Chapter Text
Katsuki sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the nail polish she’d smudged on the corner of her vanity last night, heart thumping like it still hadn’t realized that it was the next day already. The soft violet shimmer caught the morning light bleeding through the blinds, flashing back into her eyes like some kind of goddamn spotlight on every humiliating thing that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
The “safe sex” PowerPoint was bad. The kiss was worse.
No, scratch that— feeling like she wanted to kiss him again, still — still —was the worst of all.
She let her head fall into her hands, fingers tangling into her hair at the crown of her scalp. She hadn't even gotten dressed yet, still wearing the oversized black tee she’d yanked on last night after scrubbing her face until it burned. Her phone buzzed again on the nightstand. Fourth time this morning. Her name was probably trending for something. Again.
But she couldn’t look. Not yet.
She felt like her insides had been turned out, wrung dry. Like there wasn’t enough skin on her body to hide the ugly underneath. Izuku had kissed her like it didn’t matter. Like she wasn’t broken. Like she hadn’t ruined him. Like she hadn’t hurt him, hadn’t yelled, hadn’t—
"Fuck," she breathed, curling in tighter. Why the hell would he want her?
Especially like this.
Her fingers dug into her scalp. Because she wasn’t a “real girl.” She wasn’t soft, or gentle, or someone who could make him look good standing next to him in interviews and press photos. She wasn’t just “rough around the edges.” The world wasn’t going to be kind to a boy who kissed a girl like her. Hell, it wasn’t kind to her —how the fuck was he not scared of being called slurs, of being torn apart for loving someone with a past like hers, a body like hers, a reputation like hers?
Doesn’t he care that people are going to think he’s gay?
Doesn’t he care that I’m not what I was supposed to be?
A shrill ringtone shattered her spiral. She flinched, snatching the phone up. It was Mitsuki.
"...Goddammit," she muttered, but answered it anyway.
“Finally! ” Mitsuki’s voice crackled through the speaker like a lightning strike. “I was starting to think you died of embarrassment!”
Katsuki flinched and held the phone a few inches away from her face. She could hear the clink of a spoon hitting the side of a mug, the shuffle of Mitsuki pacing around the kitchen in fuzzy socks she never let guests see. A familiar background chaos. Domestic. Weirdly comforting.
“I had three different people text me about that little stunt in the common room. And none of ‘em were your teacher!” Her mother sounded like she was trying not to laugh, words dancing at the edge of a smirk. “You kissed him! In front of everyone! You brat , you coulda warned me—I’d’ve put on a damn livestream—”
“Mom—” Katsuki groaned, half-warning, half-plea.
The line fizzled with a sharp inhale, and then—
“Don’t you ‘Mom’ me.”
But the bite in her voice never came. Not really. It had the rhythm of a bark but none of the weight. The edge was dulled, softened like soap left in warm water. No venom. No accusation. Katsuki blinked, thrown off balance. She'd braced for impact, but it never landed.
“You remember when you were three,” Mitsuki continued, now sounding thoroughly entertained, “and you made Masaru and I sit through your ‘wedding’ to Izuku? You insisted on being the bride because, and I quote, ‘I look like Mama and Izu acts like Papa.’”
Katsuki let out a strangled groan and buried her face in her pillow. “Don’t remind me.”
“Oh, I’m gonna remind you every day for the rest of your life. It’s my right as your mother.”
Katsuki wanted to disappear into the mattress. Heat crept up her neck in furious waves, but underneath the mortification was something looser. Lighter. Her stomach wasn’t in a knot anymore—it was just... fluttery. Stupid.
“...So.” Mitsuki cleared her throat. Katsuki could hear her sit down—the scrape of a chair leg across tile, the creak of her old leather stool. “You guys... together now?”
Katsuki pulled the pillow down just enough to peek out at the far corner of her room. The paint near her desk was chipped, a pale sliver of drywall peeking through. She stared at it like it might hold the answer.
“...I dunno,” she muttered. “Maybe?”
The other end of the line went quiet for a beat. A breath passed. Then—
“Well. It’s about damn time.”
Katsuki’s heart skipped. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
She didn’t know what she’d expected—another lecture, maybe, or a sigh heavy with disappointment. But what she got instead was Mitsuki in her sunlit kitchen, sipping bitter coffee and talking about weddings like it was a funny memory, not a moment frozen in some doomed fairytale Katsuki had convinced herself could never come true.
“Also—” Mitsuki’s tone pitched again, back into mischief, “—you thought you could keep me outta the loop, huh? Guess who called me last night? Aizawa. ”
Katsuki sat bolt upright. “What?! He promised—”
“He didn’t tell me what happened,” Mitsuki cut in smoothly. “But he said I should be ‘aware’ of certain romantic developments and think about scheduling a doctor’s appointment.”
Her face went up in flames. “Oh my fucking god—”
“Oh yes,” Mitsuki sing-songed. “I’m pickin’ you up at 3PM, and you better not give me lip about it. You’re impulsive, Katsuki. I don’t trust you not to do something reckless, especially with how pretty that boy is.”
Katsuki scrambled for words. “I hate you.”
“You love me.”
And this time, it didn’t sound like an accusation. Just fact. Katsuki’s throat tightened. The words slipped out before she could stop them.
“...Maybe.”
A pause.
“Be ready.”
The call ended with a soft click.
Katsuki stared at the screen for a long time. Her phone was still warm in her hand. She sank back into the pillows, blinking up at the ceiling.
Mitsuki hadn’t sounded angry. Not once. She’d sounded like she was—god —proud of her. Like she wasn’t waiting for Katsuki to fail, but expecting her to live. And somehow that was worse. Because Katsuki could feel the ache building again, right under her ribs. She didn’t know how to carry that kind of softness. She didn’t know how to believe it.
Who’s going to love her?
The thought sliced through her, sharper than ever. Mitsuki’s voice, trembling on the other side of a door…
Katsuki pressed her ear to the wood. It was cool beneath her skin, smooth in places where the varnish hadn’t chipped. She could hear her heartbeat in her neck, fast and mean. Her hands were clammy. Her bare feet were half-numb from standing on the cold hardwood too long.
“She’s going to lose everything, Masaru.”
Her mother’s voice. Low. Trembling in a way she never let herself sound during the day.
Katsuki held her breath. Her cheek burned against the door. She didn’t blink.
“The future she’s worked for—she’s going to lose it. You know that. There’s no way the public will accept something like this. The government doesn’t even protect people like her, and you think they’re gonna let her be a pro?”
The words sliced through the air like wire.
She didn’t know if it was sweat or tears sliding down the side of her face. Maybe both. She stayed perfectly still, even though her legs had started to shake. Even though something deep in her gut had gone hollow. She couldn’t look away from a conversation she couldn’t see.
“...Mitsuki—”
Her father’s voice—soft, struggling.
“She’s going to lose her friends.” Her mother’s voice cracked.
And Katsuki’s fist clenched against the doorframe. Nails dug into the soft meat of her palm.
“People don’t want to associate with people like her. You think that’s not going to affect her reputation? She’s already rough around the edges. Add this, and—”
There was a sharp inhale. And then nothing.
Katsuki's throat seized. The hallway was too quiet. Her pulse throbbed in her ears.
Then:
“...Who’s going to love her?”
A whisper. Barely a sound. But it ripped through her like shrapnel. The silence that followed was somehow louder than the words. Like the world was holding its breath, waiting for her to fall apart. And she almost did. Her knees buckled. Her back slid down the door until she hit the floor. She pressed her face into her arm and bit down hard on the sleeve of her hoodie. Her whole body trembled.
She wanted to be angry. That would’ve been easier. But all she felt was a bitter, aching twist in her chest. Like something delicate had been snapped in two.
Because part of her believed it.
Because she had asked herself that same question.
Who’s going to love her when she’s like this? When her voice didn’t match her face? When her chest was still flat and her hips hadn’t softened and she looked in the mirror and couldn’t figure out where she went?
Who would choose that?
Who would choose her?
And then—
Masaru finally spoke.
“...She’s still our daughter.”
It was soft. Gentle, like everything he ever said. Not a protest. Not a defense. Just a fact he said like he hoped it would be enough.
But it wasn’t.
Not then.
Because Mitsuki’s silence after that was deafening. And Masaru didn’t say anything else.
He didn’t say she’d still be a hero.
He didn’t say she’d still have friends.
He didn’t say she was brave or brilliant or worth loving anyway.
He just... went quiet.
And that silence was worse than if he’d agreed. Because maybe he did agree. Maybe he just didn’t know how to say it. Maybe that’s what kindness looked like when it had already given up.
Katsuki sat on the floor outside their room for another five minutes after the conversation ended. Long after the bed creaked. Long after the light clicked off. She sat there until her spine ached and her legs stopped tingling and her tongue felt like sandpaper in her mouth. She sat there because she didn’t know how to stand up anymore. Because she couldn’t tell if the sob buried in her throat was hers or her mother’s. And she never asked them about it.
She never told them she’d heard. Because some things weren’t meant to be healed. Some things just kept bleeding. And Mitsuki never said those words again—but Katsuki still heard them. Every time a classmate looked at her funny.
Every time someone online said she was confused or disgusting.
Every time a voice in her head whispered ‘you ruined everything.’
Every time she looked at Izuku and wondered how the hell he could still look back at her like that.
The floor felt cold under her feet when she finally peeled herself off the bed. Her limbs were stiff, like she hadn’t moved in years. She brushed her teeth without looking at the mirror. Her reflection didn’t feel like something she could handle yet. Not when her mind was still echoing with her mother’s voice.
Who’s going to love her?
The hallway outside her dorm was louder than usual. Muffled voices spilled through the walls—Denki’s cackle, Mina shrieking something about “sexy finger tension,” and Iida’s unmistakable thunderous voice trying to restore order in vain. Katsuki barely had time to brace herself before—
“KACCHAN!! ” Denki’s voice hit her like a live wire.
She turned the corner and was immediately pounced on. “Kacchan, Kacchan—why didn’t you tell us?!” Mina squealed, practically bouncing on her toes. “You kissed him! In public! And you didn’t even warn us? ”
“Tell us everything! ” Denki added, eyes gleaming with the deranged joy of a gossip-loving gremlin. “Was it planned? Was it spur-of-the-moment? Did you grab his shirt? Did you tongue him? ”
“I will kill you with my hands.”
“Worth it,” he whispered, beaming.
“Now, now!” Iida pushed his glasses up, looking like he hadn’t slept since the incident. “I would like to remind everyone that dormitories are not the place for impromptu romantic declarations! There are rules! Handbooks! ”
“There’s also love, Iida,” Mina sang dramatically, clutching her chest like a Victorian widow. “And love doesn’t follow handbooks.”
Katsuki stood in the middle of it all, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her face was already on fire, but it was the kind of heat that curled in on itself. Her whole body was a shield. She couldn’t relax. Not here. Not now. “Back off,” she growled, though it came out less bark and more… whimper-with-a-bite.
“Oh come on, we’re happy for you!” Kirishima said, nudging her shoulder with a grin that was too damn earnest for her to handle.
Her jaw clenched.
They didn’t get it.
They didn’t see it.
They didn’t hear the way Mitsuki had sounded that night—didn’t know how the words still twisted through her ribs like barbed wire.
Who’s going to love her?
And worse—
What if they’re all just pretending?
Her throat tightened. She couldn’t stop scanning their faces, waiting for the moment someone slipped. For the punchline to drop. For the disgust to show.
But all she saw was Denki making kissy noises and Mina mouthing “Dramatic kiss in the rain?” behind Iida’s back.
Even Kirishima didn’t flinch when she glared at him. Just scratched his neck and said, “If you guys need condoms, I got a stash.”
“WHAT? ” she choked.
“For emergencies!”
“I WILL END YOU.”
“Kacchan!” came a new voice from behind the group.
Everything went still in her body, like someone dropped a weight through her spine. She turned toward the common room entrance.
Izuku was standing there in his gym hoodie, hair still damp from a shower, a towel slung over his shoulder. His eyes widened the second they met hers—and then he flushed red. The color bloomed down his neck like a fucking sunrise.
Katsuki’s breath caught.
She immediately looked away.
So did he.
“...Uh,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Morning.”
“Morning,” she muttered, not looking up.
The hallway buzzed with suppressed squeals and choked laughter.
Denki screamed into a couch cushion.
And Katsuki?
Katsuki wanted to die.
Her palms were sweating. Her heart was trying to punch its way out of her chest. Her entire brain short-circuited with the static sound of What the hell do I say? What the hell do I do? Did we actually kiss or did I hallucinate that like a delusional freak?
She ran.
Straight past Izuku, out the door, and bolted toward Ground Beta like the last Silver Era All Might figurine with manufacturer’s error #17 was at auction.
The sun was out. The sky was blue. And Katsuki’s body felt like it was moving through concrete.
She skidded into the locker room, changed in record time, and didn’t even wait for her squad to show up before jogging straight onto the training field.
She needed to hit something. Blow something up. Burn all that static noise out of her head. Every second her body wasn’t in motion was another second her brain had time to replay last night. Over and over. And over.
The kiss.
The looks in their eyes.
Mitsuki’s voice—
Who’s going to love her?
“Hey, Bakugou! ” Sero called, waving as he jogged up alongside Eijirou and Momo, all three already geared up.
“You’re early,” Momo observed, cocking her head.
“I’m fine,” Katsuki snapped, eyes locked on the training dummies in the far lot. “Let’s go.”
“...Didn’t ask?” Kirishima muttered to Sero, who nodded solemnly.
The drill was simple. Tag-team neutralization. One group defends, the other advances. Katsuki and Momo took point while Sero and Eijirou flanked. She should’ve been sharp. She wanted to be sharp. But her feet felt off-center, like the ground was tilting just slightly beneath her. Her palms were already sweating.
Focus. Focus.
But then Momo called an audible—shift left, sweep high—and Katsuki turned too slow.
Her timing was off.
She gritted her teeth and ignited her palm too late, flame splashing against the dummy’s shoulder instead of its center. Sero ducked under it effortlessly, looping a tape line around her wrist and yanking her arm sideways.
“Damn, Kacchan,” he huffed, breathless with effort but trying to play it cool. “You alright?”
“I said I’m fine!”
Her shout rang a little too loud across the lot.
Momo blinked. “You seem—”
“I’m. FINE. ”
Eijirou raised both hands. “Okay, okay, geez. We’re just checking.”
The silence that followed wasn’t judging, exactly. But it sure as hell wasn’t comfortable. Her stomach flipped. Her throat felt tight again.
She’s going to lose her future. Her friends.
She suddenly wanted to scream.
A whistle blew from the sidelines, mercifully ending the round. Aizawa scratched at his jaw, clearly unimpressed. Best Jeanist stood nearby with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised like a disappointed dad catching his kid smoking behind the gym.
“Bakugou,” he called, voice smooth and cool as denim, “you’re dragging.”
She stiffened. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he said simply. “You’re a better fighter than this.”
She hated how much that stung. “I know,” she muttered, barely audible.
“Then focus,” he said. “Or someone’s going to get hurt.”
Katsuki clenched her fists so hard she swore she felt the bones in her knuckles grind.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
She growled and yanked it out, already knowing who it was.
Mom 🚬: Don’t forget. 3PM sharp.
Mom 🚬: Don’t make me come up there and drag your ass out by the ear.
Mom 🚬: Katsuki. Answer the phone.
Mom 🚬: You better be wearing something that snaps.
“What the hell— ” she hissed, stepping off the field and hitting accept.
“Finally! ” Mitsuki’s voice practically exploded through the speaker. “You ignoring me now? I texted you four times!”
“I’m training, ” Katsuki hissed, glancing over her shoulder. “You know, for my future. The one you thought I was gonna lose?”
“Ooh, spicy,” Mitsuki shot back. “Good. Get it out of your system before we talk about birth control.”
Katsuki turned bright red. “We are not —”
“You’re damn right we are. You got a doctor’s appointment at three o’clock, and you’re not showing up in sweaty spandex.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you more,” Mitsuki said breezily. “And don’t you dare wear those ancient All Might boxers. You own real panties now—cute ones, even. I was there when you bought them, remember?”
Katsuki sputtered. “WHAT THE HELL—?!”
“I’m just saying, if Midoriya gets an accidental peek, I’d rather he think you’ve got taste.”
“WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!”
“Because I gave birth to a menace,” Mitsuki replied without missing a beat. “And because I love you. I’ll be there at 3PM. Be clean, be dressed, and for god’s sake, don’t explode any of your classmates before then.”
She hung up before Katsuki could recover.
Katsuki stood frozen, phone still at her ear. Across the field, Sero, Eijirou, and Momo looked like they were trying—failing—to mind their business.
Sero was fully doubled over.
Momo’s face was redder than hers.
Kirishima was mouthing “panties???”
“I will burn this school to the ground,” she growled.
“Too late,” Sero wheezed, “you already burned through our innocence—!”
“SHUT. UP.”
It didn’t matter though. She said too much. Katsuki stared down at her phone.
Shit.
She hadn’t meant to say that to her. The words had just... spilled out, sharp and bitter and years too late.
Her stomach turned.
That moment—pressed up against the door, ear to the wood, Mitsuki’s voice cracking like glass—had been hers alone. Her own private apocalypse. Not something she’d ever planned to bring into daylight. And now it was out there, floating between them like a cut that never fully scabbed over.
Had Mitsuki even noticed? Or had it flown right past her, just another bratty jab from her too-angry “daughter?” Katsuki clenched her jaw and shoved her phone into her pocket. Her fingers were shaking.
She didn’t want to think about it.
Didn’t want to imagine Mitsuki remembering what she’d said.
Didn’t want to know what she might say now.
She didn’t go back to her room.
She couldn’t.
Not with everyone probably still whispering. Not with the sticky shame crawling up the back of her throat. Not when her mom was on her way to haul her to a birth control appointment she hadn’t even agreed to yet, because God forbid she show any emotion without someone assuming she’s about to fall in love and combust or kill someone.
Her boots echoed down the hall. She ducked into the old practice wing, the one with flickering overhead lights and padded floors that smelled faintly like rubber and antiseptic. No one came down here unless they were assigned or needed space to scream.
Perfect.
She sank against the wall, arms locked around her knees, trying to breathe around the knot in her chest.
She’s going to lose her future… who’s going to love her?
The words still tasted like metal. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Izuku had kissed her. And for a second—just a second—she let herself believe it meant something.
But it couldn’t. Not really.
She’d bullied him for years. Called him names. Told him he was worthless. She was a walking cautionary tale—a boy who’d changed too late and a girl who still didn’t look right. Not enough for the world. Not enough for herself.
She didn’t deserve anything soft.
And certainly not him.
Not Izuku.
The way he looked at her made her stomach twist. Like he saw her. Really saw her. Not the mess she came from. Not the awkward middle ground she was still clawing through.
Just… her.
It made her want to crawl out of her own skin.
Why would he want someone like me?
Footsteps.
Her head shot up.
Izuku stood in the doorway.
He froze when he saw her.
“Kacchan.”
His voice was quiet. Breathless. His curls were damp again—maybe from a second shower, maybe from running to find her. He clutched the strap of his gym bag like it was anchoring him in place.
She looked away. Her jaw locked tight.
He stepped inside.
“I was looking for you,” he said.
“Congrats,” she muttered.
Silence settled between them like a strangled breath.
“I… wanted to talk.”
“No shit.”
He winced. “Kacchan—”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, standing too fast. Her voice cracked. “You don’t get to call me that when you’re about to tell me this was a mistake.”
Izuku blinked. “What?”
She stepped back, arms shaking. Her voice rose with every word.
“Just say it already! Say you changed your mind! That it was the heat of the moment or some bullshit! That you didn’t mean to do it! That you’re not gay or that I’m not what you thought or that I’m not—I’m not enough— ”
“Katsuki!”
“—I get it, okay?! I’m a fucking mess, and you don’t want this, and you shouldn’t want me, and I’m not—I’m not even a real girl, and I was so fucking awful to you, and now people are gonna think shit about you and say shit and you’re gonna lose things because of me, and I get it, so just fucking say it— ”
“I’m not going to say any of that. ”
She froze.
Izuku had crossed the room before she could even blink. His hand was on her wrist, gentle but firm. She stared at it like it might disappear.
“I’m not going to say it,” he repeated. His voice didn’t shake.
“Why?” Her voice cracked on the word. “Why the hell not?”
“Because I love you.”
Silence.
“You’re not broken, Kacchan,” he said softly. “You’re not too late. You’re not too much. You’re just… you. And I’ve loved you for a long time.”
She couldn’t breathe.
“I know you think you don’t deserve anything good,” he whispered. “But I’ve wanted this since we were kids. Since before I understood what that meant.” He stepped closer. “It was always you.”
Her vision blurred.
“I’m still not—” she whispered.
“I don’t care,” he chuckled and cupped her cheek.
And then he kissed her. It wasn’t like the kiss in the common room. It wasn’t heat and panic and eyes on their backs. This was quiet.
Soft.
Like he had all the time in the world.
Like she wasn’t a mistake.
Her hands trembled where they gripped his hoodie. Her knees buckled, and he caught her. And for the first time in a long time—
She let him hold her
She didn’t know how long they stood like that.
His lips were warm. His hands didn’t shake. His hoodie smelled like laundry soap and something that was just him —earthy and familiar and soft in a way that always made her feel like she could breathe again.
Katsuki let her eyes close. The weight in her chest didn’t go away. But for the first time, it felt like she didn’t have to carry it alone. Her head fell forward against his collarbone.
“…Do you really mean it?” she whispered.
Izuku stilled. “Yeah,” he said without hesitation.
“No—” She stepped back, eyes searching his face. Her voice cracked. “I mean, really. Not just because I’m standing here right now, not just because we kissed.”
“I mean it,” he said again, quieter this time. “All of it.”
Her throat burned. “If I were still just a boy,” she whispered, “would you still love me?”
Izuku blinked. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away.
“…Yeah,” he said. “I would.”
“What if my body changed back somehow? What if I lost all the pieces that make me feel like me? Would you still—”
“I would still love you, Katsuki.”
She felt the breath stutter in her lungs.
“I’ve loved you since before I even knew what any of this meant. Before you transitioned. Before I understood anything about gender or love or attraction.” He paused, eyes soft. “You could look a million different ways, and I’d still know you. You’re my Kacchan.”
Something cracked wide open inside her. She wanted to believe it. God, she wanted to believe it so badly it hurt.
“But how do you know? ” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “How do you know I’m worth loving?”
Izuku smiled, just a little.
“Because even when you were yelling at me, I wanted to be near you,” he said. “Because when you disappeared from my life, the world felt quieter in the worst way. Because you look at everything like it’s a challenge—but the way you’ve looked at me lately… it doesn’t feel like war. It feels like home. ”
Katsuki’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
He kept going.
“You think you’re hard to love. But all I’ve ever wanted was a chance to try. Even if you fight me on it. Even if you don’t believe me right away. I’m not scared of the parts of you that are still healing.”
A tremble ran through her fingers. She didn’t realize she was crying until the warmth spilled past her lashes.
Izuku reached out and gently brushed a tear from her cheek with the side of his thumb.
Katsuki didn’t move.
“…I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to know,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”
A pause.
Then—her voice, thick:
“You’re not allowed to run.”
He nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She closed her eyes and leaned forward, just enough to rest her forehead against his.
For now, that was enough.
The walk back to her room felt longer than usual. Maybe because the hallways were too quiet. Maybe because Izuku kept glancing at her like he couldn’t believe she was still here, still beside him. Like he was afraid she’d disappear. She didn’t say anything. Neither did he. But when they passed Denki and Mina lounging near the common room, both of them immediately sat bolt upright. Denki nearly dropped his Switch. Mina gasped so hard she choked on her mochi. Katsuki didn’t even look at them. She grabbed Izuku’s sleeve, walked faster, and didn’t stop until they were outside her door.
Her fingers hovered above the handle for a second.
Then she opened it.
The room was dim.
Dark grey walls. One black-out curtain drawn over the window, the other pulled back just enough to let a slant of light in. The scent of something sharp and floral—like the perfume sample she’d gotten from that weird fancy place in the mall—lingered faintly in the air. Her vanity sat in the corner, mirror ringed with soft white bulbs that she never turned all the way up. A scattering of makeup brushes. Black nail polish. The lip gloss Mina had made her promise to try. A green bunny plush sat on the bed, half tucked into her pillow. Similar to one that Izuku had had when he was tiny. She’d pretended she didn’t like it. That was never the case, though.
She stepped inside.
“You’re the first to see this,” she mumbled and closed her eyes.
Izuku didn’t move. Then, slowly, he stepped in behind her. He looked around like he was seeing something sacred.
“You decorated it,” he murmured.
She scowled. “No shit.”
“I just— I didn’t know what to expect. But this is so… you.”
He walked to the vanity and gently touched one of the brushes. His fingers hovered over a bottle of black eyeliner. Then his gaze landed on the bunny. His smile softened.
“It’s cute.”
She didn’t answer.
He turned toward her. “Kacchan—”
“I thought I was gonna lose everything.”
The words fell out of her before she could stop them. She was still standing by the door. She didn’t know why she couldn’t move.
“I heard her,” she whispered. “My mom. The night after we got home from the hospital. With me. Like this. I wasn’t supposed to hear them.”
Izuku’s breath caught.
“She said I’d lose my future. That I’d lose my friends. That no one would want me. That no one would love me.” Her voice cracked. She blinked fast, refusing to let the tears fall now. “I believed her.”
Silence.
Then Izuku said, “You already proved her wrong.”
She looked at him. He met her gaze without flinching.
“You’re still here. You still have your friends. Your mom’s—trying. She showed up, Katsuki. And I’m here too. No matter who you were. No matter who you are.”
Her chest clenched. “What if she was right?” she whispered. “What if it still happens?”
Izuku stepped closer. “Then we’ll face it together.”
She bit her lip.
“...You’re serious about this.”
“Of course I am.”
She stared up at him, heart pounding.
“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m not doing this halfway.”
His smile split into something quiet and certain.
“I don’t want halfway,” he said. “I want you. All of you.”
Katsuki flushed.
Then—because she didn’t know how to say thank you, or I’m scared, or I think I might love you too—
She kissed him again.
This time it was slower. Messier. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. His hands cupped her jaw like he was afraid she might break.
When they finally pulled apart, her breath hitched.
“...So we’re doing this,” she said.
He nodded. “We’re doing this.”
A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. “God, Mina’s gonna lose her mind.”
“I think Denki already had a full-body reaction.”
She snorted. He laughed.
They sat down together on her bed, knees touching, shoulders brushing. The bunny plush got shoved unceremoniously to the side. For once, the silence wasn’t heavy. It was still. Safe.
Katsuki leaned her head on his shoulder. “…I think I’m gonna be okay,” she murmured.
Izuku squeezed her hand.
“You already are.”
The silence held. They stayed there, side by side on the edge of her bed, like they were scared to move too quickly and ruin the fragile magic that had settled between them. Katsuki leaned into Izuku’s shoulder, nose brushing the seam of his hoodie. She didn’t remember the last time she’d felt this warm. Not just in her skin—but under it. Like something inside her had stopped bracing for impact.
“…You’re good at this,” she murmured, half teasing, half breathless.
“At what?”
“Being stupid. Being…” She paused. “Nice.”
Izuku chuckled. “I’ve had practice.”
She rolled her eyes—but didn’t move.
His hand slid gently into hers. His thumb brushed along her knuckles.
And then he leaned in again. This kiss was slower. Thicker. Like honey instead of lightning.
Katsuki melted under it before she could stop herself. Her fingers found the edge of his jaw. His hand curved around her hip like it belonged there. When she opened her mouth for him, he made a soft sound that made her knees go weak even though she was sitting down. She didn’t know where the heat came from.
Maybe it was the way he kissed like he already knew every part of her. Maybe it was the way her body suddenly felt like it was buzzing, wanting in a way that startled her.
Maybe it was just the feeling of being wanted back.
She let herself fall backward onto the bed, dragging him with her. Her hoodie rode up slightly—his palm against the bare skin of her waist made her gasp.
He pulled back. “Is this okay?”
Her cheeks were on fire. “Y-Yeah. I think so.”
He kissed her again, and she forgot how to breathe. Her hand slid under the hem of his hoodie, fingertips brushing over the softness of his stomach. She didn’t mean to. She just wanted to touch something real.
His breath hitched.
She moaned.
And then—
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
“KATSUKI?! ”
They froze.
“You better not be doing what I THINK you’re doing in there! ” came Mitsuki’s unmistakable voice through the door. “You’ve got a pelvic exam in twenty minutes and I swear to god, if you’re late because you couldn’t keep your hands off your boyfriend—”
“MOM, OH MY GOD— ”
“I KNEW IT!! ” Mitsuki hollered, triumphant. “YOU COULDN’T EVEN WAIT A FULL TWENTY-FOUR HOURS!”
Izuku looked like he was about to ascend. His face was crimson. He started stammering nonsense, halfway falling off the bed in a panic. “I—I wasn’t—we weren’t—pants—nothing happened—!”
“DEKU, SHUT YOUR FUCKING FACE BEFORE I BREAK IT!” Katsuki shrieked, launching a pillow at the door with a strength that probably dented the wall behind it.
Mitsuki didn’t even flinch.
“You’ve got five minutes to clean up and look presentable or I’m dragging you to the clinic with hickeys and bedhead, Katsuki! ”
The hallway fell quiet.
Izuku’s eyes were wide. His curls were wild. His shirt was wrinkled, his lips pink and a little swollen.
Katsuki sat up slowly.
They stared at each other in absolute horror.
Then—
Izuku buried his face in his hands.
Katsuki groaned and flopped backward, dragging a pillow over her face. “…I can’t believe I was almost horny,” she screeched into the fluff.
Izuku wheezed. “I can’t believe she timed it that perfectly.”
Katsuki peeked out from under the pillow.
“…We’re not telling anyone about this.”
“Agreed.”
Another pause.
“…Still worth it,” he said, soft and a little smug.
She shoved him off the bed.