running a hand down his face as he pieces together his next move, if there even is one since he’s pretty sure he won’t benefit from attending the classes all over again.

Despite the creeping sense of nostalgia trying to work its way into his chest at the familiar sight of his dorm room, Katsuki straightens his back and steels his resolve, trying to think of the best thing to do in a situation like this. This isn’t the time to dwell on how or why exactly he’s reliving his past. He needs to talk to someone, and he knows exactly where to start.

It doesn’t take long for Katsuki to find Aizawa’s office. The halls of UA are still exactly the same as he remembers, their sterile familiarity like a ghost of his past - a past he never expected to walk through again. His footsteps echo through the halls, deliberate and commanding, a sharp contrast to the younger students bustling around him. They are all stopping and staring at Katsuki, whispering among themselves, too intimidated to approach a stranger who looks like a sharper, larger, and somehow even more intense version of the explosive and fiery boy they all know.

He stalks onward without sparing them a glance, his fiery red eyes locked on his destination and nothing else. When he finally reaches Aizawa’s door, he doesn’t even bother knocking. This is an urgent matter, and he couldn’t be bothered to care about acting polite. Aizawa isn’t even his teacher anymore. Katsuki shoves the door open with the kind of confidence that comes from years of being the number one hero, the door creaking under his forceful grip.

Inside, Aizawa sits behind his desk, a stack of papers half-graded in front of him, while Principal Nezu lounges nearby with his ever-present teacup in hand. The two of them look up to him simultaneously, their expressions shifting from mild irritation upon being disturbed so rudely, to guarded surprise as they take in the sight of him, which is undoubtedly different from the Katsuki they know and remember.

Aizawa leans back slightly, raising an eyebrow. He’s too calm for someone who’s seeing an older version of a student he knows too well. “Bakugou?”

Katsuki crosses his arms, standing tall as he addresses them, his tone curt and direct. “Before you freak out, I think it’s just a quirk incident. I’m obviously not your Bakugou - well, I am - but I’m from the future, not here. This is probably temporary, I don’t know. I just need to wait for Todoroki to figure it out. I’m sure he’ll find something, so don’t even bother worrying. There’s probably nothing we can do in this timeline.”

There’s a beat of silence before Aizawa tilts his head, his dark eyes narrowing in skeptical curiosity. “Todoroki? What, did you two finally decide to stop blowing each other up and start working together like actual adults?”

A faint smirk tugs at Katsuki’s lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He doesn’t know if he can even try to look as arrogant now as he used to back in high school. So many things have changed. He changed. “Something like that,” he answers.

Principal Nezu takes a sip of his tea, the soft clink of porcelain breaking the silence. His beady eyes gleam with intrigue and his small frame practically vibrates with unspoken theories. “This is fascinating,” he murmurs, his tone calm but laden with layered meaning. “And yet, here you are, in our time. A rather unique opportunity to relive your youth, don’t you think? This must be very nostalgic for you.”

Katsuki’s eyes flick to Nezu, narrowing slightly. He knows better than to underestimate the rodent. There’s something in Nezu’s tone - a subtle inflection - that suggests he might know more about this situation than he’s letting on. The way Nezu’s gaze lingers on him, calculating, scheming, and a bit smug, only confirms it. Katsuki doesn’t press, though. He doesn’t even want to know. The less they all know, the better. 

Instead, he huffs and shifts his weight, his usual restlessness starting to creep in. “Look, I’m not here to make small talk or fix some time-travel soap opera crap. I just need to wait it out until whatever quirk this is finally wears off, or until Todoroki figures this shit out.”

Nezu sets down his cup on the table, his expression neutral but his tone almost teasing, as if he knows Katsuki more than Katsuki knows himself. “In the meantime, what do you plan to do? Surely, it would be a waste of an opportunity to just sit in your room and wait for this to be over. It might be enlightening to reconnect with your younger self’s friends.”

Aizawa’s gaze sharpens at that, though he remains silent, clearly curious about how Katsuki intends to handle the situation. He’s no longer Katsuki's teacher at this age, after all. This older Katsuki should be old enough to make decisions for himself.

Katsuki shifts uncomfortably, his brow furrowing. He knows he can’t just sit around waiting - he’s not built for that, he’s never been one known for his patience. But ever since the moment he woke up in this timeline, he didn’t even think of the opportunity to see his friends, especially him . The thought stirs something vulnerable and reluctant inside him, but he can’t deny a faint sense of curiosity building up in him too. It’s been years since he’s seen them - him - so young. This could be worth it. Katsuki should probably just do it.

Finally, he grunts, trying to feign nonchalance, as if his heart isn’t beating wildly inside his chest right now at the thought of seeing that version of him again. “Fine. Might as well check in on those idiots.”

Aizawa’s lips quirk into the barest hint of a smirk, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he motions toward the door. “They’re in the common room. I’m sure you know the way, but I’ll go with you anyway just to make sure you don’t scare them too much and to remind them to behave.”

Katsuki snorts, amused by the thought of how chaotic the common room would be when he walks in. He practically jumped out of his window earlier to avoid being seen by any of his classmates, because he didn’t know if it would be okay to let them know about the quirk incident, but now he has the permission to do so.

He turns on his heel and stalks out with Aizawa by his side, his heart pounding just a little harder than he’d like to admit as he prepares to face a room full of familiar faces he never expected to see again - at least not like this, especially not like this.

When Katsuki steps into the common room with Aizawa at his side, the atmosphere shifts in an instant. The loud conversations die mid-sentence altogether, the laughter and chatter replaced by stunned silence. He doesn’t even know if they’re breathing, with how quiet it is. Every head turns, every pair of eyes locking onto him with varying degrees of awe and disbelief. The weight of their collective stares is almost palpable, but Katsuki doesn’t flinch. His sharp gaze sweeps across the room, taking in the familiar faces frozen in shock, their younger features vivid in a way he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much.

“Uh… what?” Kaminari is the first to break the silence, his jaw practically hitting the floor with how wide his mouth is open. He gestures wildly at Katsuki, as if everyone isn’t looking at him already, his voice cracking as he asks, “Why does Bakugou look like - like that? ”

“Holy crap,” Mina whispers, half-rising from her seat. Her wide eyes flicker between Katsuki’s face and his broad shoulders, mouth wide open as well. “Did Blasty time-travel? Is this a new quirk?! Oh my gosh, look at his muscles! He’s so big and strong !”

“Of course Bakubro would grow up to look this cool!” Kirishima beams, practically vibrating with excitement at the sight of his friend all grown up. “You’re a walking poster for ‘manly,’ bro!”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, but a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips despite himself. He crosses his arms, his powerful frame exuding an easy confidence that leaves the room completely in awe. “You extras are still as noisy as ever, huh?”

Next to him, Aizawa sighs, rubbing his temple as if he’s already tired just thinking about what his students would be up to now that they have something exciting to do. “Calm down,” he says, his voice cutting through the growing buzz of excitement. “This is Bakugou, but from the future. He’s here temporarily because of a quirk incident. Treat him as you would your usual Bakugou - if you can manage it. Just don’t start a mess you can’t fix. That’s it. I’m leaving.” With that, Aizawa does indeed leave them, unbothered as usual.

The room is silent for only a literal second before everyone starts talking again now that Aizawa is gone. “Wow!” Kaminari blurts out, throwing his arms up dramatically out of pure excitement. “Future Bakugou actually looks approachable! Look at him, he’s not glaring at anyone! This is freaking me out!”

“Oi,” Katsuki snaps, his voice sharp as a whip. It’s enough to once again silence the room instantly. His fiery red eyes narrow, daring anyone to challenge him. “I’m still me. Don’t make me remind you, Dunce Face.”

Kaminari’s face pales, but the tension shatters as Kirishima steps forward, his grin as bright and earnest as ever. “So… do I make it big in the future?”

“And me” Mina pipes up, bounding on her heels and looking at Katsuki with those big eyes. “Do I become a top hero? Come on, spill!”

“Do I finally get my lightning under control?” Kaminari asks, his eyes wide with hope and desperation.

“Does Tokoyami ever learn to control Dark Shadow at night?” someone else chimes in.

The questions come in a rush, one after the other, the excitement in the room rising like a tidal wave. Katsuki stands his ground, arms crossed, with an unimpressed look etched on his face, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his gaze - perhaps fondness for the younger versions of his friends that he didn’t even know he missed. He lets them fire off their questions, not bothering to answer, just letting them tire themselves out.

There’s something oddly grounding about the scene - his classmates, so full of life and curiosity, the way they were before things started to get harder, before everyone faced horrors that changed them forever. He can’t help but feel the flicker of nostalgia that rises in his chest, the faint ache of seeing them like this again. It’s not like he’s the sentimental type, but… damn. They’re all so young and innocent.

Finally, when the buzz of questions and speculation starts to die down, Katsuki raises a hand, silencing them with a single sharp motion. “Enough,” he says, his voice firm but lacking the usual edge of impatience. “You’ll find out when you get there. Focus on not screwing things up now. Don’t even bother asking me more questions, because I’m not gonna answer.”

That earns a few groans, but the class starts to settle, albeit with reluctant smiles. Katsuki shifts his weight, his eyes scanning the room purposefully now. His friends are here - his past self’s friends - but there’s only one person he’s really looking for. Izuku.

Izuku stands at the corner of the common room, his big, green eyes wide with a mixture of awe and nervousness as Katsuki - the older, taller, bigger, stronger Katsuki - approaches him. The older man’s presence is almost overwhelming. He’s carrying an air of confidence that commands attention, and as a result, Izuku is unable to tear his gaze away from him even for a moment. Izuku’s gaze flits from the scars etched across Katsuki’s face to the defined lines of the visible part of his shoulder. He’s so different, yet still the same Katsuki that Izuku knows. 

He feels a bit nervous and also unsure. It sure looks a lot like Katsuki is making his way over to him, but Izuku doesn’t know what to make of it. Why is Katsuki approaching him? Is this older Katsuki still mad at him? Does he suddenly want to pick a fight with Izuku despite the large age gap and size difference? If not, Izuku genuinely doesn’t know what this Katsuki could possibly want, approaching him like this.

“Izuku,” Katsuki says, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Izuku freezes, blinking rapidly. “K-Kacchan?” he stammers, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve nervously. His voice wavers as he takes a subconscious step back to maintain the distance between the two of them. He’s very intimidated. “You - you look… different.”

Katsuki stops a few feet away, standing tall, his posture relaxed but purposeful. He keeps his eyes on Izuku, making Izuku feel overwhelmed, unused to receiving such a high degree of attention from Katsuki. “Well, you look different from what I’m used to seeing, too,” he says, and to Izuku’s shock, there’s a softness to his tone - a faint warmth that feels entirely foreign. He almost sounds… fond. And it just doesn’t make any sense.

Izuku blinks, his mouth falling open slightly in shock. “You… you called me Izuku,” he whispers, as though the words themselves are impossible.

Katsuki exhales heavily, a flicker of guilt flashing through his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it yet,” he grumbles. “My younger self is a fucking idiot. It’ll take time.”

Despite the sharpness of his words, Izuku can practically feel the softness radiating off of them. It’s subtle, but it’s there, an unspoken gentleness that Katsuki’s younger self would never have allowed to surface, especially when talking to Izuku. Izuku’s gaze moves instinctively to the scar on Katsuki’s face that took his attention earlier. He feels a deep ache in his heart at the thought of what Katsuki had to go through to be able to get such deep and lasting scars. “Your shoulders… and your face,” he murmurs, almost choking up at the thought. “Kacchan… you’ve been through a lot, haven’t you? Are you okay?”

Katsuki stiffens for a split second, caught off guard by the genuine concern in Izuku’s voice. The boy’s green eyes simmer with something raw and unfiltered - worry, care, guilt. Katsuki’s hardened gaze softens despite himself, and he meets Izuku’s eyes head-on, not even trying to mask his softness with gruffness like he would’ve done if he was younger. “I’m fine,” he says, his voice lower now, quieter but steady. “You don’t need to worry about me, Izuku. I’m okay.”

Izuku’s heart flips. Katsuki’s words hit him with the force of an explosion - not because they’re loud or aggressive, like what he’s used to, but because they’re calm, sincere, and entirely unlike anything Katsuki has ever said to him before. His cheeks heat up, and he can only stammer, “O-okay.”

But his natural curiosity bubbles to the surface before he can stop it. His eyes light up as they dart across Katsuki’s figure again, finally taking in the sight of his costume, which looks different from the one he remembers the younger Katsuki wearing before. “Your costume!” he exclaims, stepping closer without even realizing it. “It’s incredible! Those gauntlets - are they an upgraded version of your current ones? What kind of material are they made of? When did you change them? Do they have additional features? And your boots! They look reinforced - are they optimized for close combat or-”

Izuku’s words tumble out in an uncontrollable torrent, his hands gesturing wildly as he tries to process every detail at once. There are so many things happening! So many things changed about Katsuki’s costume, and he can’t possibly take note of every single one of them! Izuku’s muttering grows louder, more frantic, as he dives headfirst into hero analysis mode, completely ignoring the fact that most of the people in the room are now looking at him.

Katsuki watches him, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The younger version of himself would’ve totally cut Izuku off by now, probably with a sharp insult or a small explosion aimed at his feet, always easily annoyed by Izuku’s mutterings. But this Katsuki? He just stands there, letting Izuku ramble on and on with that relentless enthusiasm that once grated on his nerves. It’s nice to see Izuku so… innocent. He’s completely unburdened by his responsibilities and the expectations of other people upon him at this point, and Katsuki finds that he’s willing to do just about anything to keep it this way.

“Damn nerd,” Katsuki mutters under his breath, though his lips twitch into the faintest of smiles.

Across the room, the rest of the class watches the scene unfold, their jaws collectively on the floor. They just saw Katsuki smile. This Katsuki, with all his scars, looking like he has been through hundreds of battles, is smiling at Izuku .

“Is it just me,” Kaminari whispers, leaning toward Kirishima, eyes wide and completely scandalized, “or is future Bakugou really weird?”

Kirishima grins, his sharp teeth flashing. “Weird? Nah. He’s kinda awesome to me. Look at him being all chill and mature. That’s my bro right there! He’s so manly!”

Mina tilts her head, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I dunno… I think he might be an imposter. The real Bakugou would’ve blown us up by now. And he definitely wouldn’t be smiling like that ,” she says, gesturing vaguely at Katsuki.

Back in the corner of the room, Izuku’s muttering finally screeches to a halt as he realizes something. Katsuki is watching him. Intently. Too intently. And he’s not screaming at Izuku to shut up! Katsuki’s gaze is fixed entirely on him, sharp yet inexplicably soft, like he’s studying every inch of Izuku and committing it to memory. For what reason, Izuku has absolutely no idea.

“K-Kacchan?” Izuku stammers, his face growing impossibly red, not really used to anyone giving him so much attention, especially if that someone is Katsuki. His hands freeze mid-gesture, and he takes a shaky step back as if increasing the distance between them can make it easier for him to breathe. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Katsuki smirks, unbothered by everyone thinking he’s being weird right now. Without any warning, he reaches out and ruffles Izuku’s hair roughly. “Just shut up and keep talking, nerd.”

The class collectively gasps, but Izuku barely registers the sound. He’s too stunned, too flustered, completely frozen on his feet, and - somehow - too happy to process anything else. Katsuki just touched him, and it’s not out of anger. Katsuki is smiling and touching him so gently, as if they’re actual friends.

For the first time in years, Midoriya Izuku is left completely speechless.

Chapter Text

Katsuki’s frustration crackles in the air, sharp and electric, as he paces around his office. His fingers twitch at his sides, the urge to lash out and destroy something overpowering every ounce of restraint he’s trying to hold onto. Unable to hold it in any longer, he slams his fist down onto the desk, the sound reverberating through the otherwise quiet office.

His jaw clenches in anger, and he practically lets out a growl. The seconds seem to stretch into hours, and still, there’s no reply. Izuku hasn’t responded to Shouto’s message asking him to come over. He hasn’t even acknowledged that he’s seen the message! Katsuki’s heart beats hard in his chest, the echo of his pulse almost drowning out everything else in the room. He’s been waiting for hours just to get a single fucking reply from Izuku! An entire workday is slipping by just like that! It’s been hours !

“What the hell is his problem?” Katsuki mutters, pacing back and forth across his office like a lion in a cage, his shoes thudding against the floor, the sound harsh and breaking the silence surrounding them. “He just has to fucking come here. It’s not that hard.”

The frustration bubbles over again, and it’s so terrible that he feels like he’s suffocating in it. Every time he thinks about Izuku - Deku - ignoring him, it stokes a fire in his chest that he can’t seem to extinguish. It just feels so wrong. It’s so unlike Izuku to ignore anything related to him. Katsuki clenches his fists at his sides once again, pacing quicker, the room feeling smaller as the seconds pass by. He has to hold it together. He has to be calm. This isn’t his world, so he can’t cause a mess for his older self to clean up.

But no matter how hard Katsuki tries to keep himself calm, he just can’t. Not now. Not when Izuku’s being so stubborn, so unreachable.

Shouto stands by the window, arms crossed, and completely calm as if he isn’t in a room with a Katsuki who’s about to blow up out of frustration. He simply watches Katsuki without saying a word, his sharp eyes assessing the situation with that quiet, unreadable gaze of his. It seems like some things really haven’t changed at all. The silence drags on, thick with tension, with Izuku still not replying to Shouto.

After a few moments, Katsuki spins to face Shouto, narrowing his eyes. His voice is low and seething, almost desperate. “Tell him he’s gotta come now. I don’t know, say I’m injured or dead or something. That’ll get his ass here for sure.”

Shouto’s brow furrows, clearly disturbed by the mere suggestion. He doesn’t flinch or look away, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes. This is the most emotion he’s shown all day. “That’s not a very good joke, Katsuki,” he says, his voice calm but firm as if he’s trying to talk Katsuki off a ledge. “Izuku would certainly freak out. He’ll be terrified. You can’t just mess with him like that.”

Katsuki feels a sharp pang of annoyance shoot through him. He can feel his temper spiking again, the edge of it sharp and raw. He grits his teeth together, and his hands form tight fists by his side. He takes a step toward Shouto, his voice snapping as he says, “You’re not the one fucking dealing with this shit right now, so don’t tell me what I can or can’t do. I fucking need to see Deku.”

Shouto doesn’t say anything else. He just sighs, a quiet, resigned sound. It’s almost as if he knows Katsuki too well to engage with him further when he’s this agitated. He’s been around Katsuki long enough to know how stubborn Katsuki can be when something’s bothering him or when he wants something. And right now, it’s obvious that Izuku not being here is bothering him a lot .

Katsuki doesn’t care about Shouto’s silence, though. He simply storms back to his desk, his hand hovering over the surface before he starts sifting through the papers to look for his older self’s phone. He mutters to himself as he searches. “Where the hell is it?” he growls under his breath, his fingers darting from paper to paper like he’s on the verge of losing his mind, like he’ll absolutely go crazy if he doesn’t find it right this second.

Finally, after a few moments of looking, he finally finds his phone buried under a stack of reports. The phone feels heavier than it should, like it’s full of answers that he’s not ready to hear. His thumb swipes across the screen, and then - nothing. The phone is locked.

“Dammit!” He curses under his breath, a sharp exhale escaping him. He moves the phone away from his face and glares at it as if it had personally offended him. He feels like the world is mocking him in some way, because how the hell can he send a damn message to Izuku if he can’t even get into his own fucking phone?

He grits his teeth and turns to Shouto, frustration bubbling over once again. “Hey, Icy Hot, do you know the password or not?”

Shouto’s gaze shifts to the phone briefly, his face unreadable as usual. “No. I don’t.”

Katsuki freezes, the weight of the situation pressing in on him. This whole thing is ridiculous. A damn password is standing between him and getting through to Izuku, and it’s getting under his skin more than he wants to admit. His fingers tighten around his phone, a growing pit of irritation settling in his stomach and making him feel like shit.

After a moment’s hesitation, Katsuki attempts to type in a password. First try. It’s his first try and the phone clicks open with a soft beep, the screen lighting up to reveal his home screen. For a moment, Katsuki just stands there, staring at the screen in silence, his breath catching in his throat. He feels his face flush slightly with embarrassment. It's as if the phone itself is mocking him.

The password. Of fucking course it’s related to him. Just a simple reminder of something he’s tried so hard to bury. It seems like after all these years, his older self didn’t really change much. He even has a stupid sentimental password, for fuck’s sake. Just another proof of his feelings that he can’t seem to shake, no matter how many times he tries to push them aside.

Shouto notices the faint flush on Katsuki’s cheeks. He asks, almost as if it’s an innocent curiosity. “Why does a simple password make you so flustered? Is it that embarrassing?”

“Shut up,” Katsuki grunts, quickly brushing off the moment of vulnerability. He punches through to Izuku’s chat without another word, his fingers almost shaking with impatience as he types in a message. The message is short but demanding, and he hopes it seems urgent enough for Izuku to actually come and see him. “Come to the agency. I want to talk.”

His thumb hovers for a moment, frustration prickling under his skin, before he hits send. A sharp exhale follows right after.

The message bubbles up on the screen, and Katsuki stares at it, waiting. Time stretches on, the tension building up in his chest. It’s probably only a few seconds, but Katsuki hates every single moment of it - he really hates waiting.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the phone buzzes, and a new message appears. Katsuki reads it in silence.

“Sorry, Kacchan. I have a lot of stuff to do right now, so I don’t think I can come. Maybe next time?”

The words hit him like a slap in the face. A surge of rage rushes through him, his grip tightening on the phone almost to the point of breaking it as he shoves it into his pocket with a growl. Izuku actually refused to see him. Izuku doesn’t fucking want to see him. That hurts a lot more than Katsuki expected.

“This damn idiot is really testing my patience,” he mutters, his voice thick with frustration and maybe even a hint of hurt. His hand shakes slightly, not from fear but from the intensity of everything building up inside him. It’s not just anger anymore. It’s something else. Something more.

Shouto watches him silently. He’s seen Katsuki frustrated plenty of times, but this? This is different. There’s a rawness to it, something deeper, something almost desperate. Katsuki’s usual fiery temper is there, but beneath it is something more vulnerable—a need for something he’s not even sure how to express.

Katsuki’s gaze sharpens as he turns to Shouto, his eyes narrowing, almost accusatory. “Hey, Icy Hot. Tell me. How often do I see Deku, anyway? Are we on good terms?” he asks because he’s starting to wonder if his relationship with Izuku suddenly fell apart in this timeline for whatever stupid fucking reason.

Shouto’s brow furrows slightly as he seriously thinks about the answer. He knows this conversation is veering into unfamiliar territory, and Katsuki is even starting to act a bit strange, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he answers cautiously. “Uh… a few times a month, I guess. Why do you ask?”

Katsuki’s fists clench at his sides, his knuckles turning white. The question isn’t casual. It’s loaded, and Shouto can feel the weight of it in the air. Katsuki’s jaw tightens as if he’s holding back an entire storm. Hope rises in his chest, but he quickly forces it down, not wanting to get ahead of himself just in case something bad really happened that caused his relationship with Izuku to fall apart. He can’t afford to hope for too much right now. Not when everything feels so vulnerable, as if one single wrong move from him will ruin this whole world for him instantly. “A few times a month, huh?” He mutters to himself, thinking hard. “And we’re okay? Or is there something... big about our relationship that you’re not telling me?”

Shouto’s eyes flicker toward the window, his mind processing the question. Katsuki’s words feel like a quiet confession, one he’s not ready to fully admit, even to himself. There’s always been something more than a simple friendship between Katsuki and Izuku - something neither of them is willing to face. They have a very special bond, and everyone knows it. Everyone can see it - they’d have to be blind not to. But so far, no one has ever tried to meddle. 

Shouto is careful with his next words, not wanting to say too much about things he’s not sure if this Katsuki is actually ready for. “Why don’t you ask him yourself when you see him, Katsuki?” he says softly, a hint of understanding in his voice. “I don’t think I’m the right person to talk about what’s between you and Izuku. And you know the answer is right in front of you if you open your eyes to see it.”

Katsuki doesn’t seem to understand him. To him, Shouto is just speaking in riddles. So he presses on, his voice growing more intense, more agitated. “What the hell do you mean? Fuck. I don’t fucking get it. Just fucking speak clearly. Am I seeing anyone or something? Just tell me if I am.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow at the question, startled by the personal nature of it. He might as well just have asked if he was seeing Izuku . It’s obvious that that’s what Katsuki wants to know about so much. Shouto’s lips curve into a faint, amused smile as he realizes what’s happening, though his eyes remain serious. “No, Katsuki, you’re not seeing anyone right now.”

A small, almost imperceptible shift happens in Katsuki’s expression. There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes, but it’s quickly buried beneath layers of frustration. He’s probably relieved that he’s not seeing anyone, but frustrated about the fact that he’s not seeing Izuku . Katsuki is so easy to read now that Shouto has known him for years. “Okay,” he mutters, more to himself than to Shouto. “What about Deku? Is he with anyone?” 

Oh, he’s not being subtle about his concerns at all.

Shouto’s gaze softens, the intensity of the question taking him off guard. Katsuki must feel so comfortable with him already to open up this much. Shouto answers without hesitation. “No. He’s not seeing anyone either. Don’t worry.”

Katsuki breathes out a sigh of relief, though he still feels a bit irritated by everything he just found out. He should be relieved that Izuku isn’t seeing anyone, but he feels his chest tighten at the implications of it. Because it’s been so many years . They are so much older now, but it seems like nothing has changed at all. Katsuki was hoping that something has changed or developed between them, even just a little bit, but right now, it feels like nothing ever will. It feels like he’ll be stuck in this strange and vague relationship with Izuku for the rest of their lives, and Katsuki can’t bear to stomach that thought.

Katsuki runs a hand through his hair, and a sharp exhale escapes his lips. “I don’t get it,” he mutters, frustration slipping into a quiet despair. He feels defeated and for obvious reasons. “What the fuck changed? I know I’ve been stupidly running from him for years, but that should be in the past by now. And Deku - he was always fucking there. I couldn’t even fucking go anywhere without seeing him running after me like some kind of idiot. And now, he’s not even fucking trying ? He’s avoiding me? What the hell happened? This has to be some kind of fucking joke.”

Shouto stays silent, watching Katsuki with an understanding gaze. He doesn’t offer answers - he doesn’t have any. This is something that only Katsuki and Izuku can resolve, but he knows that the answer is buried deep within Katsuki himself. Even at that young age, Katsuki must know something already. He wouldn’t be so upset if he didn't. Both of them know that this is more than just Izuku not replying. They both know that this frustration is rooted in something deeper than that.

Katsuki clenches his fists once more, his voice thick with an emotion he won’t dare to name right now. “This stupid nerd is gonna drive me fucking crazy. Why the hell is he avoiding seeing me ?”

Shouto doesn’t answer once again, but in his quiet way, he understands. Katsuki’s battle really isn’t just with Izuku - it’s with himself. And Shouto genuinely hopes that Katsuki will be ready to face it soon. 

This switch might just have been a blessing to them, honestly. This younger Katsuki has a fire inside of him that hasn’t burnt out yet. He still has that impatience, that drive, and that stubbornness that his older self had lost through time. While still immature in ways that his older self had grown out of, Shouto thinks that these… unique qualities might just be helpful in mending his relationship with Izuku. 

Katsuki’s older self has given up. But this Katsuki hasn’t. And this might just be exactly what Izuku needs to give himself and Katsuki a chance again.

The night falls quickly, like a blanket is being thrown over the world, trapping it in complete darkness. Shouto drives Katsuki to his apartment now that they know he probably won’t switch back to his original timeline within the day. Katsuki barely manages to mutter a small thanks before stepping out of the car, his thoughts still caught in the haze of the day’s events. The novelty of this world has completely worn out. Katsuki doesn’t really want to be here anymore - doesn’t want to be in this place that feels so unfamiliar, so distant, so cold. Even now as he’s standing in front of his supposed apartment, a place that looks way too big to be occupied by a single person, he doesn’t feel at home - no, not really. The door to his apartment is just a door, an obstacle between him and the pulsing ache inside of him, but still, he steps forward, making his way inside because he has nowhere else to go.

Inside, everything is too clean, too neat - almost like it’s a stage set, carefully arranged to make it look lived-in, but ultimately lifeless. It doesn’t look like it belongs to him at all. It’s more polished than he ever imagined his own place would be. The apartment is modern, functional, and everything seems organized, but it doesn’t feel like it’s his. Maybe it’s the design - maybe his taste changed as he got older. Or maybe it’s just because he’s all alone.

The silence of it is overwhelming, pressing against him from all sides. It’s unsettling and kind of depressing. Katsuki really doesn’t want to be here anymore.

Katsuki drags his feet across the floor, the sound strangely echoing louder than any explosion he’s ever created. He walks to the kitchen, his mind still reeling, still fixed on the absence that gnaws at him relentlessly - Izuku’s absence, specifically. The silence is deafening, and his thoughts grow heavy with the weight of that emptiness. He fixes himself a quick dinner - nothing special, nothing to occupy his mind, nothing to exert too much effort on. It’s just something quick, something that doesn’t require him to think, something that he just needs to get over with. He eats mechanically, barely tasting the food. 

As he eats, the harsh reality of the future settles deeper into his bones. This isn’t the life he imagined, and it’s even worse because he’s currently living in it. This is just… this isn’t how it was supposed to be . He always imagined his future to be filled with happiness and fulfillment. He imagined he’d be surrounded by people who adore him, that they’d know how much he cares even if he doesn’t say it out loud. He imagined that all the people important to him in the past would still be here with him, sharing a bond that’s stronger than ever, built through years of fighting side by side. 

He imagined that… Izuku would be here. Izuku was always by his side, and it feels wrong to be here without him. His future, the one he probably sacrificed everything for, doesn’t feel like the victory he imagined it to be. It feels like an empty prize, a hollow shell of the life he had envisioned. Is this really the life I fought so hard for?

When he finishes eating, he doesn’t even bother to clean up. It’s not like anyone will see it anyway. He’s completely alone right now. He leaves the dishes on the counter and drags himself to bed. His muscles ache with exhaustion despite not doing anything too physically taxing the whole day. His body begs for rest, but sleep is a distant dream. It doesn’t come easy - not with the burning question in his mind: Where the hell is Izuku?

Katsuki lies back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His hands press behind his head, fingers digging into the softness of the pillow as his thoughts swirl and twist, tangled and chaotic. He thinks about Izuku - he always does. He thinks about the years they must have spent together after graduating. Katsuki was so sure that their bond only got stronger than ever, but looking at it now, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Izuku definitely doesn’t feel closer now than he did in the past.

Katsuki probably should have expected Izuku to drift apart from him at some point, if he really thinks about it. It only makes sense. Katsuki knows that he had been cruel, especially when they were younger. He was terrible . To Izuku, and even to himself. He wasn’t just a jerk - he hurt Izuku for years . He was cold, dismissive, cruel , and a bully. 

His mind flashes back to their childhood, the constant fighting, the way he pushed Izuku around and hurt him so badly that it still follows him in his nightmares. He remembers all the times he shut Izuku down when all Izuku wanted was to help. He remembers all the regrets he feels for doing all of that because he still feels all of it now. He remembers being absolutely terrible to Izuku, but even then, even after all the unforgivable things he had done, Izuku never left . He was always there, always within arm’s length, always reachable if Katsuki tried hard enough to reach out. 

Izuku had always been there, like a shadow that refused to fade. Even when Katsuki made it very clear that he didn’t want him around, even when he told him to stay away multiple times, Izuku would always come running after him so stubbornly, as if he couldn’t get enough of Katsuki despite the harsh treatment he’s been receiving. Katsuki thought Izuku was an idiot for doing that, for putting himself through all of that just to get close to Katsuki, but looking back at it now, he never really wanted Izuku to leave. 

He liked Izuku’s attention. He liked how Izuku’s world seemed to have revolved around him even back then. And all his life, Katsuki thought it would always be like that. He thought that Izuku would always be there. Izuku was his constant, the only thing in his life that never changed. When everything around him felt unfamiliar, Izuku was always there, stubbornly running after him and refusing to leave, making Katsuki feel more comfortable and at home than he’d ever dare to admit out loud.

Katsuki thought he could take that for granted. Izuku stayed through everything, so Katsuki stupidly thought that no matter how angry he got, no matter how far he pushed Izuku, no matter how many terrible things he did in the past, Izuku would always be there - he would always stay by Katsuki’s side. It was a comfortable thought. Izuku will never leave me, he always thought. Izuku needs me around. He wants me around. And he didn’t question it, not even once. Because he didn’t have to. Because Izuku never gave him a reason to.

But now… now that he’s here, now that he’s seen what his future looks like, he can see how wrong he was. The fire that burns inside him whenever he looks at Izuku - he recognizes it now. It wasn’t the anger he thought it was. It wasn’t hatred, no matter how much he tried to convince himself of it, because it was so much easier for him to believe that those strong feelings were simply hatred than to have to face the fact that Izuku means so much more to him than he’s willing to admit. That fire wasn’t something that he needed to stamp out or fight - not that Katsuki can ever get rid of it no matter how hard he tries.

And now, Katsuki feels nothing but fear. Fear that Izuku would leave him. Fear that he would be left behind, abandoned, as if he never fucking mattered. Fear that he would be nothing without Izuku. Fear that he wouldn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do with his life with Izuku gone. Katsuki has always been afraid of losing him - he can freely admit that now that he’s alone. He has always been afraid of losing that one constant in his life, that tether to something real. And so he pushed Izuku away a lot, trying to protect himself from the crushing weight of that fear. He thought that if he could just keep Izuku at a distance, if he made him hate him, if he cut off all connections with him, if he ruined their relationship until it was unrecognizable, then it wouldn’t hurt anymore when Izuku inevitably leaves.

But now, Katsuki can see the truth clearly right in front of him.

Izuku is gone. And it hurts more than any pain he’s ever felt in his life.

Katsuki never imagined this future. He’s been working his ass off, fought tooth and nail just to prove to everyone that he’ll be a great hero, and seeing as he has his own agency now and is even ranked as the number one hero, he’s pretty sure his older self is still fighting hard to keep that dream alive. He had envisioned this moment for so long - becoming the number one hero, running his own agency, living the life he’s always dreamed of, but he never imagined that Izuku would be absent . He never thought that the day would come when Izuku wouldn’t be there, beside him, pushing him forward, arguing with him, competing with him, laughing with him.

He had imagined that by the time he finally achieved his dream, Izuku would be right there, sharing it with him, standing by his side, and being his number one supporter as always. He thought that Izuku would always be competing with him. He thought that Izuku’s world would always revolve around him, that they would always be together, pushing each other forward just like what they’ve always done in the past. Katsuki had always thought that their futures were intertwined - two forces pulling in the same direction, stronger together than apart. They’d share victories and failures, celebrate each other’s triumphs, help each other when things fell apart, just like what Katsuki has always wanted.

But instead, Izuku is nowhere to be found. Not in his agency, not even in his life. Katsuki’s jaw clenches at the thought, his chest tight with frustration. He wants to scream, to punch something, blow something up, anything, just to make this terrible sinking feeling go away. He feels the ache in his heart grow deeper with every passing second that he thinks about Izuku.

He thought that at the very least, Izuku would be his constant. He thought Izuku would be here with him, but he’s not. He’s gone, so far away, so unreachable, and it feels like a piece of Katsuki’s soul has been ripped away with his absence.

Where is he? That question echoes in his mind, relentless, gnawing at him. Katsuki doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why Izuku isn’t here with him. He thought they would have worked things out by now, and thought that after all these years, they would have come to an understanding. He thought they would always be together, like they had been all their lives, but now… now, that future feels like a lie. An illusion.

His heart aches, a raw, exposed wound he can’t ignore. Katsuki is hurt . He’s angry, yes, that’s to be expected, but more than that, he’s hurt . He’s never been good at dealing with his emotions, never learned how to express them properly and honestly, but this… this loneliness, this pain - it’s crushing him. It’s deeper than anything he’s ever felt before. He would rather take more punches and bruises than have to deal with this pain that he’s feeling every time he thinks of Izuku being gone from his life, being so far away that Katsuki can’t reach him no matter how hard he tries.

And just like that, this future isn’t so beautiful anymore. The dream he fought so hard for is a hollow victory. A life built on sweat and blood, but without the one person who mattered most to him. Katsuki lies in the dark, a void where Izuku should be.

Katsuki takes a shaky breath, clenching his eyes shut tightly, as if it will get rid of the image of Izuku inside his head.

Maybe it’s not too late.

Katsuki’s mind churns, turning over every possibility, anything that doesn’t end with the conclusion that he’s lost Izuku for good. He has to believe that there’s still hope. He has to, because he doesn’t know what he would do otherwise. Maybe it’s not too late to fix things - to fix whatever it is that was ruined. Maybe he’s just missing something - a puzzle piece that will make everything right again.

Shouto had mentioned that Katsuki and Izuku still see each other occasionally, that they weren’t completely estranged. Maybe it’s just that they’re taking things slow. Maybe they’re still figuring things out, still learning how to be what they need to each other. Maybe they just need a little bit more time to get to where Katsuki wants them to be. He has to hope, because he can’t let go, and he won’t.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’ll find Izuku. He’ll figure out what the hell is going on, what went wrong between them. He’ll talk to him. He’ll get all the answers he needs, and then they’ll work it out. Katsuki has to believe that. He refuses to have a future where Izuku is slipping right through his fingers.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. His mind races, a whirlpool of thoughts he can’t escape. Every time he feels himself begin to drift, the ache in his chest pulls him back to the world. But despite the gnawing anxiety, despite the uncertainty and the pain, Katsuki refuses to give up.

Tomorrow. He’ll fix it tomorrow. He’ll find Izuku. He won’t stop until he has Izuku back, right next to him where he should be.

Chapter Text

By the time lunch rolls around, Katsuki sticks to Izuku like a second shadow. It’s uncharacteristic of him - downright unnerving - and impossible for anyone in the class to ignore. The common room, usually abuzz with chatter and laughter, hums instead with subdued whispers, all of them about the unlikely duo now stuck to each other like glue. Confused glances dart their way, and Izuku’s friends look on with wide-eyed bewilderment.

Iida adjusts his glasses with sharp, deliberate movements, a crease of concern forming on his forehead. He’s clearly giving this a lot of thought. “Midoriya,” he begins, his voice laced with worry and urgency, “this behavior from Bakugou is highly irregular. Are we absolutely certain that he is not an imposter? Maybe someone sent by the villains to infiltrate the school?”

Shouto, ever the picture of calm, tilts his head and narrows his dual-colored eyes at Katsuki. “It’s not impossible,” he says thoughtfully, always the one coming up with wild theories. “The Bakugou we know would never willingly be this… attached to you.”

The two heroes-in-training huddle closer, their theories devolving into hushed but urgent whispers, each theory becoming more and more insane than the previous ones. Katsuki doesn’t so much as glance their way. He knows that his sudden appearance is very suspicious, so he’ll leave those nerds to their theories. His focus remains fixed on Izuku, his presence as sharp and heavy as a blade balanced on edge. Izuku fidgets under the weight of it, his hands clutching his bag so tightly his knuckles turn white.

When they finally sit down on the couch, Katsuki’s gaze doesn’t waver. It’s not angry or mocking - nothing like the sharp glares Izuku had grown used to receiving. It’s steady, curious, even calm. And that, more than anything, sets Izuku on edge. His friends are right, their ridiculous theories aside - this Katsuki is a bit suspicious.

“Izuku,” Katsuki says suddenly, his voice startlingly quiet. The way he says Izuku’s name - so natural, unhurried, almost familiar, as if he’s used to calling that name for years - sends a shiver down Izuku’s spine. 

Izuku blinks, his cheeks flushing pink as he tries to process the way Katsuki calls his name. He just called him ‘Izuku’ again . Not ‘Deku,’ not ‘nerd,’ not some derogatory nickname spat like an insult. His voice waves as he stammers, “Y-Yes, Kacchan?”

Katsuki leans back on the couch, his tone casual, almost nostalgic, if Izuku’s hearing that right. “You still got those nerdy notebooks?”

The question makes Izuku freeze. The last time Katsuki acknowledged his notebooks, it was when he completely destroyed one of them. “Uh, y-yeah! I mean, I’ve been working on a few new ones since we’ve been seeing a lot of heroes-”

“No, not those,” Katsuki interrupts, interest clear on his face. His arm rests on the back of the couch, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly, though his expression softens in contrast. It’s strange how Izuku can read his expressions so easily now. Maybe he does know Katsuki a lot more than he thought. “I mean the one about me. You still got it?”

Izuku freezes mid-motion, his breath catching in his throat. That notebook . Not just any notebook, but that notebook - the one he’d filled with sketches, analysis, and notes about Katsuki’s quirk since they were kids, from the very moment he started admiring Katsuki. How does Katsuki even know about it? If this Katsuki really is from the future, then does this mean their future selves are close enough for Izuku to tell Katsuki about that notebook? His heart hammers wildly as he scrambles for a coherent response, but none comes. He’s completely speechless.

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, his voice edging into impatience, but still somewhat soft in a way. “Well? You gonna show me, or what?”

A heavy silence fills the room. Iida sputters and nearly chokes on the water he’s currently drinking, and Shouto tilts his head further, his face betraying a flicker of mild surprise. Uraraka, seated nearby, stifles a giggle behind her hand, her curiosity written plainly across her face. It’s clear that hearing about Izuku having a notebook all about Katsuki is surprising to them. Izuku doesn’t know how he can ever live this down, or worse, how he’s going to explain this to his Katsuki when he’s back and he finds out about the notebook. Will he destroy that one, too, out of anger? Izuku doesn't know if he can take that.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Izuku blurts out a lie, though his voice cracks with the effort, and he winces. He pulls his bag closer, clutching it protectively as if it can shield him from the scrutiny.

Katsuki snorts, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. “Don’t play dumb, Izuku. You’ve had a notebook just for me since we were kids. You still got it or not?” he asks, though he’s looking at Izuku with narrowed eyes that seems to be silently telling him that he should know what the right answer is.

The blush that blooms across Izuku’s face spreads to the tips of his ears. His hands fumble as he reluctantly pulls the notebook from his bag, its cover worn but carefully preserved. It’s one of his oldest notebooks, after all, along with those about All Might. But it’s very precious to him, so he did his very best to make sure it remains in a good state and away from Katsuki’s eyes, fully knowing that Katsuki will probably ruin it to shreds if he even finds out that Izuku has been writing about him. But this version of Katsuki in front of him, by some miracle, doesn’t seem to have that intention, so Izuku decides to trust him with it. He places it on the table like it’s a fragile artifact, his fingers trembling as he releases it.

Katsuki takes it without hesitation, almost eagerly. He doesn’t mock him, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t obliterate the notebook completely. Instead, he flips through the pages with a quiet intensity. The sketches, the notes, every painstaking detail Izuku had written about his quirk and heroics - Katsuki takes it all in, humming thoughtfully every so often.

“This is insane,” Katsuki mutters under his breath. There’s no malice in his voice, no scorn, none that Izuku had expected. If anything he sounds strangely… impressed. “You got all my gear upgrades in here. Damn, you even noticed when I adjusted the nitroglycerin output on my gauntlets. You pay a lot of attention to me, huh?”

Izuku can’t help the way his face lights up, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten as he dives into his hero analysis mode. “Y-Yeah! I did! I thought it was a really smart move to compensate for the recoil during-” He stops mid-ramble upon realizing how fast and how much he’s talking. He ducks his head, flushing crimson, his embarrassment suddenly returning in full force. “S-Sorry! I didn’t mean to ramble.” He knows how much Katsuki hates it when he rambles, after all.

Katsuki shakes his head, his smirk softening into something faintly amused. “Nah, keep going. Not bad hearing how great I am from someone who actually pays attention to me.”

The entire room collectively freezes, their stunned silence palpable.

Izuku stares at Katsuki with wide eyes. “K-Kacchan, are you sure you’re okay? You’re not… sick, right?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes but doesn’t answer. Instead, he gestures for Izuku to continue his rambling. With some hesitation, Izuku begins explaining again, his voice a little steadier, though his hands tap nervously on his lap. Katsuki listens - really listens - his gaze unwavering and his expression unreadable as he gives Izuku his undivided attention.

When Izuku finishes, Katsuki leans forward, his voice quieter than anyone has ever heard it. “You wrote all this for me? And there are new ones? Were you just writing everything I told you about my upgrades? That’s why you were asking me so many damn questions earlier?” 

Izuku nods slowly, his blush deepening. “I wanted to, um, make sure I could tell my Kacchan everything when you… when he comes back. I think he would like to know how amazing his future self is.”

My Kacchan .

The words echo in Katsuki’s mind, reverberating with a strange warmth that settles somewhere deep in his chest. It’s crazy how much he likes hearing those words from Izuku. His smirk fades into something softer, almost fond, unable to hide it anymore. For a fleeting moment, his gaze on Izuku feels less like an observation and more like an acknowledgment, a gentle approval of his words.

Izuku freezes, realizing what he just said. “Wait! No! I-I didn’t mean it like that! I was just talking about, um, my Kacchan - I mean, the younger one! Your younger self! You know, the one from this world! Not that I’m saying that he’s- that you’re-”

“Relax, nerd,” Katsuki interrupts, his voice low and amused. “I got it.”

And then, to the shock of everyone at the table, Katsuki smiles . At Izuku .

It’s not a smirk, not a mocking grin, but a genuine, open smile that he’s giving no one else but Izuku . It’s so rare, so foreign, that the entire room seems to hold its breath, unable to comprehend what just happened.

“K-Kacchan?” Izuku stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” Katsuki says, leaning back casually. “I’m allowed to smile, aren’t I? Besides…” He gestures lazily at the notebook in his hand and then at Izuku. “You’re a kid right now. Can’t blame me for getting a little nostalgic. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you like this.”

And just like that, as if he didn’t say something that just completely flipped Izuku’s words, he goes back to flipping through the notebook with quiet curiosity, asking the occasional question or nodding along as Izuku stammers through explanations. The rest of the room remains frozen in shock, the usual clamor muted by the sheer oddity of Bakugou Katsuki being so… fond . Of Izuku .

And Katsuki? He doesn’t care who’s watching. He doesn’t care if the others think he’s crazy or an imposter for suddenly being so friendly with Izuku. He doesn’t have time to think about all of that. Not when he’s given the rare opportunity to just sit here and spend time with Izuku - something that he never got the chance to do when he was younger. For once, he’s right where he wants to be, and he’s not wasting this opportunity. No. By now, he knows better than that.

The common room of Class 1-A thrums with its usual energy as they start to get used to Katsuki’s and Izuku’s strange dynamics. There’s the scattered chatter, the hum of the TV, and the clatter of dishes in the adjoining kitchen. But all that white noise fades into the background for Izuku as he sits on the couch in front of Katsuki, completely absorbed in his hero notebook and their discussion. His pen flies across the page, a steady stream of observations and ideas pouring forth as he glances up at Katsuki every few moments to really take in everything he’s saying.

Katsuki, seated across from him, leans back with his arms crossed, answering Izuku’s barrage of questions with an air of uncharacteristic patience. There’s no bark, no scorn, no snide remarks, or any hint of annoyance - just a calm, conversational tone that feels as foreign as it is disarming.

“And you reinforced the gauntlets with what material again?” Izuku asks, his pen poised mid-sentence, his voice tinged with awe and wonder.

“Kevlar composite,” Katsuki replies, his tone almost lazily. “Lightweight, durable, and it holds up under repeated blasts. Your Kacchan will figure it out eventually, but you can give him a head start if you want.”

Izuku’s cheeks flush faintly at the mention of ‘your Kacchan,’ the implication in Katsuki’s words making him feel a bit embarrassed. But before he can form a response, a cheerful voice cuts through the moment.

“Hey, Deku!”  

Izuku looks up to see Uraraka bouncing toward him, her smile as bright as always. Her gaze flickers to Katsuki briefly, cautious but curious, before returning to Izuku. “We were about to grab lunch together - me, Iida, and Todoroki. Wanna come with us?”

Izuku opens his mouth to reply, to say yes, because they always have lunch together anyway, so this is nothing new, but then he sees the subtle shift in Katsuki’s demeanor, making him stop and think for a moment. The casual slouch of Katsuki’s posture stiffens; his crimson eyes sharpen as he leans forward ever so slightly. Though he doesn’t say a word, the air around him grows heavier, charged with something unspoken but undeniably tense. He doesn’t have to say anything for Izuku to know that he doesn’t like the idea of Izuku having lunch with his friends for some reason.

Uraraka hesitates, her confident smile faltering as she seems to sense the sudden tension from Katsuki. “Oh, um… I mean, if you’re busy-”

“Kacchan?” Izuku calls cautiously, his gaze darting to his old friend.

Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. His focus stays locked on Uraraka, the silence stretching into something almost unbearable. Finally, he speaks, his voice quiet but firm. “You want lunch, Izuku?”

The question catches Izuku off guard. “Uh… yeah? I guess so. Don’t you want to have lunch too?”

“I’ll make katsudon,” Katsuki says, as if it’s the most obvious solution in the world, as if it’s so natural for him to cook for Izuku .

The statement hangs in the air like a dropped pin. Izuku freezes, his mind scrambling to make sense of what he just heard. Not once in his life did he imagine hearing that from Katsuki . “You’ll… you’ll make katsudon?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair again. “Yeah. You’re obsessed with it, aren’t you? I’ll make it for you. No big deal.”

Izuku’s face lights up, his earlier confusion melting into unabashed excitement. No one has ever made katsudon for him before other than his mother! “Y-Yeah! I mean, I love katsudon! How did you know that?”

“‘Course I know,” Katsuki replies casually with a shrug. “You don’t shut up about it.”

The stunned silence from the rest of the room is almost comical. Uraraka stares, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, while Iida adjusts his glasses so vigorously they nearly fall off. Shouto, ever unbothered, simply tilts his head in curiosity.

Satisfied, Katsuki stands and stretches. “I’ll change first. Meet me in the kitchen.” With that, he strides out of the room, leaving behind a trail of baffled classmates.

The moment he’s out of sight, the questions explode.

“Midoriya,” Iida begins, his voice hushed but urgent, “what on earth just happened? Why is Bakugou being so… so…” He gestures vaguely, searching for the right word but not quite finding it.

“Domestic?” Uraraka supplies, her eyebrows raised.

“...Nice and caring,” Shouto finishes, his tone flat.

Izuku waves his hands frantically, his face an alarming shade of red. “I-I don’t know! Maybe he just… grew up? He seems really mature now. Maybe we’re friends in the future?”

“Friends?” Uraraka echoes, incredulous. “You and Bakugou?”

Izuku nods, albeit hesitantly, not quite believing himself either. “I mean, he doesn’t yell at me anymore. That’s a start, right? And he’s so cool now! Maybe… maybe we’ll actually get along later and we’ll be really good friends.”

Before anyone can press further and ask questions that Izuku doesn’t know the answer to, Katsuki reappears, now dressed in casual clothes. His signature scowl is back, though it lacks its usual bite. “Oi, Izuku,” he calls, jerking his head toward the kitchen. “Let’s go.”

Izuku jumps to his feet, clutching his notebook. “R-Right! Coming, Kacchan!” He practically trips over himself in his eagerness to follow Katsuki, leaving his classmates behind to stew in their collective bewilderment.

In the kitchen, Katsuki moves with precision, gathering ingredients and utensils like a seasoned pro, as if he’s done this many times before. Izuku hovers nearby, watching with wide eyes as Katsuki effortlessly preps the meal.

“You’re really good at cooking, huh, Kacchan?” Izuku says, his voice filled with admiration.

Katsuki doesn’t look up, too focused on cooking. “Yeah. Somebody had to be.”

Izuku chuckles nervously, fidgeting with his notebook. After a moment, he hesitates, then blurts out the question he’s been wanting to ask ever since he saw this Katsuki earlier this morning. “Do you… still hate me?”

The question makes Katsuki pause. He sets the knife down carefully, taking a deep breath before turning to meet Izuku’s wide, uncertain eyes. “I never hated you, Izuku.”

Izuku blinks, his breath catching. “You… you didn’t?”

“I was pissed off. Annoyed. About a lot of things. I was a dumb kid,” Katsuki admits, turning back to his work. “But I didn’t hate you. Not even close.”

Izuku’s heart swells at Katsuki’s surprising words, an overwhelming warmth spreading through his chest. “So… are we friends? In the future?”

Katsuki’s lips twitch into a faint smirk, his unusually warm crimson eyes staring straight at Izuku. “Yeah, nerd. You’re stuck with me.”

When the katsudon is finally ready, Katsuki serves it with unexpected care, setting the bowl in front of Izuku carefully like it’s something precious, like he’s nervous about what Izuku would think. Izuku digs in immediately, unable to contain his excitement any longer, his face lighting up with every bite of the first meal and probably the only meal Katsuki has ever and will ever cook for him.

“This is amazing, Kacchan! I didn’t know you could cook so well! You’re really a grown-up now!” he exclaims, his voice full of awe.

Katsuki leans back, watching him with an unreadable expression and not even touching his own share of the meal, as if simply watching Izuku eat is enough sustenance for him. Though he doesn’t say it, there’s a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he watches Izuku with all of his attention.

Outside the kitchen, their classmates huddle near the door, peeking in with varying degrees of shock. It’s utterly bizarre to watch an older version of Katsuki dote on Izuku, after all.

“What the hell is going on?” Uraraka whispers, eyes even wider now as she watches the interaction between the two.

“I have no idea,” Iida replies, his voice hushed. “But it’s… unprecedented.”

“They look happy,” Shouto observes, his tone neutral but thoughtful.

And in the middle of it all, Katsuki and Izuku sit together, sharing a meal that feels like something more - a quiet truce, a promise of a new beginning, or maybe just the way things were always meant to be.

The dormitory is a world away from the chaos Katsuki remembers. It’s quiet now, the kind of silence that feels fragile, like it could break apart at any moment. The muffled snores of his classmates filter through the walls, and the occasional creak of someone shifting in their bed punctuates the stillness. It’s so late into the night already, but Katsuki can’t rest. He lies on his back, staring at the dark ceiling, his arms crossed behind his head. His body is still, but his mind churns relentlessly, his thoughts filled with anything and everything, but especially one particular boy who has never left his mind the whole day.

The day had been a whirlwind of familiarity and nostalgia wrapped in strangeness. Seeing the younger versions of his friends had been disorienting enough - their laughter untainted, their spirits unbroken. Katsuki will never admit it, but seeing their younger selves made him very happy. But the hardest part had been him . Izuku .

Katsuki exhales sharply, shutting his eyes as if that could block out the image of Izuku, as if Izuku hasn’t been haunting his mind ever since the day everything changed between the two of them, ever since the day he lost all chances of having Izuku by his side.

This Izuku is so different. So… whole. His face isn’t marked by the battles they fought together. The deep scar that once slashed through his cheek is absent, replaced only by freckles that Katsuki can’t help but notice now, in this new context, are kind of… cute. Katsuki didn’t know how much he missed those freckles until he saw them on younger Izuku’s face again. Izuku’s hands don’t tremble from overuse right now, the skin considerably smoother rather than gnarled by the consequences of pushing One for All to its limits, of pushing himself to his limits. Even his smile feels different - brighter, easier, unburdened by the shadow of loss that had weighed so heavily on him in the future. The Izuku in the future was so lifeless, devoid of any kind of hope. This Izuku is everything but that.

Katsuki’s chest tightens at the thought.

He doesn’t know yet .

He doesn’t know about the endless nights spent grieving. He doesn’t know about the battles that pushed them beyond their limits, breaking their bodies and their spirits until Izuku had become a shell of the man that he used to be. He doesn’t know about that day that changed everything for Katsuki. The day Katsuki had shielded Izuku with his body, taking a fatal blow meant for him. The day he died in Izuku’s arms, crimson spilling over trembling hands as Izuku’s screams tore through the air. It makes sense that this younger Izuku is still doubting Katsuki’s intentions. He doesn’t know yet that Katsuki would willingly die for him, after all.

Katsuki rolls onto his side, curling into himself slightly as the memory claws at him. He feels the ghost of Izuku’s touch, of his desperate attempts to keep him alive. The image of those green eyes, brimming with tears, haunted by guilt, is seared into his mind. Katsuki will remember that moment for the rest of his life. That was the very moment he realized how much he loved Izuku, after all. And by that time, he thought it was too late, he thought he’d die without being able to tell Izuku that he loved him. But then he survived. And yet, he hadn’t been able to tell Izuku about his feelings afterwards, with the circumstances never allowing him to do so. So he waited and waited, trying to find the perfect timing, trying to mend his relationship with Izuku completely until they’re both ready to carry the weight of Katsuki’s feelings, but the more he tried, the more Izuku seemed to drift away from him, until it was too late, until Katsuki could no longer reach him, until he had completely lost Izuku.

He growls under his breath, clenching his fists until his nails bite into his palms. “Not this time,” he mutters. “I’ll make sure Izuku knows that he’s important to me this time.”

The bed creaks as he swings his legs over the edge, sitting up. He rests his elbows on his knees and stares down at the floor, his messy blond hair falling into his eyes. This time feels unreal. Everything about this opportunity given to him is unreal. Kirishima’s laugh is still carefree; Mina doesn’t carry the wary edge of someone who has seen too much. Even Shouto’s voice lacks the grim tone of someone who’s had to lead and stay strong in the face of devastating losses. They’re all so young, so full of hope, and untainted by the war.

But it’s Izuku who really gets to him. He’s still the same selfless kid Katsuki remembers him to be, the kind of person who would be willing to sacrifice himself to save literally anyone around him - the exact same reason Katsuki never wanted him to be a hero in the first place.

“Dumbass nerd,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. “Always trying to play hero, like you’re the only one who can save everyone, like dying for other people is your fucking mission.” Katsuki sighs. “You’re not fucking doing that this time around.”

That’s the thing about Izuku - he always thought he had to do it all himself. He never learned to lean on others, not even on Katsuki. Not until it was too late, until he had no other choice. And in the future, Katsuki had watched as that burden crushed him, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the bright, idealistic, hopeful kid he once knew.

Not this time.

Katsuki’s jaw tightens as he sits up straighter. If he’s stuck in this timeline - if he’s been given this ridiculous, impossible second chance - he’s going to use it well. That self-sacrificing bullshit Izuku pulls that will eventually ruin him? That ends now.

This Izuku has friends who would go through hell for him if he’d just let them , if he’d just lean on them . And he has Katsuki, for god’s sake. Katsuki would die for him over and over and over again if it meant keeping him safe. He’d take every hit, face every villain, if it meant Izuku could live a life free of the weight of the world. Okay, maybe Katsuki isn’t the best person to talk Izuku out of the self-sacrificing bullshit, but at least Katsuki wouldn’t just die for any random person. He’s a hero - of course he wants to save everyone. But he doesn’t actively think about dying for all of them. Just Izuku. He knows he’ll do anything to keep Izuku safe. But Izuku - that nerd - would probably give up his life for a random person he’d met five seconds ago.

His thoughts shift to his younger self, and Katsuki snorts bitterly. He wishes his younger self was here now, so he could give him some talking to, and maybe beat him up a bit if he complains. Katsuki wishes he could tell his younger self to look after Izuku, to be kinder to him, to show him how much he cares before it’s too late. Because that idiot doesn’t have a clue, and Katsuki doesn’t want him to ruin any progress he’ll make while he’s here. He can picture it now - his younger self coming back and barking angrily at Izuku, shoving him aside, too consumed by fear and pride to see what’s right in front of him.

“Moron,” Katsuki mutters. He drags a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly for a moment. He hopes - prays - that at the very least, he switched places with his younger self. Maybe his younger self is over there getting his ass kicked by Kirishima and the others. Maybe they’re knocking some sense into him, teaching him to be the kind of person Izuku deserves to have at his side - the kind of person Izuku would want by his side.

This is a second chance. For Izuku. For his friends. For himself. Katsuki doesn’t know if it’s fate or some kind of cosmic mistake, but he’s not about to waste it. He’ll make every second he spends here count.

He lies back again, staring up at the ceiling with renewed determination. His fingers curl into the blanket beneath him, his grip firm.

He lost his chance to keep Izuku safe in the future. To keep him happy. To keep him by his side. To be the person Izuku can lean on when things get tough. To be the person Izuku can trust . But here? Here, he can do better. He can make sure this Izuku doesn’t have to suffer the way his future self did. He can make sure they will have the future that Katsuki has always wanted for them.

“I’ll fix this,” Katsuki whispers into the dark. He smirks faintly, his resolve setting like steel in his chest. “And when I do, my younger self better not fucking screw it up.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, the peace of Katsuki’s apartment is shattered by a sharp, insistent knock. Still sprawled over his couch, Katsuki groans, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand and glaring at the door with the intensity of someone willing it to disappear.

"Who the hell’s banging on my door this early?" he mutters to himself, debating whether it’s worth blasting the door open and dealing with the mess later.

Before he can act on that impulse, the door creaks open.

“Seriously?” Katsuki growls, snapping upright. “OI! Who the hell just lets themselves in—”

His complaint dies in his throat as Todoroki Shouto steps inside, his calm demeanor radiating pure nonchalance. The contrast between Shouto’s pristine appearance and Katsuki’s unkempt state is almost insulting.

“You left your door unlocked,” Shouto says flatly, ignoring Katsuki’s glare as he closes the door behind him. “You’re lucky I’m not a villain.”

Katsuki snorts, raking a hand through his mess of hair as he swings his legs off the couch. “Like any villain would survive long enough to walk in here, Icy Hot.”

Shouto doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he glances around the room before sitting down across from Katsuki with the same unshakable composure he always carries.

“I came to check if you’ve switched back yet,” Shouto says simply, his mismatched eyes studying Katsuki.

Katsuki rolls his shoulders, still irritated. “Do I look like I’ve switched back?!”

Shouto tilts his head slightly, giving Katsuki a once-over. “No. You still seem… younger.”

The vein in Katsuki’s forehead twitches. “Tch. Isn't it fucking obvious?”

Unbothered, Shouto moves on. “I had some of my contacts investigate the situation. They traced the events leading up to the quirk activation.”

That gets Katsuki’s attention. He leans forward, his crimson eyes narrowing. “And?”

“It was a random quirk activation,” Shouto explains, his tone clinical. “A passerby with an unidentified quirk triggered it. Completely accidental.”

Katsuki’s lips curl into a scowl. “Great. So what’s the fix?”

Shouto crosses his arms, his gaze steady. “There isn’t one. The quirk will reverse itself in three days—or sooner, if you accomplish whatever it is you’re supposed to accomplish during the switch.”

Katsuki blinks, momentarily stunned. “Supposed to accomplish? I didn’t ask for this bullshit!”

Shouto shrugs, leaning back slightly. “The quirk likely reacts to unresolved desires or regrets. If you don’t know what they are, your older self does.”

For a moment, the room is silent except for the faint hum of the city outside. Katsuki’s thoughts race, his irritation morphing into something heavier. Regrets? His older self has regrets? Enough to trigger some freak quirk to shove him into the future?

“What the hell could’ve gone so wrong,” Katsuki mutters, his voice low, “that I’d want to fix it now?”

And then, like a sucker punch to the gut, the answer hits him.

“Deku.”

Shouto raises an eyebrow, intrigued but unsurprised. “Deku?”

Katsuki shoots to his feet, pacing the room like a caged animal. “It’s gotta be about him! What else could it be? It’s always that damn nerd!”

Shouto watches Katsuki quietly, letting the outburst play out.

Katsuki whirls on him, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Take me to him.”

Shouto doesn’t flinch. “He’s busy.”

“I don’t give a damn what he’s busy with!” Katsuki snarls, his voice rising. “Nothing’s more important than me!”

Shouto’s calm facade wavers slightly, a flicker of disapproval in his mismatched gaze. “Katsuki, you can’t just—”

“The hell I can’t!” Katsuki interrupts, his tone pure venom. “If you don’t take me to him, I’ll blow this whole damn apartment up—and that stupid agency while I’m at it!”

Shouto’s sigh is almost imperceptible, but it’s there. He pinches the bridge of his nose like a man resigned to dealing with chaos. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

Shouto stands, the weight of inevitability in his movements. “Fine. I’ll take you. But if he gets mad, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Katsuki smirks, the familiar fire of confidence burning in his eyes. “Like that nerd could ever scare me.”

As Shouto leads him out the door, Katsuki’s heart pounds—not with fear, but with anticipation. He spent the entire night thinking about Deku: wondering how he’s changed in this timeline, what regrets his older self might have about him, and what the hell to do to set things right.

Whatever the nerd’s been avoiding, Katsuki’s done waiting for answers. He’s going to get them—loudly and directly. Because if there’s one thing Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t do, it’s run away .

The city is quiet in the early hours, the rising sun painting the streets in soft golds and muted shadows. Katsuki trails behind Shouto as they navigate a neighborhood far from the bustling city center. The streets here are narrow, lined with modest apartment complexes. There’s nothing flashy or grand about it—nothing that screams “Pro Hero Number Two.”

“This is it,” Shouto says, stopping in front of a compact, slightly worn building.

Katsuki stares at it, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion and disbelief. “This? You’re tellin’ me this is Deku’s place?”

“Yes,” Shouto answers without hesitation.

Katsuki snorts, folding his arms as his crimson eyes sweep over the simple exterior. “The hell? Deku’s Number Two, isn’t he? Why the hell’s he living in a dump like this? This place looks like it’ll collapse if I sneeze too hard.”

Shouto shrugs, his expression unbothered, though there’s a faint edge to his voice when he says, “He prefers a simple life. Says it keeps him grounded.”

Katsuki’s lip curls in disdain. “What a loser.”

But his words are automatic, lacking their usual venom. Beneath the bravado, unease stirs in his chest. This isn’t the life he imagined for Deku. For all their rivalry, Katsuki assumed they’d be equals in every aspect, from hero rankings to the way they lived. His thoughts flicker to his own sleek high-rise apartment—a place that practically oozes success and power.

For a brief moment, an absurd image flashes in his mind: dragging Deku out of this hole and into somewhere better. Somewhere he could keep an eye on the nerd, maybe even spoil him a little just to prove he could.

The thought makes him smirk, though it fades quickly as his scowl returns.

Shouto knocks on the door politely, his composure as steady as ever. They wait. Nothing happens.

He knocks again, firmer this time. Still no response.

“Tch. Move, Icy Hot,” Katsuki snaps, shoving past him. “I got this.”

Before Shouto can object, Katsuki raises his fist and pounds on the door, the force rattling it in its frame. “OI! DEKU! OPEN THE DAMN DOOR BEFORE I BLOW IT TO HELL!”

Shouto sighs audibly. “Subtle.”

“Subtle’s for losers,” Katsuki retorts, raising his fist to knock again when the door creaks open.

Midoriya Izuku stands there, blinking at them in wide-eyed confusion. He’s dressed in an oversized shirt and sweatpants, his unruly green hair even messier than usual. But it’s not his clothes or his hair that catches Katsuki’s attention.

It’s his eyes.

The Izuku Katsuki knows—the one who always looked at him like he hung the damn stars in the sky—is gone. This Izuku’s eyes are dulled, weighed down by something Katsuki can’t name. Exhaustion? Pain? Regret? Whatever it is, it twists something in Katsuki’s chest, sharp and unwelcome.

“Kacchan?” Izuku’s voice is soft, tentative, like he’s not entirely sure what he’s seeing.

Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. His eyes trail over Izuku, and his chest tightens at the sight of him. The scars are the first thing he notices—far too many of them. A long one runs across Izuku’s cheek, cutting through some of his freckles. It pisses Katsuki off instantly.  

“The hell happened to your face?” he blurts, stepping forward without thinking. His hand lifts, brushing the edge of the scar before he even realizes what he’s doing. “And your eyes—why do you look like that?”

Izuku flinches slightly, not at Katsuki’s touch but at the sharpness in his voice. “Uh… what?” 

“Don’t ‘what’ me!” Katsuki snaps, his voice louder now. “Who the hell did this to you, Deku? I’ll kill ‘em!”  

“Kacchan,” Izuku says again, this time firmer, though there’s still a nervous edge to his tone. He looks over at Shouto, clearly looking for some sort of explanation.  

Shouto sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “There was a quirk incident. Younger Bakugou was switched into this timeline. It’s temporary, but… well, this is where we are for now.”  

“Switched?” Izuku repeats, his hand drifting to his cheek as if just now realizing the scar is still there. His wide green eyes dart back to Katsuki, a mixture of shock and confusion written across his face. “Wait… you’re…?”

“Yeah, I’m younger me,” Katsuki snaps, crossing his arms. “What, you think I just decided to look this good for no reason?”

Izuku blinks, startled by the bluntness, before a small, nervous laugh escapes him.

“I figured you’d want some time to catch up,” Shouto says, far too calmly. His lips quirk in something almost like amusement, which only pisses Katsuki off more. “And quite frankly, I don’t want to see whatever is going to happen with your conversation. Iida needs me on patrol anyway, so I’m going.”  

“Good! Scram, Icy Hot!” Katsuki yells as Shouto waves lazily and disappears down the hallway, leaving an awkward silence in his wake. Izuku shifts on his feet, looking overwhelmed as Katsuki narrows his eyes.

“Well? You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna let me in?” Katsuki demands.

“Uh, yeah,” Izuku stammers, stepping aside quickly. “Come in, Kacchan.”

The apartment is small, cluttered but clean, with stacks of papers and notebooks on nearly every surface. Katsuki doesn’t care about any of it. His focus remains locked on Izuku as he sits down on the couch, motioning for Katsuki to do the same.

“So…” Izuku starts hesitantly, his hands fidgeting. “Are you okay? This must be really weird for you, waking up in a completely different—”

“Cut the crap, Deku,” Katsuki interrupts, plopping down on the couch with his arms crossed. “I’m fine. Stop fussing over me. I wanna know what happened to you .”  

Izuku looks startled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the scars, idiot!” Katsuki snaps, his voice sharp as he gestures at Izuku. “Who the hell did this to you? And don’t you dare act like it’s nothing!”

Izuku’s eyes drop to his hands, his thumb brushing over faint scars there. “It’s just from fighting villains, Kacchan. It’s part of being a hero.”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki growls, leaning forward. “Doesn’t mean you gotta look like you’ve been through a meat grinder. Didn’t my older self help you at all?”

Izuku’s eyes soften at that, and a small smile tugs at his lips. “Your older self did a lot for me, Kacchan. More than you could imagine. He always tried to save me, in every way he could. I… I appreciate him a lot.”  

The sincerity in Izuku’s voice catches Katsuki off guard. He leans back, crossing his arms, trying to mask the flicker of relief in his chest.  

“Good,” he mutters, his voice quieter but no less firm. “He better have. And you better appreciate it, nerd.”

Izuku chuckles, the sound lighter than Katsuki expects.

Katsuki’s resolve hardens. If his older self was willing to fight so hard for Izuku, then Katsuki sure as hell isn’t going to fall short when he goes back to his own time. Whatever this world threw at Deku, Katsuki vows he’ll try even harder to stop it in his world before it happens.  

Because no one messes with his Deku. Unless it’s Katsuki, of course. No one else has the right to fuck with him. Not on Katsuki’s watch. Not ever.

The tension in the room is suffocating, an oppressive weight pressing down on both of them. Katsuki leans forward on the edge of the couch, elbows digging into his knees. His crimson eyes are laser-focused on Izuku, unrelenting, as if the intensity of his glare alone could force the truth to unravel. Across from him, Izuku sits rigid in his chair, his hands fidgeting restlessly in his lap. He avoids Katsuki’s gaze at all costs, his eyes darting to the floor, the walls, anywhere but the molten fury in front of him.

“So,” Katsuki begins, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, sharp and clipped. “Where are you working?”

The question hangs in the air, a stark and brutal demand. Izuku blinks, startled by the bluntness, but before he can muster a response, Katsuki barrels forward, his frustration spilling over.

“And don’t even think about dodging the question.” Katsuki’s voice rises, his lips curling into a scowl. “I’m asking why the hell you’re not working at my agency. Even Icy Hot’s there, and he’s one of your supposed best friends. What’s your excuse, Deku?”

Izuku’s fingers tighten around the fabric of his sweatpants, his knuckles blanching. He swallows hard, his voice wavering as he finally answers, “It’s… complicated, Kacchan.”

“Don’t give me that ‘complicated’ bullshit!” Katsuki snaps, leaning closer, the veins in his neck straining. “What, did my older self not ask you? Was he some spineless idiot who just let you go without putting up a fight? If that’s the case, screw him. I’m asking you right now.” He jabs a finger at Izuku, his voice growing more heated. “Come work with me. We’ll wipe the floor with every extra out there. Top two heroes, side by side? No one would stand a goddamn chance.”

Izuku’s lips part, but no words escape. He looks like he’s choking on his own thoughts, his throat bobbing as he swallows again, his green eyes darting to the side. “You did ask me. I just—I said no.”

“What the fuck?” Katsuki’s voice is a low growl now, thick with simmering anger. “You don’t wanna work with me? Think you’re too good for my agency? Or—” His eyes narrow into slits, sharp and accusing. “—are you looking down on me?”

“No!” Izuku blurts out, his voice trembling. “No, Kacchan, it’s not like that at all!”

“Then what is it?!” Katsuki’s hand slams against his knee with a resounding crack, the sound reverberating through the small room. “You turned me down. Why? Give me one good fucking reason why you’d walk away from us .”

Izuku’s shoulders hunch as if trying to make himself smaller. His voice drops to a near whisper. “It’s not that simple, Kacchan.”

“Stop saying that!” Katsuki’s fists clench so tightly that his knuckles go white. His patience, already thin, is shredding under the weight of his mounting frustration. “The Deku I know— my Deku—would never pull this shit. He’d lose his mind if I disappeared, let alone showed up looking like this. He’d be climbing the goddamn walls, trying to figure it out.”

Izuku flinches, his body jerking slightly as Katsuki’s words strike like blows, but Katsuki isn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

“And he’d jump at the chance to work with me. He’d be over the moon if I even suggested it, let alone begged him to join me.” Katsuki’s voice cracks for the briefest moment before he barrels on. “Because my Deku actually cares . He wouldn’t just fuck off somewhere and act like I don’t fucking exist.”

“Kacchan…” Izuku’s voice is small, trembling with an undercurrent of pain, but Katsuki steamrolls right over it.

“He wouldn’t avoid my eyes like I’m some stranger!” Katsuki’s voice grows louder, the rawness in his tone cutting through the air like a razor. “He wouldn’t sit there like he doesn’t give a shit what I’m doing or what happens to me! My Deku…” Katsuki pauses, his chest heaving, the fire in his crimson gaze flickering with something more fragile. “My Deku values me. He’d never choose to be away from me if he had a choice. And you—” He points a trembling finger at Izuku, his voice trembling with unrestrained emotion. “You had a fucking choice. And you left .”

The silence that follows is deafening, a suffocating blanket of unresolved tension. Izuku’s hands tremble in his lap as he searches for the words, any words, to bridge the chasm between them. But the Katsuki in front of him—raw, unguarded, and heartbreakingly vulnerable—is unlike any Katsuki he’s ever faced.

“Kacchan…” Izuku’s voice is barely above a whisper, fragile and apologetic. “We… we just grew up. Our dreams… they took us down different paths. That doesn’t mean we’re not friends anymore. It just means things changed.”

Katsuki’s sharp gaze locks onto Izuku, disbelief and hurt swirling in his crimson eyes. “Changed?” he echoes, the word like a curse on his tongue.

Izuku’s heart hammers in his chest, the weight of Katsuki’s scrutiny almost unbearable. “Yeah. Changed. And that’s okay. We’re not… the most important people in each other’s lives anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, Kacchan.”

The words hang in the air like a guillotine, heavy with finality. Katsuki’s expression twists, a storm of emotions—anger, hurt, betrayal—crossing his face in rapid succession. Then, without warning, his shoulders shake, and tears begin to well up in his fiery crimson eyes.

“Kacchan…” Izuku’s voice breaks, trembling with the weight of his own guilt. He reaches out instinctively, his hand hesitant but genuine, only for Katsuki to swat it away with a force that stings more than the physical rejection.

“Don’t!” Katsuki snaps, his voice breaking as he glares at Izuku through tear-filled eyes. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Izuku freezes, his outstretched hand trembling in mid-air. Katsuki’s tears fall freely now, streaking his face in fiery trails. His voice rises, raw and unrestrained, as he hurls his pain at Izuku like a weapon. “You think it’s fine to just… leave me behind like that? Like I don’t fucking matter to you anymore?”

“Kacchan, I didn’t—”

“You did!” Katsuki roars, his voice breaking, his hands shaking. “You left me!” His fists clench so tightly his nails bite into his palms, and his entire body trembles under the weight of his fury and grief. “You don’t even see me as someone special anymore, huh? Just some guy you used to know. Is that it? Is that what I am to you now, Deku?!”

Izuku’s voice cracks, a desperate denial spilling from his lips. “No! It’s not like that!”

“Then what the fuck is it?!” Katsuki’s crimson eyes bore into Izuku, wild and desperate. “What the hell am I supposed to think when you sit there and tell me I’m not the most important person in your life anymore?!”

The room feels like it’s collapsing in on itself, the air thick with unresolved tension and unspoken truths. Izuku opens his mouth to speak, to try and fix the jagged pieces of their broken connection, but the words die in his throat.

And Katsuki, trembling and raw, continues to fall apart.

Izuku’s breath catches, his chest tightening painfully as he stares at Katsuki, at a loss for what to say. Every instinct screams at him to fix this, to say something, anything, that can stop the bleeding, but his words falter before they can even form.

“Don’t even bother!” Katsuki barks, his voice raw and cracking under the weight of his emotions. His crimson eyes, bright and searing, glisten with unshed tears. “I get it. You moved on. You… you grew up or whatever bullshit excuse you wanna throw at me.” He lets out a bitter, trembling laugh, one that sounds more like a sob caught in his throat. “But you know what? My older self didn’t. That sappy bastard didn’t move on one damn bit.”

Katsuki’s lips curl into a humorless, pained smile as he shakes his head, his voice dripping with self-loathing. “He’s got your stupid fucking birthday as his passcode, Deku! Like some embarrassing, lovesick idiot!”

Izuku’s eyes widen, his breath hitching. The words strike him like a hammer, leaving him stunned and reeling. Before he can respond, Katsuki barrels on, the torrent of emotion pouring out of him unstoppable.

“You think you’re not important to me? To him?” Katsuki’s voice softens for a fleeting moment, the anger giving way to something rawer, more vulnerable. “You’re all I fucking have, Deku. You’ve always been all I’ve ever had.”

The confession hangs heavy in the air, slicing through Izuku like a blade. He feels the burn of tears welling in his eyes, his chest aching with the weight of Katsuki’s pain.

“And now you’re telling me you don’t even care enough to stick around,” Katsuki continues, his voice breaking again. “You don’t care about what happens to me. You don’t care that I need you. You don’t even see me as someone worth staying for.”

Izuku’s heart fractures at the sight of Katsuki unraveling before him, his fiery, unyielding friend reduced to this raw and exposed state. His hands tremble in his lap, the helplessness consuming him.

Katsuki’s fists tighten, his nails digging into his palms until his knuckles go white. He refuses to meet Izuku’s gaze, his head bowed as tears streak his face. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, but no less anguished. “I just want to go back,” he mutters, the words barely audible. “Back to my Izuku. The one who still gives a fuck about me. The one who’d never leave me behind. The one who’d want to stay with me, fight with me, be my partner.”

His voice wavers, breaking as a fresh wave of tears spills down his cheeks. His shoulders shake under the strain of emotions too big for him to contain. “The one who still thinks I’m someone special.”

The room is deathly still, the gravity of Katsuki’s words filling the space like a suffocating fog. Izuku feels frozen, his body locked in place as his own tears blur his vision. Every word Katsuki says feels like a punch to his gut, a truth he wasn’t ready to face.

“Kacchan…” Izuku whispers, his voice hoarse, thick with emotion. He reaches out hesitantly, his hand trembling as it hovers between them.

Katsuki doesn’t look up. He rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, as if trying to erase the vulnerability spilling out of him, but the tears keep coming. “Why did it have to be like this?” he asks, his voice hoarse. “Why the hell did it have to change so much? What the fuck did I do wrong?”  

Hearing Katsuki—Katsuki, who had always seemed indestructible—reduced to this shattered version of himself is too much. A sob breaks free from Izuku’s throat, raw and unrestrained, before he lunges forward, pulling Katsuki into a fierce, desperate embrace.

Katsuki stiffens at the contact, his body going rigid. “What the hell are you—” he starts, his voice defensive and cracked.

But Izuku’s grip tightens, his arms wrapping securely around Katsuki as if to shield him from the weight of his own despair. “I’m sorry,” Izuku chokes out, his tears soaking into Katsuki’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Kacchan.”  

For a moment, Katsuki doesn’t move, caught between his instinct to shove Izuku away and the overwhelming need to let himself fall apart. Slowly, tentatively, his hands rise, trembling as they grip the back of Izuku’s shirt like a lifeline.

“You’re such a damn crybaby,” Katsuki mutters, his voice shaking, but there’s no heat in the words—only pain and exhaustion.

Izuku lets out a weak laugh through his tears, a sound more broken than joyful. “Guess I never outgrew that, huh?”

Katsuki buries his face in Izuku’s shoulder, his breaths ragged and uneven. “You were supposed to stay with me,” he murmurs, his voice muffled but no less anguished. “You weren’t supposed to… fucking leave.”

“I didn’t mean to leave you, Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, his own voice cracking. His hands move in slow, comforting circles across Katsuki’s back. “I thought I was doing what was best for you… for both of us.”

“Well, you’re an idiot,” Katsuki bites out, though his words lack their usual sharpness. His voice trembles, raw and vulnerable. “You’re my anchor, Deku. You’ve always been my goddamn anchor. And now I’m stuck here, looking at this version of you who doesn’t even want me around.”

“That’s not true,” Izuku says quickly, his voice breaking with desperation. “I never stopped wanting you around, Kacchan. I just… I didn’t know how to stay without holding you back.”

Katsuki pulls back slightly, his red-rimmed eyes glaring at Izuku through the blur of tears. “Who the hell said you’re holding me back?!” he snaps, though his voice lacks its usual force. “You’ve always been ahead of me, Deku. Always. I’m the one chasing you, not the other way around. You’re the one who made me who I am. You’re the one who gave a shit about me when no one else did.”

Izuku’s gaze drops, his tears falling freely as guilt swallows him whole. “I didn’t want you to have to carry me, Kacchan,” he says softly. “I wanted to stand beside you as an equal, not be someone you felt stuck with.”

“ Stuck with ?” Katsuki echoes, his voice rising with incredulity. “You think I’d feel stuck with you? Goddammit, Deku, you’re the only person I ever wanted at my side!”  

The rawness of Katsuki’s confession hits Izuku like a tidal wave, leaving him breathless. He breaks, burying his face against Katsuki’s shoulder as fresh sobs wrack his body.

Katsuki lets out a shaky sigh, his tears still falling, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his arms tighten around Izuku, holding him like he’s afraid to let go. For a long, fragile moment, the only sounds in the room are their shared cries, their broken breaths, and the faint whisper of something new—something healing—beginning to form between them.

Katsuki’s chest aches, but for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight begins to lift. Somewhere in the pain and the tears, he feels the smallest flicker of hope.

Chapter Text

The training grounds buzz with energy, the sound of clashing quirks and shouts of determination filling the air as Class 1-A throws themselves into their mock battles. Aizawa stands at the edge, his sharp gaze cutting through the chaos, but Katsuki barely spares their teacher a glance. His attention is locked elsewhere.  

Off to the side, Izuku crouches with his ever-present notebook, furiously scribbling observations. The soft scratch of his pen is barely audible amidst the noise, but Katsuki catches it anyway, his sharp ears always tuned to Izuku's movements. A faint, fond smile tugs at the corner of Katsuki’s lips—a rare softness he’s quick to suppress. His face falls back into its usual scowl as he leans casually against a wall, arms crossed, though his gaze lingers on Izuku longer than he intends.  

It’s become a habit. Ever since he found himself stuck in this younger version of their world, Katsuki has hovered near Izuku, keeping close as if tethered by an invisible string. He tells himself it’s practical—he needs to make sure the nerd doesn’t overdo it or get himself killed—but deep down, he knows it’s more than that. Being near Izuku is grounding. The steady rhythm of his muttering, the way his bright green eyes light up when he talks about quirks—it all reminds Katsuki of what he’s fighting for, even if he doesn’t dare admit it out loud.  

“Kacchan, look!” Izuku’s excited voice snaps Katsuki from his thoughts. Izuku points toward the training field, where Tsuyu has wrapped her tongue around Kirishima’s arm mid-spar. “Did you see how she neutralized his hardening? If she could immobilize his upper body completely—”  

“Yeah, yeah, I see it,” Katsuki cuts in, waving a hand dismissively. His tone is gruff, but there’s no heat in it. He lets Izuku ramble on, his voice a soothing backdrop as Katsuki watches the sparring match with one ear and listens to Izuku with the other. Izuku glances at him every so often, seeking validation, and Katsuki answers with a small grunt or a nod. He pretends not to notice the slight flush of satisfaction that spreads across Izuku’s face each time.  

When it’s Izuku’s turn to step onto the training grounds, Katsuki straightens instinctively. His body tenses as Izuku squares off against Shouto, determination burning in his eyes. Katsuki knows that look—it’s the one Izuku gets when he’s about to push himself too far.  

Aizawa announces the match, and Shouto wastes no time, sending a massive wall of ice streaking toward Izuku. Katsuki’s eyes narrow as Izuku counters with precise bursts of controlled power. The force of the impact cracks through the air, a testament to how much Izuku has improved. But Katsuki doesn’t miss the tremble in Izuku’s hands or the slight hitch in his breathing. He’s pushing himself again, and it’s taking a toll.  

Nearby, Mineta’s nasally voice cuts into Katsuki’s focus. “Damn, Midoriya’s kind of cute when he’s serious,” he mutters, loud enough to carry. “Too bad he’s a guy. Otherwise, I’d—”  

“Shut the fuck up, you grape-headed freak.” Katsuki’s voice slices through the air like a blade, cold and lethal. He turns, his glare molten and unrelenting. The sheer venom in his tone freezes the nearby students in their tracks. “Say one more thing about Izuku—or anyone—and I’ll make sure you’re scraping yourself off the goddamn ground.”  

Mineta pales, stumbling over a weak apology before retreating into the crowd. The class exchanges uneasy glances but wisely keeps quiet. Katsuki doesn’t care. His attention snaps back to the fight just in time to see Shouto unleash another devastating wave of ice.  

Katsuki knows instantly that Izuku can’t block it based on how much he's struggling with his battered hands already. His body moves before his mind catches up, instincts taking over.  

“Enough!” Katsuki bellows, his voice thunderous. He launches himself onto the field, sending an explosion straight into the ice. The heat from his blast melts the attack into harmless shards, scattering them across the arena. The force of his entry silences the murmurs of their classmates, all eyes turning to him as he storms across the field.  

Before Izuku can react, Katsuki grabs him, pulling him close and shielding him from the remaining debris. His arms tighten protectively around Izuku, and for a moment, the world feels still.  

“Kacchan—” Izuku starts, his voice small and breathless.  

“You fucking idiot,” Katsuki growls, pulling back just enough to glare down at him. His voice is low, vibrating with barely restrained fury. “What the hell were you thinking, pushing yourself like that? Do you even see your hands? Keep this up, and you won’t have any left to use!”  

Shouto approaches cautiously, his usual calm replaced by a rare flicker of concern. “I didn’t mean to—”  

“Save it, Icy Hot,” Katsuki snaps, his tone as sharp as the shards of ice scattered around them. “Just don’t aim that much power at someone who’s already struggling next time.”  

Chastised, Shouto nods and steps back, leaving Katsuki to haul Izuku toward the infirmary. His grip is firm but not harsh, his fingers curling around Izuku’s wrist like he’s afraid to let go.  

“I’m sorry,” Izuku whispers as they walk, his voice heavy with guilt. “I didn’t mean to—”  

“Save it,” Katsuki interrupts, though the edge in his voice has softened. “You don’t get to apologize for almost destroying yourself, Izuku. Just stop being so damn reckless.”  

When they reach Recovery Girl’s office, Katsuki all but deposits Izuku onto a bed. Recovery Girl scolds him sharply as she tends to his injuries, and Katsuki chimes in with his own harsh commentary, his words a relentless mixture of frustration and worry.  

Once she leaves to gather supplies, Katsuki leans in, his voice dropping to a quiet intensity. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that again, Izuku. You hear me? Not ever.”  

Izuku’s breath hitches, his throat tight as he nods. “I’ll try, Kacchan. I promise.”  

Katsuki exhales heavily, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Good. Don’t make me have to save your ass again.”  

But even as he says it, Katsuki knows the truth. No matter how reckless Izuku gets, he’ll always be there to catch him. Always.

The cafeteria buzzes with the usual midday chaos: the clatter of trays being set down, the hum of voices blending together, and the occasional burst of laughter from Kaminari's table, where his antics seem to know no bounds. The scent of greasy fries and overcooked vegetables hangs in the air, but Katsuki’s appetite is nowhere to be found. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, and his eyes keep darting toward the doors, a nervous tension gnawing at his insides.  

Izuku isn’t here.  

Katsuki had only caught a fragment of his words earlier when he was talking to his friends—something about meeting All Might to discuss quirks, or strategy, or some other topic that seemed to consume the two of them. The idea of Izuku being anywhere except by his side, especially without a word, churns his stomach in a way he can't explain. He hates it, even if he won’t admit why. Now, with Izuku gone, the table around him fills with the usual suspects, their chatter about everything and nothing spilling into the space between bites of food.  

“Yo, Bakugou, you gonna eat that, or are you just gonna stare at the door like you’re about to burn a hole through it?” Kaminari calls out, leaning over Katsuki’s tray with a mischievous grin. His tone is playful, the kind of teasing that only comes from a friend who knows how easily Katsuki’s patience can snap.  

Katsuki’s eyes narrow, but the usual fire doesn’t light his temper. “Touch it, and I’ll blow your fucking hand off,” he grumbles, not even putting enough force into the threat to make it believable. Kaminari snickers and leans back, throwing a quick, knowing glance toward Kirishima, who’s quietly observing.  

“You’ve been acting weird lately, man,” Kirishima says, his tone casual but probing. “I mean, we’re all for personal growth and all, but... you’re being kinda nice to Midoriya.”  

“Nice?” Katsuki snorts, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. “You think I’m being nice? You’re dumber than I thought, Shitty Hair.”  

“No, really!” Kaminari pipes up, waving a fry around for emphasis. “I mean, you’ve been hanging out with him all the time, listening to him ramble on about quirks and strategies, and you haven’t blown him up once! It’s kinda freaking us out.”  

The casual comment strikes something inside Katsuki, but it’s not the usual anger that flares up. Instead, a strange tension coils in his chest. He doesn’t owe them an explanation. Not about Izuku, not about anything. But he knows they won’t let it go. So, he bites down on his frustration and forces himself to calm down.  

“There’s nothing weird about it,” he growls, his fingers curling into fists as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Just... get used to it, alright?”  

A brief silence falls over the table, and then Mina leans in, her smile teasing but thoughtful. “You’re telling us to get used to you being all buddy-buddy with Midoriya? The same guy you used to yell at for breathing too loud?”  

The question stings, sharper than she probably realizes. Katsuki’s chest tightens, but he refuses to show it. “Yeah, so what?” he snaps, his voice hoarse. “Maybe I got sick of being a dick. You want me to go back to blowing him up every five seconds?”  

“Well, no,” Kirishima says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “But, uh, it’s just kinda... sudden, y’know? Feels like you woke up one day and decided to be a different person.”  

Katsuki freezes, his breath catching in his throat. They’re not wrong. He did wake up one day as someone else—a future version of himself who carries the weight of his past mistakes and the burning guilt of all he’d left behind.  

“Look,” Katsuki mutters, his voice lowering. “If the other me—” he spits the words like they’re bitter—“starts acting like a total asshole again, do me a favor, alright?”  

Mina quirks an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “A favor?”  

“Yeah.” Katsuki leans forward, his face deadly serious. “Beat the shit out of him. Knock some sense into that brat before he does something he can’t take back.”  

The table falls silent again, the weight of his words sinking in. Kirishima’s easygoing smile fades into something more somber, and Mina exchanges a brief look with Kaminari, who’s gone unusually quiet.  

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Kirishima says, his voice a little softer now.  

“Damn right I am,” Katsuki growls. He leans back in his seat, folding his arms tighter across his chest. “You think I don’t know how much of a bastard I was back then? If I start pulling that crap again, just... stop me. Got it?”  

Mina tilts her head, considering his words for a long moment. Then, with a grin that’s more sincere than teasing, she claps him on the back, hard enough to make him scowl. “You got it, Boss. We’ll keep younger-you in check, don’t you worry.”  

Katsuki grunts, slumping further into his seat. “Good,” he mutters.  

Kirishima chuckles, shaking his head. “Man, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but... I kinda like this version of you. Don’t tell the younger Bakugou I said that, though.”  

“Tch. Whatever,” Katsuki grumbles, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something soft that he quickly hides beneath a veil of indifference.  

As the conversation shifts to lighter topics, Katsuki’s attention drifts. He forces himself to engage, pretending to listen to the ongoing debate about who would win in a fight between Shouto and Katsuki, but his thoughts keep returning to one place. To one person.  

His eyes flick back to the door again.  

And then, finally, the door swings open, and Izuku steps through, looking a little flustered but undeniably happy. His face lights up when he sees the group, his messy hair bouncing with each step. Katsuki’s chest eases, that tight, restless feeling abating as Izuku makes his way toward the table. The nervous energy that Izuku carries with him, the fidgeting of his hands, the way his eyes quickly scan the room—it’s all familiar, comforting.  

“Sorry I’m late!” Izuku says, sliding into the seat next to Katsuki, his voice bright with apology. “All Might and I lost track of time.”  

Katsuki glances at him, his lips twitching into something that could almost pass for a smile. “Took you long enough, nerd,” he mutters, his tone low but teasing.  

Izuku blinks, a bit confused, but then his face softens into a smile, and it does something to Katsuki’s chest that he doesn’t know how to describe.  

“You saved me a meal?” Izuku asks quietly, his voice a little unsure.  

Katsuki looks away, clearing his throat as he pushes his tray toward Izuku without a word. “Shut up and eat your damn food,” he grumbles, avoiding Izuku’s gaze.  

Izuku’s eyes soften, but he doesn’t comment, simply nodding as he digs into his meal. The rest of the table watches in silence, each one too smart to point out the subtle change in Katsuki’s demeanor. The way his posture shifts just slightly whenever Izuku speaks, the way his gaze softens, the way his hand stays protectively over his tray when it’s near Izuku.  

But they don’t say anything. Not a word.  

And Katsuki, for the first time in a long while, feels something like peace settle in his chest.

The afternoon sun pours over the training grounds, casting a soft, golden glow that makes the dirt and grass look almost magical. The air is warm, but there's a hint of coolness carried in by the breeze that stirs the leaves in the trees nearby. Katsuki stands with his arms crossed, watching Izuku from a distance as he stretches, his movements stiff with a mixture of nerves and determination. The younger boy's posture is awkward, his body clearly eager to learn but uncertain of how to control the raw power that simmers just beneath the surface.

"Alright, Izuku," Katsuki's voice cuts through the calm of the moment, gruff but not unkind. "Let's get this straight. I'm not doing this for fun. I'm doing this so you stop breaking yourself every damn time you use that quirk of yours."

Izuku straightens up, his expression transforming into one of intense focus, a faint sheen of sweat already glistening on his forehead. His wide eyes shine with determination, though there’s a tinge of insecurity that he tries to mask. "I-I know, Kacchan! I really appreciate it. I've been trying to figure out how to control One For All better, but—"

Katsuki raises a hand sharply, cutting him off with the kind of look that makes Izuku hesitate mid-sentence. "Save the rambling for later," he mutters. "First things first, you need to stop putting all your power into your hands. You’re not gonna be a hero if your fingers are snapping like twigs every time you punch something."

Izuku’s eyes widen in realization, but he nods quickly, pulling out his trusty notebook. He flips to a blank page, ready to take notes, but Katsuki can’t help the annoyed snort that escapes him.

"Of course you brought that damn thing," Katsuki mutters under his breath.

"It helps me process ideas!" Izuku says defensively, holding the notebook close to his chest like it’s a lifeline. "I want to make sure I don’t forget anything."

Katsuki rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. "Fine. Just don’t waste time scribbling when you should be listening."

Izuku blushes, looking down at the notebook for a brief moment before tucking it into his bag. "Right! I’m ready!"

Katsuki steps forward, closing the distance between them. His crimson eyes narrow with focus as he studies Izuku, the usual edge to his demeanor softening just a bit. "Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do," Katsuki begins, his voice low and serious. "You’re gonna use your quirk at a lower percentage—way lower. Think less ‘smash a building’ and more ‘flick a candle.’ Got it?"

Izuku blinks, his expression morphing into confusion. "A... candle?"

"Yeah, dumbass. A candle," Katsuki snaps, not bothering to hide his impatience. "You need to think smaller. Control isn’t about how big your explosions—or punches—are. It’s about precision. Focus on how much power you’re putting into it, not just the end result."

Izuku’s eyes light up with understanding, and he nods eagerly. "That makes sense! If I channel less energy, I’ll have more control, and my body won’t take as much damage!"

"Exactly," Katsuki says, smirking faintly, though the pride in his voice is evident. "And once you stop blowing your hands to hell, you can start working on your legs. You’re gonna need those."

Izuku tilts his head, confusion flickering across his face. "My... legs?"

Katsuki scoffs, tapping his foot against the ground for emphasis. "Yeah, your legs. You’ve got all this damn power, and you’re not even thinking about how to use it. You ever notice how quick you are when you’re running? Imagine using that speed to kick someone’s teeth in. You’d be unstoppable."

Izuku’s mouth falls open in awe, the realization dawning on him. He pulls out his notebook once more, scribbling furiously. "That’s... that’s brilliant, Kacchan! I never even thought about incorporating my legs like that!"

"Of course you didn’t," Katsuki mutters, though there’s a warmth to his voice now, one that Izuku is too excited to catch. "That’s why you’ve got me here to kick your ass into shape."

The next hour flies by as Katsuki guides Izuku through the motions. The younger boy starts off clumsy, throwing himself into each movement with reckless abandon, but Katsuki doesn’t let him slip up. He stands close, a watchful presence, offering sharp instructions whenever Izuku’s focus drifts. "Too much!" Katsuki barks when Izuku’s fingers start to tremble, a crackling explosion forming at the tips. "Dial it back! Think of it like a damn faucet—turn it down a notch!"

Izuku grimaces, beads of sweat dotting his forehead as he adjusts. He takes a breath, steadies himself, and tries again. This time, the glow around his fist is steadier, more controlled, the power humming in a way that feels more manageable.

"Better," Katsuki acknowledges with a nod, though his tone remains firm. "But don’t get cocky. You’re still sloppy."

Izuku doesn’t argue. He just pushes himself further, each attempt becoming more refined, more in control. Katsuki stays close, watching, offering advice when necessary, and even demonstrating techniques of his own. "See?" Katsuki says, raising his palm to demonstrate a small, controlled explosion that flickers to life without any force behind it. "It’s about finding the right balance. You don’t need to go all out every damn time. Sometimes, less is more."

Izuku watches in awe, his admiration for Katsuki growing with every word. He can’t help but murmur, almost to himself, "Kacchan... you’re amazing."

Katsuki freezes, his chest tight with an unexpected surge of warmth. His ears burn, but he quickly masks it with a scowl, his voice rough. "Damn right I am. Now stop gawking and focus!"

Izuku snaps to attention, cheeks flushed but grateful. They continue, pushing through until the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground. Both of them are drenched in sweat, their clothes sticking to their skin, but there’s a sense of accomplishment in the air. Izuku’s hands are shaky but uninjured, his breath coming in heavy pants as he looks up at Katsuki with an exhausted but triumphant smile.

"Thanks, Kacchan," Izuku says quietly, as they begin to gather their things. His voice is soft, almost hesitant, as if unsure how to express the gratitude that’s welling up inside him. "I... I couldn’t have done this without you."

Katsuki scoffs, slinging his bag over his shoulder and avoiding Izuku’s gaze. "Don’t get all sappy on me, Izuku. Just... don’t break your damn bones again, got it?"

Izuku smiles at that, a small, genuine expression of gratitude that Katsuki doesn’t fully understand but feels in the pit of his stomach anyway. "Got it, Kacchan," he says, his voice filled with warmth. 

Katsuki’s gaze flickers briefly to him, the softening of his features imperceptible to anyone else but clear to Izuku. "Good," he mutters, his tone rough but the smallest hint of something more lingering in the space between them. 

As they walk off the training grounds, the evening air cool against their flushed skin, Izuku feels a flicker of hope. Katsuki’s not perfect, and their relationship is still a work in progress, but today felt like one of those rare moments that prove they’re not so different after all.

The dorm hallways are eerily quiet as Izuku follows Katsuki down the corridor. The muffled chatter of their classmates lingers faintly in the background, but Izuku is focused solely on the blond in front of him. Katsuki’s pace is brisk, his usual confidence laced with a subtle tension that he’s trying to hide. His jaw is set, and though his shoulders are stiff, there’s a flicker of something different about him today, something Izuku can’t quite place. The silence between them stretches, but neither of them speaks. It’s as if the world outside has faded away, leaving only the two of them walking in the thick atmosphere of unspoken words.

When they reach Katsuki’s room, the door opens with a soft creak, and Izuku steps inside. The room is surprisingly neat—far more so than Izuku expected. Books are stacked neatly on shelves, their spines aligned with military precision. The desk is free of clutter, only a few pens and papers resting in carefully arranged spots. The bed is crisply made, the blanket tucked in tightly, corners sharp as if they’d been ironed. Izuku stands for a moment, his eyes roaming over the room in disbelief. He can’t help but glance around, surprised by how organized everything is. For a moment, it feels like stepping into a different world entirely—one that isn’t dominated by explosions and gruff sarcasm.

Katsuki, however, doesn’t linger to let him admire the room. He heads straight to his desk, pulling open a drawer with a quick motion. His hand moves inside, and when he pulls it out, it’s holding two notebooks—one old, battered, and singed at the edges, the cover peeling back in places, and the other pristine, untouched, as though it had just been bought yesterday.

“Here,” Katsuki says, his voice gruff as he shoves them toward Izuku. “This one’s the new one. Figured I’d fix the mess I made. And... you should have the old one too. It’s yours, after all.”

Izuku’s fingers tremble as he takes the notebooks, the weight of the old one heavy in his hands. His gaze lingers on the ruined notebook first, and his chest tightens as memories of that day come rushing back—pain, frustration, and the sting of failure. The heat of Katsuki’s laughter echoes in his mind, and for a split second, Izuku almost feels that familiar sense of embarrassment flood back. The day Katsuki had laughed as the notebook went up in smoke had felt like the worst moment of his life. But now, as he holds it in his hands, the bitterness feels a little distant, softened by the action unfolding before him.

His fingers brush over the new notebook, and the sight of the fresh pages fills him with awe. He flips it open, and the neatness of Katsuki’s handwriting strikes him first. Each word is carefully formed, precise and orderly, and the diagrams inside are immaculate. The contrast between this and his own messy scribbles is stark, and for a moment, Izuku hesitates, the weight of it all sinking in. 

“Kacchan…” Izuku breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper, the reverence in his tone unmistakable. 

“You rewrote everything?” His voice cracks with disbelief as he speaks, and his chest swells with something he can’t quite name.

Katsuki shrugs, his eyes avoiding Izuku’s, his face set in that familiar, stubborn expression. “Yeah. It’s the least I could do after being such a shithead about it the first time. I know how much that nerdy crap means to you.”

Izuku’s lips tremble as he tries to hold back tears, his eyes shining with gratitude and disbelief. He hugs the notebook to his chest, his smile bright, wide, and genuine. “This is amazing. Thank you, Kacchan. Really. This is... this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Katsuki groans and rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the emotion in the air. “Don’t make it weird, nerd,” he mutters, but his voice softens, and there’s a warmth behind his words that betrays the gruff exterior.

Izuku flips through more pages, his admiration growing with every turn. “Your handwriting is so neat,” he says, laughing softly, though there’s a hint of self-deprecating humor in his voice. “It’s like a professional’s. Compared to mine, this is incredible.”

Katsuki snorts, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks as he looks away, scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, if it wasn’t readable, it’d be useless.”

Izuku chuckles, feeling a little embarrassed by his own messiness. “I always thought your notes were amazing,” he admits, his face turning red as he shifts his weight nervously. “I wanted to borrow them so many times, but... I was too scared to ask. I figured you’d just laugh at me or say no.”

Katsuki scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “You’re not wrong. Younger me would’ve laughed in your face. But guess what?” He smirks, crossing his arms. “I’m not that guy anymore. You need notes? Take ‘em. Just give them back when he starts losing his shit about it. I’ve already lived this crap once. I am more capable of making good decisions than that brat.”

Izuku’s heart skips a beat at his words, and he looks up at Katsuki with wide eyes. There’s something in those eyes, something that makes him feel both hopeful and overwhelmed. That look—the one filled with admiration, the one where Izuku still sees the hero he’s always believed in—sends a warmth flooding through him.

“Really?” Izuku whispers, unable to believe it.

“Really,” Katsuki replies firmly, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic gentleness.

Izuku’s grin could light up the entire room, and he can barely contain the joy bubbling up inside him. “Thank you, Kacchan! That means so much to me.”

Katsuki mutters something under his breath, clearly embarrassed by the outpouring of emotion. He gestures toward his desk, trying to deflect the attention. “Yeah, yeah. Now help me find the rest of my notes.”

The next few minutes pass in a flurry of movement. Katsuki pulls out more notebooks, neatly bound and organized, while Izuku eagerly flips through them, impressed by how well Katsuki keeps everything in order. They sift through the papers together, the mood light and filled with the easy camaraderie that they’ve been building since their awkward beginnings.

But then, Izuku pauses as something catches his eye. In the far corner of one of the drawers, tucked beneath a stack of papers, is a small, worn photo. Curiosity piqued, he pulls it out, his hands brushing over the faded edges.

“What’s this?” he asks, turning the photo over in his hands.

Katsuki freezes. His eyes flick to the photo, his posture stiffening slightly. “Oh. That.”

Izuku tilts the photo, his heart skipping a beat when he sees it. It’s a picture of the two of them, no older than four, dressed in matching All Might costumes. They’re grinning ear to ear, fists raised in victory as if they had just saved the world together. The memory of that day, the sleepover at his house, floods back in a rush—a simpler time when everything felt easier, when they were just kids with dreams of heroism.

“This... this is from that sleepover,” Izuku murmurs, a soft smile tugging at his lips as nostalgia fills him. “Mom took this picture.”

Katsuki nods, his voice quieter now, softer. “Yeah.”

Izuku takes another picture from the drawer—this one of him, alone, on his birthday. He’s holding an All Might figurine Katsuki had gifted him, beaming with joy as if it were the best gift in the world. Izuku stares at it for a long moment, feeling the sting of emotion tighten in his chest.

“You... you kept these?” Izuku asks, his voice thick with surprise and something deeper, something he can’t quite name.

“Of course I did,” Katsuki replies, his voice steady but carrying a hint of vulnerability. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Izuku’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he presses the photos against his chest. His voice trembles with emotion. “I still have that figurine, you know. It’s a little worn now, but... I bring it with me everywhere. Even to the dorms. It reminds me that we were… friends.”

Katsuki’s heart tightens at the admission, a pang of guilt flickering in his chest. “You don’t have to think of it in past tense, Izuku,” he says, his voice firm. “I don’t care what kind of dick I was back then. I’ll make it up to you. I swear.”

Izuku looks up at him, his eyes filled with raw emotion. Tears slip down his cheeks as he clutches the photos and notebook closer. “Kacchan…”

Katsuki stands there, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You’re important to me, Izuku,” he says quietly, his voice steady. “You always have been. And I’ll do whatever it takes to show you that.”

For a long moment, neither of them speaks. The weight of their unspoken words hangs in the air, the space between them charged with the slow, quiet healing of years of hurt and misunderstandings. Izuku holds the photos and the notebook close, as if they’re the most precious things in the world.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Katsuki’s lips quirk into a smirk, his hand reaching out to ruffle Izuku’s hair in a familiar, teasing motion. “Don’t get used to it, nerd.”

And though the words are teasing, there’s something warm in his touch, a reassurance that neither of them will ever be the same again.

Chapter Text

The air in the room feels thick and suffocating, as if the silence itself has grown a palpable weight. Younger Katsuki sits on the couch, his posture tense, his forearms draped over his knees. His head hangs low, and his gaze is glued to the floor, red and puffy eyes betraying the breakdown he just endured. He refuses to acknowledge it, of course, but the evidence lingers in the uneven hitch of his breath and the rawness of his voice when he finally speaks.

“All right, Deku,” he mutters, his voice quieter than usual but no less demanding. “You gotta tell me the truth now.”

Izuku startles at the suddenness of the command, his green eyes wide and wary as they dart toward Katsuki. “The truth?” he echoes, confused.

“Yeah,” Katsuki snaps, though the usual sharpness in his tone is dulled by something vulnerable, something aching. “If you don’t hate me—if you don’t hate bein’ around me—then why the hell didn’t you wanna join my agency? Why’d you say no to older me? You should’ve jumped at the chance, right? So… what gives?”

Izuku freezes, his breath catching in his throat. His hands, which had been nervously twisting in his lap, go still. He glances at Katsuki, then back at his hands, his fingers curling tightly against his thighs. His chest rises and falls in a slow, deliberate rhythm, like he’s trying to steady himself for a confession he doesn’t want to give.

“Spit it out, nerd,” Katsuki presses, but there’s no real anger behind the words. His gaze stays locked on Izuku, unrelenting. “I ain’t lettin’ you dodge this.”

Izuku exhales shakily, his shoulders slumping under the weight of whatever he’s about to say. “Kacchan…” His voice trembles, barely audible. “It’s not that I didn’t want to. I wanted to say yes more than anything. I wanted to be your partner. I wanted to stay by your side, fighting together as heroes. But…”

“But what?” Katsuki interrupts, leaning forward, his gaze boring into Izuku. His hands tighten into fists, but his voice softens despite his frustration. “What’s stoppin’ you?”

Izuku closes his eyes, the words sticking to his tongue like glue. His voice, when it finally comes, is no more than a whisper. “I… I can’t be a hero anymore, Kacchan. Not without a quirk. I don’t have One for All anymore. I’m quirkless again.”

The confession hits Katsuki like a sucker punch to the gut. His body jerks as though physically reacting to the weight of Izuku’s words. For a long moment, he just stares, wide-eyed, his breath caught in his throat. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” he demands, his voice strained, disbelieving. “You… you don’t have a quirk anymore?”

Izuku nods, his lips pressed into a thin, grim line. “It’s gone. I passed it on. That power doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

Katsuki reels, his mind racing to make sense of what he’s hearing. It feels impossible, like the very foundation of what he knows about Izuku has been yanked out from under him. “Does… does he know?” Katsuki finally manages, his voice rough. “Older me?”

Izuku nods again, this time more firmly. “Yeah. He knows. That’s why I was so surprised when he asked me to join his agency. He knew I couldn’t be a hero anymore, but he still asked.”

“And you said no?” Katsuki’s voice rises, incredulous. “Why the hell would you say no? If he asked you, it means he wanted you there, right?”

Izuku’s throat tightens, his breath hitching as he grips his knees harder. “Because I’d just be a burden to him, Kacchan!” The words burst out of him, raw and sharp, his voice cracking. “I can’t fight beside you anymore. I’m not strong enough. I can’t keep up. No matter how hard I try, I’ll always be behind you.”

Katsuki stares, the raw emotion in Izuku’s voice slicing through him. “Deku…” he mutters, his tone softer now, but no less pained.

Izuku shakes his head, his shoulders curling inward as though trying to make himself smaller. “You’ve always been so far ahead of me, Kacchan,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less anguished. “And now… now that I’ve lost my quirk, I’ll never catch up. I’ll just drag you down. I can’t do that to you. Not when you’ve worked so hard to get where you are.”

“But you wanted to,” Katsuki says quietly, the uncertainty in his voice catching Izuku off guard. “Didn’t you?”

“Of course I did!” Izuku cries, his words spilling over in a rush, his eyes glistening with tears. “Of course I wanted to be your partner! Of course I wanted to stay by your side forever if I could. But… I couldn’t do it. Not like this.”

The room plunges into a suffocating silence, and Katsuki feels as though the ground has been pulled out from under him. His mind churns with too many emotions to name—shock, anger, grief, guilt—all colliding into a messy, tangled knot in his chest. The image of Izuku he’s held onto for so long—a rival, a hero, an unstoppable force—feels like it’s fracturing before his very eyes. But worse than that is the hollow ache in his chest at the thought of what Izuku must have felt—what he’s still feeling.

And then it hits him like a slap to the face: his own voice, his own words, echoing from years ago. A quirkless loser like you could never be a hero. The memory of his younger self’s cruelty twists like a knife in his gut. 

“Kacchan?” Izuku’s soft voice pulls him from the whirlwind of his thoughts. Katsuki looks up, and the sight of Izuku’s tear-streaked face—the worry etched into his expression—nearly undoes him. 

“It’s okay,” Izuku says, his voice trembling but insistent. “Don’t blame yourself for this. Please. I forgave you a long time ago.”

Katsuki opens his mouth to argue, to protest, but Izuku presses on, his tone growing steadier. “Really, Kacchan. You’ve done so much to make up for it. Older you… he’s helped me more than I can ever say. He even led the funding for my new hero costume. He didn’t have to, but he did. I’m so grateful for that. But even with the suit… I just can’t imagine being able to stand beside you as your equal anymore.” 

The words are like a dagger to Katsuki’s chest. And yet, somewhere deep down, a spark ignites—a refusal to accept this as the end. Not for Izuku. Not for them.

Katsuki takes a slow, deliberate breath, forcing the tightness in his chest to ease just enough for him to find his voice. His hands unclench, and he sits up straighter, turning fully toward Izuku. The tears on Izuku’s face glint faintly in the dim light of the room, and Katsuki hates them—hates that Izuku has been carrying this pain alone, hates that he’s let himself believe there’s no way forward.

“Deku,” he begins, the usual roughness in his tone tempered by something raw and steady. “You’re wrong. You’re so damn wrong about all of it.”

Izuku’s head snaps up, startled by the intensity in Katsuki’s voice. His breath catches in his throat as he sees the fierce determination etched into Katsuki’s face. “Kacchan…”

“You listen to me,” Katsuki cuts him off sharply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The movement feels deliberate, like he’s putting himself closer to Izuku to make sure there’s no room for doubt. “I don’t care if you don’t have a quirk anymore. I don’t care if you think you’re weaker now. None of that changes the fact that you’re you. And I’ve never imagined a future where you’re not by my side.”

Izuku freezes. His breath stutters, his wide green eyes fixed on Katsuki as though the words are too impossible to believe. But he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t dare. Something about the way Katsuki is speaking—steadfast, almost vulnerable—tells him there’s more, and he can feel it reverberating in the air between them.

“If you still wanna be a hero,” Katsuki continues, his voice unwavering as his hands clench tightly together, “then bein’ quirkless shouldn’t stop you. You’ve already proved to everyone—hell, to the whole damn world—that you can do things no one else can. If anyone can pull this off, it’s you.”

The words crash into Izuku like a wave, knocking the air from his lungs. Katsuki’s fiery determination feels so overwhelming, so undeniably real, that Izuku can’t stop the flutter of hope it sparks deep in his chest—something he thought he’d buried a long time ago. His lips part, but no words come out.

“And don’t give me that ‘I’ll be a burden’ crap,” Katsuki snaps, though his tone softens as his gaze flickers to the tears glistening in Izuku’s eyes. “You can train. We can train. Together. You and me, getting stronger and stronger, like we should’ve been doin’ all along. And even if—” He pauses, narrowing his eyes like he’s daring Izuku to contradict him. “Even if you don’t get stronger—and that’s a big ‘if,’ because I know damn well you can do anything if you put your mind to it—even if you don’t, I still want you by my side.”

Izuku’s chest tightens. The tears he’s been holding back spill over, tracing silent paths down his cheeks. “Kacchan…” he whispers, his voice trembling.

“Shut up,” Katsuki interrupts, his words almost gentle. “I’m not done yet.” He leans back slightly, dragging a hand through his hair as he exhales sharply. The motion feels uncharacteristically vulnerable, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. “I trust you, Deku. I respect you. You earned that a long time ago, and nothing’s gonna change that now. Quirk or not, you’re still you. And you’re still the person I want by my side.”

The sheer weight of Katsuki’s words presses down on Izuku, but it’s not suffocating—it’s grounding, steadying. For the first time in a long time, he feels something warm and familiar unfurl in his chest, a spark of belonging he thought he’d lost forever. “You… you really mean that?” he asks, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

“Damn right, I do,” Katsuki says firmly. His gaze softens then, his expression unreadable for a moment before it shifts into something raw, something achingly sincere. “You’re not just some powerful hero with a quirk, Deku. You’re strong even without it. And if you’re by my side, I can look out for you. We can look out for each other. That’s what it’s supposed to be about.”

Izuku’s lip quivers, and he bites down on it, trying to hold back the sob building in his throat. He doesn’t succeed. “Kacchan…” The name falls from his lips, thick with emotion, and Katsuki doesn’t flinch.

“When we were kids…” Katsuki hesitates, his jaw tightening before he continues. “I always wanted to be heroes with you. Always. But when we found out you were quirkless, I… I started thinkin’ about protecting you instead. I wanted to be your hero.”

Izuku’s breath catches. The words are so unexpected, so raw, that for a moment, he wonders if he misheard.

“But I was a dumbass kid,” Katsuki continues, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t know how to handle that. And then you… you kept helpin’ me. Worryin’ about me. Actin’ like you were my hero. And it pissed me off.”

Izuku’s brows knit together. “Pissed you off? Why?”

“Because I thought you didn’t respect me,” Katsuki admits, the words tumbling out like a confession. “I thought you saw me as weak. Like I couldn’t protect you. Like you didn’t think I was strong enough to be a great hero. To be your hero. And I… I handled it in the worst way possible. I was angry, and I took it out on you. I was a damn idiot.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku says softly, his heart aching at the rawness in Katsuki’s tone.

“I’m sorry,” Katsuki says, his voice barely above a whisper. “For everything. I was immature, and I was wrong. But you… you never stopped, did you? Even after all the crap I put you through, you never gave up. You’re stronger than I’ve ever been, Deku. And I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

The tears Izuku’s been holding back break free, but his smile shines through them—bright, genuine, and full of love. “You don’t have to apologize, Kacchan. Older you already did, and I forgave you a long time ago. I don’t have any negative feelings toward you. I never did.”

Katsuki looks at him, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, a small smirk tugs at his lips—soft and sincere in a way that feels distinctly Katsuki. “Of course you didn’t, you damn nerd.”

Izuku chuckles, wiping at his eyes. “It’s true.”

“And that’s why I know older me wants you by his side,” Katsuki says, his voice firm. “Quirk or not. Because you’re the most special person to him. To me.”

Izuku flushes, laughing softly, a little embarrassed. “You don’t have to say it like that, Kacchan.”

“It’s true,” Katsuki shoots back, his smirk widening. “Hell, it’s even in the cringey birthday passcode.”

Izuku bursts out laughing, the sound light and unrestrained. “Okay, you’ve got me there.” He looks at Katsuki, his eyes shining with warmth. “You’ll always be the most special person to me too, Kacchan.”

“Damn right I will,” Katsuki says, his voice gruff but filled with affection. He crosses his arms, leaning back against the couch. “Now stop cryin’. You’re makin’ me look soft.”

Izuku laughs again, the sound rich with relief and hope. “Thanks, Kacchan. For everything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki mutters, a faint blush creeping up his neck. But the small, genuine smile that lingers on his face speaks louder than his words ever could.

Chapter Text

The dormitory halls are bathed in shadows, their stillness broken only by the occasional creak of the building and the soft murmur of distant pipes. Katsuki stands alone, his breathing low and steady, his senses attuned to the faint rustling of paper and the soft shuffle of footsteps just beyond the door in front of him. He doesn’t need to guess if Izuku's awake—he already knows. Izuku’s always been like this. Even as a kid, he was the type to burn the midnight oil, scribbling plans, chasing the impossible, while the rest of the world slept.  

The door looms before him, a barrier not just of wood but of time and unsaid words. Katsuki’s hand hovers just inches from it, clenched into a tight fist. His jaw tenses. He’s been standing here too long, a rare hesitation pinning him in place. Damn it. His chest feels heavier tonight, weighted by the knowledge that his time here is slipping through his fingers like sand.  

This timeline isn’t his, not really. And no matter how much he wants to stay, he knows he can’t. The longer he lingers, the more it’ll hurt when he has to leave.  

Before he can overthink it, he pushes the door open. The creak feels too loud, but it’s done. Izuku’s head jerks up from the sea of papers covering his desk, green eyes wide with surprise. His hair is an unkempt mess, and there’s a smudge of ink across his cheek. The sight is so familiar it aches. Katsuki doesn’t let himself dwell on it.  

“Kacchan?” Izuku’s voice is soft, almost cautious. There’s no fear, though, just that same steady curiosity that used to drive Katsuki up the wall. “What’s wrong? It’s so late.”  

Katsuki steps into the room, his boots making muted thuds against the floor. He lets the door swing shut behind him, leaning against it for a moment, arms crossed. “Tch. You’re still up, nerd? Doesn’t this school ever teach you to sleep?”  

Izuku glances sheepishly at the chaotic swirl of notes and open textbooks in front of him, his hand instinctively brushing at the mess. “I, uh… I was just finishing up some hero analysis. Got a little carried away, I guess.” He chuckles nervously, but there’s a warmth to it.  

Katsuki clicks his tongue, his expression unreadable. “Of course you did.” His voice is gruff, but there’s no venom in it. If anything, there’s something softer hidden beneath the words. “You’re the same damn nerd you’ve always been.”  

Izuku’s smile falters slightly, his gaze dropping to the papers on his desk. “Old habits, I guess,” he murmurs. There’s a quietness to his tone now, an undercurrent of self-awareness. Then he looks up again, his brows knitting together with concern. “But… are you okay? You never stay up this late, Kacchan. Did something happen?”  

The way he says it—gentle but earnest, always so earnest—hits Katsuki harder than he expects. Izuku doesn’t know. He can’t. This Izuku, this version of him, has no idea what Katsuki’s seen. The fire in Izuku’s eyes is still alive here, burning with that stubborn hope that used to make Katsuki furious. In the world Katsuki left behind, that fire is long gone, extinguished by loss and despair.  

“I’m fine,” Katsuki says, but it comes out too fast, too hollow. He drags a hand through his hair, the spikes catching under his fingers. “It’s just been… a long few days. That’s all.” He glances toward the window, where moonlight spills across the floor, silvery and cold. “I just wanted to talk. You and me.”  

Izuku’s expression softens into something unreadable but kind. “Of course.” He gestures to the empty chair beside him. “You can talk to me anytime, Kacchan. You know that.”  

Katsuki hesitates before stepping forward and sinking into the chair. It feels strange, sitting here in this room, so close to Izuku but with a gulf of time and secrets between them. He rests his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor for a long moment.  

“You ever think about what happens after all this?” Katsuki finally says, his voice lower, almost contemplative. He doesn’t look at Izuku, keeping his gaze fixed on the shadowy shapes cast by the moonlight. “After the fights, after we’ve saved everyone? What’s left for people like us?”  

Izuku tilts his head, surprised by the question. He doesn’t answer right away, his thoughtful silence stretching between them. Finally, he says, “I think… we keep going. We never really stop. Even when the big fights are over, there’s always someone out there who needs help. Heroes don’t stop being heroes just because things get quiet.”  

Katsuki snorts softly, a faint smirk pulling at his lips. “Always the damn idealist, huh? Still think you can save everyone, even when you’re tired?”  

Izuku meets his gaze then, steady and unwavering. “Yeah. Even when it’s hard. Even when I’m tired. Because… I don’t think I’d know how to stop, Kacchan. Not when there are people I care about who still need me.” He smiles, but it’s quieter now, more reflective. “And you’re the same way. You don’t give up. That’s why you’re a hero, too.”  

The words hit Katsuki like a punch to the chest. He looks away, his jaw tightening. “You’re such a damn sentimental idiot, Izuku,” he mutters, his voice rough. But he doesn’t mean it—not really.  

For a moment, the room is silent except for the quiet rustling of papers as a breeze filters through the slightly cracked window. Katsuki exhales slowly, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing against him.  

He knew he must have been sent here in the past to remind himself of what he’s lost, of what he can never get back. But now, sitting here in this moment, he realizes it’s more than that. It’s a chance—not to change the past for his own timeline, but to carry something of this world with him when he goes.  

The silence between them stretches, heavy but not suffocating. The air feels dense with words unspoken, emotions lingering just beneath the surface. Katsuki leans back in the chair, running a hand over his face, the roughness of his palm grounding him as he exhales deeply. His gaze drifts to the window, where pale moonlight filters through the blinds, painting thin silver lines across the floor.

“That’s not all,” Katsuki mutters, his voice low, as if the weight of his thoughts might shatter the stillness. His crimson eyes stay fixed on the faint glow outside. “This… this hero crap. It’s not just about saving people, Izuku. It’s about keeping that damn spark alive. Even when everything else falls apart. Even when it feels like the world’s got nothing left to give.” He pauses, his jaw tightening, before turning his gaze to Izuku. “And you—” His voice catches for a split second. “You were always the one who believed in that spark. Even when I didn’t.”  

Izuku blinks, startled, and his expression softens into something unbearably earnest. For a moment, Katsuki sees it again—the unshakable will, the boundless determination that always drove Izuku forward, no matter what stood in his way. That fire is alive and well here, burning as brightly as it ever did, and it makes Katsuki’s chest ache.  

“I won’t give up,” Izuku says quietly, the conviction in his voice steady and unwavering. “Not on our dreams, Kacchan. Not on everything we’ve worked for. Not ever.”  

Katsuki stares at him, really stares, and for the first time since stepping into this world, he feels the full weight of everything he’s lost. But mingled with that loss is the sharp sting of something else—gratitude. This moment. This chance. It’s more than he deserves, but he has it now, and that’s what matters.  

He shifts in his seat, the words he’s about to say catching in his throat. They’re heavy, clawing at the edges of his pride, but he forces them out anyway. “I… I don’t know how much longer I’ve got here, Izuku.” His voice is steady, but there’s a vulnerability in it that makes it feel fragile, like glass under too much pressure. “I don’t know when it’ll happen—tomorrow, next week, whenever—but I won’t be here forever. I need you to hear this now, before I…” He trails off, his hands curling into fists in his lap. He can’t bring himself to say leave.  

Izuku’s brow furrows with concern as he pushes himself up from his chair. He takes a step closer, his shadow stretching across the moonlit floor. “Kacchan, you’re scaring me. What do you mean? Why do you sound so… scared?”  

Katsuki runs a hand through his unruly spikes, tugging at them slightly as if the motion might steady him. The words pour out before he can stop them, raw and unfiltered. “I’m sorry,” he blurts, his voice sharp and cracking. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you. For all the crap I said. For every time I made you feel like you didn’t matter.”  

Izuku freezes, his wide eyes fixed on Katsuki as if he’s seeing him for the first time.  

“I was an idiot,” Katsuki continues, his tone rough, the words tumbling out faster now. “I should’ve known better. Should’ve treated you better. I wasn’t good to you, Izuku. And I…” His voice falters, and for a moment, he can’t look up. “I should’ve been. You didn’t deserve any of it.”  

The room is quiet for a beat, and Katsuki’s heart pounds in his ears. He doesn’t know what reaction to expect, but the silence is unbearable. Finally, Izuku speaks, his voice soft but steady.  

“Kacchan… you don’t have to apologize.” Izuku shakes his head slightly, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “I already forgave you. A long time ago.”  

The words hit Katsuki like a punch to the gut—not because they hurt, but because they cut straight through him in a way he isn’t prepared for. This forgiveness feels too easy, too clean, like he hasn’t earned it.  

“No,” he says, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes against the floor as he steps closer to Izuku, his fists clenched at his sides. “No, you don’t get it.” His voice wavers, but he forces himself to keep going. “You don’t have to forgive me, Izuku. I’m not asking for that. Let my younger self work for it. I just… I need you to know that I cared. I always cared. Even when I was too stupid, too damn thick-headed to show it.”  

Izuku’s eyes soften, his gaze full of understanding, and Katsuki hates it. Hates how easily Izuku sees through him, how he’s always seen through him.  

“I know, Kacchan,” Izuku says quietly, and the gentleness in his tone nearly undoes Katsuki. “I’ve always known.” He hesitates, his cheeks coloring faintly. “You’re my best friend, Kacchan. You always have been. I never wanted things to be that way between us, but I understand. I always did.”  

Katsuki clenches his fists tighter, his nails digging into his palms. The lump in his throat is impossible to swallow, and his voice comes out rough, almost desperate. “Don’t just understand,” he snaps. “Promise me.”  

Izuku blinks, startled. “Promise you what?”  

“That you won’t leave. That you'll rely on your friends when things get tough. That you'll rely on the people who loves you. That you'll rely on me,” Katsuki says, the words falling out in a rush. “Even if I’m still the asshole version of myself in this timeline. Even if I screw up. Don’t leave me, Izuku. Don’t give up on me. Not this version of me. Not any version of me. Stay by my side, and I swear I’ll get it right. I’ll make it right. Just give me time. Just… don’t give up.”  

Izuku stares at him, his expression shifting from confusion to something softer, something unshakable. Slowly, he steps closer, placing a firm hand on Katsuki’s shoulder.  

“Kacchan,” he says, his voice steady, “I’m not going anywhere. I never will. I promise.”  

The words wash over Katsuki, and for the first time in years—or timelines—he feels something settle inside him. It’s not peace, not entirely, but it’s a start.

Izuku calls his name after a few moments of silence. “Kacchan?”

Izuku’s voice is still careful, as though he’s not sure whether he’s treading on delicate ground. “What’s our future like? You’re different. You’re... sad, and I don’t understand why.”

Katsuki’s throat tightens at the question. He swallows hard, refusing to let his emotions show. He can’t break down now. Not here. Not with this version of Izuku, the one who’s still so bright, so full of hope and admiration.

“The future?” Katsuki repeats softly. His words come out hoarse, like they’ve been trapped in his chest for far too long. “Our future… is one I never wanted.”

Izuku looks at him with wide eyes, concern etched on his face. “What do you mean?”

Katsuki’s gaze drifts away, his fists tightening at his sides. The memories of his future are a blur of failure and loneliness—an endless spiral of pushing Izuku away until Izuku had enough, of falling apart when they should’ve been standing side by side. The weight of all that regret presses down on him now. He can still remember the way Izuku’s smile faded, how their special connection slowly became nothing more than a distant memory.

“Izuku,” Katsuki begins, voice rough, “you… you’re not the same in that future. You drifted from me. We were never… we never again had what we used to. You’re unreachable in that future. You don’t see me the way you do now.”

Izuku blinks, his expression confused. “But… but we’re still friends, right? We’re still heroes together?” His voice shakes slightly, the vulnerability so obvious that it makes Katsuki’s chest ache.

Katsuki takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I don’t know. I don’t think we’re even close to what we could’ve been, Izuku. You’re so far away in that future, it’s like I’m watching from the outside.” His voice cracks, and he immediately forces it down, masking it with a forced laugh. “But that doesn’t matter right now.”

He looks at Izuku, really looks at him—the boy who still believes in him, who hasn’t yet given up. The boy whose adoration for him is as clear as the sky above them. Katsuki’s heart twists painfully, because this version of Izuku is a gift. A gift that won’t last.

“What matters now is that I’m here,” Katsuki says, voice quieter, softer than usual. “And I’m with you right now. I get to be with you, even if it’s just for a little while. And that makes me happy, Izuku. You… you don’t know how much it means to me.”

Izuku stands still, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and compassion. His gaze doesn’t leave Katsuki’s face as if he’s trying to process everything that’s been said. “Kacchan… I don’t want that to be the future. I want us to stay together. I want us to be partners forever.” He steps closer, determination burning in his eyes. “I’ll always look up to you, Kacchan. You’ll always be special to me, so I don’t want us to drift apart, ever.”

Katsuki feels his chest tighten at the words. Izuku’s voice is unwavering, full of the same adoration that Katsuki remembers from when they were younger. It’s almost too much to bear.

“You don’t get it, Izuku,” Katsuki says, almost in a whisper. “You won’t always see me like that in the future. You won’t always… think of me as special. But right now, right here, you do. And that’s all I need. I’ll never get this chance again. This is the last time I get to feel what it’s like to have you look at me like that. And I’m so damn grateful for it.”

Izuku’s expression softens, and he steps closer, slowly and carefully, as if trying to understand the weight of Katsuki’s words. He reaches out, a hesitant hand brushing Katsuki’s arm before pulling him into a hug. It’s gentle, but it’s enough to break something inside of Katsuki.

“I don’t care what happens in the future, Kacchan,” Izuku says, his voice quiet but firm. “I’ll always think you’re special. No matter what. I’ll never stop looking up to you. Even if you think things will change, I’ll always be by your side.”

Katsuki stands there, frozen for a moment, before his arms instinctively wrap around Izuku, pulling him close. He can’t help it. His chest aches with an intensity that threatens to break him apart. This isn’t fair. None of this is fair. He doesn’t want to leave this Izuku, this version who still believes in him, who still looks at him with so much trust.

A choked sob escapes him, and he quickly buries his face in Izuku’s hair, trying to hold back the tears. He doesn’t want Izuku to see him like this, but it’s too much. The weight of everything—the future he can’t change, the time he’s lost, the chance he’ll never get again—it’s all crashing down on him.

“Izuku…” he whispers through the tears, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can leave you again. You’re… you’re everything to me, and I don’t know how to make it right. I don’t know how to fix anything.”

Izuku’s arms tighten around him, and he feels a warmth that steadies him. “You don’t have to fix anything, Kacchan,” Izuku says, his voice steady. “You don’t have to apologize. There's no need for apologies between the two of us. Not anymore.”

Katsuki holds him tighter, unable to speak. The tears keep coming, and he doesn’t know how to stop them. It’s all too much. He wants to believe that things will be okay, that maybe the future can be different, but he knows deep down that nothing will ever be the same again. Maybe his talks with Izuku here can change the future of this world a bit and give his younger self a chance to keep Izuku by his side, but not the world he belongs in. He has to go back, back to the future where everything is fractured, where Izuku is far from him.

But for now, for this moment, he lets himself hold on. He lets himself feel the warmth of Izuku’s hug, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against his chest. He can’t change his future, but he’ll hold on to this moment. Just a little longer.

“Please,” Katsuki whispers, voice trembling, “promise me… promise me that even when I’m not there, you’ll keep fighting. You’ll keep being the hero I know you are. Even when my younger self is too blind to see it, even if I act fucking ungrateful and push you away, please don’t hate me. Don’t give up on me, Izuku. Please.”

Izuku pulls back slightly to look at him, eyes filled with that same quiet determination. “I’ll never give up on you, Kacchan,” he says, the sincerity in his voice unwavering. “And I’ll never hate you either. I promise. You’re so, so special to me. You’ve always been a permanent fixture in my life. How could I ever live without you? How could I ever imagine a future where you're not by my side?”

And for now, just for now, Katsuki holds Izuku tight, savors this fleeting and vulnerable moment, and lets himself believe Izuku's promises.

Maybe it's too late for his own world, but this world doesn't have to be the same as his future. Here, Izuku can choose not to give up on him. Izuku can choose not to leave him. Here, his younger self can still keep Izuku if he finally does things right. Here, he could still be the most special person to Izuku. And maybe, just maybe, in this world, his younger self would have the opportunity to love Izuku freely.

And even when Katsuki inevitably has to go back to his original timeline where he's surrounded by nothing but coldness and loneliness, knowing that there's a world out there that exists where he gets to keep and love Izuku is more than enough to make him happy.

Chapter Text

Katsuki wakes with a gasp, lungs pulling in air as though he’s been drowning. His chest rises and falls too fast, his heart hammering violently against his ribs as his vision swims, a kaleidoscope of white blotting out the edges of his sight. The world feels unsteady, and for a fleeting moment, he’s unsure of where he is—his senses bombarded by disorientation.

The ceiling comes into focus first—plain, white, familiar. Too familiar. The dorms. UA. His bed. His room. 

The weight of that realization crashes down on him all at once, and his breath catches, his stomach churning. His hands clench into the sheets beneath him, fingers trembling as the remnants of panic cling to him like a fog. The echoes of that other world, that other future, still buzz in the back of his mind, a nagging hum that refuses to go quiet. His body feels electric, every nerve on fire, urging him to move, to run, to escape from whatever might be coming next. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he forces himself upright, his head pounding with the effort, and drags his hands over his face, trying to wipe away the residue of the nightmare—the dark memories clinging to him like smoke. His hands fall to his lap, trembling faintly as they rest there, his fingers curled into fists as though to ground himself.

He’s back. He’s here.

The relief that floods him is overwhelming, almost unbearable, like he’s surfaced from the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean only to find himself gasping for air. But beneath it, there’s something darker, more jagged, something churning deep in his gut. The feeling of loss is still there, sharp and cruel, gnawing at his insides. He grinds his teeth together, the pressure making his jaw ache. 

The memories don’t leave him. They hover at the edges of his mind like a shadow, lingering just outside of reach, threatening to pull him back into that place, into that future. That Izuku. 

Katsuki shuts his eyes, his breath hitching at the thought. The hollow look in Izuku’s eyes, the emptiness that had taken root there. The way Izuku’s smile had never quite reached his eyes, never had the warmth it used to. The sound of his voice—so careful, so distant, like he'd become a ghost, something Katsuki couldn’t touch anymore. It cuts into him, a raw wound that refuses to heal.

He sits up straighter, his whole body rigid with the weight of everything unsaid. The thought of Izuku—his Izuku—gone... it’s unbearable.

Katsuki’s breath hitches again, and without thinking, he shoves the blanket off in one violent motion, the action so sudden and desperate that the sheets hit the floor with a soft rustle. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet meeting the cold floor, but it does nothing to ground him. The air feels too thick, the pressure in his chest suffocating. He can’t breathe—he can’t think about that future, about the Izuku who hadn’t looked at him like he meant anything anymore. 

The thought lingers for a moment longer, too painful to dismiss, and then he snaps into action. There’s no time to waste. He can’t let this happen again. He won’t let it happen. 

He grabs his phone off the bedside table, the motion clumsy as his fingers shake. He checks the date, his thumb slipping over the screen with frantic urgency.

It’s Saturday.

His heart skips a beat, and before he can process anything else, the phone slips from his hands, falling soundlessly onto the mattress. He stares down at the screen, his entire body tense as the tightness in his chest coils tighter, an almost physical pain. He can’t—he won’t—let that be their future.

The vision of that broken Izuku flashes in his mind again, sharp and unrelenting. 

'Kacchan... we’re not the most important people in each other’s lives anymore.'

It wasn’t the Izuku he knew. The Izuku who followed him with wide, shining eyes, with an unwavering fire in his heart. The Izuku who smiled like he had the whole damn world at his feet, like Katsuki could do no wrong. The Izuku who had loved him, despite everything. It hadn’t been Izuku. Not the one Katsuki had once known.

And it had been his fault. Every bit of it. He's sure of it. The guilt crashes into him again, a heavy weight that presses him down. 

“Shit,” he hisses, the curse harsh and jagged as he shoves himself to his feet. His heart pounds like an explosion waiting to happen, each beat pushing him forward, demanding that he do something. If he doesn’t fix this now, if he doesn’t say the words he’s been holding in for years—everything he’s buried, everything he’s kept locked away—he knows what will happen. He’ll lose Izuku. And if that happens, it’ll be his fault, and it will be the end of everything he’s fought for.

His feet are bare against the cold floor, but he doesn’t feel it. The chill is nothing compared to the fire in his chest. His body is alive with urgency, a need that won’t stop until he has what he wants, what he needs. He barrels out of the room and into the hallway, his pace quickening with every step, the weight of each one dragging him down even as his feet pound against the floor.

The hallway is empty, and he doesn’t spare it a second glance as he heads straight for Izuku’s room. He skids to a stop in front of the door and slams his fist against it, the force rattling the frame. 

“DEKU!” he shouts, his voice raw, desperate, cracking at the edges. “GET OUT HERE!”

There’s no answer, just a suffocating silence. 

“Deku!” He slams his fist against the door again, harder this time. “Open up, damn it!”

A low, tired voice cuts through the quiet, interrupting his fury. “Bakugou, he’s not in there.” 

Katsuki spins around, his breath catching in his throat. Tokoyami stands a few doors down, his feathers ruffled, his expression flat but somehow concerned. 

“Midoriya’s in the common room. Now shut up before you wake the whole dorm.” 

Before Tokoyami can say another word, Katsuki’s already running again, his feet slamming against the stairs as he takes them two at a time, every step feeling like it takes a lifetime. 

He bursts into the common room like a force of nature, his chest heaving, his whole body taut with the need to fix everything that’s broken. And there he is. 

Izuku.

Sitting on the couch, mid-conversation with Iida and Uraraka, hands gesturing wildly as he explains something with that ridiculous, animated expression he always wears. His green eyes are bright, and his cheeks are dimpled by the grin on his face. He looks exactly the same as he always has—unbearably, infuriatingly, Izuku. 

Katsuki’s breath stutters in his chest, and for just a moment, his feet refuse to move. 

'I almost lost him. In another world, I did lose him.'

The thought slices through him like a blade, and before he can process it, he’s moving again.

“Deku,” he growls, his voice low and sharp, filled with the weight of everything he’s feeling, everything he needs to say. 

The room falls silent.

Izuku freezes, blinking up at him in surprise. “K-Kacchan? What—”

“Come with me.”

“Kacchan, wait, what are you—?”

Katsuki doesn’t give him a chance to finish. His hands dart out and grab Izuku’s wrist with a firm but careful grip, pulling him to his feet. 

“Hey!” Uraraka calls after him, her voice filled with alarm. “Bakugou, what—”

“None of your business!” Katsuki snaps over his shoulder, his cheeks hot as he drags Izuku toward the door, his irritation seeping into his voice, though the urgency driving him forward is all-consuming. “Stay out of it!”

Izuku stumbles after him, his protests falling on deaf ears, but Katsuki doesn’t care. He drags him outside, the crisp morning air biting at their skin, but it does nothing to cool the fire burning inside him. He releases Izuku’s wrist as soon as they’re clear of the building, spinning around to face him.

“Kacchan, what the hell is going on?” Izuku demands, rubbing at his wrist, his face flushed with confusion and frustration. “Why are you acting—”

“I love you.”

The words explode out of him, raw and unfiltered, a confession so desperate it almost hurts to say them. For a moment, the world feels like it’s stopped. Time freezes, and all he can hear is his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

Izuku’s eyes widen, his lips parting as he stares at him, utterly stunned. 

“Kacchan…”

“Shut up,” Katsuki snaps, his voice cracking with emotion. He grabs Izuku by the shoulders, his grip tight but trembling, as if he might shatter at any second. “Listen to me, damn it! I’m not losing you. Not now, not ever. I don’t give a damn what you think this is—I mean it. I love you.” 

Izuku stares up at him, his cheeks flushed, his expression a whirlwind of disbelief and something else Katsuki can’t quite name.

“I… Kacchan…” Izuku breathes, barely audible, as if trying to process what he’s just heard.

The door creaks open behind them, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps and whispered voices. Katsuki doesn’t bother turning around, but when Mina’s voice cuts through the air, his eye twitches in irritation.

“Told you it’d be a love confession,” she whispers, clearly unable to hide the glee in her voice.

“EXTRAS, GO BACK INSIDE!” Katsuki roars, his voice cracking as he shields his face with his hand, the heat of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

Izuku laughs softly, the sound shaky but warm, and when Katsuki looks at him again, he sees it—Izuku.

“I… I’ll think about it,” Izuku says softly, his cheeks still flushed. “Okay, Kacchan?”

It’s not a yes.

But it’s not a no either.

“We can think about it together,” Katsuki mutters, his voice softer now, the fierce energy still buzzing through him. “But I’m not letting you run away from this without an answer.”

Katsuki barrels down the hallway, his hand locked firmly around Izuku’s wrist as if letting go might cause the world to unravel. His grip is unyielding, a force that demands attention, and Izuku stumbles behind him, struggling to keep up. The corridor is alive with voices—classmates chatting, laughing, and shouting—but Katsuki’s focus is unwavering. He doesn’t even seem to notice the commotion, his entire world narrowed down to the person next to him.

“So it’s official, huh?” Kaminari hollers from behind them, his voice ringing out with teasing excitement, drawing the attention of everyone around them.

“Guess Blasty finally confessed!” Mina adds with her usual carefree humor, her voice louder than it should be, practically echoing off the walls.

Katsuki’s lip curls into a snarl at the sound of their voices, but he doesn’t look back. “Shut the hell up!” he snaps over his shoulder, his words sharp enough to cut through the noise. His usual arrogance is laced with something deeper—something desperate. “Not your goddamn business!”

Izuku stumbles to match Katsuki’s pace, his feet tripping over each other as the heat in his face intensifies. It’s a mix of exertion, embarrassment, and something he can’t quite name. He can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on them, their laughter and curious whispers, and his stomach twists. “Kacchan, wait—where are we going? Why are you—”

“Not here,” Katsuki barks, his voice tight, strained. There’s something about the urgency in his tone, the way his fingers dig into Izuku’s wrist, that makes Izuku’s words falter. He doesn’t dare ask more, swallowing his confusion and following in silence. The look on Katsuki’s face is unreadable—eyes hard, jaw clenched, like he’s holding back something dangerous.

The walk to Katsuki’s dorm feels like it stretches on for hours. Every step, every breath, feels too loud in the quiet between them. The tension in the air is thick enough to taste, swirling around them in a way that makes Izuku’s chest tighten with anxiety. His thoughts race, trying to catch up with the situation, but every time he thinks he might have a hold on it, Katsuki pulls him forward again, dragging him along as if the very act of slowing down might make everything fall apart.

Finally, they reach Katsuki’s dorm. Katsuki slams the door shut behind them with a force that rattles the walls, the sound echoing far too loudly in the suddenly quiet room. The harsh bang of the door’s impact sends a shiver down Izuku’s spine, and he’s almost afraid to breathe, afraid to move. The space between them is heavy, thick with unspoken words, and Izuku’s heart pounds in his chest, so loud it drowns out everything else.

Katsuki doesn’t release his grip on Izuku’s wrist until they’re standing right in front of his bed. With a grunt, Katsuki practically throws Izuku onto the mattress, his hands still trembling as he pushes him down. The force of it is more than enough to send Izuku stumbling backward, landing unceremoniously on the bed. Katsuki doesn’t give him time to adjust—his voice is already sharp and demanding as he orders, “Sit.”

Izuku blinks, his mind racing as he automatically obeys, his body moving without thinking. He perches on the edge of the bed, hands twisted in his lap, fingers fumbling with the fabric of his uniform. His eyes dart around the room before landing on Katsuki, his gaze filled with confusion and something else—a flicker of concern that grows stronger the more he watches his friend.

Katsuki is pacing now, his boots stomping across the floor in a rhythm that doesn’t match the frantic beat of Izuku’s heart. His hands are buried in his hair, raking through the strands as he mutters under his breath, too quietly for Izuku to hear clearly. 

Izuku’s heart jumps in his throat as he catches snippets of Katsuki’s words: “stupid extras,” “fucking feelings,” “not screwing this up.” They don’t make sense, but the urgency in Katsuki’s movements—the way his muscles tense and his brow furrows—tells Izuku that something’s wrong. Something’s happening, and Katsuki’s not the same as usual.

Before Izuku can ask more, Katsuki stops dead in his tracks. There’s a sudden stillness in the air, and Izuku feels it—like the entire world is holding its breath. The moment hangs between them, charged with something electric. Katsuki whirls to face him, his eyes wide and fierce, but there’s something in them—something vulnerable—that makes Izuku’s stomach flip.

“Listen, nerd,” Katsuki growls, his voice rough and trembling with an intensity that shatters the stillness in the room. His words are like a lash, sharp and fierce, but there’s a desperate edge to them. “I’m gonna say this again, and this time, you’re gonna shut up and listen. Got it?”

Izuku blinks up at him, startled, the words catching in his throat. His heart hammers in his chest, every beat louder than the last. “O-Okay,” he stammers, too overwhelmed to do anything but nod.

Katsuki takes a deep, shuddering breath, like he’s about to dive into a fight. His eyes lock onto Izuku’s, the weight of his stare burning into Izuku’s skin. For a moment, neither of them moves. And then, without warning, Katsuki’s voice breaks the silence.

“I love you, Izuku.” The words crash into Izuku like a tidal wave, blunt and unforgiving. They hit harder than anything he’s ever heard from Katsuki. “I already told you, but I’m saying it again, ‘cause I mean it. I fucking love you.”

Izuku’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes wide as his mind races to process what just happened. His chest tightens painfully, a dizzying rush of emotions flooding him. Before he can even form a response, Katsuki’s words come tumbling out in a torrent, faster than Izuku can keep up with.

“And I need you to say yes,” Katsuki continues, his voice rising, cracking with a raw urgency. “Say yes so we can just start dating already and—shit—so everyone will shut the hell up and leave us alone. Then we can focus on the important stuff, like being hero partners in the future and—” Katsuki falters, his face flushing a deep red as his gaze drops, his voice lowering. “—living together. Or whatever. Just—just staying together. Forever.”

Izuku’s chest feels like it’s caving in. His thoughts are a whirlwind, spinning too fast to catch any one thing. The words hit him like blows, each one adding to the confusion that’s already building inside him. “Kacchan, you just got back—are you okay? Did something happen while you were—”

“I’ll tell you later,” Katsuki interrupts, his voice rough, his breath coming too quickly. “Not now. Right now, you just—you need to know this. I need you to know how much you mean to me.”

Katsuki steps forward, his movements stiff, fists clenched tightly at his sides. His fiery gaze is still burning, but there’s something else in his eyes now—something softer, something raw that Izuku’s never seen before. It makes his heart ache, a twist of longing and fear winding around it. 

“Because I suck at this shit,” Katsuki admits quietly, his voice cracking with emotion. “I know I’ve been a shitty person to you for years, but I can’t—” He pauses, his throat working as he swallows hard, like the words are too big for him to force out. “I can’t lose you, Izuku.”

Izuku feels his chest tighten, every word sinking into him like a heavy weight. He doesn’t know what to do—whether to cry, to run, to speak, but his thoughts are tangled and his heart is in his throat. He reaches out, but the words die on his lips. Instead, he just watches Katsuki, his eyes wide, his heart aching with confusion and something else—a flicker of hope that he’s terrified to acknowledge.

“All my life,” Katsuki continues, his voice quieter now, his gaze falling to the floor, “you’ve been there. Always right next to me. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I told you to fuck off, you stayed. You kept chasing after me, believing in me, even when I thought you were mocking me.” He looks up then, his gaze intense and unguarded. “But you weren’t. You were always there for me, even when I was too much of a fucking idiot to see it.”

Izuku doesn’t know what to say. He’s never seen Katsuki like this—never heard him speak with such vulnerability, such rawness. His mind races, but there’s one truth that sinks in, deep and undeniable. Katsuki is here, pouring out everything he’s held inside, and Izuku knows, in that moment, that everything between them is about to change forever.

Izuku doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the first tear drips onto his lap, a silent, traitorous drop that stings against his skin. The unexpected rush of emotion is so overwhelming that his chest tightens with the weight of it. He looks down, blinking rapidly, trying to will the tears back, but they keep falling—each one heavier than the last. His breath hitches, unsteady, as he reaches out with trembling hands and takes Katsuki’s. 

“Kacchan,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, cracking at the sound of the name, a name he’s said so many times, but never with this weight, never with so much heart. His chest aches with the things he’s never said, the things he’s kept buried for so long. 

Katsuki stiffens at the touch, and for a fleeting moment, Izuku wonders if he’s made a mistake. But then he feels it—Katsuki’s hands are warm, trembling slightly in his grip. The heat, the steady pulse beneath his fingers, reassures him that he hasn’t pushed him away. That this is real. 

“I—” Izuku starts, but the words feel thick in his throat, like they’re getting caught in the storm of everything he’s been holding back. His breath shudders as he tries again, his voice faltering. “I love you too. I always have.” He laughs shakily, swiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, not caring about the mess he’s making of himself. “But I thought—I thought you hated me. I thought if I just ignored my feelings, they’d go away eventually.” He looks down, ashamed of how long he’s let himself believe that. The tears keep coming, a steady stream, and he’s afraid it’ll never stop.

Katsuki’s eyes narrow slightly, the fury in them now directed inward as if the weight of Izuku’s words hit him harder than he anticipated. His lips curl in a snarl, but when he speaks, it’s with a force that rips through the tension in the room, a promise wrapped in his signature gruffness. “Don’t,” he growls, his voice fierce, raw. He steps closer, his large, calloused hands closing around Izuku’s with an intensity that makes Izuku’s breath catch. “Don’t you ever try to get over me, nerd. You’re not allowed. You’re stuck with me, forever.”

Izuku’s heart stutters at the words, and then it flutters, this strange, beautiful thing that won’t stop beating in his chest. He can’t help the soft, joyous laugh that spills from his lips—a sound that carries so much relief, so much warmth. It’s like the world has shifted into place, like everything he’s been dreaming of, everything he’s been longing for, is finally coming true. “Alright, Kacchan. Forever.” 

And just as the words settle between them, Katsuki surges forward. There’s no hesitation, no thought. He wraps his arms around Izuku with a fierce, crushing force, pulling him against him like he’s afraid of losing him again. The sudden movement knocks them both backward onto the bed, the impact sending a jolt of surprise through Izuku, but he doesn’t resist. He clings to Katsuki as if he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. His arms come up instinctively, wrapping around Katsuki in return, pulling him closer, deeper. 

Katsuki buries his face in Izuku’s shoulder, his voice muffled but no less powerful. “I’m serious, Izuku,” he whispers, almost like a prayer, like a plea. “Don’t ever leave me.”

Izuku’s fingers thread gently through Katsuki’s hair, a slow, soothing motion that feels both comforting and overwhelming in the best way. “I won’t,” he whispers back, his voice steady despite the tears still rolling down his face. “I promise.”

Katsuki lifts his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears of his own, and Izuku can see the rawness in them, the vulnerability that Katsuki rarely lets show. His voice shakes when he speaks, but there’s no mistaking the urgency. “Say it again,” he demands, his hands gripping Izuku’s arms like they’re his lifeline. “Tell me you love me.”

Izuku smiles through his tears, his heart swelling with an emotion that feels too big for his chest. He reaches up, cupping Katsuki’s face gently in his hands. His thumb traces the line of Katsuki’s jaw, memorizing the feel of him, grounding himself in the present. “I love you, Kacchan,” he says softly, the words flowing easily now, as natural as breathing. “Always have, always will.”

The confession lingers in the air, heavy and sweet, and Katsuki doesn’t waste a second. He crashes his lips against Izuku’s, a kiss that’s messy, desperate, full of the things they’ve never said before. Izuku melts into it, his heart pounding in his chest, his arms tightening around Katsuki as if he’s afraid to let go. The kiss deepens, desperate and unrestrained, their tears mingling together as they cling to each other, finding comfort in the closeness.

In between kisses, Katsuki mumbles against Izuku’s lips, his voice frantic, like he’s trying to make sure this moment doesn’t slip away. “Promise me… you’ll stay… forever. Promise me, damn it.”

Izuku’s breath catches, but he doesn’t hesitate. His voice is filled with everything he’s kept buried for so long—love, longing, hope. “I promise,” he breathes, pressing a soft kiss to Katsuki’s forehead. “Forever, Kacchan. Always.”

It’s everything Katsuki needs to hear. His heart swells, and for the first time in a long while, he feels like everything is finally right in the world. He pulls Izuku closer, kissing him again, not caring about the mess of their emotions, the tears, the weight of everything they’ve been through. In this moment, there’s nothing but them—together, finally, after everything. And Katsuki knows, without a doubt, that he’s finally right where he belongs, and he desperately hopes his future self will find his place with his Izuku, too.

Chapter Text

Katsuki wakes with a start. His breath hitches, chest rising and falling in uneven jerks as the remnants of sleep cling to him. For one disorienting moment, he’s unsure of where he is. His eyes dart to the faint, silver light slicing through the heavy curtains, and the sterile quiet of the room settles over him like a lead weight.

The stillness is suffocating.  

His senses are hyperaware, straining for something—anything—to cut through the silence. The distant hum of UA’s campus is gone. The faint murmur of students in the hallways, the clatter of dinner trays in the common room, and his voice, soft and steady, calling his name with that ever-present determination… gone. The absence of it all leaves Katsuki’s skin crawling.

This isn’t UA. This is his house.

The realization slams into him like a fist. He sits up slowly, his movements stiff, muscles aching from more than just physical exertion. His head throbs, the disjointed fragments of memory gnawing at his sanity, but he pushes them aside as his gaze sweeps the room. The cold, clinical minimalism of it strikes him.  

The space is massive—far too big for one person. The king-sized bed beneath him is untouched on one side, the sheets perfectly smooth and crisp. The nightstand beside him is bare save for a digital clock blinking 3:12 a.m. and a stack of neatly folded mission reports. There’s no clutter. No warmth. No life.

His eyes drift to the walls, where framed photos hang in perfect alignment. They’re all shots of Dynamight—his victories, his triumphs, his accolades frozen in glossy perfection. He hates them. The reminder of what he’s sacrificed for this empty life makes his stomach churn. There isn’t a single personal photo in sight. No snapshots of family. No moments of camaraderie. No Izuku.

The thought of him sends Katsuki’s stomach plummeting. His elbows dig into his knees as he leans forward, dragging trembling hands through his hair. The world feels like it’s tilting beneath him.  

He’s back.

Back in the original timeline. Back in this cold, lifeless house. Back in a world where Izuku isn’t by his side.

A bitter, broken sound escapes him, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. It echoes faintly in the cavernous room, mocking in its hollowness. Katsuki presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, willing the burning behind them to subside. 

The dorms had been cramped, noisy, and chaotic. The walls were paper-thin, privacy nonexistent, and yet Katsuki had loved it. Because Izuku was there. Always there. Always within reach, whether he was studying late in the common room or training in the gym at ungodly hours. Katsuki could count on Izuku’s presence like the rising sun.

He grits his teeth, forcing himself to breathe. Memories claw at him, each one sharper and crueler than the last. Izuku’s bright, unwavering smile. The way his eyes would soften, impossibly gentle, whenever they locked onto Katsuki. The quiet but unshakable belief in him that Katsuki had spent years trying to destroy—and years more learning to treasure.

He can still see it. That younger, softer Izuku from the other timeline. The way his eyes had sparkled, green as spring leaves. His laughter, warm and earnest, had filled the space between them. And then, that smile. The one that had made Katsuki feel like he was something worth believing in.

But now…

Here, in this reality, Izuku doesn’t look at him like that anymore.  

The Izuku of this world doesn’t smile when Katsuki enters the room. Doesn’t seek him out after missions to check if he’s okay. Doesn’t hang on his every word with that stupid, unshakable admiration. Hell, Katsuki’s been reduced to making up excuses just to see him. Pretending he needs feedback on reports. Offering to spar despite knowing how exhausted Izuku is.  

It’s pathetic, and he knows it. But he doesn’t care. 

Because Izuku was there in that other timeline. And here, Katsuki is utterly alone.

He shoves himself to his feet abruptly, ignoring the dull ache in his chest. His feet carry him to the window, where he yanks the curtains open with a sharp, angry motion. The city sprawls out before him, an endless maze of glittering lights and distant movement. It’s a view that should inspire awe or pride, but all Katsuki feels is a gnawing emptiness.

“Damn it,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. His hand slams against the window frame, the sharp sting grounding him for a fleeting second. “Why… why the hell did it have to be like this?”

The room offers no answers. Just the quiet hum of the city outside, indifferent to his turmoil.

He slides down to the floor, his back pressed against the cool glass. His knees pull up to his chest, arms draped loosely over them as he stares blankly ahead. His breathing is uneven, and the weight of it all threatens to crush him.

He’d been given a glimpse of what he used to have. A life where he hadn’t screwed everything up. Where Izuku’s love wasn’t something distant and unattainable. He’d felt it—however briefly. And now? Now he’s back here, in this hollow, lifeless existence, knowing exactly what he’s lost.  

His fists tighten, knuckles white against the fabric of his sweatpants. A single tear slips down his cheek, hot and unwelcome. Katsuki swipes at it angrily, his jaw clenching.

He’s Dynamight. A hero. A damn good one. He’s supposed to move forward. To charge ahead, no matter the cost.  

But tonight, with the ghost of Izuku’s smile still etched into his mind, Katsuki feels utterly and completely powerless.  

Izuku raises his hand to knock, the motion hesitant, his knuckles brushing against the wood in a sound too soft to carry. Early morning light filters through the narrow hallway of Katsuki’s home, spilling over the floor in muted streaks. Shadows stretch long and still, amplifying the quiet that settles in Izuku’s chest, heavy and unyielding. He swallows the lump rising in his throat, then calls out, his voice steady despite the storm inside.  

“Kacchan,” he says gently, almost a whisper. “I’m leaving now, okay?”  

He waits. Waits for the shuffle of movement inside, for the heavy footsteps and familiar grumble Katsuki always unleashes when roused too early. The seconds drag, and with each one, the silence grows heavier. Izuku’s hand lifts again, this time with the intent to knock louder, but before his knuckles meet the wood, the doorknob twists.  

The sound startles him, a sharp click that echoes too loudly in the still hallway. The door creaks open, and standing there—bathed in the soft, golden light of dawn—is Katsuki.  

But this isn’t the Katsuki from last night.  

Izuku’s breath catches as his gaze locks on the older version of his childhood friend—the real Katsuki. The man before him looks worlds away from the brash, desperate teenager he spent hours talking with just last night. Katsuki’s crimson eyes, sharp and piercing, flicker with something softer, something guarded, as if he’s still trying to piece together the space between dream and reality. His messy, golden hair sticks up in every direction, a chaotic halo that makes him look oddly vulnerable.  

“Izuku…” Katsuki breathes his name like it’s been ripped from him, raw and low and so unlike the gruff bark Izuku is used to. He grips the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him upright, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and something Izuku doesn’t dare name.  

Izuku shifts his weight, fingers nervously clutching the strap of his bag. “Uh, hi, Kacchan,” he says, his voice faltering under the weight of Katsuki’s stare. “I—I just wanted to say goodbye before I left. I stayed the night because, well…” He hesitates, the words stumbling out in a rush. “Your younger self didn’t want to be alone, so I—uh—but I can go now if you want. I didn’t mean to—”  

“Don’t.” The word comes out hoarse, urgent, cutting through Izuku’s rambling. Katsuki clears his throat, his grip on the door tightening before he takes a deliberate step back. “Don’t leave. Not yet.”  

Izuku blinks, startled. “Oh. Okay.”  

“Come in,” Katsuki says, his tone softer than Izuku expects. He steps aside, holding the door open wider. Izuku hesitates for a fraction of a second before nodding and stepping inside.  

Izuku perches on the edge of the couch, his posture stiff, while Katsuki settles into the armchair across from him. The silence stretches between them, thick with unspoken words.  

Izuku’s gaze flickers over Katsuki, taking in the faint redness around his eyes, the exhaustion carved into his features. “Kacchan,” he asks softly, his voice breaking the silence like a ripple across still water. “Are you okay?”  

Katsuki stiffens. His gaze darts away, jaw tightening. “I’m fine,” he mutters, the words rough, a shield he’s always wielded too easily. But his voice cracks, betraying the truth beneath.  

Izuku doesn’t push, though the worry gnawing at him nearly overwhelms his restraint. Instead, he fidgets with the hem of his sleeve, his fingers twisting the fabric. “I, um… I talked to your younger self last night.”  

Katsuki’s head snaps up at that, his crimson eyes sharp, tension crackling around him. “What did he say?”  

Izuku tilts his head, surprised by the urgency in Katsuki’s tone. “Nothing bad,” he reassures quickly. “He was… honest. It was strange, seeing him like that. He reminded me of how you used to be, but… not in a bad way.”  

Katsuki exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “That dumbass… I was worried he’d say some shitty stuff to you.”  

Izuku shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No, he didn’t. Actually, he said something… important.”  

Katsuki leans forward, his expression unreadable. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  

Izuku hesitates, his fingers stilling against his sleeve. He looks up, green eyes meeting red, and takes a breath. “Kacchan, I need to apologize. For rejecting your offer to join your agency.”  

Katsuki’s eyes widen, his breath hitching.  

“I’m sorry,” Izuku continues, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. “I never wanted to hurt you. And I don’t want you to think it’s because I didn’t want to be your partner. That’s not it.”  

Katsuki swallows hard, his voice a strained whisper. “Then why?”  

Izuku’s gaze drops, his hands tightening into fists. “Because I didn’t think I deserved it.”  

Katsuki stiffens, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. “What the hell are you talking about?”  

“Please, let me finish,” Izuku says quickly, his voice firm but pleading. Katsuki bites back whatever sharp retort lingers on his tongue, leaning back, though his eyes blaze with emotion.  

“I didn’t think I deserved to stand by your side anymore,” Izuku admits, his voice trembling. “Not after I lost my quirk. I felt like… like I’d failed you. Failed everyone. You’ve always been so strong, Kacchan. So unstoppable. And I tried so hard to catch up to you, to be someone you could rely on. But after losing my quirk…”  

His voice cracks, and Katsuki flinches as if the words physically hurt.  

“I thought I couldn’t be your equal anymore,” Izuku says, barely above a whisper. “And I didn’t want to drag you down.”  

Katsuki’s hands tighten into fists, his knuckles turning white. “Izuku, that’s bullshit,” he growls, his voice raw.  

Izuku looks up at him, his smile small and bittersweet. “I know that now. Because of what your younger self said.”  

Katsuki’s breath catches, his eyes searching Izuku’s face. “What… what did he say?”  

Izuku’s expression softens, warmth spreading across his features. “He told me that you’d want me by your side no matter what. That being with me is your dream just as much as it’s mine. And that I don’t need a quirk to be a hero because I’ve already proven myself to you.”  

Katsuki stares at him, his throat working as he struggles to form words.  

Izuku’s smile grows, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “If that’s how you feel too, Kacchan… thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

Katsuki sits across from Izuku, his heart hammering against his ribs with a force that feels almost unbearable. The dim light in the room, spilling in soft rays through the blinds, makes everything feel more intimate—more raw. The silence between them stretches long and taut, but it isn’t empty. It’s filled with words Katsuki hasn’t spoken yet, emotions he’s held back for far too long.  

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands are clasped tightly, his knuckles white from the strain as he wrestles with his nerves. Finally, he exhales, steadying himself, and lifts his gaze to Izuku’s.  

“Izuku,” he begins, his voice low and rough, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance like this again, so… just let me talk, okay?”  

Izuku blinks, startled by the intensity in Katsuki’s tone, but he nods quickly. His own hands curl into the fabric of his pants, his body taut with anticipation.  

Katsuki’s crimson eyes bore into his, unwavering despite the tremor in his chest. “Everything my younger self said to you,” he continues, his voice softer now but no less serious, “it’s true. I’ve always wanted you by my side. Even back then, when I was a stupid, angry brat who didn’t know how to show it. But now…” He hesitates, his expression shifting into something vulnerable, raw. “Now, it’s more than that. What I feel for you now, Izuku—it’s… it’s a hell of a lot more.”  

Izuku’s breath catches. His cheeks flush a delicate pink, but he doesn’t look away.  

Katsuki swallows, his throat tight as he presses on. “I’ve lived with so many regrets when it comes to you. When we started drifting apart, I didn’t know how to fix it. Didn’t know how to be… what you needed me to be. And I’ve been carrying that with me for years—this constant fear that I’d fucked up so badly I couldn’t fix it. That I finally lost you for good. And…” His voice cracks, and he clenches his fists to keep himself steady. “And I thought I deserved it.”  

“Kacchan…” Izuku whispers, his voice trembling with emotion.  

But Katsuki shakes his head sharply, cutting him off. “Let me finish,” he says hoarsely, his tone pleading.  

He takes a breath, his eyes shimmering under the muted light. “It killed me to go from being someone you looked up to, someone you admired, to someone you didn’t need anymore. Someone who wasn’t special to you. And I thought I’d have to live with that forever—watching you from the sidelines, trying to be okay with it.”  

Izuku’s hands fly up to cover his mouth, his eyes shining with unshed tears.  

“But I can’t,” Katsuki continues, his voice raw, the words tumbling out as if they’ve been clawing to escape for years. “I can’t live like that anymore. You’re too important to me, Izuku. You’ve always been important to me. And I…” His breath hitches, and he grips his knees tightly, his knuckles trembling. “I don’t want to lose you again. Not like that. Not ever.”  

Izuku’s tears spill over, sliding down his flushed cheeks, but he doesn’t interrupt. His hands tremble as they lower to his lap, clutching at his knees for support.  

Katsuki straightens, his voice steadying despite the storm of emotions raging inside him. “So I have to say this now. Because if I don’t, I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”  

Izuku holds his breath, his wide, tear-filled eyes locked on Katsuki.  

“I love you, Izuku,” Katsuki says, the words unpolished but heavy with sincerity. His voice cracks slightly, but he doesn’t care. “I’ve loved you for so damn long, and I’m so tired of hiding it. I love you because you’ve always been by my side, even when I didn’t deserve it. Because you’re brave and kind and so fucking stubborn it drives me crazy. Because you’ve always been special to me, and you always will be.”  

Izuku’s sob breaks the silence, his shoulders shaking as he tries to hold himself together.  

Katsuki’s voice softens, his gaze unwavering. “I want you by my side, Izuku. Not just as my partner but… as everything. I want to come home to you. I want to share this place with you, because it’s too damn cold and empty without you here. I want to be able to love you the way I’ve always wanted to. I want to hold you and kiss you and wake up next to you every morning. I want…” He trails off, his voice thick with emotion. “I want you, Izuku. All of you. Always.”  

He swallows hard, his fists tightening in his lap. “But I know it’s a lot. You don’t have to feel the same way. I just… I needed to tell you. I couldn’t keep it inside anymore.”  

For a moment, the room is silent, the weight of Katsuki’s confession settling like a heavy blanket over them. Katsuki braces himself for rejection, his chest tight, his lungs burning.  

Then Izuku moves.  

He launches himself off the couch and into Katsuki’s arms, his smaller frame colliding with Katsuki’s with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. Izuku clings to him desperately, his arms winding around Katsuki’s neck as his sobs come freely.  

“Kacchan,” Izuku cries, his voice muffled against Katsuki’s shoulder. “I love you too. I’ve always loved you. Ever since we were kids, I—” His voice breaks, and he pulls back just enough to look Katsuki in the eyes. “I never stopped. I thought I had to give up on you, to stop feeling this way because I thought… I thought you’d never love me back.”  

“Izuku,” Katsuki murmurs, his hands trembling as they come up to cradle Izuku’s back.  

“I’m so happy,” Izuku chokes out, his tears soaking into Katsuki’s shirt. “I’m so happy, Kacchan. I don’t have to hide it anymore. I don’t have to fight it. You love me. You really love me.”  

“I do,” Katsuki whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “God, Izuku, I love you so much.”  

They cling to each other, their tears and laughter mixing as years of pain and longing dissolve into warmth and relief. Katsuki tilts Izuku’s face up, his thumbs brushing away the tears streaking Izuku’s flushed cheeks.  

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice soft, almost shy.  

Izuku nods, his smile radiant through his tears. “Please.”  

Katsuki leans in, his lips meeting Izuku’s in a kiss that’s soft and tender, filled with all the love and devotion he’s held back for so long. Izuku melts into him, his hands tangling in Katsuki’s hair as if he never wants to let go.  

When they finally pull apart, their foreheads resting together, Katsuki lets out a shaky laugh. “I still can’t believe this is real.”  

“It’s real,” Izuku whispers, his voice full of quiet certainty. “We’re real, Kacchan. And I love you.”  

“I love you too,” Katsuki says, his voice steady, his heart full. “Always.”  

Chapter Text

The sky remains painted in a muted gray as the first rays of sunlight struggle to pierce through the early morning haze. The campus, usually buzzing with energy, feels serene in its quiet stillness. Katsuki stands outside Izuku’s dorm room, his arms crossed and his foot tapping an impatient rhythm against the floor. The red scarf in his hand hangs loosely, his grip tightening and loosening as though he’s unsure what to do with it. His usual scowl is firmly in place, but there’s a telltale flush of pink dusting his cheeks that betrays his emotions.  

The dormitory hallway is still, save for the faint creak of distant doors and the occasional shuffling of slippered feet. Katsuki huffs in irritation, then raises a clenched fist to knock on the door. His movements are sharp, deliberate, as though he’s trying to push down a wave of nervous energy.  

“Oi, Deku, hurry the hell up!” he barks, his voice reverberating through the quiet. There’s less bite in his tone than usual, though it still carries enough force to make anyone jump.  

Inside, a muffled crash echoes, followed by a panicked, “Coming, Kacchan!”  

When the door swings open, Izuku appears, breathless and disheveled, still fumbling with his necktie. His wild, curly hair is even more unruly than usual, sticking out in every direction, and his eyes blink up at Katsuki, heavy with lingering sleep.  

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” Izuku says with a sheepish smile, his voice warm despite the lingering grogginess.  

Katsuki clicks his tongue in annoyance, though the sharp sound is undermined by the way he reaches forward, unceremoniously wrapping the red scarf around Izuku’s neck. His movements are brusque yet oddly careful, his fingers grazing Izuku’s skin as he adjusts the scarf until it sits snugly.  

“You’re an idiot,” Katsuki grumbles, tugging the ends of the scarf to test its tightness. “It’s freezing out there. You’ll get sick if you go out looking like that.”  

Izuku blinks up at him, cheeks heating with a mixture of surprise and bashfulness. The gentle care in Katsuki’s actions is unexpected, leaving him momentarily speechless. “Kacchan…”  

“Don’t start,” Katsuki cuts in, his gaze darting away as a faint blush creeps up to his ears. “Just—shut up and let’s go.” Without waiting for a reply, he grabs Izuku’s hand, his grip firm but not forceful, and pulls him down the hallway.  

Izuku stumbles slightly but quickly finds his footing, his heart thudding in his chest as their hands remain intertwined. Katsuki’s palm is warm against his own, and the sensation sends a flurry of emotions swirling through him.  

The air outside bites with a sharp chill, nipping at their exposed skin, but Izuku hardly notices. The red scarf around his neck carries the faint, smoky scent of Katsuki, grounding him in the moment. As they walk, Katsuki’s pace is brisk, but his hand never lets go of Izuku’s, his grip steadfast and reassuring.  

They don’t speak much, the silence between them companionable. Izuku sneaks glances at Katsuki, marveling at the small, subtle shifts in his expression—the slight furrow of his brows, the determination in his crimson eyes, the way the morning light catches his spiky blond hair. It feels surreal, this quiet moment between them, as though they’ve crossed some invisible threshold.  

When they reach the entrance to Class 1-A, Katsuki stops, turning to face Izuku. His gaze softens just enough to make Izuku’s breath hitch. “You good, nerd?”  

Izuku nods quickly, his cheeks still rosy. “Yeah, I’m good.”  

“Then let’s go.” Katsuki pushes the door open with his free hand, stepping into the classroom without hesitation. Izuku follows, his heart pounding as their hands remain clasped.  

The classroom’s usual hum of morning chatter halts abruptly. Conversations die mid-sentence, and all eyes snap toward them. A heavy silence blankets the room as the sight of Katsuki holding Izuku’s hand sinks in.  

Mina is the first to recover, her golden eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait. What is going on here?”  

Kaminari nearly drops his notebook, pointing dramatically at their joined hands. “No way. Is this—like—real?”  

Kirishima’s jaw drops before he breaks into a wide grin. “Bakubro… you and Midoriya? Seriously?”  

Katsuki’s crimson eyes narrow into a glare, his voice sharp and fiery. “What the hell are you extras staring at? Mind your own damn business!” He marches to his desk with a huff, dragging Izuku along with him before finally letting go of his hand.  

Izuku shuffles to his seat, which is directly behind Katsuki’s, his face practically glowing red. The murmurs around the room start up again, growing louder as Mina practically bounces in her seat.  

“This is adorable,” Mina exclaims, leaning forward with an impish grin. “Bakugou, being all soft and sweet? Who knew you had it in you!”  

“Shut it, Pinky, before I blast you into next week,” Katsuki growls, though the lack of real venom in his tone only fuels Mina’s amusement.  

“Hey, man,” Kirishima says, his smile genuine. “I think it’s great. You seem… happy, you know?”  

Katsuki doesn’t respond, instead turning slightly to glance at Izuku, who’s fiddling nervously with the pen in his hand. Their eyes meet, and Katsuki’s scowl softens for just a second before he spins back around, muttering under his breath.  

Shouto tilts his head, his expression calm but curious. “Is this a special occasion? Should we congratulate you?”  

“Thanks, Shouto,” Izuku mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Aizawa eventually walks in, silencing the chaos with a single, tired glare. Katsuki leans back in his chair, sneaking a glance over his shoulder. “You okay, nerd?”  

Izuku nods, his heart swelling as he whispers back, “Yeah, Kacchan. I’m okay.”  

For the rest of the day, Katsuki doesn’t stray far, checking on Izuku with a glance, a muttered comment, or a fleeting touch. It’s a quiet sort of affection, but it’s enough to keep Izuku’s heart soaring. And while Mina’s delighted giggling continues, Izuku wouldn’t trade the warmth of Katsuki’s presence for anything in the world.

The training field hums with the energy of fierce competition. Explosions bloom across the arena, sparks flying into the crisp morning air as grunts and determined shouts echo. Katsuki stands on the far side of the chaos, his crimson eyes laser-focused—not on the flag they’re meant to capture but on Izuku, who weaves through the melee with reckless agility. His jaw tightens, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.  

“Damn nerd,” Katsuki mutters, his voice low and gravelly. His gloved fingers twitch at his sides, itching to jump in every time Izuku dodges a blow or takes a hit. Every near miss makes his heart lurch uncomfortably in his chest.  

“Oi, Bakugou! Eyes on me!” Kirishima’s voice cuts through Katsuki’s focus as the redhead barrels toward him, his fist gleaming with the hard sheen of his quirk.  

Katsuki sidesteps the attack with a snarl, launching a controlled explosion to push Kirishima back. “I am paying attention, Shitty Hair!” he snaps, though his gaze flickers back to Izuku immediately, betraying his lie.  

Kirishima raises an eyebrow as he steadies himself, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. “You sure? ‘Cause it looks like your head’s somewhere else, man.”  

“Shut the hell up and fight me!” Katsuki barks, sending another blast in Kirishima’s direction.  

But his attention is fractured, his focus drawn back to Izuku again and again. Across the field, Izuku is glowing faintly with the power of Full Cowling, his movements fast and fluid. He’s dodging attacks with an almost instinctive precision, his green eyes sharp and unyielding as he zeroes in on the flag. Katsuki’s lips press into a thin line. Izuku’s determination is a double-edged sword, and Katsuki knows all too well how it can lead him into trouble.  

It happens in the blink of an eye. A stray chunk of debris, dislodged by an explosion, hurtles toward Izuku. He doesn’t see it in time. Katsuki’s heart drops as the concrete slams into Izuku’s shoulder, sending him sprawling to the ground.  

“Deku!”  

The shout rips from Katsuki’s throat before he realizes it, his body moving on instinct. He rockets across the field, the force of his explosions propelling him forward faster than anyone can react. His teammates’ voices fade into the background as he lands beside Izuku, crouching down and grabbing his arm.  

“You hurt?!” Katsuki demands, his voice sharp and frantic as he pulls Izuku up to inspect him. His hands grip Izuku’s shoulders tightly, his crimson eyes scanning him from head to toe.  

“I-I’m fine, Kacchan!” Izuku stammers, his cheeks pink from the sudden closeness. He winces slightly, rubbing at his shoulder where the scrape is beginning to bleed.  

“Fine, my ass! You’re bleeding!” Katsuki growls, his voice rising with barely concealed panic. His grip tightens as though he can keep Izuku from slipping away if he just holds on hard enough.  

“It’s just a scratch,” Izuku insists, his tone gentle as he tries to reassure him. “Really, Kacchan. Recovery Girl will take care of it.”  

Katsuki scowls, muttering under his breath about “damn reckless nerds” and “not watching where the hell they’re going.” But he doesn’t let go until Recovery Girl herself appears, shooing them off the field with an exasperated sigh.  

By the time training ends, the tension in Katsuki’s shoulders still hasn’t eased. He stalks toward the dorms with Izuku at his side, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Izuku chatters softly, trying to lighten the mood, but Katsuki only responds with grunts and noncommittal hums.  

When they reach Katsuki’s room, the silence stretches between them until Katsuki suddenly grabs Izuku’s hands. His grip is firm but not rough, his thumb brushing over the fresh bandage on Izuku’s knuckle.  

Izuku blinks up at him, startled by the gesture. “Kacchan?”  

“These hands,” Katsuki says, his voice quieter now, almost tender. He turns Izuku’s hands over, his thumb tracing the network of scars crisscrossing his skin. His scowl deepens, not in anger but in something softer, something heavier.  

Izuku pulls back slightly, self-conscious. “I-I know they’re not… they’re not exactly pretty,” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always been clumsy, and with all the training—”  

“Shut up,” Katsuki interrupts, his tone rough but not unkind. He tightens his hold on Izuku’s hands, lifting them as if to make a point. “I love your hands, dumbass. Don’t say shit like that.”  

Izuku’s breath catches, his green eyes wide.  

Katsuki’s gaze drops to their joined hands, his expression softening. “When I met that future version of you, you had scars everywhere. On your face, your arms… even more than now. And I hated the thought of you getting hurt. I don’t want that for you, Izuku. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll make sure you don’t have to go through that.”  

Izuku’s heart clenches at the raw vulnerability in Katsuki’s voice. He squeezes Katsuki’s hands gently, his own trembling slightly. “Kacchan… thank you. But…” He hesitates, his voice soft but steady. “I saw your scars too. And I know how much you push yourself, how much you take on. So I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe too.”  

Katsuki stiffens, his eyes widening briefly before narrowing into his usual glare. “Tch. Fine,” he mutters, his lips twitching into a reluctant smirk. “But don’t think for a second I’m letting you take all the hits for me, nerd.”  

Izuku laughs, the sound warm and bright. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Kacchan.”  

For a moment, the world outside fades away. It’s just the two of them, standing close enough to feel each other’s warmth, their promises heavy in the air between them. Katsuki’s grip on Izuku’s hands softens, his thumb brushing over the bandage one last time.  

“Just… be careful, okay?” Katsuki says, his voice quiet but firm.  

“You too,” Izuku replies, his smile unwavering.  

“Deal,” Katsuki mutters.  

The common room buzzes with the usual post-class chaos, laughter and chatter filling the air as everyone unwinds from the day. Izuku sits on one of the couches, a warm cup of tea in his hands, surrounded by his friends. He listens as Uraraka recounts a particularly amusing moment from training earlier, though he’s acutely aware of Katsuki across the room, sitting on the armrest of the couch like he’s perched on a live wire.  

Katsuki’s arms are crossed, his crimson eyes flickering between Izuku and the group surrounding him. Every so often, he glares at Kirishima, Mina, and Kaminari, who are lounging nearby and exchanging smirks like they’re in on some grand secret.  

“Bakubro, you good?” Kirishima asks, grinning like he already knows the answer.  

“Fuck off,” Katsuki growls, but it lacks his usual bite.  

“Come on, man,” Mina teases, leaning forward with a sly grin. “We’re just trying to figure out how long you’ve been pining for him.”  

“I’m not pining!” Katsuki snaps, his voice louder than intended, drawing the attention of half the room. Izuku glances over, his cheeks reddening, but Mina just laughs.  

“Right, because you totally didn’t spend the last ten years being a total tsundere,” Kaminari chimes in, earning himself a scowl from Katsuki.  

Kirishima nudges Kaminari with his elbow. “Dude, don’t push it. He might actually kill you this time.”  

“Worth it,” Kaminari says with a shrug, his grin widening. “I mean, come on! The whole ‘annoying Izuku to get his attention’ thing was your master plan, wasn’t it, Bakugou?”  

“Shut up!” Katsuki snarls, his hands clenching into fists. “You don’t know shit!”  

Mina leans back, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Denki’s not wrong, though. You’re kinda bad at expressing feelings, but you’ve got the whole ‘grumpy boyfriend’ thing down now. It’s cute.”  

Katsuki opens his mouth to retort, but Izuku’s laughter floats over from the other side of the room, and he stops short. His gaze softens just slightly, though he hides it behind a glare when Mina raises her eyebrows knowingly.  

Meanwhile, Izuku is fielding a barrage of questions from Uraraka, Iida, and the others.  

“So, how long has this been going on?” Uraraka asks, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.  

Izuku fumbles with his tea, his face flushing. “Uh, w-well, it’s… kind of recent…”  

“Recent?” Iida echoes, adjusting his glasses. “Fascinating. I must admit, I never would have suspected such a development between you and Bakugou.”  

“Yeah, same,” Kaminari cuts in, suddenly appearing beside Izuku with a mischievous grin. “I mean, I was so sure you had the hots for Todoroki, man.”  

Izuku nearly chokes on his tea, his eyes going wide. “W-what?! No! That’s not—”  

Shouto, sitting quietly nearby, tilts his head, his expression as calm as ever. “I don’t think I’ve ever given him a reason to feel that way.”  

“That’s what makes it funny!” Kaminari laughs, completely oblivious to the death glare Katsuki is now shooting his way.  

“Oi, Sparky,” Katsuki growls, standing up so abruptly that Kirishima has to grab his arm to stop him from lunging. “Say one more word, and I’ll blow your dumbass face off!”  

Kaminari freezes for a second, then bolts, laughing hysterically as Katsuki chases after him, explosions sparking in his palms. The rest of the class erupts into laughter, some cheering Kaminari on, others egging Katsuki to catch him.  

“Kacchan, wait!” Izuku calls, scrambling to his feet and chasing after them. He catches up just as Katsuki corners Kaminari by the door, his palms glowing ominously.  

“Kacchan, please don’t!” Izuku pleads, grabbing Katsuki’s arm. “It’s okay, really! Kaminari was just joking!”  

“He’s a dead man,” Katsuki growls, though he doesn’t move, his focus shifting to Izuku. “And why the hell didn’t you shut him up yourself, huh?”  

“I didn’t want to cause a scene!” Izuku says, gesturing at the very obvious scene unfolding around them.  

Katsuki’s eyes narrow, but the tension in his shoulders eases slightly as he lets his hands drop. Kaminari takes the opportunity to dart away, still laughing as he disappears into the crowd.  

“Idiot,” Katsuki mutters under his breath, turning back to Izuku. “Why do you let people like him get to you?”  

“I wasn’t!” Izuku protests, though his flushed cheeks give him away. “But… thanks for stepping in.”  

“Tch. Whatever,” Katsuki grumbles, though his hand lingers on Izuku’s arm for a moment longer than necessary. “Just… come sit with me already. I’m sick of those extras hogging you.”  

Izuku smiles, his heart swelling at the gruff affection in Katsuki’s tone. “Alright, Kacchan. Let’s go.”  

As they settle into a quieter corner of the common room, the others continue to tease and laugh, but Katsuki pointedly ignores them, his attention entirely on Izuku. And despite the chaos, Izuku feels completely at ease, knowing that no matter what, Katsuki is always in his corner.  

The room is bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp, casting gentle shadows across the walls that are cluttered with memorabilia. Every inch of the space screams All Might fandom—from the posters to the figurines, to the large All Might-themed blanket draped casually over the back of Izuku’s desk chair. It’s like stepping into a shrine dedicated to the hero that Izuku has always admired. Katsuki sits cross-legged on the edge of Izuku’s bed, his back stiff, his gaze flicking around the room with an expression that can only be described as unimpressed. His sharp crimson eyes land on a plush All Might doll resting among a small pile of other stuffed toys.

He grabs it roughly, holding it up to eye level, his lips curling into a scowl. “You’re obsessed,” he mutters, his voice flat with an undercurrent of disbelief. The plushie dangles limply in his grasp as he tosses it back into the pile, sending a few others tumbling with it.

Izuku, who’s sitting on the floor sorting through notebooks, glances up from his task with a sheepish grin. He tries to hide the flush creeping up his neck but can’t quite manage it. “It’s not that bad, Kacchan,” he says, his voice light and defensive, though he knows it’s a losing argument.

“Not that bad?” Katsuki repeats, his voice rising in irritation as he gestures dramatically toward the walls. “This whole room looks like a damn shrine! You’ve got no space for anything else in here! What are you gonna do when we live together, huh?”

Izuku freezes at the mention of living together. His heart skips a beat, and his cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. “L-live together?” he stammers, his mind racing to process the sudden shift in conversation.

Katsuki huffs, rolling his eyes. “Duh,” he responds, crossing his arms with a defiant air. “I’m not letting you stay in some shitty apartment by yourself. But when we do, all this crap”—he gestures again, more pointedly at the All Might posters—“is staying out of the bedroom. That’s our space. Only Dynamight and Deku merch allowed. Got it?”

Izuku laughs softly, a warmth flooding through him at the casual mention of their future together. “Okay, okay. No All Might in the bedroom. I’ll buy lots of Dynamight plushies instead. Maybe even cuddle them at night,” he teases, his voice light but full of affection.

Katsuki’s ears turn a shade of pink, and his eyes narrow as he looks away. “Stupid nerd…” he mutters, his voice low and gruff, though there’s a hint of something softer behind the irritation. “You should be cuddling me, not some stupid plush.”

Izuku beams at him, his heart swelling at the thought of the two of them sharing a space, building a future together. He moves closer, sitting beside Katsuki on the bed, the proximity making the air around them feel charged with an easy intimacy. “Of course I’ll cuddle you, Kacchan,” Izuku says warmly. “You’re way better than any plushie.”

“Tch. Damn right,” Katsuki grumbles, his lips twitching upward in the barest of smiles. But it fades quickly as he clears his throat, his expression shifting to something more serious. The lightness between them evaporates as Katsuki exhales sharply, his gaze lowering to his hands, which are fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

“Oi,” Katsuki begins, his voice quieter than usual, as though the weight of his words is heavier than he’s prepared for. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Izuku tilts his head, the playful mood suddenly evaporating, replaced by a quiet curiosity. “What is it?” he asks gently, sensing the shift in Katsuki’s tone.

Katsuki’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he seems lost in thought. His fingers twitch slightly before he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “About the future,” he says, his words hanging in the air between them like a fragile thread. “I… I met you, y’know. Future you. We talked. A lot.”

Izuku’s breath hitches, and he feels his pulse quicken, the weight of Katsuki’s words sinking in. His eyes widen as he processes what Katsuki just said. “And?” he presses, his voice softer now, a mix of confusion and worry.

Katsuki inhales sharply, his gaze growing distant. “We weren’t partners. We… drifted apart.” His voice catches slightly, but he shakes his head, as if trying to push the memory away. “I was Number One,” he continues, his words laced with bitterness. “I reached the top, had everything I thought I wanted… but it was fucking empty, Izuku. It didn’t mean shit without you.” He clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white. “I didn’t even have the guts to tell you how I felt. We spent years thinking the other didn’t care. It was… lonely.” His voice cracks, the vulnerability in his words raw and unguarded. “I don’t want that to happen again.”

Izuku feels a sharp ache in his chest at the pain in Katsuki’s voice. The realization that Katsuki has carried that weight, that deep regret, for so long makes his heart ache for him. Without thinking, he places a gentle hand on Katsuki’s arm, his touch warm and reassuring. “Kacchan…”

Katsuki shakes his head, his gaze still averted. “I’m not gonna let that happen. I’m not letting us fall apart. And if…” He hesitates, his jaw tightening, the words caught in his throat for a moment. “If something happens—if something forces us apart, I’ll fucking get you back, Izuku. I won’t lose you. You’ll stay by my side. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Izuku’s eyes widen as the pieces finally fall into place. The older Katsuki’s desperation, the younger Katsuki’s urgency to be with him—it all makes sense now. 

“That future,” Izuku says softly, his voice unwavering, “that’s not what either of us wants.”

“Damn right it’s not,” Katsuki mutters, his gaze finally meeting Izuku’s. His eyes are fierce, full of determination, but there’s a softness there too, something that speaks of the promise he’s making.

Izuku smiles, his heart swelling with the weight of the unspoken promise between them. His grip on Katsuki’s arm tightens, a symbol of his commitment. “Then we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen. I’ll work hard to stay by your side, Kacchan. No matter what. I won’t leave—unless you decide you want to.”

Katsuki’s eyes flash with immediate fire. “Don’t even fucking say that,” he snaps, his voice low and fierce, but the edge to it is tempered by the raw honesty in his gaze. “I’m not leaving you. Ever.”

The conviction in his voice makes Izuku’s chest swell with warmth. He leans his head against Katsuki’s shoulder, his voice soft and filled with certainty. “Then it’s settled. We’ll reach our dreams together.”

For a moment, the two of them sit in comfortable silence, the world outside the room forgotten, everything feeling just right. The weight of the conversation lingers between them, but there’s a peacefulness now, a sense of security that neither of them had before.

Izuku lifts his head slightly, a teasing glint dancing in his eyes as he looks up at Katsuki. “By the way, your older self was really big and handsome,” Izuku says with a playful grin. “I think that’s when I realized how much I was attracted to you.”

Katsuki freezes, his entire body stiffening. His eyes narrow, and the flush creeping up his neck only deepens the intensity of his glare. “He’s me, nerd. You’re not allowed to like him more than me!”

Izuku laughs softly, covering his mouth to stifle the sound. “But he was so cool, Kacchan! He had this presence—”

“I’LL HAVE THAT PRESENCE SOMEDAY!” Katsuki shouts, his face turning red as his voice cracks with frustration. “You’re supposed to love me, dumbass! Not future me!”

Izuku wraps his arms around Katsuki, laughing wholeheartedly now. “I do love you, Kacchan. All versions of you. But it’ll always be you—this you.”

Katsuki grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets out a resigned sigh, his body relaxing into Izuku’s embrace. “You’re such a pain,” he mutters, but there’s a softness to it now, the weight of the earlier conversation still lingering in his voice.

“And you love me for it,” Izuku says with a grin, pressing a soft kiss to Katsuki’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Katsuki mumbles, his voice thick with affection and a hint of embarrassment. “I really do.”

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight spills through the wide windows of Katsuki’s apartment, painting the space in hues of amber and gold. Dust motes drift lazily in the warm light, and the muted hum of city life creates a soft backdrop. The room smells faintly of coffee and something uniquely Katsuki—an earthy scent that Izuku can’t quite name but finds oddly comforting.  

Izuku sits at the small dining table, his fingers wrapped around the familiar warmth of a mug. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee rises in gentle curls, mingling with the stillness of the morning. Across from him, Katsuki is hunched over his phone, scrolling with one hand while the other absently drums against the table’s surface. His movements are uncharacteristically slow, his usual sharp edges dulled by the morning’s tranquility.  

The silence between them is alive—not the awkward, hesitant kind they used to share but something easy and unspoken. It feels like a thread, connecting them even without words. Katsuki sets his phone down with a faint clatter and rises from his chair, his steps purposeful but unhurried.  

Izuku watches as Katsuki reaches for the coffee pot, his sharp profile softened by the sunlight streaming in from the window. There’s something oddly mesmerizing about the way Katsuki moves—fluid, efficient, yet casual in a way Izuku doesn’t often get to see. His lips twitch in a faint smile when Katsuki refills his mug without a word.  

“Thanks, Kacchan,” Izuku says quietly, his voice warm.  

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki mutters, his tone gruff as he sets the pot back down. He drops into his chair with his usual scowl, though the faintest dusting of pink colors his ears.  

Izuku can’t hold back the soft laugh that bubbles up. “Wow, look at you. Refilling someone’s coffee without a death threat? That’s practically domestic.”  

Katsuki’s eyes narrow, though there’s no real heat in his glare. “Don’t push your luck, nerd,” he growls, but his lips quirk ever so slightly. He gestures toward the mug in Izuku’s hands, crimson eyes flicking to the bright All Might logo emblazoned on the side. “You left that dumb mug here years ago. Thought about chucking it.”  

“Oh?” Izuku raises a brow, his grin widening. “But you didn’t. Guess some part of you wanted me to come back for it, huh?”  

Katsuki snorts, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just forgot it was there, stuck in the back of the cabinet.”  

“Sure you did.” Izuku hides his laughter behind the rim of the mug, his eyes glinting with amusement.  

The banter settles into another stretch of quiet, but it’s a comfortable kind of silence, punctuated by the occasional scrape of Katsuki’s chair as he shifts restlessly. Izuku lets himself relax, his gaze wandering to the sunlight dancing across the table.  

He can’t help but marvel at how much things have changed. Katsuki, once all harsh words and explosive temper, seems… softer now, in ways Izuku hadn’t dared to imagine. There’s still that sharp edge, of course, but it’s tempered by something quieter—something that feels like growth, like healing.  

“You’re staring,” Katsuki mutters, his voice breaking the stillness.  

Izuku blinks, startled from his thoughts. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I was just thinking.”  

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “About what?”  

Izuku hesitates, searching for the right words. Finally, he smiles, a quiet, genuine thing. “How far we’ve come.”  

Katsuki doesn’t respond right away. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest as he regards Izuku with a mixture of curiosity and exasperation. “You’re such a sap,” he grumbles. “But yeah. I guess we have.”  

Izuku chuckles softly, his heart feeling strangely light. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Just… this. Us.”  

For a moment, Katsuki’s expression softens, the lines of his face easing as he holds Izuku’s gaze. “Yeah,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “It is.”  

The moment lingers, stretching out like the golden morning light. They don’t need to say anything else. Katsuki’s foot nudges against Izuku’s under the table, a small, almost unconscious gesture. Izuku doesn’t pull away.  

They sit like that, two hearts tethered by years of shared history and quiet hope. The city hums on outside, indifferent to the small, sacred peace they’ve carved out for themselves. For now, this is enough.

The office buzzes with life as Izuku steps into Dynamight Hero Agency for the first time as an official member. His heart races, caught between excitement and nerves, though he manages to keep a composed exterior. The polished floors gleam under fluorescent lights, reflecting the bold design of Katsuki’s agency. Vibrant banners line the walls, emblazoned with Dynamight’s logo—sharp and striking, a perfect reflection of Katsuki’s unyielding spirit.

Ahead of him, Katsuki strides with effortless confidence, his posture commanding attention without even trying. He glances back, his crimson eyes softening briefly when they meet Izuku’s. “Oi, nerd. You gonna stand there gawking all day, or are you gonna keep up?”  

Izuku startles and hurries to catch up, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry, Kacchan. It’s just… This place is incredible. You’ve really built something amazing here.”  

Katsuki scoffs, but there’s a flicker of pride in his expression. “Damn right, I did. But don’t get all sappy yet—you haven’t even seen the best parts.”  

They reach the double doors to the main operations room, and Katsuki pushes them open with a practiced shove. Inside, the room is alive with activity—staff members bustling between desks, monitors glowing with updates on patrols and ongoing cases. Conversations pause as heads turn toward them, curiosity sparking in the eyes of everyone present.  

“Alright, listen up!” Katsuki barks, his voice cutting through the hum like a whip. “This is Deku—yeah, that Deku. He’s officially joining the agency today, so get used to seeing him around. And try not to piss him off or screw up too much. Got it?”  

The staff chuckles softly, some offering polite nods or murmured greetings. Izuku bows deeply, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Thank you! I’m looking forward to working with everyone and doing my best to support the team!”  

Katsuki smirks faintly, his arms crossing over his chest. “You sound like you’re giving a damn graduation speech, nerd.” His tone is teasing, but there’s no mistaking the affection in his eyes as they linger on Izuku.

One of the senior staff members, a woman with a warm smile, steps forward. “Welcome aboard, Hero Deku. It’ll be an honor to work with someone of your caliber.”  

Izuku blushes further, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you! I’ll do everything I can to be a good addition to the team.”  

Katsuki lets out a quiet snort, shaking his head as he jerks his thumb toward a hallway. “Alright, enough with the formalities. Follow me, nerd. We’ve got work to do.”  

Izuku falls into step beside him, and as they walk through the quieter corridors, Katsuki’s hand brushes against his. It’s brief, almost imperceptible, but the warmth it leaves lingers.  

They enter a spacious conference room, the table inside piled with blueprints, patrol maps, and case files. Katsuki strides over to the table, his gaze sharp as he gestures at the spread. “Alright, here’s the deal. You and me, we’re running point on patrols and disaster response. That means we’re setting the bar, so no screwing around. Got it?”  

Izuku nods, stepping closer to scan the maps. “Got it, Kacchan. I’ll make sure we’re ready for anything.”  

As they dive into planning, the room fills with the sound of their voices—Izuku’s animated explanations of strategies and Katsuki’s sharp, thoughtful interjections. The two of them fall into an easy rhythm, their ideas building on each other seamlessly.  

“You’re good at this,” Katsuki says after a while, his tone quieter than usual. “Not that I didn’t know that already, but… seeing it up close, it’s different.”  

Izuku blinks, startled by the unexpected compliment. A smile spreads across his face, warm and bright. “Thanks, Kacchan. That means a lot coming from you.”  

Katsuki huffs, looking away as a faint blush dusts his cheeks. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, nerd. I’m just saying.”  

When they finally finish, the table is covered with carefully annotated maps and plans. Izuku leans back in his chair with a contented sigh, glancing at Katsuki. “This feels… incredible. Working with you like this—it’s like everything I’ve ever wanted.”  

Katsuki’s eyes soften as he looks at Izuku. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to me saying this, but… I’m glad you’re here, too. Not just as some damn coworker. You being here—it feels right.”  

Izuku’s breath catches, his heart swelling at the quiet vulnerability in Katsuki’s voice. He reaches out, brushing his fingers against Katsuki’s hand. “It feels right to me, too. I’ll do my best to make you proud.”  

Katsuki squeezes his hand briefly before pulling away, his expression turning gruff again. “You already do, idiot. Now let’s get back out there before they think we’re slacking off.”  

As they step back into the bustling agency, Katsuki walks just a step ahead, but there’s an unspoken sense of unity between them—a bond that’s only grown stronger with time. Katsuki may still bark orders and scowl at the world, but there’s a softness in the way he glances at Izuku, a quiet care that says more than words ever could.  

They’re not just colleagues or rivals anymore—they’re partners in every sense of the word. And as they take their first steps into this new chapter together, the future feels brighter than ever.

Shouto’s apartment buzzes with life as their long-awaited welcome party for Izuku finally kicks into full swing. The spacious living room is alight with warm, golden hues, music thrumming in the background as laughter and chatter echo through the space. The scent of freshly cooked food mingles with the crisp winter air sneaking in through a slightly ajar balcony door. Friends from UA scatter across the room, some lounging on the plush sofas, others gathering near the table laden with snacks and drinks.

Izuku stands near the kitchen island, balancing a plate of takoyaki in one hand while talking animatedly with Iida and Jirou. His smile is wide, his green eyes sparkling under the soft glow of the pendant lights. It feels good—no, amazing—to be surrounded by everyone like this again. The years since UA have changed them all in different ways, but tonight, it feels like they’ve slipped back into the ease of their high school camaraderie.

“Oi, Izuku!” Katsuki’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp but familiar. Izuku turns to see Katsuki striding toward him, a drink in hand and a scowl etched across his face.  

“Hi, Kacchan!” Izuku greets, his tone cheerful despite the scowl. Katsuki stops just close enough that their shoulders almost touch, his hand landing possessively on Izuku’s shoulder as he eyes the plate in Izuku’s hand.  

“Did you seriously eat all the spicy ones already?” Katsuki demands, his glare flicking to the plate.  

Izuku laughs nervously. “I didn’t! I swear, I only took two!”  

“Better not have,” Katsuki mutters, but the corners of his mouth twitch as if fighting a smirk. His hand lingers on Izuku’s shoulder longer than necessary, a grounding touch that Izuku feels down to his core.  

Across the room, Mina’s shrill voice cuts through the banter. “Hey, Blasty!” she calls, her grin mischievous as she sidles up with Kirishima in tow. “You’re looking awfully cozy over there with Midoriya. Are you finally admitting you’re absolutely whipped and down bad for him?”  

The words barely leave her mouth before Katsuki raises his palm, a small, harmless burst of sparks lighting up in warning. “Say that again, Pinky, and you’ll find out how down bad I am when I send you flying!”  

Mina cackles, ducking behind Kirishima, who raises his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, dude! It’s a compliment. Kind of.”  

Izuku chuckles, reaching up to pat Katsuki’s arm gently. “Come on, Kacchan. Let’s not blow up Shouto’s apartment, okay?”  

“Tch. Fine,” Katsuki grumbles, letting his hand drop from Izuku’s shoulder, though he stays glued to Izuku’s side, his presence unwavering.

As the night goes on, the group falls into an easy rhythm of nostalgia and lighthearted teasing. Iida recounts a particularly disastrous class exercise, complete with dramatic gestures, while Jirou strums a quiet melody on her guitar. Kaminari’s antics keep everyone laughing, especially when he accidentally trips over Shouto’s coffee table, sending a bowl of chips flying.  

But Izuku can’t help but notice Katsuki’s behavior throughout the evening. Whether they’re chatting with Mina and Kirishima or standing by the balcony for some fresh air, Katsuki remains close. His hand brushes Izuku’s arm when they shift positions, his shoulder bumps against Izuku’s as they maneuver through the crowded space.  

It’s subtle—most of their friends don’t even seem to notice—but Izuku feels every touch, every lingering glance Katsuki sends his way.  

The only time Katsuki’s demeanor shifts is when Uraraka joins the conversation. She approaches with her usual bright smile, engaging Izuku in a friendly discussion about his new role at Katsuki’s agency. Katsuki stiffens immediately, his jaw clenching as his crimson eyes flicker between Izuku and Uraraka.  

His glare lingers, sharp and unyielding, as if daring her to overstep some invisible boundary. Izuku feels the tension radiating off him, the heat of it almost palpable. He tries to keep the conversation light, brushing off Katsuki’s protective stance with a quiet laugh.  

“Deku, I’m really happy for you,” Uraraka says sincerely, her brown eyes warm as she places a hand on his arm. “I know how much this means to you.”  

“Thanks, Uraraka,” Izuku says, his tone soft but genuine.  

The moment her hand touches him, Katsuki’s scowl deepens. His arms cross over his chest, and a low growl escapes his throat. Izuku glances at him, offering a quick, reassuring smile, but Katsuki doesn’t relax.  

Eventually, Uraraka steps away to join Tsuyu and Tokoyami, leaving Izuku and Katsuki standing together. Katsuki doesn’t say anything, but the tension in his shoulders remains as he watches her retreating figure.  

Izuku sighs, reaching up to squeeze Katsuki’s arm gently. “Kacchan, are you okay?”  

“Fine,” Katsuki mutters, though his tone is clipped.  

Izuku doesn’t push, but he files the moment away, knowing they’ll need to talk about it later. For now, he focuses on the warmth of Katsuki’s presence beside him, grateful for the closeness they’ve rebuilt and determined to reassure him in the way only he can.

Katsuki’s apartment is quiet, the low hum of the refrigerator the only sound as Izuku and Katsuki settle back in after the party. Katsuki tosses his jacket onto the back of the couch with a rough motion, his jaw tight as he stalks toward the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Izuku lingers by the door, slipping out of his shoes and watching him carefully.  

Katsuki’s shoulders are still tense, the way they were all evening, and Izuku can’t shake the heaviness that’s been sitting in his chest since the party. He knows Katsuki well enough to recognize when something’s bothering him—and tonight, it was obvious.  

“Kacchan,” Izuku starts softly, stepping into the kitchen. Katsuki doesn’t turn, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a long drink instead.  

“What?” Katsuki grunts, his voice clipped.  

Izuku hesitates for a moment, then steps closer, leaning against the counter beside him. “You were… different tonight. Around Uraraka.”  

Katsuki’s hand tightens around the bottle, the plastic crinkling under his grip. “What the hell are you talking about?” he mutters, his eyes fixed on the water like it holds the answer to his discomfort.  

Izuku sighs, his voice patient but firm. “Kacchan, please don’t do that. Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean.”  

Katsuki finally turns to face him, his crimson eyes sharp with deflection. “I wasn’t acting any different. You’re imagining shit, nerd.”  

Izuku doesn’t back down, holding Katsuki’s gaze with quiet determination. “You glared at her every time she came near me. You were tense all night, and you barely let me out of your sight. I’m not imagining that, Kacchan.”  

Katsuki growls low in his throat, rubbing a hand through his hair. “It’s not a big deal. Just drop it, okay?”  

“No, I won’t,” Izuku says gently, stepping closer. “Because I think it is a big deal. And I think you’re upset, even if you don’t want to admit it.”  

For a long moment, Katsuki doesn’t respond. His jaw works silently, his gaze darting away from Izuku’s face. The tension in his posture is palpable, his hand gripping the counter hard enough that his knuckles go white.  

Izuku waits, patient and unwavering, his green eyes soft with concern. He doesn’t push further, letting the silence stretch between them until Katsuki finally exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping.  

“Fine,” Katsuki mutters, his voice rough. “You want to know why I was acting like that? It’s because of her. Because she liked you, Izuku. She fucking liked you, and I…” He trails off, his hands curling into fists at his sides.  

Izuku blinks, his brow furrowing. “Kacchan…”  

“I know it’s stupid,” Katsuki snaps, his voice rising in frustration. “I know that you're mine, and I trust you. But every time I see her talking to you, I can’t stop thinking about it. About how she used to look at you like you were her whole damn world. And what if—what if someday you…” His words falter, and he grits his teeth, the vulnerability in his voice startlingly raw.  

“What if someday I what?” Izuku asks softly, his voice steady as he takes another step closer.  

Katsuki’s shoulders sag slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “What if you realize you could’ve had someone like her instead?”  

Izuku’s heart aches at the uncharacteristic insecurity in Katsuki’s words. He reaches out, taking Katsuki’s hands in his own, his grip firm and grounding. Katsuki stiffens at the contact but doesn’t pull away, his gaze still fixed downward.  

“Kacchan,” Izuku says, his voice steady but brimming with affection. “Look at me.”  

Reluctantly, Katsuki lifts his eyes, and the raw vulnerability in them nearly takes Izuku’s breath away.  

“It’s always been you,” Izuku says with quiet conviction, his fingers squeezing Katsuki’s hands. “Always. Even when we were kids, even when we fought, even when it felt like we were on opposite sides of everything—it was you. It’s always been you.”  

Katsuki’s breath hitches, his crimson eyes wide as Izuku continues.  

“You’ve been my constant, Kacchan. My inspiration. My partner. You’re the one who’s always pushed me to be better, even when you didn’t realize it. And now, you’re the one I want to be with. No one else. Not Uraraka, not anyone.”  

The tension in Katsuki’s body seems to drain away all at once. He exhales shakily, his hands gripping Izuku’s as if to ground himself. For a moment, he lets himself lean forward, his forehead pressing against Izuku’s.  

Izuku smiles softly, his eyes fluttering shut as he leans into the contact. “I’m yours, Kacchan. I always have been. And I always will be.”  

Katsuki doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he stays there, his forehead resting against Izuku’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet space. His grip on Izuku’s hands tightens ever so slightly, as if to anchor himself to the promise they’ve just shared.

Then Katsuki shifts slightly, pulling back just enough to meet Izuku’s gaze. His crimson eyes are unguarded in a way that makes Izuku’s heart ache, the vulnerability there raw and unfiltered.  

For a moment, Katsuki hesitates, his lips parting like he’s struggling to find the right words. “Deku,” he starts, his voice uncharacteristically soft, almost uncertain. He clears his throat, his eyes flicking away before snapping back, determination cutting through his hesitation. “Izuku.”  

The sound of his name in Katsuki’s voice sends a warmth spreading through Izuku’s chest, but he waits patiently, giving Katsuki the space to speak.  

“I… I’ve been thinking,” Katsuki says, his words coming faster now, as though he’s trying to outrun his own nerves. “This shit between us—what we’ve got now—it’s good. It’s real. And I’m not about to waste another second skirting around it like a damn coward.”  

Izuku blinks, his brows lifting slightly in surprise. “Kacchan…”  

Katsuki holds up a hand to cut him off, his expression fierce but tinged with something softer. “Let me finish, damn it.”  

Izuku nods, biting back a small smile.  

Taking a deep breath, Katsuki continues, his tone steadier now. “I know it might sound rushed or whatever, but… I want you to move in with me.”  

Izuku’s eyes widen, the words catching him off guard. For a moment, he just stares, processing what Katsuki has said.  

Katsuki shifts uncomfortably, his cheeks tinged pink as he pushes forward. “I mean, think about it. We’ve wasted so much goddamn time, Izuku. I don’t want to waste any more. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to come home to you. I want to share my life with you—the good, the bad, all of it.” He swallows hard, his grip on Izuku’s hands tightening. “I just… I want you here. With me.”  

The sincerity in Katsuki’s voice makes Izuku’s heart swell, his chest tightening with emotion. For a moment, he’s too overwhelmed to speak, his throat constricting as tears prick at the corners of his eyes.  

“Kacchan,” he finally says, his voice trembling with warmth. He smiles, wide and radiant, his green eyes shining as he squeezes Katsuki’s hands. “Yes. Of course, yes. I’d love to move in with you.”  

Katsuki exhales sharply, relief flooding his expression even as he tries to play it cool. “Tch. Good,” he mutters, though his voice is softer than usual. “Figured you’d say that.”  

Izuku laughs lightly, the sound bubbling up from the pure joy spreading through him. He leans forward, cupping Katsuki’s face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over the faint blush on Katsuki’s cheeks.  

“Thank you,” Izuku whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “For wanting me here. For wanting us.”  

Katsuki grumbles something incoherent, but the vulnerability in his eyes doesn’t waver. Before he can come up with a snarky retort, Izuku leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.  

The tension in Katsuki’s shoulders melts away as he returns the kiss, his hands coming up to rest gently on Izuku’s waist. It’s not a kiss of passion or urgency—it’s grounding, steady, and filled with unspoken promises.  

When they finally pull apart, their foreheads touch again, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. Katsuki’s lips twitch into the faintest of smirks. “Hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, nerd.”  

Izuku grins, his heart full. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”  

Katsuki’s apartment has, over the past few days, started to feel more like home. It’s a mix of chaos and newfound order—clothes scattered across the couch, empty pizza boxes piled by the trash bin, and cardboard boxes stacked in the living room, many of them still filled with the last of Izuku’s things. But it’s not just the mess that gives it a lived-in feel; it’s the way the two of them move around it now, finding a rhythm in their shared space. The quiet moments they spend together, the casual ease of their interactions—those are the things that really make this apartment theirs.  

Izuku has spent most of the afternoon unpacking, sorting through boxes filled with All Might memorabilia and a few stray books that somehow survived their time in storage. He stands in the middle of the living room, wiping his hands on his jeans as he surveys the cluttered space. A contented smile tugs at his lips as he sets the last box down on the coffee table.  

“I think we’re almost done, Kacchan,” he says, stretching his sore arms above his head.  

Katsuki, lounging on the couch with his arms crossed, grunts in response. “Took you long enough.” His eyes flick over to the hallway, where a stack of unpacked boxes still sits. “You’ve still got a bunch of shit to go through.”  

Izuku chuckles, but there’s no irritation in his voice—just the easy camaraderie they’ve settled into over the past few weeks. He picks up a plain, small box from the floor and looks at it, a playful glint in his eyes.  

“Actually, I’ve got one more thing I wanted to show you,” he says, the hint of a tease in his voice.  

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, intrigued but trying to mask his curiosity. “What now, nerd?”  

With a dramatic flourish, Izuku opens the box, revealing a soft, meticulously crafted Dynamight plushie. Its spiky blonde hair and fierce, determined expression mirror Katsuki’s own, and Izuku can’t help but grin as he holds it up, proud of his find. “Ta-da!”  

Katsuki blinks, taken aback, his face flushing a deep red as he stares at the plushie, momentarily lost for words.  

Izuku’s excitement grows, and he looks at Katsuki with an almost mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I thought it would be cute to have one of you—someone to cuddle with when you’re not around,” he says, leaning in a little. “I’m going to keep it in our bedroom, right by the bed. That way, it’s like you’re there with me, even when you’re not.”  

The apartment falls silent for a beat, and the only sound is the rustle of the plushie in Izuku’s hands. Katsuki’s cheeks burn hotter, and despite his usual tough exterior, he can’t quite hide the embarrassed flush that spreads across his face. His gaze flicks nervously from the plushie to Izuku, and for a moment, he just stands there, stunned.  

“Tch, what the hell?” Katsuki mutters, crossing his arms defensively, as if that’ll somehow shield him from the embarrassment. “Why the hell would you want to cuddle a damn plushie of me? You’ve got me right here.”  

Izuku’s grin widens as he steps closer, nudging Katsuki with his elbow. “But I can’t cuddle you all the time, Kacchan,” he teases, his voice light and affectionate. “I need something to hug when you’re out on patrol or when you’re doing your whole ‘no cuddling’ thing.”  

Katsuki scoffs, but there’s no heat behind it, just the softening of his usual gruff demeanor. “I’m not a damn toy,” he grumbles, though the corners of his mouth twitch upward. “You should be cuddling me, not some stupid stuffed version of me.”  

“I will cuddle you, Kacchan,” Izuku promises, his voice growing softer, filled with a warmth that makes his heart swell. “But sometimes, when you’re not here, it’ll be nice to have something to hold.”  

Katsuki shifts uncomfortably, a rare vulnerability flickering behind his eyes. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to avoid meeting Izuku’s gaze. “Fine, whatever,” he mutters. “Just don’t let it replace me.”  

Izuku chuckles lightly, his smile more genuine than ever. He sets the plushie down carefully on the coffee table before crawling onto the couch and inching closer to Katsuki. “I won’t,” he assures him, leaning in to nudge Katsuki’s shoulder. “But you know, Kacchan, I really do like it. Having something of you to hold onto…” He meets Katsuki’s gaze with such sincerity that it sends a rush of warmth through Katsuki.

“Damn it, nerd,” Katsuki mutters under his breath, but there’s no bite to it. His hand reaches out almost instinctively, as if he can’t stop himself. He gently pulls Izuku closer, his arm draping over his shoulders as he settles into the couch beside him. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”  

Izuku smiles, heart swelling at the tender, unspoken affection between them. He leans in, his voice low and soft as he murmurs, “I’ll make it up to you.” He rests his head against Katsuki’s shoulder, the familiar warmth of his presence grounding him. “I’ll cuddle you whenever you’re here.”  

Katsuki doesn’t say anything at first, but the way his arm tightens around Izuku speaks volumes. The tension in his chest melts away as he feels Izuku’s warmth seep into him. It’s like the world has quieted down, the noise and chaos fading into the background as they simply exist together, close and content.  

“Damn right you will,” Katsuki mutters. His thumb brushes gently over Izuku’s shoulder, a quiet but meaningful gesture that speaks of his care.  

The world outside might be loud and unpredictable, but here, in this moment, there’s peace. Katsuki’s arm around him, the soft hum of the apartment, the way Izuku fits so perfectly beside him—it feels right. It feels like home.  

Izuku tilts his head, just enough to meet Katsuki’s gaze. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, fingers lightly tracing the edge of Katsuki’s shirt. “With me. Always.”  

Katsuki looks at him for a long moment, his expression softening in a way that Izuku can rarely catch, but the tenderness is unmistakable. He scoffs, as usual, but there’s no denying the affection in his tone. “Quit being sappy, Izuku,” he mutters, but his hand tightens around Izuku’s shoulder, holding him just a little closer.  

“I’m serious,” Izuku presses, lifting his head to meet Katsuki’s eyes fully. “You mean everything to me, Kacchan.”  

Katsuki’s gaze softens even more, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans down, brushing his lips gently over Izuku’s forehead in a rare, quiet moment of affection. “I know, nerd,” he murmurs, his voice low but warm. “You mean everything to me too.”  

And as they sit there, surrounded by the quiet hum of their shared life, it’s clear that whatever comes next, they’ll face it together. This space, with its imperfections and packed boxes, is theirs. And for the first time in a very long time, Katsuki thinks this place finally feels like home.