Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cold air sank its teeth into Katsuki’s skin, sharp enough to remind him he’d forgotten his gloves again. Downtown Musutafu stretched wide and alive around him, its neon signs flickering like electric beacons against the growing dusk. The low hum of engines and the scuff of hurried footsteps wove into the distant laugh of a kid across the street. The cacophony grated on him, every noise feeding the itch in his palms for action.

Beside him, Best Jeanist moved like a phantom. His steps were deliberate, his long coat flowing like it had its own damn choreography. Katsuki kept his eyes forward, fists jammed into his pockets. The weight of his gauntlets dragged at his shoulders tonight, though he wasn’t sure if that was real or just his nerves.

“Bakugou,” Jeanist’s voice sliced through the ambient noise like the snap of fabric in the wind. Calm. Controlled. “Your pacing betrays you.”

Katsuki’s jaw twitched, the muscles tightening with a sharp, almost painful pull. His teeth ground together, the pressure sending a dull ache through his molars. Heat simmered under his skin, crawling up his neck and prickling at his scalp. His hands, jammed into his pockets, curled into tight fists, the fabric bunching under his fingers. A low, almost imperceptible growl rumbled in his throat, but he swallowed it back, his chest tightening with the effort. What the hell did that even mean? He wasn’t pacing—he was walking, like a normal person. His boots hit the pavement a little harder than they probably needed to, but so what? Jeanist’s soft, steady strides irritated him, the sound measured and unbothered in a way that felt mocking.

“Your progress in managing your instincts has been admirable,” Jeanist continued, his tone like a perfectly folded crease. “But impatience is still your Achilles’ heel.”

Katsuki sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. The faint scent of exhaust clung to the air, stinging his lungs as it mixed with his simmering frustration. “Tch. Whatever. I’m not some damn kid who needs a lecture.”

Jeanist didn’t flinch or sigh like Katsuki expected. Instead, his gaze remained fixed ahead, distant but unwavering. It only made Katsuki’s nerves buzz harder, the energy under his skin growing unbearable.

The shriek of an alarm shattered the uneasy quiet, sharp and jarring enough to slice through bone. Katsuki’s head snapped toward the sound, his heartbeat kicking into overdrive as he spotted smoke curling from the entrance of a boutique. Gold lettering gleamed faintly on shattered glass doors, and shards glittered like crushed stars across the pavement.

“Stay sharp,” Jeanist ordered, his voice taut with authority as he moved. His stride quickened, his coat snapping with each step, but his shoulders stayed low, steady, controlled.

Katsuki didn’t wait for an invitation. The second his boots hit the ground, he launched himself forward, heat surging to life in his palms. The boutique reeked of burnt plastic and something sharp—perfume, maybe. It stung his nose, the sweetness cloying and almost sickening as it choked the air like smoke.

Inside, mannequins lay scattered across the floor, their limbs bent at odd angles. Katsuki’s gaze darted past them, his muscles coiled tight. And then he froze.

A girl. Tiny, no older than five or six, with messy braids and tear-streaked cheeks. Her screams cut through the chaos, thin and desperate, as she thrashed against the arms of a masked villain. Her small fists pounded uselessly against his chest, her sobs breaking into hiccups that made her voice crack.

Katsuki’s chest tightened, heat pooling in his gut. His legs moved before his brain caught up, carrying him closer. The heat in his palms burned hotter, sharper, as the image of the girl—small and helpless—seared into his mind.

“Oi!” he barked, his voice cracking like thunder. “Put her down, asshole!”

The villain turned, his movements stiff, the girl still squirming in his arms. Katsuki saw the way his grip tightened on her, her face scrunching in pain. A low, guttural snarl ripped from his throat as he launched himself forward, explosions roaring to life in his hands.

The air blurred around him as he propelled himself forward, faster, harder. His target came into focus—a split second to aim, to calculate. His boot slammed into the villain’s jaw with a sickening crunch. The bastard’s head snapped back, and he crumpled, the girl tumbling from his grasp like a doll.

Katsuki caught her mid-fall. Her weight was feather-light in his arms, trembling as she clung to his chest. Her face pressed into his suit, the warmth of her tears soaking through the fabric.

“Hey,” he muttered, his voice rough but quieter than usual. “You’re okay, kid. Got it? It’s over.”

But she didn’t stop crying. Her small hands gripped his suit, her sobs growing louder, harder, like she couldn’t stop the flood. “I—” she hiccupped, gasping for air. “I didn’t mean to—!”

A sudden poof erupted from her chest, the sound soft but startling. Katsuki flinched as a cloud of glittery pink and blue dust enveloped them both. It clung to his skin, his hair, his suit, shimmering faintly in the dim light. The scent hit him next—sweet and overpowering, like candy left to melt in the sun.

He coughed, stumbling as the dust coated his throat. “What the—” His voice broke off as his vision swam, the glitter settling in a slow, lazy spiral around them.

When the air cleared, the girl was staring up at him, her eyes wide and wet with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I—I didn’t mean to—my quirk—!”

Katsuki didn’t have time for this. He adjusted his grip, holding her closer. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s get you back to your mom, alright?”

His boots felt weird as he walked—loose, like they didn’t fit right. The heel of one boot rubbed against his skin with every step, irritating enough to make him wince. His socks had slipped down just enough to bunch annoyingly at his ankles, and he could feel the rough leather threatening to wear blisters into his skin. The sensation gnawed at him, each misstep feeding the restless frustration bubbling under his skin. The sleeves of his suit bunched awkwardly at his wrists, and the fabric tugged at his shoulders like it wasn’t sitting where it should. He ground his teeth, ignoring the uncomfortable pull of everything, and pushed forward.

The boutique was still a mess when he arrived, but the girl’s mother was there. The moment she saw them, her face crumpled, and she let out a wail that made Katsuki flinch. She rushed forward, arms outstretched, as if she couldn’t believe her kid was real.

“Mommy!” the girl cried, squirming out of Katsuki’s arms with a frantic twist. She threw herself at her mother, who collapsed to her knees with a broken, guttural sob, her arms snapping around the child like a lifeline. “Oh my baby, my baby,” the mother wailed, her fingers trembling as they cradled her daughter’s face, smoothing back messy braids and searching for any sign of injury.

Jeanist stood a few paces behind her, his hands lightly resting on her shoulders, his composed expression betraying a flicker of exhaustion. “She thought her daughter had been taken for her quirk,” he murmured to Katsuki, his tone low enough to keep the panic from spiraling.

The mother pressed her forehead against the girl’s, her tears streaming unchecked down her face. “They were going to take you! Oh god, I thought… I thought…” Her words broke into gasps, her chest heaving as she clung to the child, as if loosening her grip might let her vanish. The girl hiccupped through her own tears, clutching her mother’s jacket tightly, her small voice barely audible through the sobs. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean to use my quirk… I didn’t mean…”

Katsuki stood frozen, his throat tight and a strange weight pressing against his ribs. The mother’s cries rose and fell in jagged waves, the sound raw and unfiltered, clawing at the quiet like a storm.

“Bakugou,” Jeanist called, his voice sharp and steady. Katsuki turned toward him, ready to report back. “The villain was carrying—”

Jeanist froze.

Katsuki frowned, the words dying on his tongue. Jeanist’s usually impassive face shifted, his mouth tightening into a thin line, and his sharp brows creased ever so slightly. His posture, always poised and precise, stiffened—like the air had turned colder, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“What?” Katsuki snapped, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. “Why the hell are you looking at me like that?”

Jeanist’s lips parted, but no words came out. His eyes flicked down, scanning Katsuki from head to toe with an intensity that made Katsuki’s skin crawl. There was a moment of silence, thick and suffocating, before Jeanist finally spoke, his voice low and careful.

“Bakugou,” he said slowly, like he was trying to piece the words together as he spoke them. “Look at yourself.”

The hospital air hit Katsuki like a slap—too sharp, too clean. The sterile scent clawed at his nose, each breath sticking in his throat like he’d swallowed cotton. Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, their unrelenting brightness stinging his eyes and casting a cold pall over the too-white walls. He hated hospitals. Always had. They reeked of antiseptic and quiet desperation, the kind of place where pain lingered in the air long after it was gone.

He perched on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling awkwardly, the grippy socks they’d given him bunching uncomfortably at his ankles. His boots were in the corner, discarded like they’d betrayed him. The gown hung loose on his frame, the stiff fabric scratching against his skin with every slight movement. Katsuki’s hands twisted in the edge of the gown, his nails biting into the material as he tapped his foot against the linoleum floor, the sound faint but rhythmic—the only noise he could control.

The door creaked open, and Katsuki’s muscles tensed, his head snapping up like a coil unwinding too fast. Mitsuki entered first, her heels clicking sharp and fast against the floor. Her arms were crossed tightly, her shoulders set high like a bowstring ready to snap. Her mouth was a thin, tense line, and her eyes swept over him with a frantic energy that made Katsuki’s stomach churn.

Masaru followed quietly, his presence softer, almost hesitant. He lingered by the doorway for a moment before stepping forward, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. His gaze flitted between Mitsuki and Katsuki, his expression careful, like he wasn’t sure where to look.

“What the hell is taking them so long?” Mitsuki demanded, her voice cracking like a whip. Her arms tightened against her chest as she glanced toward the hallway. “They should’ve been in here by now! This is important—”

“Mitsuki,” Masaru said gently, his voice low and even, the kind of calm that was meant to temper storms. “Give them time.”

She whirled on him, her frustration boiling over in an instant. “Time? Our son—” Her voice faltered, and Katsuki saw her throat tighten before she forced the words back out. “We don’t have time for this.”

Katsuki’s nails dug harder into the fabric of the gown, his knuckles aching from the pressure. The word son hung in the air, heavy and sharp, slicing through his thoughts and lodging itself somewhere in his chest. His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together until his molars ached.

Masaru approached cautiously, his steps deliberate, slow, like he was walking on glass. He stopped a few feet away from the bed, his hands still buried in his jacket pockets. “How are you holding up, Katsuki?” he asked softly, his voice steady but laced with worry.

“I’m fine,” Katsuki muttered, the words falling out flat and bitter. His hands twisted the gown tighter, the rough fabric scraping against his palms. He couldn’t meet Masaru’s eyes, his gaze fixed instead on a scuff mark on the linoleum floor.

Mitsuki’s sharp gaze snapped to him, her anger latching onto the first crack she could find. “Fine?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You’re sitting here like this, and you think you’re fine?”

“I said I’m fine!” Katsuki barked, his voice cutting through the room like shattered glass. His chest heaved with the force of his words, his breath catching unevenly. The heat under his skin threatened to boil over, but it didn’t drown out the tremor in his hands. “Just… drop it, alright?”

Masaru stepped back slightly, his hands raising in a placating gesture. “We’re just worried about you,” he said softly, his tone careful, deliberate, like he was treading on thin ice.

“Well, don’t!” Katsuki snapped again, his fists tightening until his nails dug into his palms. His throat felt tight, his words scraping their way out. “I don’t need—” The sentence died in his mouth, unfinished, because he didn’t know what came next. Didn’t know what he needed. Didn’t know anything anymore.

Mitsuki muttered something under her breath, her frustration bubbling just under the surface. She turned sharply, her heels clicking like gunfire as she stormed toward the door. “I’m going to find someone who actually knows what the hell is going on,” she said, her voice low and sharp, her hands shaking as she yanked the door open. The door swung shut behind her with a hollow, final-sounding click.

The silence that followed was suffocating, wrapping itself around Katsuki’s chest and squeezing until his breath came shallow and sharp. Masaru didn’t leave, though. He stayed where he was, his presence a quiet weight in the room, neither comforting nor intrusive.

Katsuki leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees, his head dropping into his hands as if he could fold himself small enough to disappear. The scratchy hospital gown clung to his skin, every shift of fabric making him hyper-aware of the weight of his own body. He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers digging into his scalp, the faint sting of his nails grounding him in a way nothing else could. He felt their eyes on him—his dad’s quiet, worried gaze and the invisible scorch of his mom’s anger lingering even in her absence—and the shame that coiled in his stomach was almost unbearable.

Why did it feel like he was on display? Like some damn specimen for them to analyze and argue over? The weight in his chest tightened, an ache spreading through his ribs as his thoughts spun. He didn’t understand any of this—why his heart wasn’t screaming in revolt, why the soft, surreal calmness was there instead.

He didn’t hate it. That was the worst part. He couldn’t hate the way his body felt lighter now, the way his breaths came easier, or how the shame twisting in his stomach was fighting against a strange, tentative sense of rightness.

Masaru shifted in his chair, the faint creak pulling Katsuki from his spiraling thoughts. “Katsuki,” his dad tried again, his voice hesitant, almost pleading.

“Just stop,” Katsuki muttered, his words muffled by the press of his palms against his face. His voice cracked, low and brittle. “I don’t need you to… just don’t.”

Masaru leaned back slightly, his hands clasped tightly together as if he were holding himself in place. The quiet between them stretched out again, heavy and suffocating, but neither of them moved to fill it.

The sound of heels clicking against the linoleum broke the uneasy stillness. Mitsuki’s sharp, hurried steps filled the hallway before the door creaked open again. This time, a man in a white coat followed her in, his clipboard tucked neatly under one arm. His glasses caught the overhead light, reflecting it back like a mirror, obscuring his expression.

Mitsuki’s voice rose before the door even swung fully open. “Finally! What took so long? We’ve been waiting for answers, and my son—”

“Ma’am,” the doctor interjected, his voice calm and steady, the kind of measured tone that sucked all the air from the room. “Let’s address everything at once.”

Mitsuki’s lips thinned, her arms tightening around herself as if physically holding her words back. She stayed silent, but her foot tapped sharply against the linoleum, the rhythm erratic and charged with frustration, arms crossed tightly over her chest, but the way her hands gripped at her sleeves exposed the way her soul ripped through her nerves.

Katsuki’s gaze shifted to the doctor, his chest tightening as the man’s sharp eyes flicked over him, scanning quickly but thoroughly. The man’s presence filled the room with an unshakable sense of authority, like he’d done this a hundred times before.

“Bakugou Katsuki?” the doctor asked, his tone measured as he stopped at the foot of the bed. Katsuki nodded stiffly, his fingers curling tighter into the fabric of the gown, the texture rough and unyielding against his skin. The doctor adjusted his glasses, the lenses catching the harsh overhead light, masking his eyes. His expression remained calm, unreadable, as he began.

“From what we’ve gathered, the quirk you were exposed to triggered a profound biological transformation. At the molecular level, your anatomy has shifted entirely to that of a biological female. This includes chromosomal changes, hormonal shifts, and physical reconfiguration. Your body now presents as genetically female, but with certain unique markers that indicate quirk-induced alterations.”

Katsuki’s grip on the gown tightened further, his knuckles aching from the strain. He felt his heart thrum in his chest—steady, strong—a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his thoughts. The words felt surreal, each one heavier than the last, sinking into his mind like stones into water.

The doctor continued, his voice clinical but steady. “It’s also worth noting that this transformation seems to have addressed and repaired injuries you sustained during the war, particularly those from your confrontation with All For One. Scarring, internal damage—all of it appears to have been fully healed. Medically speaking, you’re in excellent health and your heart has completely healed.”

He paused, glancing briefly at Mitsuki and Masaru, before adding, “That said, attempts to reverse these changes carry significant risks. Given the depth of the transformation, any procedure aimed at reverting your physiology would have, at best under perfect conditions, a fifty percent chance of success. At worst, it could result in your death.”

“What does that mean?” Mitsuki’s voice was sharp, brittle with emotion. She stepped forward, her fists clenched at her sides. “Are you saying there’s no way to fix him?”

“Fixing isn’t the right term,” the doctor replied carefully, his tone measured as though navigating a minefield. “But yes, the risks are considerable. This transformation isn’t simply superficial; it’s foundational. Your child’s body has adapted fully to this new state.”

Katsuki sat frozen, his head bowed, his thoughts spinning faster than he could catch them. The words blurred together—chromosomal changes, fully healed, foundational, but none of them seemed to stick. All he could focus on was the quiet weight settling in his chest, the way his reflection lingered in his peripheral vision, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Still him. Still her.

Mitsuki’s voice cracked through his fog like lightning. “This isn’t right! There has to be something you can do!” Her hands shook as she gestured toward Katsuki, her face tight with desperation. “You can’t just leave him like this!”

Masaru’s voice followed, quieter but firm. “And what if trying to change this kills him, Mitsuki? What then?” He stepped closer to Katsuki, his hand hovering near his shoulder but not quite touching. “We need to think about what’s best for him. For her.”

No one had asked Katsuki what he thought. The noise around him faded to a low hum, his parents’ argument blending into the sterile hum of the hospital room. He pressed his hands into his lap, the tremble in his fingers betraying the stillness of his body. Why didn’t he feel more panicked? Why did this strange calmness feel like something he’d been chasing his whole life?

The doctor’s voice cut through again, pulling Katsuki back to the present. “It’s important that you all take time to process this. For now, Bakugou is healthy and stable. That is what matters most.”

With a faint sigh, the doctor straightened, his hand tightening on the clipboard. “If there are no further questions, I’ll step out for now to give you all some time. Feel free to call for me if anything changes.” He cast a lingering look over Katsuki, his expression momentarily softening before he nodded to himself. Without waiting for a response, he turned and made his way to the door, the soft click of it closing behind him marking his departure.

The room fell into an oppressive silence, thick and stifling. For a moment, all Katsuki could hear was the faint buzz of the overhead lights and the erratic pounding of his own heart. Then, like the snap of a dam breaking, Mitsuki crumpled.

Her sobs tore through the quiet, raw and gut-wrenching. She dropped into the chair near the wall, her face buried in her hands, her entire body trembling with the force of her cries. “Why?” she choked out between ragged breaths. “Why does it have to be like this? My baby… my boy…”

Katsuki’s chest tightened painfully, guilt blooming heavy and suffocating in his ribcage. His fingers curled into the fabric of the gown, his knuckles white as he fought to keep himself still. He knew— he knew —this wasn’t his fault. Logically, rationally, it wasn’t. But the sight of his mother unraveling, the sound of her anguish, twisted the knife deeper into his stomach.

He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, but the words caught in his throat and turned to ash. What could he even say? That he was sorry for something he didn’t control? That he hated the way her sobs made his insides churn, even as he clung to the strange, unfamiliar peace settling in his own skin?

Masaru crossed the room in two strides, crouching down beside Mitsuki and pulling her into his arms. She resisted for a moment, her sobs hitching as she pushed against him weakly, but eventually, she melted into his hold, her tears soaking into his shirt. He murmured soft reassurances, his voice too low for Katsuki to hear clearly, but the tone was steady, a calm anchor against the storm.

Katsuki turned his gaze back to his lap, his breath hitching in his chest. His hands trembled slightly, but he didn’t unclench them. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating, yet beneath it all, that strange sense of rightness still lingered—an undercurrent of something he wasn’t ready to name. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his parents again, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the cracks their pain had left behind.

Instead, he focused on the faint hum of the lights, the cool press of the linoleum against his heels, and the quiet rhythm of his own breathing. It wasn’t enough to drown out the sobs, but it was something.

Katsuki swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. He didn’t look up, couldn’t bring himself to meet anyone’s eyes. His thoughts churned, a chaotic mix of fear and something close to relief. He didn’t know what he wanted, but for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted things to go back to the way they were.

Chapter Text

Katsuki woke up in her childhood bedroom, the pale morning light filtering through the curtains in uneven streaks. It wasn’t soft or comforting, but hesitant, as if the day itself was reluctant to begin. The air in the room was heavy, saturated with the echoes of muffled arguments from the night before. It clung to her skin like a second layer, itchy and uncomfortable, refusing to let her forget.

Her head throbbed, the dull ache spreading like ripples in a still pond, a reminder of the tears she had cried into her pillow. She rolled onto her side, the blankets tangling around her legs like an anchor. Above her, the faint cracks in the ceiling stretched out in endless, chaotic patterns, like veins running through fractured glass. She traced them absently with her eyes, her thoughts just as knotted and directionless.

The shelves lining her walls were crowded with relics from a version of herself that no longer fit: shiny trophies and posters with sharp slogans about victory and strength. They felt like artifacts from another life, mocking her with their permanence.

With a sharp inhale, she swung her legs out of bed, the cold floor meeting her bare feet with a jolt. The chill was sharp and biting, but at least it was real—a stark contrast to the numbness that had taken root inside her. She shuffled to the bathroom, her steps unsteady against the worn wooden floor, and flicked on the light.

The bathroom felt small, the walls closing in as she reached for her toothbrush. The white bristles bloomed with too much toothpaste, the minty scent cutting sharply through the stale air. As she brushed, the mint burned against her gums, overwhelming and grounding all at once. Her shoulders ached with tension, the muscles wound tight from the weight of unspoken fears.

She stared into the sink, avoiding her reflection. The porcelain basin gleamed under the fluorescent light, its surface smooth and untouched. She wished she could feel that clean, that blank, like something waiting to be written.

When she leaned forward to spit, her gaze flicked up involuntarily, catching the mirror. Her reflection stared back, and the air rushed out of her lungs as if she’d been punched.

The toothbrush slipped from her fingers, clattering against the porcelain. Her breath hitched, the sound caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. The girl in the mirror wasn’t a stranger, but she wasn’t the Katsuki she had always known either.

Her hair stuck out in wild tufts, framing a face that was both familiar and unfamiliar. Her features were softer now, her cheeks gently curved, her lips fuller. The fluorescent light caught on her skin, highlighting a faint glow that smoothed the edges of her jaw and nose.

She didn’t look like someone broken or lost. She looked… free.

The thought came unbidden, startling her with its clarity. “Wow,” she whispered, the word slipping out on an exhale. “I look… pretty.”

Pretty. The word felt foreign and fragile, as if it might shatter if she thought about it too hard. It hung in the air between her and the mirror, daring her to believe it. Her hands gripped the edge of the sink, the cool ceramic pressing into her palms as her vision blurred with tears.

The tightness in her chest swelled, expanding until it felt like she might split apart. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. A sob tore from her throat, raw and trembling, and her body curled inward instinctively, trying to contain the flood.

Anger. Relief. Grief. They crashed over her in relentless waves, drowning her in their intensity. For years, she had hated her reflection—had sneered at it, turned away from it, fought against it. And now? Now she didn’t know what to feel.

When the storm of emotions finally ebbed, Katsuki’s breaths came in shaky gulps, her hands trembling as she wiped at her face. Her reflection hadn’t disappeared. The girl in the mirror was still there, her red-rimmed eyes wide with something that felt like awe.

Her hands moved to the buttons of her pajama shirt, clumsy and uncertain. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, baring the unfamiliar curves of her body. Her heart pounded as she stared, her chest tight with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Her waist curved gently, her collarbone casting soft shadows in the light. Her skin, flushed and pink from crying, caught the pale morning light and reflected it back softly. It was a body she had avoided looking at for so long, a body she had fought against and resented. But now…

She didn’t feel the urge to turn away. Her fingers brushed against the sink again, grounding her as her eyes traced the lines of her reflection.

“Am I… cute?” The question escaped in a whisper, hesitant and unsure. Her cheeks burned as a new thought flickered in her mind—an image of Izuku, his wide green eyes, his soft smile, the freckles scattered across his face. Her face grew hotter, the thought tangling with her emotions until she stumbled back, her foot catching on the edge of the shower curtain.

She landed in a heap on the floor, the curtain twisted around her legs as she muttered curses under her breath. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound deafening in the quiet room.

Katsuki sat on the floor for a long moment, the cool tiles pressing against her skin. Her breath came in shallow bursts, her chest rising and falling as though she’d just run a marathon. The bathroom smelled faintly of soap and toothpaste, a sharp cleanliness that clashed with the chaos in her mind.

She ran a hand through her hair, the long strands slipping between her fingers. The texture felt strange, unfamiliar, yet undeniably hers. She closed her eyes, letting the sensation ground her, trying to slow the rush of thoughts spiraling out of control.

Her gaze drifted back to the mirror, and for a moment, she just stared. The girl staring back at her looked fragile and fierce all at once, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears. There was something raw and unguarded in her reflection, something Katsuki had spent years burying under layers of anger and defiance.

I don’t hate her, she realized with a jolt, her fingers tightening around the sink’s edge as she pulled herself to her feet. The thought was terrifying and exhilarating, a whisper of possibility that she wasn’t ready to examine too closely. Not yet.

The hallway outside her room felt longer than usual, the walls stretching endlessly in her mind as she made her way downstairs. Each step echoed like a drumbeat, the creak of the wooden stairs loud against the house’s oppressive silence.

When she reached the bottom, the faint hum of voices filtered through from the kitchen. She froze, her heart pounding in her ears as the weight of her parents’ arguments from the night before washed over her again. The words weren’t clear, but the tone—sharp and cutting, laced with frustration—was unmistakable.

Her grip tightened on the banister, her knuckles white as she hesitated. Part of her wanted to turn around, to retreat back to her room and bury herself under the covers. But she couldn’t avoid them forever.

She took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling as she forced herself to step into the kitchen.

Mitsuki stood at the counter, her movements sharp and precise as she scrubbed at a stubborn spot on a mug. The sound of water running was loud in the otherwise quiet space, a steady hiss that seemed to underline the tension in the air.

Masaru sat at the table, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. He looked up when Katsuki entered, his expression softening. “Morning,” he said, his tone calm and steady.

Mitsuki didn’t turn, but her shoulders stiffened, the only acknowledgment of Katsuki’s presence.

Katsuki grunted in response, moving to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. The cool condensation against her fingers was grounding, a small distraction from the weight pressing down on her chest.

As she turned to leave, Mitsuki finally spoke, her voice clipped. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Katsuki froze, the bottle clutched tightly in her hand. “Out,” she said shortly, her tone daring Mitsuki to challenge her.

“With what money?” Mitsuki snapped, turning to face her. Her gaze flicked to Katsuki’s hair, the new growth long, sharp and jagged, and something unreadable crossed her face. “And what are you even planning to buy?”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together. “Clothes,” she muttered.

Mitsuki’s eyes narrowed. “Clothes? What’s wrong with the ones you have? They’re perfectly good.”

“They’re not what I want!” Katsuki shot back, her voice rising.

The tension crackled like static, the air thick with unspoken arguments.

Masaru cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I’ll go with her,” he said calmly, setting his mug down.

Mitsuki’s gaze snapped to him, her expression incredulous. “You’re encouraging this?”

“I’m supporting her,” Masaru replied evenly. His tone was soft, but there was a firmness beneath it that left no room for argument.

Mitsuki scoffed, crossing her arms. “You think that’s going to fix anything?”

Masaru didn’t respond, his gaze steady as he stood and grabbed his wallet. He turned to Katsuki, offering her a small smile. “Let’s go.”

Katsuki hesitated, the weight of Mitsuki’s glare pressing against her back. Finally, she nodded, her movements stiff as she followed Masaru out of the kitchen.

The car was silent at first, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Katsuki stared out the window, her fingers tapping absently against her thigh. The gray clouds overhead seemed heavier now, their weight pressing down on the world below.

Masaru glanced at her, his expression soft but thoughtful. “You okay?”

Katsuki shrugged, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery. “I guess.”

Masaru hummed in response, his hands steady on the wheel. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said gently. “But I’m here if you do.”

She hesitated, her fingers stilling. “Thanks,” she muttered, the word awkward on her tongue.

Masaru smiled faintly, his attention returning to the road. “One step at a time, Katsuki. That’s all you need to do.”

The mall was alive with noise and motion, the steady hum of conversations blending with the faint strains of pop music echoing through the halls. Katsuki’s steps faltered as they entered, her eyes darting to the rows of brightly lit storefronts. The air smelled faintly of floor polish and cinnamon pretzels, a strange mix of sterile and warm that made her stomach twist.

The colors were overwhelming—racks of clothes in every shade imaginable spilled out from the stores, mannequins posed in outfits that seemed impossibly put together. Katsuki swallowed hard, her throat dry as she followed Masaru into one of the stores.

“Take your time,” he said, his tone easy. He gestured to the racks. “Look around. See what catches your eye.”

Katsuki nodded stiffly, her hands shoved into her hoodie pockets as she drifted toward a display of graphic tees. Her fingers brushed against the fabric, the soft cotton cool under her touch. The designs were bold—skulls, flames, jagged text—and for a moment, she felt a flicker of familiarity.

She grabbed a few shirts, tucking them under her arm before moving on. Her gaze flicked to the other sections of the store, where brighter, softer fabrics hung in neat rows. Skirts. Dresses. Things she’d never let herself look at before.

Her chest tightened, her heart pounding in her ears as she hesitated. What’s the point? she thought bitterly. I’m just gonna look like an idiot.

“See something you like?” Masaru’s voice broke through her thoughts, startling her.

She glanced at him, her cheeks burning. “No. I’m just… looking.”

Masaru smiled, his tone light. “Looking’s a good start. But if you want to try something, go for it. No one’s judging you here.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened, her hands clenching around the shirts she held. “Easy for you to say.”

Masaru tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. “You know, when I first started designing, I was scared out of my mind that people would laugh at my ideas. That they’d think I was wasting my time. But the thing is, you don’t find what works until you let yourself try.”

Katsuki frowned, the words sinking in despite herself. She glanced back at the racks of clothes, her chest aching with something she couldn’t quite name. Finally, she reached out, her fingers brushing against a short, plaid skirt.

She grabbed it before she could second-guess herself, adding it to the pile in her arms.

The fitting room was small, the walls lined with mirrors that seemed to amplify her every movement. Katsuki stood in front of one, her heart pounding as she stared at the pile of clothes she’d brought in.

She started with the shirts, slipping on one with a jagged flame design that hugged her frame more than she was used to. It felt strange, the fit tighter than what she normally wore, but not uncomfortable. She ran her hands over the fabric, her fingers catching on the faint ridges of the design.

Next came the skirt. She hesitated, her hands trembling slightly as she slipped it on. The fabric was soft against her skin, the waistband snug around her waist. She turned to the mirror, her breath catching as she took in the reflection.

The skirt flared slightly, the red and black plaid pattern bold but not overwhelming. It was shorter than anything she’d worn before, leaving her legs bare in a way that made her stomach flip. But for the first time, she didn’t feel like she needed to hide.

She stepped closer to the mirror, her hands brushing against the fabric. The person staring back at her wasn’t a stranger, but she wasn’t the Katsuki she used to know either. She was… something in between.

When Katsuki stepped out of the fitting room, Masaru looked up from his seat near the racks. His eyes lit up as he took in the outfit.

“You look great,” he said simply, his voice warm.

Katsuki scowled, her cheeks burning. “Tch. Don’t make it weird.”

Masaru chuckled. “Alright, no weirdness. But seriously—you’ve got an eye for this stuff.”

Katsuki crossed her arms, her gaze dropping. “It’s just clothes,” she muttered.

“Clothes can say a lot about a person,” Masaru replied. He gestured to the racks. “You’re figuring out what feels right. That’s not nothing.”

Katsuki’s chest tightened, her fingers twitching at her sides. She wanted to argue, to brush off his words, but the sincerity in his tone made her throat ache.

Masaru stood, his movements slow and deliberate. “If you want, we can find more. See what else feels like you.”

Katsuki hesitated, her gaze flicking to the racks. “You’re not gonna try to dress me up like one of your models, are you?”

Masaru laughed, the sound soft and genuine. “Only if you ask me to. Otherwise, this is all you.”

For the first time that day, Katsuki felt her lips twitch into something resembling a smile.

As they left the store, bags in hand, Katsuki glanced at her reflection in a nearby window. The jagged edges of her long hair caught the light, framing her face in a way that felt bold and different. The colors of the mall around her—bright signs, polished floors, endless rows of clothes—no longer felt overwhelming.

They felt like possibility.

"Hey Katsuki," Masaru smiled. "I've got something else in mind too."

Katsuki grinned.

The salon smelled of shampoo and citrus, the air warm and slightly humid from the steady hum of dryers. Katsuki followed Masaru inside, her steps hesitant and deliberate. The bright overhead lights glinted off rows of mirrors and shelves lined with bottles in every color imaginable. Everything felt pristine, carefully curated—a stark contrast to the storm swirling inside her.

A stylist with a friendly smile greeted them at the counter. “Hi there! Do we have an appointment today?”

Masaru nodded, gesturing toward Katsuki. “For her.”

The words made Katsuki’s stomach flip, her fingers twitching at her sides. She glanced away, her chest tight with a mix of nerves and something she couldn’t quite name. Her. It still felt strange, like slipping on a jacket that wasn’t hers yet. But it didn’t feel wrong.

The stylist’s gaze shifted to Katsuki, her smile warm and inviting. “Great! What are we thinking today?”

Katsuki hesitated, her hands clenching into fists before relaxing again. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “Something… different. Edgy, I guess.”

The stylist’s smile widened. “I love edgy. Let’s get you set up.”

She led Katsuki to a chair near the back, the walls lined with mirrors that seemed to reflect every angle of her uncertainty. Katsuki sat stiffly, the black cape draped over her shoulders feeling heavier than it should. The stylist ran her fingers through Katsuki’s hair, gently tugging at the strands as she examined the texture.

“So, edgy,” the stylist said, her tone light and conversational. “We talking short? Layers? Maybe some bangs?”

Katsuki swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on her reflection. “Short,” she said finally. “Not too short, though. And… yeah, layers. Something that looks… messy, I guess. Like I don’t care.”

The stylist grinned. “Got it. A choppy, textured look with some attitude. Trust me, you’re going to rock it.”

Katsuki nodded, her chest tight as the stylist began. The first snip of the scissors was startling, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet hum of the salon. As the strands fell away, Katsuki’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her ears.

Each lock of hair that hit the floor felt like shedding an old skin, pieces of herself that no longer fit. The weight that had once pulled at her shoulders was disappearing, replaced by a lightness that was both exhilarating and terrifying. She stared at the reflection in front of her, watching as her old self was stripped away, piece by piece.

The mirrors around her caught the transformation from every angle, multiplying it until it felt inescapable. Her heart raced as the stylist worked, the hum of the scissors blending with the muted conversations around them. It felt like the world was moving faster than she could keep up, and yet, in this moment, she couldn’t look away.

When the stylist finally stepped back, spinning the chair around, Katsuki froze. Her breath caught as she stared at the reflection in front of her.

Her hair was shorter now, the choppy layers framing her face in sharp, deliberate lines. The bangs swept across her forehead, jagged but soft, giving her an almost punkish edge. The style wasn’t perfect—it wasn’t meant to be. It was messy and unapologetic, like a declaration of everything she didn’t know how to say.

“Well?” the stylist asked, her voice breaking through the haze. “What do you think?”

Katsuki swallowed hard, her throat tight. “It’s… good,” she said, her voice rough with emotion. “Really good.”

Masaru stepped closer, his gaze soft but proud. “More than good,” he said quietly. “It suits you.”

Katsuki scowled, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “Tch. Don’t get all sappy on me.”

Masaru chuckled, ruffling her hair lightly. “Alright, alright. But seriously—you look amazing.”

As they left the salon, Katsuki caught her reflection in the glass doors. The bright lights from inside spilled onto her face, framing her new haircut in a soft glow. For the first time, she didn’t feel the urge to turn away.

The clouds outside had begun to shift, the heavy gray lightening into softer shades. It wasn’t sunny—not yet—but the promise of it lingered in the air, subtle but undeniable. Katsuki ran her fingers through her hair, the texture unfamiliar but satisfying.

She glanced at Masaru, who was already pulling out his phone. “What now?” she muttered, her tone gruff.

He held up the screen, showing a page of some products. “Haircut’s done. Now, how about we find a good place to style that? A little something new for you.”

Her chest tightened, the offer hitting her harder than she wanted to admit. She rolled her eyes, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Whatever. Just don’t make it weird.”

Masaru smiled, his tone light but warm. “Deal.”

The beauty store was bright and bustling, the shelves lined with products in neat, colorful rows. Katsuki hesitated at the entrance, her hands stuffed deep into her hoodie pockets as she surveyed the scene. The sheer variety was overwhelming—rows of hair products, makeup palettes, brushes, and bottles of things she couldn’t begin to name.

Masaru stepped in beside her, his calm presence a steadying anchor. “Take your time,” he said softly, gesturing to the aisles. “We’ll find what works for you.”

Katsuki nodded, though the knot in her chest didn’t loosen. She wandered toward a display of hair products, her fingers brushing against the smooth bottles. The bright labels promised everything from volume to shine, each one shouting its benefits like a challenge.

“What do I even need?” she muttered, her voice low.

Masaru appeared at her side, his gaze scanning the shelves. “For a cut like yours? Something light for texture. Maybe a pomade or wax.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “You know way too much about this.”

Masaru chuckled, the sound soft and genuine. “Part of the job, kid. But if you want, I can show you how to use it later. It’s easier than it looks.”

She hesitated, her fingers closing around a small jar of wax. “Yeah. Okay.”

The next aisle caught her attention—a section filled with makeup in every shade imaginable. Katsuki froze, her stomach twisting as she stared at the rows of lipsticks and powders. The colors seemed too loud, too bright, like they didn’t belong anywhere near her.

“Something catch your eye?” Masaru asked, his tone light.

Katsuki scowled, shoving her hands deeper into her pockets. “No. It’s stupid.”

Masaru tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “It’s not stupid if you’re curious. Want to give it a shot?”

She glanced at him, her chest tight. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Masaru smiled, his voice gentle. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

Her throat tightened, the words hitting her harder than she wanted to admit. She nodded stiffly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Fine. Whatever.”

The store clerk was young and friendly, her bright smile putting Katsuki slightly at ease as she approached. “Looking for anything in particular?”

Katsuki shrugged, her hands twitching at her sides. “Just… something simple.”

The clerk nodded, her tone easy. “How about a tinted lip balm? It’s subtle, but it adds a little color. Great for beginners.”

Katsuki hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

The clerk picked out a soft, neutral shade and handed it to her. Katsuki turned it over in her hands, the small tube feeling heavier than it should.

“You can try it out here if you want,” the clerk said, gesturing to a nearby mirror.

Katsuki glanced at the mirror, her chest tightening. “Uh, no. It’s fine. I’ll just… get it.”

The clerk smiled, unfazed. “No problem. Let me know if you need anything else!”

As they headed to the counter, Katsuki glanced at Masaru, her voice gruff. “Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

Masaru smiled faintly. “Not a word.”

The ride back was quieter, the weight of the day settling over them like a thick blanket. Katsuki stared out the window, watching as the gray clouds began to break apart, faint streaks of pale blue peeking through.

Her hands rested on the bag in her lap, her fingers brushing over the edges of the wax jar and the lip balm. They felt like symbols of something she couldn’t quite define—a bridge between who she was and who she might become.

“You did good today,” Masaru said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

Katsuki glanced at him, her brow furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you took a step forward,” Masaru replied, his tone calm. “That’s not always easy.”

She looked away, her chest tightening. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t feel like enough.”

Masaru’s gaze softened. “It’s not about doing it all at once. It’s about trying. And you’re doing that. That’s enough.”

Katsuki swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak. “Thanks,” she muttered, the word barely audible.

Masaru smiled, his attention returning to the road. “Anytime.”

When they arrived home, Katsuki hesitated at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. The house loomed in front of her, its familiar shape suddenly intimidating.

Masaru placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip light but steady. “You ready?”

She nodded, though her heart was pounding. “Yeah.”

The door creaked open, and they stepped inside. Mitsuki’s voice called from the kitchen, sharp and impatient. “You’re finally back? Took you long enough.”

Katsuki rolled her eyes, her chest tightening as she set the bags down. “Tch. Miss me that much?”

Mitsuki appeared in the doorway, her gaze flicking between Katsuki and Masaru. Her expression softened slightly, though the tension didn’t entirely leave her face. “Dinner’s almost ready. Don’t make me call you twice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki muttered, grabbing the bags and heading upstairs.

In her room, Katsuki set the bags on her bed, her fingers brushing against the handles. The day had been long and overwhelming, but as she stared at the small collection of things she’d chosen, a faint warmth spread through her chest.

The reflection in her dresser mirror caught her eye, and for the first time, she didn’t turn away. She ran a hand through her hair, the choppy layers soft and deliberate under her fingers. The girl staring back wasn’t fully formed yet, but she was there.

And that was enough for now.

The house was quiet as Katsuki sat on her bed, the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs the only sound cutting through the stillness. The bags from the day were scattered around her, their contents half-pulled out and lying in a messy heap. Her gaze drifted to them, her chest tightening as she thought about what they represented—something new, something terrifying, something hers.

Her fingers brushed over the jar of hair wax she’d bought, the cool, matte surface grounding against her skin. She unscrewed the lid, the faint scent of citrus wafting up to meet her. It was subtle, clean, and sharp—everything she wanted to feel like but didn’t. Not yet.

Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye, and she hesitated before standing, the wax still in hand. The floor creaked softly beneath her feet as she stepped closer, her heart pounding with each step.

The girl in the mirror stared back at her, framed by the golden glow of her desk lamp. Her new haircut caught the light, the choppy layers casting faint shadows across her face. She ran her fingers through her hair, the strands slipping through like water. The wax felt strange between her fingers—sticky, malleable—but she rubbed it into her hands and began working it into her hair.

The strands took shape, the jagged edges settling into place with a rough, deliberate texture. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. She tilted her head, watching how the light caught on the layers, and for a moment, she felt something unfamiliar. Pride.

The moment was fleeting, shattered by the weight of her thoughts. Her hands dropped to her sides, her gaze falling as her chest tightened. What would they say? The question echoed in her mind, sharp and relentless.

Her friends would notice the changes immediately. Mina would probably squeal and launch into a thousand questions, her energy as overwhelming as ever. Eijirou would grin and tell her she looked badass, no matter what he actually thought. Denki and Sero would crack jokes, some landing, some not, but always with the intention of lightening the mood.

And then there was Izuku.

Her throat tightened, the thought of him making her stomach churn. What would he think? Would he even care? The distance between them felt insurmountable, a chasm carved by months of silence and avoidance. She thought of his eyes—once so bright and full of life, now dulled by exhaustion and something she couldn’t name.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The memory of his smile, soft and full of warmth, lingered in her mind like a ghost. She wanted to see it again, to hear him call her name with that same gentle determination that used to drive her insane. But now? Now she wasn’t sure if she ever would.

What if I’ve already lost him?

Her legs gave out, and she sank onto the edge of her bed, her hands gripping the edge like it might keep her from falling further. The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in as her thoughts spiraled. What if they don’t understand? What if I can’t be a hero anymore? What if they see me as some kind of freak?

The idea of facing her teachers, her classmates, the world—it was suffocating. She pictured All Might’s quiet frown, Aizawa’s piercing gaze, the whispered questions that would follow her everywhere. He’s supposed to be strong. What happened to him?

Her chest heaved, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She pressed her fists against her thighs, the pressure grounding but not enough to stop the storm inside her.

Her eyes flicked to her phone, the dark screen mocking her with its silence. She hadn’t reached out to anyone—hadn’t dared to. The group chat messages still lingered, unread, and the thought of opening them made her stomach twist. What the hell am I supposed to say?

The soft knock at her door startled her, breaking through her spiraling thoughts. “Katsuki?” Masaru’s voice was gentle, careful. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her throat tight as she stared at the floor. “Yeah,” she said finally, though the word felt hollow.

“Can I come in?”

She hesitated, then sighed. “Whatever.”

The door creaked open, and Masaru stepped inside, a mug of tea in his hands. He crossed the room slowly, setting the mug on her nightstand before sitting beside her on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, the faint scent of the tea mingling with the citrus from her hair wax.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the day settling between them. Finally, Masaru spoke. “You did a lot today.”

Katsuki snorted, her gaze fixed on her lap. “Yeah. And?”

“And that’s not nothing,” Masaru said, his tone steady. “It’s hard, what you’re doing. But you’re doing it.”

She swallowed hard, her throat burning. “Doesn’t feel like enough,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Masaru placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip light but steady. “It’s a start. And that’s enough for now.”

Her chest ached, the words hitting her harder than she wanted to admit. She didn’t respond, but the faint tension in her shoulders eased, just a little.

After Masaru left, Katsuki sat in her room, the mug of tea warming her hands as she stared out the window. The clouds had parted slightly, letting faint slivers of moonlight streak through. The world outside was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt heavy but not suffocating.

Her gaze drifted back to the mirror, where her reflection caught the pale glow of the moonlight. She wasn’t sure who the girl in the mirror was yet, but for the first time, she didn’t hate her.

She set the mug down, her fingers brushing against the edge of the desk. Her phone buzzed faintly, a new message lighting up the screen. She didn’t open it—didn’t need to. Not tonight.

Tonight, it was enough to just sit with herself and let the quiet settle.

Chapter Text

The hallway stretched ahead of her like an unforgiving gauntlet, its polished tiles gleaming too brightly under the merciless glare of the fluorescent lights. Katsuki’s feet refused to move, rooted to the ground as if the tiles had claimed her as part of their reflective surface. Her heart thudded wildly against her ribs, each beat reverberating through her chest like a warning siren, low and relentless.

Her breathing was shallow, her lungs barely able to pull in the thick, stifling air. It clung to her skin, heavy and oppressive, pressing down on her shoulders as though the building itself sought to crush her. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, an incessant hum that clawed at the edges of her already frayed nerves.

She twisted the sleeves of her uniform between her fingers, the coarse fabric biting into her palms. The sharp sensation was grounding, a tiny anchor in the whirlwind of anxiety threatening to swallow her whole. Her jaw tightened, the tendons in her neck standing out sharply as she fought to keep the rising tide of panic at bay.

The door to the classroom loomed ahead like a monument to her fears. The wood grain swirled and shifted in her vision, morphing into patterns that mirrored the chaos in her chest. Her throat tightened as if the air itself had turned solid, leaving her gasping for something she couldn’t quite reach.

Why didn’t I just text Mina? Or Eijirou? Her thoughts were bitter, edged with self-reproach. Her hands clenched tighter. Because then I’d have to explain. Then they’d know.

The thought lodged itself deep, a jagged stone that refused to be dislodged. Admitting the truth felt like standing naked in a storm, vulnerable to the cold judgment she was certain would follow.

“Katsuki.”

The voice came from behind her, cutting through her spiraling thoughts like a blade. She flinched, her shoulders jerking upward as she turned. Aizawa stood a few steps away, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

His dark eyes held hers, steady and grounding, as if daring her to fall apart while he was there to catch her. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, and placed a hand on her shoulder. The warmth seeped through the stiff fabric of her blazer, a quiet reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone.

“You’re overthinking this,” he said, his voice low and even. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a reassurance, a promise that the world wouldn’t end if she stepped forward. “We missed you.”

The simplicity of his words made her chest tighten further, but it wasn’t the suffocating pressure of before. It was something softer, something that left her throat burning and her vision stinging. She nodded, her voice caught somewhere between her chest and her teeth.

Aizawa let his hand drop, stepping back with the same measured calm. “Take a moment if you need it. But they’re waiting for you. And they’re glad you’re here.”

She tried to hold onto his words, turning them over in her mind like a puzzle as she watched him push open the classroom door. The creak of the hinges sounded impossibly loud, echoing in her ears as if the whole school were listening. Her boots scuffed against the tiles as she followed him inside.

The classroom was a vacuum, its usual hum of chatter extinguished the moment Katsuki crossed the threshold. The weight of their stares hit her like a wave, a tangible pressure against her skin. Her boots clicked softly on the tiles, each step measured and deliberate, though her legs felt unsteady, as if they might give out at any moment.

She kept her gaze fixed downward, unwilling to meet their eyes. The floor blurred into a patchwork of scuffed tiles, the patterns smudging as her vision teetered on the edge of focus. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening against the storm of emotions rising in her chest.

Aizawa’s voice cut through the oppressive silence, his calm, even tone anchoring her in the present. “Katsuki’s been gone for a few days,” he began, each word deliberate and weighted. “During her work study, she experienced a quirk accident. The quirk, called Panacea, altered her body in several ways. While it healed all her past injuries, it also caused... other changes.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Katsuki’s fingers twitched at her sides, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms as she fought to keep herself grounded. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the murmurs and whispers that rippled through the room like static.

“She and her family needed time to process these changes,” Aizawa continued, his tone softening slightly. “But she’s here now. I’ll let her explain the rest.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. It pressed against her chest, wrapping around her like a vice as she stood frozen in place. Her hands fidgeted, the subtle movement betraying the tension coiled in her body. Her lungs felt too small, each breath shallow and unsatisfying as she tried to summon the courage to speak.

The room seemed brighter than before, the fluorescent lights glaring down like interrogation lamps. Katsuki’s gaze flicked up briefly, catching a blur of faces. Mina sat near the middle of the room, her brows furrowed and her mouth slightly open, as if caught between shock and a question she couldn’t quite voice. Eijirou’s hands were clasped tightly together on his desk, his knuckles pale against his tanned skin. His expression was softer, concern etched into every line of his face.

And then there was Izuku.

His face was flushed, his freckles standing out starkly against his red cheeks. His wide green eyes were locked on her, bright with an emotion she couldn’t name. His lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came out. The intensity of his stare made her stomach twist, a sensation that felt as foreign as it was overwhelming.

Her voice wavered as she finally spoke, the words scratching against the rawness in her throat. “I…” She faltered, her lips trembling. “I don’t really know how to say this.”

The weight of the room bore down on her, and her hands found the hem of her skirt. She clutched the fabric tightly, the motion grounding her in the same way twisting her sleeves had earlier. “The quirk… it didn’t just heal me. It… it changed me.”

Her chest ached with the effort to keep her voice steady, the words spilling out haltingly. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know if I’m a girl or a boy or… something else.” Her shoulders hunched as she forced the confession into the open, her voice growing quieter with each word. “But I need to figure it out. I need to figure me out.”

Her gaze flicked up again, this time lingering long enough to gauge the expressions on their faces. Mina’s jaw was slack, her shock plain as day, though her wide eyes carried an undercurrent of warmth. Eijirou’s lips were pressed into a thin line, his brow creased in quiet worry. Denki looked more confused than anything, his head tilted slightly, as if trying to puzzle out an answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask.

And Izuku…

Her heart twisted painfully as she met his gaze. His expression was unreadable, a chaotic mix of emotions warring on his face. His hands trembled slightly where they rested on his desk, his knuckles brushing against a notebook whose pages were crumpled at the edges.

Her throat tightened further, the heat of embarrassment crawling up her neck. She quickly looked away, her focus snapping back to the floor. “I know this probably seems weird,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m still me. I’m still Katsuki.”

The silence that followed was heavier than anything she had ever known. It filled the room like a dense fog, thick and suffocating. Her classmates’ reactions lingered in her mind, a collage of expressions she couldn’t shake, but the sting of Izuku’s stare burned the deepest.

The silence lingered, oppressive and absolute. Katsuki’s breath came in shallow puffs, her lungs working hard against the tightening grip of anxiety coiling in her chest. The fluorescent lights above felt harsher now, their sterile glow casting unforgiving shadows across the room. She could almost feel the weight of each stare, prickling against her skin like a thousand tiny needles.

The floor beneath her boots was a smudged mosaic, the patterns twisting as her vision blurred with unshed tears. She blinked rapidly, willing them away. No way in hell am I crying. Not here. Not now.

Mina moved first. Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood, the sound cutting through the heavy quiet like a blade. Katsuki’s gaze darted to her, catching the slight trembling of Mina’s hands as they fidgeted with the hem of her blazer. Despite the nervous energy in her movements, Mina’s expression softened as she met Katsuki’s eyes. She offered a tentative smile, the kind that said, I don’t have the words, but I’m here.

The knot in Katsuki’s chest loosened, just barely. She gave Mina a small nod, her lips pressing together in a faint attempt at acknowledgment. It wasn’t much, but it was all she could manage.

Eijirou followed suit, his large hands resting firmly on his desk as he leaned forward. His brows were drawn together, a deep furrow of concern etched across his face. “Katsuki,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was afraid to push too hard. “Thanks for telling us. Really.”

His sincerity struck a chord she wasn’t prepared for, and her hands twitched against her skirt. “Tch,” she muttered, the sound barely audible. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he nodded. “Got it. No big deal.” His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of warmth that made her chest ache.

Denki, on the other hand, looked completely lost. His head tilted slightly, his mouth opening and closing as if testing words before abandoning them. Finally, he let out a quiet, “Wait… so, uh, what do we call you now?” His voice was hesitant, but not unkind.

Katsuki blinked, her fingers stilling as she considered his question. “Just… Katsuki,” she said finally, the words clipped but firm. “For now.”

Denki nodded quickly, his expression a mix of relief and determination. “Cool. Yeah. Katsuki. Got it.” His lips quirked into a faint grin, and he gave her a thumbs-up. “You’re still scary as hell, so nothing’s really changed there.”

A snort escaped her before she could stop it, the unexpected sound startling even herself. She covered her mouth with her hand, her cheeks burning as she caught the surprised looks from her classmates. “Shut up, idiot,” she muttered, but there was no real bite to her words.

And then there was Izuku.

Katsuki dared a glance in his direction, her gaze catching on the way his hands gripped the edges of his desk so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His shoulders were tense, his posture stiff, but his eyes… his eyes were locked on her, wide and unblinking, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of her face.

Her stomach twisted, an uneasy mix of emotions swirling inside her. She couldn’t read him, couldn’t parse the layers of whatever the hell he was feeling. All she knew was that his intensity was too much, too raw, and it made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

“Kacchan…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

She bit her lips as her face burned like an egg on a sidewalk on a summer day, her chest tightening. “Don’t,” she said sharply, cutting him off before he could continue. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, the fabric of her skirt crumpling under her grip. “Just don’t.”

Izuku’s mouth snapped shut, his brows knitting together in confusion and hurt. He nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to his desk as his shoulders sagged. The sight made something in her chest twinge, a pang of guilt that she shoved down as quickly as it surfaced.

Aizawa cleared his throat, drawing the attention back to him. His gaze flicked briefly to Katsuki before addressing the class. “If anyone has questions, ask them respectfully. Otherwise, move on.” His tone brooked no argument, and the subtle shift in his posture made it clear that he would enforce his words without hesitation.

The tension in the room began to ease, the heavy silence breaking apart into murmurs and the rustling of papers. Katsuki let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders slumping slightly as the collective focus on her waned.

She made her way to her desk, her movements stiff and deliberate as if each step required conscious effort. The chair scraped softly against the floor as she pulled it out and sat down. Her fingers brushed against the edge of her notebook, the familiar texture of the worn cover grounding her in the moment.

The weight in her chest didn’t dissipate entirely, but it lessened just enough for her to breathe. She clicked her pen absently, the sharp sound cutting through the lingering haze in her mind. Her gaze dropped to the blank page in front of her, and without thinking, her pen began to move, sketching aimless lines and shapes that slowly began to form patterns.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Izuku watching her again. He wasn’t staring as openly as before, but his gaze was still palpable, a quiet presence that she couldn’t ignore. She turned her head slightly, meeting his eyes for the briefest moment before looking away.

Her cheeks burned, and she hated the way her heart skipped at the soft, almost hesitant smile he gave her. What the hell is wrong with him? she thought, her fingers tightening around her pen. What the hell is wrong with me?

The gym was alive with sound and movement, a stark contrast to the suffocating silence of the classroom. The echo of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor mingled with the rhythmic thud of basketballs and the occasional burst of laughter. The sharp, acrid smell of sweat and rubber lingered in the air, grounding Katsuki in its familiarity.

She hesitated in the doorway, her fingers twitching against the hem of her new gym uniform. The fabric was different from what she was used to—softer, lighter, and clinging in ways that made her feel uncomfortably exposed. She tugged at the sleeves, her hands fidgeting as though trying to mold the material into something less foreign. Even her boots felt wrong, their weight unfamiliar now that her body had changed.

Her gauntlets, her pride and protection, were absent. The absence of their reassuring weight on her arms left her feeling unbalanced, like a soldier stripped of their armor. The support team had taken them for redesign, promising adjustments to accommodate her new frame. She hated how small she felt without them, as though the lack of those heavy, familiar pieces made her somehow lesser.

The gym lights cast a pale glow over the space, their brightness cutting through the afternoon shadows. Katsuki’s eyes scanned the room, searching for an anchor, but the sheer openness of the space felt overwhelming. Her heart thudded in her chest, a dull ache that mirrored the tightness in her throat.

“Blasty!” Mina’s voice rang out, bright and unmistakable. Before Katsuki could brace herself, Mina barreled toward her, arms outstretched. The impact of the hug was sudden and forceful, making Katsuki stumble slightly as her breath hitched.

Mina’s arms wrapped around her tightly, her warmth overwhelming. Katsuki stiffened, her muscles locking up under the unexpected contact. “Where the hell have you been?” Mina demanded, pulling back just enough to meet Katsuki’s eyes. Her tone was a mix of relief and exasperation, her brows knitted together in concern.

Katsuki opened her mouth to reply, but Mina’s gaze swept over her before she could speak. Her expression shifted as she took in the changes—the softer lines of Katsuki’s face, the way the gym uniform hugged her smaller frame. Mina froze, her words catching in her throat, and Katsuki’s stomach twisted as she waited for the inevitable.

“You look…” Mina hesitated, her brows furrowing. “You look cute. Different, but in a good way. You look happier.” Her voice softened, and her lips curved into a tentative smile.

Katsuki’s hands twitched at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. She didn’t know how to respond, so she settled for a quiet, “Tch. Whatever.”

Mina tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “Wait,” she said slowly. “I’ve been calling you ‘he.’ Is that still…?”

The question hung in the air, delicate but direct. Katsuki’s throat tightened, her breath catching as she tried to find the words. “I…” She hesitated, her fingers brushing against the hem of her shirt. “I don’t know,” she admitted finally, her voice low and strained. “But… I think I want to try using ‘she’ for now. Just… to see how it feels.”

Mina’s face lit up with a wide, genuine smile. “She it is, then!” she said brightly. “Thanks for telling me, Kacchan. And, uh… if I screw up, feel free to throw something at me. Just not anything that explodes, okay?”

A reluctant snort escaped Katsuki, the sound soft and unexpected. “Tch. I’ll think about it.”

Mina’s playful grin softened into something warmer, her usual exuberance giving way to quiet sincerity. “For what it’s worth,” she said softly, “you’re still you, Kats. Always have been, always will be.”

The words hit harder than Katsuki expected, settling deep in her chest like a stone dropped into water. Her throat burned, and she swallowed hard, nodding sharply. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Oh!” Mina’s face lit up again, her energy returning in full force. “You should come over tonight! We can do our nails or something. You know, girl stuff!”

Katsuki blinked, her brows furrowing. “Nails? What the hell am I supposed to do with my nails?”

Mina giggled, grabbing Katsuki’s hands and holding them up. “You’ve got good hands, Kacchan! I bet we could make them look adorable. Trust me.”

Katsuki rolled her eyes, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Fine. Whatever.”

Mina squealed, clapping her hands together. “Yes! This is gonna be so much fun!”

Not far away, Katsuki caught sight of Izuku, half-hidden behind a training dummy. His movements were stiff and hesitant, his attention clearly elsewhere as his gaze kept flicking in her direction. He fumbled with a basic grappling technique, his usual precision giving way to clumsiness.

Her stomach churned as she watched him, an unfamiliar mix of emotions bubbling to the surface. He looked like he was trying to process something, his brows drawn together and his lips pressed into a thin line. The sight made her chest ache, though she couldn’t quite explain why.

Izuku stumbled over his own feet, the training dummy wobbling precariously as he tripped and fell face-first onto the mat. The dull thud echoed through the gym, and Katsuki couldn’t stop the soft giggle that escaped her lips.

The sound startled her, unfamiliar and unguarded. It drew Izuku’s attention immediately, his head snapping up as his wide green eyes locked onto hers. His cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red, and his mouth opened slightly, as if to say something, but no words came out.

Mina’s grin grew impossibly wide, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her tone dripping with glee. “You guys are so stupidly cute.”

Katsuki’s face burned, her hands twitching at her sides. “Shut up,” she muttered, her voice sharp but lacking its usual bite.

Izuku scrambled to sit up, his hands fumbling awkwardly as he tried to push himself off the mat. His face was flushed a deep crimson, his freckles standing out like constellations against his overheated skin. He avoided Katsuki’s gaze, his eyes darting everywhere else—the floor, the training dummy, the wall—but his focus kept snapping back to her as if drawn by an invisible force.

Katsuki crossed her arms, her lips pressing into a tight line as she tried to smother the lingering smile on her face. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck, spreading across her cheeks, and the realization made her scowl. “What the hell are you doing, Izuku?” she snapped, the edge in her voice betraying more embarrassment than irritation.

Izuku flinched at her tone, his hands pausing mid-motion. “I—I was just practicing,” he stammered, his words tumbling out in a flustered rush. “I wasn’t—well, I didn’t mean to—um—”

“Spit it out, already,” Katsuki interrupted, her foot tapping impatiently against the floor. She hated the way her heart twisted at the sight of him fumbling, but she hated even more how much she didn’t hate it.

Izuku finally managed to stand, brushing imaginary dust off his gym uniform. He hesitated, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides before he clasped them together in front of him. “Your laugh,” he said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… it’s nice.”

Katsuki froze, her mind blanking as the words hit her like a punch to the gut. Her mouth opened, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but no sound came out. She could only stare at him, wide-eyed, as his words echoed in her ears.

“Not that you don’t always sound nice!” Izuku added quickly, waving his hands in front of him as if trying to backpedal. “I mean—uh—it’s just that I haven’t heard you laugh like that in a while, and it—uh—made me happy, I guess?”

The tips of Katsuki’s ears burned, and she quickly turned her head away, her arms tightening across her chest. “You’re such a damn idiot,” she muttered, but the words came out softer than she intended.

Izuku’s hands dropped to his sides, and he gave her a small, sheepish smile. “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice warm and quiet. “But I mean it.”

Katsuki risked a glance at him, her gaze flicking up just long enough to catch the softness in his expression. His green eyes were impossibly bright, and the faint curve of his lips carried none of the usual hesitation she’d grown used to seeing. It wasn’t fair, how easily he could look at her like that—like she was something worth focusing on.

Her stomach twisted again, and she let out an annoyed huff, breaking the moment before it could swallow her whole. “Get back to your stupid training,” she snapped, jerking her chin toward the dummy. “You’re already bad enough without slacking off.”

Izuku blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but he nodded quickly. “Right! Of course! Training! I’ll—uh—I’ll get back to it.” He gave her a quick bow, his movements jerky and flustered, before turning back to the dummy.

Katsuki watched him for a moment, her gaze lingering on the way he moved—clumsy and endearing, like he was still learning how to occupy his own space. Her chest felt tight, but not in the suffocating way she was used to. It was something lighter, something almost warm, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Don’t trip again, nerd,” she muttered under her breath, the corner of her mouth twitching upward despite herself.

Izuku didn’t turn around, but she saw his shoulders tense briefly before he raised his hands to the dummy, resuming his practice with renewed determination.

“Kacchan,” Mina’s voice broke through her thoughts, sing-song and dripping with mischief. Katsuki turned to see her leaning against the wall, her grin wide enough to split her face. “You’re staring.”

Katsuki’s blush deepened, and she shot Mina a withering glare. “Shut the hell up, Pinky.”

Mina only laughed, her hands clasped behind her back as she rocked on her heels. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she said, her tone annoyingly sweet. “I’m just enjoying the show.”

Before Katsuki could retort, a sharp, grating voice cut through the gym, dragging her attention away. “Well, well, Bakugou.”

Her stomach sank as she turned, spotting Mineta striding toward her with his usual sleazy smirk plastered across his face. His eyes flicked over her, the scrutiny making her skin crawl.

Izuku’s fists connected clumsily with the training dummy, his movements stiff and mechanical. His heart was still racing, his mind a tangled mess of emotions that refused to settle. He glanced over his shoulder—just for a second—catching a glimpse of Katsuki talking to Mina. Her arms were crossed, her expression sharp as always, but there was a faint blush dusting her cheeks, barely visible under the gym’s pale lights.

His stomach twisted, a warm, confusing knot that made him miss his next strike entirely. The dummy wobbled, and Izuku barely caught it in time, his hands trembling against the padded surface.

Kacchannnnnnnn…

He turned back to the dummy, his brows furrowing as he tried to focus. It wasn’t like this was new—he’d always felt something when it came to her. Something fierce and overwhelming, a mix of admiration and frustration and… something else. But now, everything felt different, sharper, like the edges of those feelings had been honed into something he couldn’t ignore.

Does this mean I’m bisexual? Pansexual? His thoughts spiraled, tripping over themselves as he tried to put his emotions into neat, understandable boxes. I liked Kacchan before—when she was… He faltered, his mind stumbling over the words. When she was a boy. But now she’s a girl, and I still… I still like her.

His cheeks burned, the heat creeping down his neck and spreading across his chest. It wasn’t just her appearance that had changed—it was the way she carried herself, the subtle vulnerability she let slip through her sharp edges. It was the way her laugh sounded, soft and unguarded, like a crack of sunlight breaking through a storm cloud.

Does it even matter what I call it? he wondered, his gaze flicking toward her again. Maybe it’s not about labels. Maybe it’s just… Kacchan.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, and he stumbled back, his hands falling to his sides. His chest ached, a tight, unfamiliar pressure that made it hard to breathe. He pressed a hand to his heart, willing it to slow down, but the image of her wouldn’t leave his mind.

She’s still Kacchan. Still loud and fiery and impossible. Still the person who pushes me to be better, who makes my heart race in ways I don’t understand.

The realization settled over him, heavy but not unwelcome. He didn’t have all the answers—not yet—but for now, it was enough to know that his feelings hadn’t changed. If anything, they’d only grown stronger.

Izuku took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists. The dummy loomed in front of him, and he faced it with renewed determination. I’ll figure it out, he thought. But first, I have to make sure she’s okay.

Katsuki turned slowly, her movements sharp and deliberate, as Mineta’s words hung in the air like a foul stench. The smirk on his face widened, a twisted parody of confidence that only served to fan the flames of her rising anger.

“What the hell do you want, Mineta?” she snapped, her voice low and edged with warning.

“Oh, nothing much,” Mineta replied, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. He crossed his arms and leaned back slightly, his gaze raking over her in a way that made her skin crawl. “Just curious, is all. I mean, you’ve always been loud and, uh, explosive , but this? Dressing up like this, acting like you’re one of those hotties?” He gestured vaguely toward the group of girls warming up nearby.

Katsuki’s nails dug into her palms, the sting grounding her as the heat in her chest flared hotter. “You wanna rephrase that, you little shit?” she growled, her voice dangerously low.

Mineta shrugged, his grin unfaltering. “Why? It’s not like I’m saying anything untrue. C’mon, Bakugou. You really think putting on a skirt and batting your eyes is gonna fool anyone? We all know what you really are.”

Her breath hitched, the words slicing through her like a jagged blade. The weight of his sneer, of his casual dismissal of everything she’d just started to come to terms with, pressed against her ribs, making it harder to breathe.

“Shut the hell up,” she hissed, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

Mineta stepped closer, emboldened by her reaction. “Why so touchy? I mean, it’s kinda funny, right? Big bad Bakugou playing dress-up. Do you even know what you’re doing, or is this just for attention? Trying to be the center of the universe like always?”

Something inside her cracked. Her fists clenched tighter, her entire body trembling as the weight of his words pressed down on her like a suffocating wave. Her jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together as the flood of anger, humiliation, and something deeper threatened to consume her.

“Shut. Up.” The words came out sharper this time, her voice cutting through the air like a whip.

Mineta’s smirk twisted into something darker, crueler. “You can’t handle a little honesty? What’s the matter, Bakugou? Afraid we’re all gonna see through the act? No matter how much you dress it up, you’re still the same angry little—”

“Enough.”

Izuku’s voice rang out, startlingly firm and louder than Katsuki had ever heard it. Both Katsuki and Mineta turned to see him standing a few feet away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His usually soft green eyes were hard and unyielding, a fire burning in their depths that sent a jolt of something unnameable through Katsuki’s chest.

“Back off, Mineta,” Izuku said, his voice steady despite the tension radiating off him. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

Mineta raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering for the first time. “Her?” he echoed mockingly, drawing out the word. “Oh, come on, Midoriya. You’re really buying into this?”

Izuku stepped forward, his shoulders squared and his gaze unwavering. “It’s not about what I think,” he said, his voice firm. “It’s about respect. And you don’t have any.”

Mineta scoffed, his grin returning as he crossed his arms. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you’re falling for this crap, too. I mean, seriously—”

Before he could finish, Jirou’s earphone jack lashed out, wrapping around his ankle with startling speed. She yanked hard, sending Mineta crashing to the floor with a yelp.

“Oops,” Jirou said flatly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She stood a few feet away, her arms crossed and her expression sharp enough to cut glass. “Guess I tripped you. My bad.”

Mineta glared up at her, his face red with a mix of anger and embarrassment. “What the hell, Jirou?!”

Jirou’s smirk widened, and she leaned forward slightly, her earphone jacks twitching as if ready to strike again. “You heard him,” she said, jerking her head toward Izuku. “Back. Off.”

Mineta scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off with exaggerated indignation. “You’re all crazy,” he muttered, shooting Katsuki a final sneer. “Whatever. Have fun playing pretend.”

He stalked off, his steps uneven as he muttered under his breath, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

Katsuki’s fists remained clenched at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as she stared at the spot where Mineta had stood. Her chest heaved, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins as her mind replayed his words, each one a fresh sting.

“Hey.” Izuku’s voice was soft now, hesitant. She turned to see him standing a few steps away, his hands wringing nervously. “Are you okay?”

She hated how much the question made her chest tighten, how the concern in his eyes felt like both a comfort and a challenge. “Tch. I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice rough but steady.

Jirou stepped closer, her sharp expression softening as she gave Katsuki a once-over. “He’s a dick,” she said simply, her tone calm but resolute. “Don’t listen to him.”

Katsuki let out a dry laugh, the sound bitter and low. “Yeah. No shit.”

But when she glanced at Jirou, she caught the faintest hint of a smile, a quiet reassurance that didn’t need words. Izuku was still hovering nearby, his hands twitching as though he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

The gym buzzed with background noise again, the sounds of sneakers and distant chatter filling the space, but for Katsuki, the world felt oddly still. Her hands twitched at her sides, the lingering tension coiling in her muscles like a spring wound too tight. She glanced at Jirou, who gave her a small nod before turning and walking off without another word, her earphone jacks swaying slightly as she moved.

Izuku stayed rooted to the spot, his green eyes fixed on Katsuki with a mixture of concern and something softer—something she didn’t want to name. His hands fidgeted at his sides, his knuckles brushing against the hem of his shirt.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice quieter this time.

Katsuki’s gaze darted to him, catching the slight furrow in his brow, the way his lips pressed together as if he were holding back more words. The sight sent a strange ache through her chest, a sensation she didn’t know how to deal with.

“I said I’m fine, didn’t I?” she snapped, the bite in her tone lacking its usual edge. She turned away, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “That little creep’s not worth my time.”

Izuku hesitated, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. “You don’t have to pretend, you know,” he said softly, his voice carrying a sincerity that made her stomach twist. “It’s okay to feel… upset.”

Her jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together as his words settled over her. “Tch. What the hell do you know?” she muttered, her voice low but not as sharp as before.

“I know it’s hard,” he said, stepping closer. “I know people say stupid, awful things, and it’s not fair.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and unshakable. Katsuki’s fingers flexed against her arms, the tension in her chest making it hard to breathe. She hated how much his words got under her skin, how the quiet warmth in his voice made her want to believe him.

“Whatever,” she muttered, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “Let’s just drop it, okay?”

Izuku nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Okay,” he said, his voice still soft. “But… if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

She didn’t respond, but the flicker of warmth in her chest refused to be ignored.

The sparring mats beneath Katsuki’s boots were firm, their slightly rough texture pressing against the soles of her feet as she shifted her stance. The air in the gym was thick with the mingling scents of sweat and rubber, sharp and grounding, each breath pulling her further into the moment. The faint squeak of sneakers and muted chatter in the background became distant, like the white noise of a television left on in another room. Here, on the mat, it was just her and Izuku.

Her crimson eyes locked onto him, scanning every movement with practiced precision. His stance was better than she’d expected—his legs set firmly, his hands raised, his posture balanced. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the slight furrow of his brow as he focused, determined not to make the first mistake. His uniform clung to his damp skin, darkened patches of sweat highlighting the lines of his lean frame.

“Don’t freeze up on me, Izuku,” she taunted, her voice cutting through the charged silence. The sound of her own words felt sharper than usual, her tone lighter—teasing, almost playful. She hated how much it revealed, how it cracked through her usual defenses without permission.

Izuku blinked, his green eyes wide and bright as they flicked to hers. “I’m not freezing,” he countered, his voice steady but tinged with nervous energy. “I’m waiting.”

A grin tugged at her lips, sharp and wolfish. “You think waiting’s gonna help you? Cute.”

She moved first, her body a blur of motion as she darted forward, testing his reflexes. Her muscles coiled and released with practiced ease, each step deliberate and precise. The faint squeak of her boots against the mat echoed in her ears, the sound blending with the rhythmic pounding of her heart.

Izuku blocked her strike just in time, his arms trembling under the force of her blow. The impact sent a shockwave up her arm, the satisfying jolt grounding her in the present. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin where their bodies nearly touched, the faint scent of his sweat mingling with the metallic tang of exertion in the air.

“Not bad,” she muttered, her voice low as she pulled back, circling him like a predator sizing up its prey. Her eyes flicked over him, noting the slight shifts in his stance—the way his weight shifted onto his back foot, the tightening of his jaw. He’s nervous, she thought, a flicker of satisfaction blooming in her chest. But he’s not backing down.

They moved in tandem, exchanging blows with a rhythm that felt both chaotic and synchronized. Her fists connected with his forearms, the dull thud of impact reverberating through her bones. His counters were clumsy but earnest, each strike carrying a determination that made her chest ache.

Damn nerd, she thought, her movements sharp as she ducked under one of his swings. Always trying so hard.

Her gaze caught on his face for a split second, the concentration etched into his features making her stomach twist. His green eyes burned with an intensity she couldn’t ignore, their usual softness replaced by something fierce and unyielding. It wasn’t just determination—it was for her. He was pushing himself for her.

Her breath hitched, the realization making her stumble just slightly. Izuku seized the opportunity, his fist grazing her shoulder as she twisted to avoid the full force of his strike. “Gotcha,” he breathed, his voice low and breathless.

She gritted her teeth, heat blooming across her cheeks as she swung her leg out, sweeping his feet out from under him. He hit the mat with a grunt, the sound pulling her back to the moment. She stood over him, her chest heaving, her fists clenched at her sides as she tried to steady her racing heart.

“You’re still too slow,” she muttered, her voice rough as she extended a hand toward him.

He stared up at her, his face flushed and his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His fingers brushed against hers as he took her hand, the contact sending a spark of warmth up her arm. She pulled him to his feet, their faces close enough that she could see the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, the way his damp curls stuck to his skin.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice soft as their gazes locked.

Katsuki’s breath caught, her heart thundering in her chest as she tried to tear her eyes away. She could feel the heat radiating between them, the tension so thick it felt like a tangible thing pressing against her skin. His green eyes were too bright, too open, like he could see straight through her.

Damn it, she thought, her chest tightening. Why does he have to look at me like that?

She broke the moment with a sharp exhale, releasing his hand and stepping back. “You’ve still got a long way to go,” she said, her voice rough as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Izuku smiled, small and shy, his cheeks still pink. “I’ll get there,” he said quietly, his gaze steady. “I’ll keep trying.”

Her heart twisted again, the sincerity in his voice making it impossible to look away. She hated how much it affected her, how the warmth in his eyes made her chest ache in ways she didn’t understand. “You’d better,” she muttered, her voice softer now, almost hesitant.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade, the sounds of the gym distant and muted. All she could hear was the steady rhythm of her own breath, the faint rustle of his movements, the quiet promise in his voice.

“Good match, Kacchan,” he said, his tone light but warm.

The sound of her old nickname sent a shiver down her spine, a strange mix of nostalgia and something deeper settling over her. She didn’t respond, but the faint smile tugging at her lips said enough.

Katsuki’s breathing slowed as the tension in her muscles began to fade, her body buzzing from the lingering adrenaline. Izuku stood across from her, his curls sticking to his damp forehead, his chest heaving with exertion. The faint sheen of sweat glistened under the gym lights, making him look softer, less awkward.

“Tch,” she muttered, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across her cheeks. “You didn’t completely embarrass yourself this time. Guess I’ll give you that.”

Izuku blinked, his green eyes wide as they locked onto hers. His face flushed pink, the compliment—or whatever passed as one from her—clearly catching him off guard. “Thanks, Kacchan,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile, and the sight made Katsuki’s stomach twist in ways she didn’t want to think about.

“Don’t let it go to your damn head,” she snapped, looking away as she crossed her arms. “You’re still way too slow. If I wanted to, I could’ve mopped the floor with you.”

Izuku laughed softly, the sound warm and unguarded. “I don’t doubt that,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “But, um… I’ll keep working on it. Maybe one day, I’ll actually give you a challenge.”

Katsuki’s lips twitched, her mouth almost betraying her with a smile. “Hah. Good luck with that, nerd.”

They moved to reset their stances for a second match, the air between them lighter but no less charged. Katsuki squared her shoulders, her focus sharp as she raised her fists. She couldn’t help noticing the way Izuku’s gaze lingered on her, the intensity in his green eyes sending an annoying heat crawling up her neck.

“What are you staring at?” she barked, the bite in her tone covering the faint waver in her voice.

“N-nothing!” Izuku stammered, his face reddening as he quickly looked away. “Just, uh… I’m ready! Let’s go!”

They clashed again, their movements faster this time as they pushed themselves harder. Katsuki’s strikes were fierce and calculated, each one testing Izuku’s reflexes as he scrambled to keep up. He blocked and countered with growing confidence, his determination shining through despite his obvious exhaustion.

But Katsuki was faster. She always was.

She feinted left, forcing him to shift his weight, then darted right, sweeping his legs out from under him. Before he could recover, she moved with a speed that left him no chance to react, pinning him to the mat.

Her knees landed on either side of his hips, her thighs pressing against his as she straddled him. She grabbed his wrists and forced them down, pinning them to the mat by the sides of his face. The world around them seemed to fade, the gym’s noises muffled as her focus narrowed to the boy beneath her.

Izuku’s face was flushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his wide eyes locked onto hers. His curls were splayed out against the mat, damp and messy, and his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. Katsuki could feel the warmth radiating off him, the subtle press of a very specific part of his body against hers making her pulse quicken.

Her gaze flicked to his lips for the briefest moment before she realized what she was doing.

Her face flushed a deep, burning red that spread from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She scrambled off him, her movements frantic and uncoordinated as she covered her face with her hands. “What the hell was that?!” she hissed, her voice muffled behind her palms.

Izuku sat up slowly and covered his crotch, his own face a vivid shade of red. “I—I don’t know!” he stammered, his hands flailing slightly as he tried to make sense of what just happened. “You—you pinned me, and then—uh—”

“Shut up!” Katsuki barked, turning away sharply. She kept her hands over her face, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. Her mind raced, the heat in her cheeks refusing to fade as the memory of his gaze—wide, green, and impossibly open—burned itself into her thoughts.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Aizawa’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. Katsuki dropped her hands, her head snapping toward him as he stood at the edge of the mat. His expression was as unreadable as ever, though his tone carried a hint of finality. “Class dismissed. Head to the locker rooms and clean up before lunch.”

The class dispersed, their chatter filling the gym as they headed toward the locker room entrances. Katsuki followed at a slower pace, her mind still spinning from the sparring match. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her hands clenching and unclenching as she tried to shake off the lingering heat in her chest.

When she reached the hallway, she froze.

The entrances to the locker rooms loomed ahead— Mens to the left, Womens to the right. She stared at the signs, her heart sinking as a cold weight settled in her stomach. She’d been using the men’s locker room for years, but now…

Her hands tightened into fists, her nails biting into her palms. Her uniform clung to her smaller frame in ways that made her feel exposed, vulnerable. The thought of stepping into the men’s locker room like this—of being surrounded by her male classmates, naked—sent a wave of nausea rolling through her.

But when her gaze shifted to the women’s entrance, her chest tightened even more. She looked like a girl now—she knew that. But the thought of walking in there, of sharing that space with the other girls… Would they feel safe with her there? Would they look at her and see someone who didn’t belong?

Her feet remained rooted to the floor, her mind spinning as she stared at the signs. Her pulse pounded in her ears, each beat a reminder of the choice she couldn’t seem to make.

Damn it, she thought, her jaw clenching as her breath hitched. What the hell am I supposed to do?

Katsuki’s chest tightened as she stood frozen in the hallway, the weight of her indecision pressing down on her shoulders. Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as her gaze flicked between the two signs: Mens and Womens . Neither felt like the right answer, the thought of walking into either making her stomach churn.

The sound of laughter echoed down the hallway, pulling her from her thoughts. She stiffened as Mineta rounded the corner with a smug grin plastered across his face. His eyes lit up when he saw her standing there, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that made her skin crawl.

“Well, well, Bakugou,” he drawled, sauntering closer with a swagger that only made him look more pathetic. “Or should I say, Bakugirl ? What’s the holdup? Can’t decide where you belong?”

Katsuki’s teeth ground together, her jaw tightening as she glared at him. “Shut the hell up, Mineta,” she spat, her voice low and venomous.

Mineta’s smirk widened, his eyes flicking between her and the men’s locker room door. “What’s the matter?” he taunted, leaning in slightly. “Afraid we’re all gonna get a peek? Or are you worried the girls won’t want you in their space?”

Her stomach twisted, nausea rising in her throat as his words hit too close to the mark. She didn’t trust herself to respond, her fists trembling at her sides as she fought the urge to lash out.

“You know,” Mineta continued, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, “you could always come back to the mens . I mean, you might look different, but you’re still just—”

“Keep talking,” Katsuki interrupted, her voice sharp and dangerous. Her crimson eyes locked onto him, blazing with a fury that made him falter. “And I swear, you’ll be picking your teeth off the floor.”

Mineta raised his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left his face. “Alright, alright,” he said, stepping past her with an exaggerated shrug. “No need to get violent. Just saying, some of us wouldn’t mind the view.” His eyes flicked over to her chest.

The nausea hit her like a punch to the gut, and she barely resisted the urge to gag as he disappeared into the men’s locker room, still chuckling to himself. The door swung shut behind him, leaving her alone in the hallway, heaving as her hands trembled with a mix of anger and disgust.

Screw this, she thought, spinning on her heels so fast she nearly tripped over herself. I don’t need a shower that bad.

Her boots scuffed against the floor as she hurried down the hallway, the knot in her stomach tightening with every step. She could still feel Mineta’s gaze, his words replaying in her mind like a broken record. Her skin crawled, the sensation so visceral she rubbed her arms as if trying to scrub it away.

The broom closet in 3-A’s classroom. That’s where she’d go. She could change there—quickly, quietly, before anyone came back. The thought was ridiculous, but it was the only option that didn’t make her want to throw up.

Her breath came fast and shallow as she pushed through the doors leading to the classroom wing, her heart pounding in her chest. The walls felt too close, the air too thick, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She had to get away—from the locker rooms, from the stares, from the choice she couldn’t make.

When she finally reached the classroom, she shoved the door open and stepped inside, the quiet stillness of the room enveloping her like a protective shield. She closed the door behind her, her hands shaking as she leaned back against it and closed her eyes.

The smell of chalk dust and cleaning solution filled her lungs, grounding her in the moment. Her racing thoughts slowed, though the weight in her chest didn’t ease. She could feel the rough wood of the door pressing against her back, the solidness of it anchoring her as she tried to steady her breathing. Then, she pushed herself forward - eyes locked to the back of the room.

You’re fine, she told herself, her voice echoing in the quiet of her mind. You don’t need them. You don’t need anyone.

The doorknob to it felt cool against her palm, its smooth surface grounding her in the moment as her thoughts spiraled. The broom closet loomed in front of her, a tight, suffocating space, but it was better than the alternatives. She could hide here—away from the stares, the whispers, the choices she couldn’t make. The sharp tang of cleaning chemicals seeped through the door, mixing with the faint smell of chalk dust that clung to the classroom air.

Her grip tightened, her nails biting into her skin. She could hear her classmates’ laughter echoing faintly from the locker rooms, the sound distant but cutting. Her chest ached, a knot of frustration and shame twisting deep inside. Damn it. Why couldn’t this just be simple?

“Bakugou.”

The voice startled her, quiet but firm. Her body tensed as she turned, her hand still gripping the doorknob. Aizawa stood in the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on her with that unshakable calm he always seemed to carry. His scarf hung loosely around his neck, his posture relaxed but deliberate, like he was trying to seem less intimidating.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone even but with a softness she wasn’t used to.

Katsuki straightened, her grip on the doorknob tightening. “Nothing,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. “What’s it look like?”

Aizawa’s gaze flicked to the broom closet, his brow furrowing just slightly. The faint movement was almost imperceptible, but Katsuki caught it, her stomach twisting. He didn’t say anything right away, his expression shifting as his lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t mad—not exactly. He looked… disappointed. Concerned.

“It looks like you’re about to change in a broom closet,” he said finally, his voice calm but pointed. “And I don’t think that’s where you’re supposed to be.”

She scowled, heat rising to her face. “Tch. Who cares where I change? It’s not a big deal.”

Aizawa tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady and unrelenting. His eyes softened, but there was no mistaking the weight behind them. “If it wasn’t a big deal, you wouldn’t be here,” he said simply.

Her jaw tightened, the sharp edge of his words cutting through her defenses. “I just don’t feel like dealing with those idiots,” she bit her lip, turning away. “That’s all.”

Aizawa stepped further into the room, his movements slow and deliberate. “I saw what happened with Mineta,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “And I saw you standing in the hallway, frozen. That’s not ‘nothing,’ Problem Child.”

Her chest tightened, her breath hitching as she crossed her arms. “I don’t care about Mineta,” she said, though the waver in her voice betrayed her. “I don’t care what he says.”

“That might be true,” Aizawa replied, his tone thoughtful. “But it’s not just about him, is it?”

Katsuki flinched, her fingers curling into fists. “It’s stupid,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “This whole thing is stupid.”

“Bakugou,” Aizawa said softly, his tone gentle but insistent. “Talk to me.”

She clenched her teeth, her gaze fixed on the floor. The knot in her chest tightened, her thoughts tumbling over themselves as she tried to find the words. “I don’t…” Her voice caught, her throat tightening painfully. “I don’t know where to go.”

The confession slipped out before she could stop it, her voice cracking under the weight of it. Her shoulders tensed, the shame and frustration burning hot in her chest. “I don’t belong in the boys’ room anymore,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Not like this. And if I go into the girls’, they’ll… they’ll think I don’t belong there either. What if I make them uncomfortable? What if they don’t feel safe because I’m...?”

Her breath hitched, her heart pounding as the vulnerability of her words settled over her. She hated how small she felt, how raw the truth sounded in her own ears. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted finally, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.”

Aizawa didn’t speak right away. She risked a glance up at him, her crimson eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment. His expression was soft, his brow creased in quiet understanding. His arms dropped to his sides, his posture open and unthreatening. There was no judgment in his gaze—only patience and a weight she couldn’t quite name.

“You’re supposed to be where you feel safe,” he said finally, his voice steady and deliberate. “And if that’s not in the locker rooms, then we’ll figure out an alternative. But let me make one thing clear.” He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “You belong, Bakugou. In the girls’ locker room, in the dorms, in this school—anywhere you want to be. You belong.”

Her throat tightened, the knot in her chest unraveling just enough to let her breathe. She blinked hard, willing away the sting behind her eyes. “What if they don’t think I do?” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

“They’ll get over it,” Aizawa said bluntly. “And if they don’t, they’ll deal with me.”

Her lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk threatening to break through. “You’d scare the crap out of them.”

“Exactly,” he said, a faint flicker of amusement crossing his face. “And for now, if you’re not comfortable with the locker rooms, you can use the onsen in the girls’ bathroom at the dorms. It’s private, and it’s yours whenever you need it.”

Katsuki blinked, her brows furrowing. “The onsen?” she repeated, skepticism creeping into her voice.

Aizawa nodded. “It’s not a permanent solution, but it’s there. And for the record, you have my full permission to use any facilities indicated for girls at any time. No one has the right to make you feel like you don’t belong.”

Her chest tightened again, but the weight felt different this time—lighter, steadier. She looked away, her hands fidgeting at her sides. “You didn’t have to do all this,” she muttered, her voice rough.

“Yes, I did,” Aizawa said simply. “Because you matter. And because you deserve better.”

The sincerity in his voice struck a chord deep in her chest, one she wasn’t ready to face. She nodded sharply, the only response she could manage without her voice cracking. “Fine.”

Aizawa nodded in return, his expression softening. “Take your time,” he said, stepping toward the door. “And if you need anything, you come to me. Got it?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, her voice steadier now. “Got it.”

The door clicked softly shut behind him, leaving her alone in the quiet classroom. Katsuki exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing as the knot in her chest loosened just enough to let her breathe.

Chapter Text

The onsen’s heat enveloped her like a soft, protective cocoon, the water rippling gently around her as she shifted. Katsuki leaned back against the smooth stone edge, her arms stretched out on either side, the rough texture grounding her as steam curled lazily into the air. The soft hiss of the water, the way the heat soaked into her muscles, the faint scent of minerals—it all felt like a reset, like she was sloughing off the weight of the day and stepping into something new.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the steam brushing against her lashes. The heat loosened the tension that had been coiled in her shoulders since she’d stepped into the gym that morning, and she let out a long, steady breath. It came out in a soft sigh, the kind she didn’t usually let escape—one that wasn’t laced with frustration or sarcasm, but something quieter. Something closer to relief.

The rippling water brushed against her skin, warm and constant, its gentle movement like a whisper. She opened her eyes and stared at the surface, the faint distortion of her reflection shifting with the waves. For a moment, she hesitated, her hand hovering just above the water as the knot in her chest tightened.

What if it didn’t feel right? What if seeing herself like this—the truth of it, the reality—wasn’t enough?

Her fingers dipped into the water, and the heat climbed up her hand, spreading through her veins like a quiet reassurance. Slowly, she cleared the ripples, watching as the reflection came into focus. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the quiet sound of her breathing blending with the onsen’s gentle hum.

There she was.

Her gaze traced the lines of her body, her heart beating faster as she really looked at herself for the first time. The curve of her waist, the faint ridges of muscle in her arms, the long, powerful shape of her legs—all of it felt new but familiar, like a version of herself she’d always been reaching for without realizing.

Her legs drew her attention first, the way the muscles shifted under her skin as she flexed her toes beneath the water. They were strong, shapely, the kind of legs she used to scoff at when she saw them on other people. Now, though, they were hers. They carried her weight with ease, every step a testament to her strength.

Her hands moved to her stomach, her fingers brushing against her skin just below the waterline. Her waist was narrower now, the subtle curve fitting neatly between her hips and ribs. She ran her palm over the faint outlines of her abs, the muscle still firm beneath the softness that hadn’t been there before. It felt like balance—strength tempered with grace.

Her chest rose and fell as she shifted, the curve of her breasts just visible above the water. She hesitated, her gaze flicking down as her cheeks flushed. They were small, round, and hers. She felt a strange, bubbling mix of emotions—shyness, pride, and relief. They were new, unfamiliar, but they didn’t feel wrong.

She swallowed hard, her fingers brushing over her collarbone as her thoughts drifted lower. Her vulva—a part of her that had felt so foreign and distant when she first woke up after the accident—wasn’t foreign now. She hadn’t dared to look at it directly yet, but just knowing it was there, part of her, made her chest ache with relief. She didn’t have to force herself to ignore it or pretend it didn’t exist. It was simply hers.

The knot in her chest loosened further, replaced by something lighter, warmer. She leaned back again, letting her arms drape over the stone as the heat of the onsen wrapped around her. The water rippled softly around her legs, its gentle movement almost rhythmic, like a heartbeat.

The steam curled upward, disappearing into the air like smoke. It reminded her of the fireworks she used to watch as a kid—the way they would explode brilliantly before fading into nothing, leaving behind the promise of another spark. The thought made her lips quirk into a small, tentative smile.

She looked down at her reflection again, the faint distortion of the water making her features shift and shimmer. She didn’t feel like she was staring at a stranger anymore. There was no nagging discomfort, no voice in the back of her head telling her something was off. There was just her.

I’m still me, she thought, her chest tightening as the realization settled over her. But I’m… more.

The onsen felt like a metaphor she hadn’t expected—a place where she could strip away the weight of expectations and let herself just be. The warmth reminded her of everything she’d gained, the steam a symbol of everything she was ready to let go.

Her fingers trailed along the surface of the water, the ripples distorting her reflection again. She tilted her head back, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as the faint echoes of her classmates’ laughter filtered through the walls. She wasn’t ready to face them yet—not entirely—but for the first time, the idea didn’t feel impossible.

She let out a quiet laugh, soft and almost shy. “Guess I’m not so bad after all,” she muttered, the words barely audible over the water’s gentle hum.

For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was on the right path.

The hallway was quiet as Katsuki made her way back to the cafeteria, damp hair tucked behind her ears, uniform crisp against her skin. The onsen’s warmth lingered in her muscles, a gentle reminder of the momentary peace she had found there. Her skin felt refreshed, almost new, as if the steam had melted away some of the weight she had been carrying all day.

But now, stepping into the bustling cafeteria, the noise hit her like a wave. The hum of chatter, the clatter of trays, the occasional burst of laughter—all of it crashed over her, grating against her nerves. She let out a quiet huff, tugging at the edge of her blazer as she scanned the room.

Her eyes moved instinctively toward Izuku.

He sat off to the side, away from the clusters of students, hunched over his notebook. His pencil dragged lazily across the page, forming absentminded doodles, his hand working on autopilot. He wasn’t paying attention to the noise around him. His green eyes, usually so bright and full of energy, looked dull, distant—focused on something far away. His lips curved into a faint smile, but it was empty, a mask he had worn far too often since the war.

A sharp pang shot through Katsuki’s chest, unwelcome and undeniable. She had almost expected him to wave her over like he used to, to grin that stupid, earnest grin and ask her to sit with him. But he didn’t. He didn’t even look up.

Her hands clenched at her sides, tension creeping back into her shoulders. What the hell’s wrong with him? she wondered, though the question felt more like an accusation against herself. She hated the way her stomach twisted at the sight of him, the way his sadness felt like a splinter lodged too deep to pull out.

“Kacchan! Over here!” Mina’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts, bright and bubbling as always. Katsuki turned to see Mina waving her over, grinning wide as she sat surrounded by Eijirou, Denki, and Hanta.

“Tch.” Katsuki muttered under her breath, forcing her feet to move. She slid into the seat next to Mina, movements stiff and mechanical, tray clattering onto the table.

“Glad you made it,” Mina said, nudging her playfully. “You okay? You kinda vanished after class.”

“I’m fine,” Katsuki said curtly, voice clipped as she grabbed her chopsticks. She could feel Mina’s curious gaze lingering but refused to look up. The last thing she needed was a barrage of questions.

“Good to see you’re still in one piece, Kacchan,” Eijirou said with a grin, warm and reassuring. “We missed you, y’know.”

Katsuki snorted, the sound sharp but lacking its usual bite. “Tch. I’m not going anywhere,” she muttered, shoving a piece of rice into her mouth.

The conversation at the table picked up, familiar banter and teasing filling the air. Mina laughed at something Denki said, cheeks glowing pink as she leaned into Eijirou’s shoulder. Hanta chimed in with a sarcastic quip, sending the whole table into a fit of giggles.

Katsuki didn’t join in. She nodded absently when someone addressed her, muttered a half-hearted “yeah” or “whatever,” but her focus kept drifting. Her eyes flicked back to Izuku, who still hadn’t moved from his spot. He was still hunched over his notebook, pencil scratching softly against the page. The sad, empty look on his face made her chest ache.

Why’s he sitting there by himself? she thought, chopsticks pausing mid-air. Doesn’t he know he can sit with us?

The thought startled her, and she quickly shoved it aside, jaw tightening. Not my problem, she told herself, forcing her gaze back to her tray. He’s not my responsibility.

But the knot in her chest didn’t loosen. Her eyes kept darting back to him, tracking the way his fingers fidgeted with the notebook’s edge, the way his shoulders slumped just slightly, as if the weight of his thoughts were too much to carry.

“Hey, Kacchan,” Mina said suddenly, snapping her fingers in front of Katsuki’s face. “Earth to Kacchan! You zoning out on us or what?”

Katsuki scowled, batting her hand away. “I’m fine,” she snapped. “Just eat your damn food.”

Mina raised an eyebrow, expression skeptical but amused. “You sure? You keep looking over at—” Her voice dropped, eyes flicking toward Izuku. “Oh.”

“What?” Katsuki barked, heat creeping up her neck as she glared at Mina.

Mina smirked, leaning in closer. “Nothing,” she said sweetly, though the mischief in her eyes was unmistakable. “Just wondering if there’s something—or someone—on your mind.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki muttered, voice low and defensive. She stabbed a piece of meat with her chopsticks, gaze locked onto her tray. But the heat in her cheeks wouldn’t go away, and she could feel Mina’s knowing smile like a spotlight on her.

She risked one more glance at Izuku. He still hadn’t moved, his pencil gliding across the page, his empty smile lingering. The sight made her chest tighten all over again.

Dumb nerd, she thought, grip tightening around her chopsticks. Why the hell are you sitting all by yourself?

Katsuki stared down at her tray, her appetite long gone. The noise of the cafeteria seemed to fade into the background, muffled and distant, as if her mind was trying to tune out everything except the green-haired idiot sitting alone across the room. Her fingers drummed against the table, her restless energy building with each passing second.

She didn’t know why it bothered her so much. Izuku sitting by himself wasn’t new. Hell, the nerd had always been like this—getting lost in his stupid notebook, shutting himself off when he had too much on his mind. But something about it now, about the way he looked so damn hollow, made her skin crawl.

Her gaze flicked toward him again, her crimson eyes narrowing. He hadn’t moved. His pencil scraped lazily across the page, his hand dragging behind as if he didn’t care what ended up on the paper. His shoulders slumped, his posture all wrong, like he didn’t even have the energy to sit up straight. It pissed her off.

What the hell’s wrong with him? she thought, her jaw tightening. Why doesn’t he just—

Her chopsticks clattered onto her tray as she stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor with a loud screech. The noise drew a few glances from her tablemates, but she ignored them, her focus locked on Izuku.

“Kacchan?” Mina’s voice cut through the din, tinged with curiosity. “Where are you—”

“Shut it,” Katsuki snapped, already stepping away. She didn’t bother explaining. She didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

Her boots clicked against the tiled floor as she stalked across the cafeteria, the sharp sound cutting through the hum of chatter. Her movements were quick, deliberate, but there was a certain grace to them—like a predator zeroing in on its target. Heads turned as she passed, whispers following her, but she didn’t care. Let them look.

Izuku didn’t notice her approach. His head was still bent over his notebook, his pencil moving in slow, distracted circles. Katsuki stopped just short of his table, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glared down at him.

“What the hell’s your problem, Deku?” she barked, her voice cutting through the surrounding noise like a whip.

Izuku flinched, his pencil skidding off the page as he looked up at her with wide, startled eyes. His expression was almost comical, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “K-Kacchan?” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

Katsuki didn’t give him time to recover. She grabbed the chair across from him and spun it around with one sharp motion, the legs screeching against the floor. She dropped into the seat, her arms still crossed as she leaned forward, her glare unwavering.

“You’re sitting here like some kind of mopey loser,” she said bluntly, her voice low but intense. “What’s your deal?”

Izuku blinked, his cheeks flushing as he scrambled to close his notebook. “I-I’m not—” he started, but the words caught in his throat under the weight of her stare. “I was just… thinking.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Katsuki shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You always think too much. That’s the problem.”

Izuku’s gaze dropped to his notebook, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of the pages. “I didn’t think you’d want to sit with me,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the noise of the cafeteria.

Katsuki’s chest tightened at the admission, the faint, vulnerable tone in his voice cutting through her irritation. “Why the hell wouldn’t I?” she demanded, her voice sharp but not as biting as before. “You think I give a damn what people say about you?”

Izuku’s lips twitched into a small, hesitant smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I guess not,” he said softly.

“Damn right,” Katsuki muttered, leaning back slightly as she crossed one leg over the other. “So quit sulking and act like a normal person for once. It’s pathetic.”

The faintest hint of a laugh escaped Izuku, the sound warm and unguarded. “You really haven’t changed, have you, Kacchan?” he said, his voice steadier now.

Katsuki’s cheeks flushed, but she refused to look away. “Tch. You’re one to talk, nerd,” she retorted, though her tone lacked its usual venom.

For a moment, the tension between them eased, the noise of the cafeteria fading into the background. Katsuki’s gaze lingered on Izuku, the familiar green of his eyes brighter now, though still clouded with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Stop looking like someone kicked your damn puppy,” she muttered, her voice softer. “You’re making everyone uncomfortable.”

Izuku blinked, his surprise evident as his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. “I’ll, uh… try,” he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Katsuki huffed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. “Good,” she said simply, her sharp gaze never leaving his. “Now eat something before you pass out, dumbass.”

Izuku fidgeted with the edge of his notebook, his fingers curling around the worn corner. His gaze flitted between Katsuki and the scattered doodles on the page, a faint flush still dusting his cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, his voice hesitant. “So, uh… what’s it like sitting with the Bakusquad? You miss me already or something?”

Katsuki’s lips twitched into a smirk, her crimson eyes narrowing. “Miss you? Don’t flatter yourself, nerd,” she shot back, leaning forward to rest her chin on her palm. “They’re annoying as hell, but at least they’re not moping around like someone died.”

Izuku flinched at the jab, but his lips curved into a small, sheepish smile. “I’m not moping,” he muttered, his voice soft. “I was just… thinking about stuff.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Katsuki said, jerking her chin toward his notebook. “What, are you working on some new disaster plan or something?”

Izuku hesitated, his fingers brushing against the page. “Not exactly,” he said, his tone quieter now. “Just… sketching. For fun.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued despite herself. “Lemme see.”

Izuku’s eyes widened, his hand flying to cover the page. “W-what? No! It’s nothing, really!” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

“Don’t be stupid,” Katsuki said, leaning forward to snatch the notebook before he could stop her. “What are you hiding in here, nerd?”

“Wait, Kacchan!” Izuku protested, his hands flailing uselessly as she flipped through the pages.

Her gaze scanned the sketches, her brow furrowing as she took in the designs. They weren’t doodles—not really. They were hero suit concepts, carefully drawn and annotated with tiny notes about materials, features, and functionality. Some were rough, little more than outlines, but others were intricately detailed, the lines crisp and confident.

“This is what you’ve been working on?” Katsuki asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting away. “I mean… yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just an idea. You know… for if I ever…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the table.

Katsuki’s grip on the notebook tightened, her chest constricting as she looked at him. His green eyes, usually so bright and full of determination, were clouded with something heavier. Sadness. Regret. The weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts.

Her gaze flicked back to the designs, her stomach twisting as she imagined him wearing them—standing tall and proud, fighting beside her like they always should’ve been. It felt right in a way that nothing else ever had. But seeing the way his shoulders slumped, the way his fingers fidgeted nervously, made her chest ache.

“What the hell’s with that look?” she snapped, her voice breaking the silence. “You think you’re never gonna need this?”

Izuku flinched, his hand hovering over the table. “I don’t know, Kacchan,” he said softly. “I mean… what if I can’t be a hero again? What if it’s not enough?”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki said, slamming the notebook down on the table. The sharp sound made Izuku jump, his wide eyes snapping to hers. “You’re not some nobody sitting on the sidelines, Deku. You’re gonna get back out there, and you’re gonna kick ass. Got it?”

His lips parted, but no words came out. For a moment, he just stared at her, his expression raw and unguarded. The sadness in his eyes was like a punch to the gut, so deep and overwhelming that it made her stomach churn.

Something inside her cracked.

She couldn’t imagine a future without Izuku as her hero partner. The thought of him not being there, of him giving up on everything he’d worked for, was unbearable. He was Deku. The dumb, stubborn nerd who never gave up, no matter how many times he got knocked down. And there was no way in hell she was going to let him forget that.

“Listen up,” she said, her voice steady but intense. “That suit you’re working on? It’s happening. You’re not gonna half-ass it, either. It’s gonna be the best damn hero suit anyone’s ever seen. Got it?”

Izuku blinked, his cheeks flushing as his eyes darted back to the notebook. “Kacchan, I—”

“Shut up,” she interrupted, leaning forward to jab a finger at his chest. “You deserve it. You deserve more than that. And I’m not gonna let you settle for anything less, you hear me?”

His mouth opened, but the words caught in his throat. His eyes shimmered, the faintest flicker of hope breaking through the sadness. “Thanks,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “That… means a lot.”

Katsuki huffed, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “Damn right it does,” she muttered. “Now eat your food before you waste away, nerd.”

Izuku laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her chest feel a little lighter.

As she watched him pick up his chopsticks and take a bite, her mind was already racing. She didn’t know how she was going to do it yet, but she was going to make sure Izuku had everything he needed. His suit was going to be the best of the best—materials, tech, the whole damn package. He deserved it.

He deserves everything.

And Katsuki was going to make damn sure he got it.

The courtyard was quiet, the faint rustle of leaves and the chirping of distant birds blending into the crisp afternoon air. Katsuki’s boots scuffed against the pavement as she walked, her hands shoved deep into her blazer pockets. The sun hung low in the sky, its light filtering through the branches above her and scattering soft patterns onto the ground. She didn’t have a destination in mind; she just needed to move, to breathe, to think.

Her muscles still felt loose from the onsen, the residual warmth lingering in her body like a protective layer. But her mind was anything but calm. The day had been a mess of emotions she wasn’t ready to deal with, and her thoughts were louder than ever, swirling in endless circles that left her chest feeling tight.

Her gaze flicked up to the horizon, her pace slowing as her thoughts drifted to Izuku. She couldn’t get the look on his face out of her head—the sadness in his eyes, the emptiness behind his smile. It wasn’t new, but it was sharper now, more defined. He looked like a piece of himself was missing, like something had been carved out and left hollow.

That dumb nerd, she thought, her fists tightening in her pockets. He’s always been like this—shouldering everything by himself, acting like the world’s problems are his responsibility.

But this was different. This wasn’t just Izuku being stubborn or self-sacrificing. This was grief. She could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, the way his voice wavered when he talked about hero work. His dream—his damn, relentless dream of becoming the greatest hero—had died along with One For All.

The thought made her chest ache, the tightness spreading until it felt like she couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t just his dream that had died; it was hers too. She’d always imagined chasing after him, pushing him to be better, growing alongside him as they reached for the top together. But now… now he looked like he didn’t even know where the top was anymore.

Her pace slowed, her boots scraping against the gravel path as her thoughts spiraled. She hated seeing him like this—so lost, so unlike himself. She wanted to shake him, to yell at him, to do anything to snap him out of it. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

Her fingers twitched in her pockets, the tension building until she couldn’t take it anymore. I’m gonna fix this, she thought, her jaw tightening with determination. I don’t care what it takes. I’m gonna bring him back.

Katsuki barely registered the group of boys approaching her until they were right in front of her. She stopped mid-step, her crimson eyes narrowing as they formed a loose circle around her. Eijirou was there, his expression hesitant but earnest, along with Denki, Hanta, and several others. Their faces ranged from curious to awkward to downright uncomfortable.

“Kacchan,” Eijirou started, his tone careful. “We, uh… wanted to talk to you. If that’s okay.”

The training hall smelled like old sweat and dust, the wooden beams overhead groaning softly as a breeze snuck in through the cracked window. Katsuki stood in the center of the circle, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, the tension in her shoulders so tight it ached. She felt cornered, despite the familiar faces around her—Eijirou, Denki, Hanta, Shoji, Ojiro, Sato, and a few others, all standing at varying distances, their expressions ranging from concern to hesitation to something she couldn’t name.

“So…” Denki started awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “How, uh… how’s it been? Like, since everything changed?”

Katsuki exhaled through her nose, willing herself to stay calm. They’re just trying to understand, she reminded herself. Still, her fingers dug into her sleeves, gripping the fabric so tight she could feel the fibers straining beneath her fingertips.

“Fine,” she muttered.

Denki blinked. “Oh. Uh, cool. That’s cool.”

Silence.

The boys shuffled awkwardly, exchanging glances as if trying to figure out who would speak next.

Ojiro cleared his throat. “Do you… feel different?”

Katsuki narrowed her eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”

Ojiro hesitated. “I mean, you look different. So, like… does it feel different? Like, physically? Or emotionally?”

Something sharp lodged itself in her chest.

Memories slammed into her like a wave.

She was eight, staring at her reflection in the mirror of her mother’s dressing room. The dim yellow light cast a glow over the scattered fabric and makeup brushes, the remnants of Mitsuki’s latest shoot still strewn across the vanity. Katsuki reached out hesitantly, her small fingers grazing the handle of a lipstick tube.

She uncapped it, twisting the base until a bold red emerged.

Before she could bring it to her lips, a shadow loomed behind her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mitsuki’s voice was sharp, clipped. Katsuki flinched, snapping the cap back on so fast it nearly slipped from her fingers.

“I—”

“That’s not for you,” Mitsuki cut her off, crossing the room in a few quick strides. “You’re gonna be a hero, right? Heroes don’t waste their time on crap like this.”

She snatched the lipstick from Katsuki’s hands and tossed it onto the vanity, her nails clicking against the wood.

Katsuki bit her lip, her fists balling at her sides. The words churned in her stomach, sour and heavy.

But heroes wore masks, didn’t they?

So why couldn’t hers be a little red?

She snapped back to the present, her heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice flat. “I don’t really think about it.”

A lie.

She thought about it constantly.

Eijirou spoke up, his voice careful. “Does it, uh… change how you feel about things? Like, your emotions? You don’t feel more… I don’t know, sensitive or anything?”

Katsuki’s stomach flipped.

She scowled. “What the hell are you saying, Red?”

Eijirou winced. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant—uh, you know, hormones and stuff.”

Her jaw tightened. She did feel different, but not in the way they thought. The problem wasn’t that her emotions had changed—it was that she had always felt things this deeply but had spent years suffocating them under layers of anger and defiance. Now, with everything stripped raw, it was harder to pretend.

She wanted to tell them that.

She didn’t.

Because something in the air had shifted.

Shoji spoke next, his tone more neutral. “What’s been the hardest part?”

The question was gentle, but the answer lodged itself in her throat like glass.

Before she could stop it, her mother’s voice echoed in her head.

“She’s going to lose everything, Masaru.”

Mitsuki’s voice had been low, trembling. Katsuki had pressed her ear to the bedroom door, the wooden panels cool against her skin.

“She’s going to lose her future as a hero—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?”

Masaru’s voice had been softer, but firm. “Mitsuki—”

“She’s going to lose her friends.” Mitsuki’s voice cracked, and Katsuki’s fingers curled into a fist against the doorframe. “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—”

A sharp inhale.

A pause.

Then, barely a whisper: “Who’s going to love her?”

Katsuki’s breath had hitched.

“Who’s going to support her when she’s like this? Who’s going to look at her and see the boy she used to be?”

Katsuki realized she hadn’t answered Shoji’s question.

The boys were staring at her, waiting.

Her throat was dry. “I dunno,” she muttered. “It’s whatever.”

Silence.

Then, Sero, grinning, trying to lighten the mood. “So, like… have you, uh, tested anything out yet?”

Something inside her snapped.

She didn’t even register the chair she kicked over until it clattered against the floor.

Sero’s grin fell instantly, his eyes widening.

“The fuck did you just ask me?” Katsuki growled, her voice dangerously low.

Sero raised his hands. “Whoa, whoa—I didn’t mean it like—”

“What the hell did you mean, then?” Her breath was coming fast now, her fingers trembling. “You asking if I’ve experimented ? If I’ve checked to see if it feels different ?”

Denki shifted uncomfortably. “Kacchan—”

“You think this is some kind of game?” she barked. “That I woke up one day and decided to do a fucking trial run?”

Sero swallowed hard, his face pale. “No, I—”

“Shut the hell up.”

Her voice wavered.

The words trembled on her tongue, and suddenly, all she could hear was Mitsuki’s voice again—

Who’s going to love her?

Her throat closed up.

She turned on her heel.

“Kacchan—”

She was already halfway out the door.

Her breath came in sharp gasps, the world tilting slightly as panic clawed its way up her spine. Her hands shook as she shoved the door open, her boots heavy against the wooden floor as she fled.

She needed to get out.

Needed to hide.

The walls of the dorms felt like they were closing in when she finally reached her room, slamming the door behind her.

She slid to the floor, her knees drawn to her chest, her breath ragged.

Her mind spiraled. What if I’m wrong? What if this is all in my head? What if they’re right? What if I never—

She gritted her teeth, shoving the thoughts away.

But they didn’t leave.

And for the first time in a long time, Katsuki Bakugou was terrified.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, everything inside Katsuki buckled.

She stumbled forward, her breath coming in shallow bursts, each inhale cutting against her ribs like glass. The dim light of her room did nothing to soften the edges of her thoughts. Shadows stretched long across the walls, swallowing the floor in uneven pools of darkness. The faint scent of fabric softener clung to the blankets on her bed, a sharp contrast to the suffocating tightness in her chest.

Her fingers trembled as she reached up, blindly gripping at the sleeves of her uniform blazer, her knuckles going white as she clutched at the fabric. The room was quiet—too quiet. The silence pressed against her ears, deafening, amplifying the racing of her pulse.

She could still hear them.

"So, what happened to the old Bakugou?"
"Why didn’t you ever talk about this before?"
"Who’s going to love her?"

Her stomach twisted violently, a deep, sickly churn that left her lightheaded. She sucked in a sharp breath, but it wasn’t enough. Her chest felt like it was caving in, the walls closing tighter with each second that passed. The weight of everything—their voices, their stares, the questions, the assumptions—coiled inside her like barbed wire.

She stumbled backward, her legs hitting the edge of her bed. She sat down hard, her fingers twitching against the hem of her blazer. The fabric felt rough, suffocating against her skin. She pulled at it, desperate for relief, but nothing helped. The pressure in her head only grew, pounding against her skull like a relentless drumbeat.

"She’s going to lose everything, Masaru."

Her mother’s voice—sharp, brittle, laced with something she hadn’t understood back then.

Katsuki’s nails dug into her arms through the fabric of her sleeves, the sting grounding her, barely.

"She’s going to lose her future. The world doesn’t want heroes like her."

Her throat closed up. She clenched her teeth, sucking in another shaky breath.

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She pressed them flat against her thighs, trying to force the tremors out of them. The heat of her palms burned against the fabric of her uniform, but the rest of her felt cold, her skin prickling like ice water had been dumped over her head.

"She’s going to lose her friends."

Her fingers twitched, curling against her legs.

Their faces flashed through her mind—Eijirou, Denki, Hanta, Shoji. The way they had looked at her today. Some of them hesitant, uncertain. Others avoiding her gaze altogether.

And then there were the ones who hadn’t hesitated to prod, to pry.

"What’s different now?"
"You feel more, like… girly now?"
"You think you’ll ever date a guy?"
"Have you, uh, tested anything out yet?"

Her stomach turned violently, bile burning at the back of her throat.

She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the bedsheets beneath her. The fabric wrinkled under her grip, stiff and unyielding. Her jaw clenched so tight it ached.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to rip something apart.

Instead, she pressed her forehead against her drawn-up knees, her breathing shuddering as she curled in on herself.

Katsuki squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead against her knees. The room felt colder, the walls pressing inward, the silence growing heavier. It was suffocating—too thick, too still. Her breath shuddered in and out of her lungs, uneven and shallow, as the weight of old memories clawed their way out of the locked corners of her mind.

They weren’t just memories.

They were scars.

They had been there all along, buried under anger, under battle, under every explosive moment where she had fought to make people see her. She had spent so much of her life trying to be undeniable that she had forgotten why she had needed to be that way in the first place.

Her hands curled into fists against her knees as the past dragged her under.

She was six the first time she had asked about makeup.

The memory rose in sharp fragments—the scent of hairspray and fabric softener, the warm glow of the vanity lights in her mother’s studio. Mitsuki had been in the middle of setting up for a shoot, her hands swift and practiced as she laid out an array of cosmetics beside her sewing tools.

Katsuki had perched on the edge of the chair, her small hands gripping the armrests as she watched her mother work. The soft brushes, the shimmering powders, the careful strokes of color—all of it was mesmerizing.

She had reached out, tiny fingers brushing against the smooth surface of a lipstick tube.

"What’s this one for?" she had asked, tilting her head up to look at her mother.

Mitsuki had barely glanced at her, too focused on her work. “It’s for the models.”

"Can I try?"

That had made Mitsuki stop.

Katsuki had felt her mother’s eyes on her then—sharp, assessing, weighing something Katsuki didn’t understand at the time.

Then, with a huff, Mitsuki had turned back to her work. “No. That’s not for you.”

Katsuki had frowned. “Why?”

"Because you don’t need it." Mitsuki’s voice was firm, final. "You’re going to be a hero, not a model. Heroes don’t waste time on stuff like this.”

She had turned away then, returning to her work like the conversation was over.

And for the first time, Katsuki had felt it.

That sinking, twisting feeling in her chest.

That feeling of wrongness.

She was eight when she started noticing how different she was from the other kids at her parents’ photoshoots.

Masaru’s studio was always filled with models—men and women, all effortlessly stylish, moving between wardrobe changes like second nature. The girls wore flowing dresses, skirts that swayed when they twirled, delicate fabrics that shimmered under the lights.

The boys wore sharp suits, stiff collars, perfectly tailored jackets.

Katsuki had always been put in the latter.

And she had hated it.

She remembered standing before the mirror, fidgeting as the stylist adjusted the lapels of her blazer. The fabric was heavy, restricting, wrong.

She had glanced at the girl beside her, who was wearing a soft lavender dress, her hair tied back with a ribbon.

Something ugly and longing had twisted inside Katsuki’s chest.

She had wanted that.

Not the dress, necessarily. But the freedom.

The freedom to be pretty and powerful at the same time.

But the way the adults looked at her when she tried to adjust her posture differently, when she didn’t stand stiff and straight like they wanted—

She had learned to stop.

She had learned to stay in line.

She was twelve when Mitsuki found the magazine.

It had been tucked under her mattress, hidden away like something shameful.

Mirko had been on the cover, clad in kawaii athletic wear, muscles flexed, her expression fierce and confident. She had looked strong, was strong. Feminine. Herself.

Katsuki had looked up to her more than any other pro.

And when she had seen the magazine in the store, she had bought it on impulse, her hands shaking as she handed over the yen.

She had spent hours staring at the pages, tracing the lines of Mirko’s form, imagining— what if?

What if she could be like that?

Strong. Respected. Herself.

But Mitsuki had found it.

"What the hell is this?"

Katsuki had frozen, her stomach plummeting.

Mitsuki’s face was twisted with disgust as she flipped through the pages, her grip white-knuckled.

"This is what you’re wasting your money on? Are you serious? What, are you some kind of pervert?"

Katsuki had tried to explain—tried to say something —but her throat had locked up.

Mitsuki had scoffed and tossed the magazine into the trash.

"You’re better than this, Katsuki."

Katsuki gasped, her breath hitching, dragging herself back to the present.

Her hands were shaking.

Her vision was blurred.

She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself, but the weight was unbearable.

Dots were connecting in her mind faster than she could process.

The anger. The explosions. The way she had always needed to prove herself.

She had spent her entire life running from something she hadn’t even had the words for.

And now—

Now she couldn’t outrun it anymore.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she forced them down, clenching her fists so tight her nails bit into her palms.

She had spent years trying to be undeniable.

But right now—

Katsuki was drowning.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her lungs burning, her throat tight like a vice had wrapped around it. The weight in her chest was suffocating, pressing down on her ribs, making every inhale feel like she was breathing in smoke.

She curled in on herself, her arms locked around her knees, fingernails digging into the fabric of her pants. Her room was dark now—the sun had dipped past the horizon at some point, leaving only the faint glow of the outside lamps filtering through the curtains. She hadn’t turned on the lights. She hadn’t moved.

The memories wouldn’t stop.

She kept seeing her mother’s face twisted with disappointment. Kept hearing the sharp edge in her voice when she dismissed her, scolded her, corrected her. Kept feeling that sinking, hollow ache in her stomach—the one that had been there since she was a kid, the one she had learned to ignore, to smother under anger and defiance.

But she couldn’t smother it now.

It was choking her.

And then—

A knock.

Katsuki flinched, her body going rigid.

Another knock, softer this time. “Blasty? You there?”

Mina.

Katsuki clenched her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut. She didn’t want to deal with this. Didn’t want to move, didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to be seen.

But she wasn’t going anywhere.

There was a pause, then the sound of her shifting on the other side of the door. “You, uh… You missed all of class since lunch,” she said, her voice lighter than usual but still laced with something concerned. “It’s almost dinner now. Figured I’d check in.”

Katsuki didn’t answer.

Mina sighed. “Okay, so… listen. I don’t wanna be that guy, but some of the boys were acting really weird after lunch. I tried asking Kirishima about it, but you know how he is. Gets all guilty and weird when he thinks he messed up.” She let out a breath. “I dunno what happened, but if you need to talk, I—”

A long pause.

Then, softer: “I’m here, okay?”

Katsuki swallowed hard.

Her throat burned, her chest tight. She wanted to tell Mina to go away. Wanted to snap at her, tell her she was fine, tell her to leave her the hell alone.

But when she tried to open her mouth, nothing came out.

She was tired.

So fucking tired.

And Mina wasn’t going anywhere.

Katsuki sucked in a shaky breath and uncurled herself, her limbs heavy like lead. She pushed herself up, her legs wobbling beneath her as she shuffled toward the door.

Her fingers hesitated on the handle.

She didn’t want Mina to see her like this. Didn’t want her to see how much of a mess she was.

But…

She unlocked the door.

The second she cracked it open, Mina blinked in surprise, her golden eyes widening slightly. “Whoa,” she murmured, taking in Katsuki’s appearance.

Katsuki knew what she must look like—her hair disheveled, her eyes red, the tension still clinging to like the ghosts of the past that refused to die.

Mina didn’t say anything about it.

She just softened.

“Hey,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Can I come in?”

Katsuki hesitated.

Then, reluctantly, she stepped aside.

Mina slipped in without another word, and Katsuki shut the door behind her.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the outside lights, casting long shadows across the walls. Mina looked around, then back at Katsuki, her brows pinched slightly.

“…You okay?”

Katsuki let out a short, bitter laugh. “What do you think?”

Mina frowned. She didn’t push.

She just walked over to the bed, flopped down onto it like she belonged there, and patted the space beside her.

Katsuki stood frozen, staring at her like she didn’t understand what she was supposed to do.

Mina tilted her head. “C’mon, Kacchan,” she said, her voice light, but her eyes soft. “Sit. You look like you’re two seconds away from collapsing.”

Katsuki let out a long breath.

And then, finally—slowly—she moved.

She sat beside Mina, her shoulders hunched, her hands curled into the fabric of her pants. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at her.

Mina didn’t push.

She just sat there, her presence warm, solid, grounding.

“…Do you wanna talk about it?” she asked, after a long moment.

Katsuki swallowed.

And then—barely above a whisper—

“I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Mina blinked.

Katsuki kept her gaze on the floor, her breath uneven. “I thought I did. I really fucking thought I did.” Her nails dug into her thighs. “But now… everything feels—”

She clenched her jaw, shaking her head.

Mina was quiet for a moment.

Then, carefully, she reached out, resting a hand over Katsuki’s own. “Kacchan…”

Her voice was so soft.

So gentle.

Katsuki felt something crack inside her chest.

And suddenly, she wasn’t sure if she could hold it together anymore.

Mina’s fingers curled slightly against the fabric of Katsuki’s bedspread, her golden eyes flickering with quiet observation. She didn’t rush, didn’t pry—not yet. She was watching, piecing together the cracks she could see forming along Katsuki’s edges.

Then, carefully—almost too carefully—she asked, “Why did you change?”

Katsuki flinched, her shoulders going stiff.

Mina bit her lip. “You were wearing your new uniform earlier,” she said, her voice gentle, but firm. “Now you’re back in your old one.”

Katsuki’s mouth opened, then closed.

The silence stretched.

Mina didn’t push.

She just waited.

Katsuki’s eyes, dull and empty and lifeless, flickered toward her, something flickering beneath the surface—something too raw, too tangled to name.

And then—

It shattered.

Her whole body trembled, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to force words out. “I—” Her voice broke. “I just… I didn’t—”

Her fingers curled into her blazer, clutching it like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the room. The air felt thin, her vision swimming, her chest too tight to breathe.

And then the words poured out—

“I never told anyone,” she choked out, her voice thick with something she couldn’t hold back anymore. “I never could .”

Mina didn’t speak.

She just listened.

Katsuki’s shoulders shook, her body folding in on itself. “I didn’t even know what I was supposed to say,” she continued, her voice frantic, unraveling. “Didn’t know how to—how to be —” Her breath hitched, a sob clawing its way up her throat.

Mina’s hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach for her, but she held back.

Katsuki sucked in a sharp breath, but it was broken, uneven, splintered between gasps. Her hands shook as she pressed them against her face, her nails digging into her skin.

“I’m not—I don’t—” Her breath hitched again, her whole body trembling. “Am I bad?”

Mina’s breath caught in her throat.

Katsuki’s chest heaved, her words breaking apart between sobs. “Am I—am I gross ?” she gasped, barely able to choke the words out. “Am I disgusting?”

Her hands fell away from her face, and Mina saw it—

The wreckage.

The tears streaking down her cheeks, the way her lips trembled, the way her crimson eyes burned with something so deep, so hollow, so lost.

Katsuki had always burned bright —even when she was angry, even when she was cruel, even when she was hurt.

But now, she looked like a dying ember.

“I just—” Katsuki gasped, her body curling inward, her whole world fracturing apart. “Why does everything have to be so hard? ”

Mina’s chest ached.

Katsuki’s breath came faster, harder, spiraling. “I tried,” she sobbed. “I tried so fucking hard—”

Her hands clenched into fists against her lap, her body shaking violently. “I—I went back to the dorms after lunch,” she stammered, the words spilling out between ragged breaths. “I—I bathed, I—I changed, I—”

She sucked in a sharp gasp, choking on it.

Mina stayed still.

Katsuki’s voice cracked, the sobs ripping her apart as she forced the words out. “Mineta—” Her throat tightened, her body locking up. “Outside the locker rooms—”

Mina’s stomach twisted.

Katsuki shook her head, her breath hitching as fresh sobs wracked her body. “He—he—” Her hands trembled violently, her nails digging into her skin. “He looked at me—”

The words wouldn’t come.

But Mina understood.

A storm flashed in her golden eyes, rage swelling beneath her ribs, but she didn’t move.

Not yet.

Katsuki sucked in a ragged breath, her whole body trembling. “I—I left—I couldn’t—”

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms against them as if she could block everything out. “Then the boys—”

Her voice broke again.

“I thought—I thought I was still me,” she sobbed. “I am still me—”

She shook her head frantically, her breath spiraling, her thoughts unraveling. “But they didn’t—they don’t see me anymore.”

Mina felt something splinter in her chest.

“I don’t—I don’t know if I have a future anymore,” Katsuki whispered, her voice hoarse, like she had screamed herself raw. “As a hero, as anything. ”

Mina sucked in a breath.

Katsuki’s breath hitched, her body trembling violently. “Why—why is it so bad —” Her voice wavered, breaking apart. “Why is it so bad for me to be happy?”

Mina’s heart clenched.

Katsuki gasped for breath, her hands clutching her arms, nails digging into her skin like she could hold herself together that way. “Why is it so bad for me to be—be who I am? ”

Her sobs grew harder, harsher, until she could barely breathe.

“Every time I think I—I have it figured out, every time I—” She sucked in a ragged gasp, her body convulsing with the force of her sobs. “The harder it gets—”

Her breath shuddered, broken and desperate.

“I hate myself,” she choked out.

Mina’s stomach dropped.

Katsuki let out a sharp, shattered sob. “I hate myself for—for wanting to be pretty—”

She gasped.

“I hate myself for—for wanting to wear dresses—”

Her fingers dug into her arms harder.

“I hate myself for wanting to—wanting to learn how to do makeup—”

Her breath caught.

“I hate myself for wanting to paint my nails—”

The words trembled in the air, heavy, suffocating, real.

And then—

“I hate myself ,” she whispered.

And something inside Mina snapped.

Without hesitation, she surged forward—arms wrapping around Katsuki, pulling her into a tight, fierce embrace.

Katsuki froze.

Her body was rigid, her breath still coming too fast, her chest still heaving with sobs. But Mina didn’t let go.

She held on tighter.

“I got you,” she whispered, her voice steady.

Katsuki sucked in a sharp, broken breath.

Mina’s grip only tightened. “I got you, Kacchan.”

Katsuki’s breath hitched, her body trembling harder.

And then—finally—she let go.

She collapsed against Mina, her sobs muffled against her shoulder, her hands gripping desperately at the back of her uniform.

Mina didn’t say anything.

She just held her.

And for the first time in what felt like forever—

Katsuki was heard

She sobbed harder, her body trembling as she clung to Mina like a lifeline. The weight of everything—of years of fear, of guilt, of shame —pressed against her ribs, clawed at her throat, burned hot and unbearable behind her eyes. It poured out of her in heaving, gasping sobs, her breath broken and uneven, her face buried against Mina’s shoulder.

Mina held her tighter, steady and unwavering. “I got you,” she whispered, her voice low and soothing, fingers running gently along Katsuki’s back, grounding her, keeping her from spiraling further. “It’s okay, Kacchan. Let it out.”

But it wasn’t okay.

It had never been okay.

And now that the dam had broken, Katsuki couldn’t stop.

She could barely speak between her sobs, but she tried —tried to explain , tried to make sense of all the things she had buried so deep for so long that she hadn’t even realized how much they had festered inside her.

“I—” She sucked in a sharp breath, but it was too much, too big , and she could barely force the words out. “I—I tried —”

Mina didn’t rush her. She just kept holding her, waiting.

Katsuki squeezed her eyes shut, more tears slipping free, burning hot against her already raw skin. “I tried so many times,” she choked out.

Mina’s arms around her tightened, but she said nothing. Just listened.

Katsuki’s breath hitched, memories colliding in her mind so fast they blurred together, dragging her under.

She was six the first time she had tried on makeup.

The vanity mirror had been too tall, so she had climbed up onto the chair, her small fingers trembling as she reached for the brush Mitsuki always used to blend powders on the models’ faces. She had seen her do it so many times, had watched as the colors softened and blurred under her mother’s skilled hands.

She had just wanted to try.

Just wanted to see what it felt like.

But then—

“Katsuki! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She had flinched , the brush slipping from her fingers, clattering onto the floor.

Mitsuki had stood in the doorway, her sharp gaze sweeping over the scattered powders, the messy brush strokes on Katsuki’s cheeks.

Her face had twisted, voice biting . “That’s not for you.”

Katsuki had opened her mouth, tried to explain, but Mitsuki had already grabbed a cloth, rubbing at her face with quick, irritated strokes, wiping away all the evidence.

“Heroes don’t waste time with stuff like this,” she had muttered. “Stop acting like a damn brat.”

Katsuki had swallowed hard, biting her lip against the sting in her chest.

She never touched the makeup again.

“I—” Katsuki gasped, her voice breaking, “I tried , Mina.”

Mina’s grip on her tightened.

Katsuki squeezed her eyes shut, curling further into the warmth of her friend’s arms. “I tried so many times ,” she sobbed, her voice shaking, “but every time, she—she’d—”

Her breath hitched, her whole body trembling. “I—I was seven—” Her hands curled into the fabric of Mina’s uniform, gripping tight, as if she were afraid she’d slip away. “I—I wanted to paint my nails—”

Mina’s breath hitched softly, but she didn’t interrupt.

Katsuki sucked in a sharp gasp, the memory slamming into her like a tidal wave.

She was seven when she found Mitsuki’s nail polish.

It had been in a small drawer beside the vanity, a row of delicate glass bottles in every shade imaginable. The colors had fascinated her—bold reds, deep blues, shimmering silvers. They reminded her of sparks, of explosions, of the way the sunset melted into the skyline.

She had picked up one of the bottles, a fiery orange, and twisted the cap off. The scent was sharp, chemical, but she hadn’t cared.

She had wanted to see what it looked like.

The brush was small, the polish thick and glossy as she dragged it clumsily over her nails. It was messy—uneven strokes, smudges along her skin—but she had grinned, wiggling her fingers in the light, marveling at the way they shimmered.

And then—

"Katsuki! "

The bottle slipped from her hand, spilling onto the carpet.

Mitsuki had been in the doorway, her face a storm of disbelief and fury.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Katsuki had scrambled backward, her heart slamming against her ribs. "I—"

"You got it all over the damn carpet!" Mitsuki stormed into the room, grabbing a towel and blotting at the mess furiously. "Do you have any idea how much this costs? Do you ever think before you touch things?"

Katsuki had shrunk into herself, the excitement draining out of her like air from a punctured balloon. "I just wanted to see—"

"That’s not for you!" Mitsuki had snapped, her voice sharp as shattered glass. "Don’t ever do that again, Katsuki. Do you hear me?"

The shame had burned hotter than any explosion.

That night, Katsuki had scrubbed her nails raw under the bathroom sink, washing away every trace of color.

She had never touched nail polish again.

“I tried ,” Katsuki sobbed, gasping for breath, her whole body shaking. “I tried so many fucking times, but she—she always—”

Mina’s arms around her tightened even more, her own breath unsteady now.

Katsuki let out a broken laugh, but it wasn’t funny. It was shattered. Raw.

“And you know what’s fucked up ?” she whispered, voice shaking. “I still love her.”

Mina’s heart clenched.

“I hate her,” Katsuki gasped, voice cracking, “but I—I still love her, and I don’t even know if she—”

Her breath hitched, her sobs crashing over her again, overwhelming, drowning her.

“I don’t even know if she’d ever love me —the real me.”

Mina swallowed hard, her throat tight. “Kacchan—”

“She doesn’t know me ,” Katsuki choked out, gripping Mina like she was the only thing keeping her from falling apart entirely. “And I—”

Her breath caught.

“I don’t know if anyone ever will .”

Mina inhaled sharply, her heart twisting violently at the sheer pain in Katsuki’s voice.

“I—I hate myself for wanting to be pretty ,” Katsuki sobbed, shaking her head. “I hate myself for wanting to wear skirts , for—for wanting to learn how to do makeup —”

She sucked in a sharp, gasping breath.

“I hate myself for wanting to be her .”

Mina broke.

She pulled Katsuki in tighter, arms locking around her like an unshakable force. “Don’t,” she whispered, her own voice trembling now. “Don’t say that.”

Katsuki just sobbed harder, burying herself against Mina, body shaking so violently it almost hurt.

Mina pressed her forehead against Katsuki’s temple, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I don’t care what your mom said,” she whispered, voice fierce but gentle. “I don’t care what anyone says. You are not disgusting, you are not wrong, and you deserve to be happy.”

Katsuki’s breath hitched, another sob wrenching from her chest.

Mina’s grip tightened.

“I see you, Kacchan.” Her voice was soft, steady. “I see you. And you are not alone.”

Katsuki sobbed harder, her whole body breaking in her arms.

Mina just held her.

She held her like she was something precious , something real , something whole —even when Katsuki felt like she had shattered completely.

She stayed.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

Katsuki let someone stay.

Izuku stood frozen in the hallway, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

His hands trembled at his sides, his fingers curled into tight fists as he pressed himself against the wall just outside Katsuki’s door. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—hadn’t wanted to—but he had been on his way to check on her when he heard her voice.

And then he heard her break.

The weight of her sobs, the rawness of her voice—it had gutted him.

He had heard everything.

The way her voice cracked as she questioned if she was disgusting. The way she sobbed about hating herself. The way she screamed inside the safety of her own room about the fear and shame and longing she had carried for years.

Izuku’s chest ached.

He had known.

Not in the way that Mina knew, not in the way that Katsuki had finally found the words to say it—

But he had known.

Somewhere deep inside, tucked between childhood memories and quiet moments he hadn’t been able to put words to before.

And now—

Now it was too loud to ignore.

His throat felt tight as memories washed over him, piecing themselves together with painful, aching clarity.

They had been four the first time they had wandered too deep into the forest behind their neighborhood.

The air had been thick with summer heat, the cicadas screaming from the trees. Katsuki had stomped ahead, her tiny fists clenched, her little face scrunched in determination.

“C’mon, Deku!” she had yelled over her shoulder, already pulling at low-hanging branches, searching through the leaves. “We gotta find the biggest bugs!”

Izuku had scampered after her, too eager to explore to be afraid.

They had spent hours out there, brushing through the grass, poking at beetles, running their hands over tree bark as they climbed up the low branches.

But then—

Katsuki had found a patch of wildflowers.

Izuku had watched as she slowed, her expression shifting, something softer flickering across her face.

She had crouched down, fingers ghosting over the petals.

Izuku had plopped down beside her, watching curiously. “Kacchan?”

She had flinched, glancing around like someone would see.

“…Shut up,” she had muttered, cheeks turning pink. “I like the colors, okay?”

Izuku had grinned. “They are pretty.”

Katsuki had huffed, but she had stayed there, trailing her fingers over the petals, looking more at peace than Izuku had ever seen her.

And then—

“Don’t tell anyone,” she had said suddenly, her voice quiet.

Izuku had blinked. “Why?”

Katsuki had hesitated, her fingers curling around one of the stems. “They’ll say it’s stupid ,” she had muttered, scowling at the ground.

Izuku had frowned. “I won’t tell,” he had promised.

And he never had.

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his knuckles against his mouth to stop himself from making a sound.

How had he not seen it?

How had he not realized sooner ?

He had seen the way she would glance over at the girls playing with dolls at the park, only to turn back and scowl, pretending she hadn’t been looking. He had seen the way she would hesitate before choosing toys at the store, fingers twitching toward something softer before she picked something more “acceptable.”

And—

And he had seen the way Mitsuki had scolded her.

“Don’t stand like that, Katsuki. You look weak.”
“Tch. What kind of boy asks questions like that?”
“You need to toughen up. You wanna be a hero, don’t you?”

Izuku clenched his jaw so tight it ached.

How many times had she been told who she wasn’t allowed to be?

How many times had she tried , only to be shut down before she even got the chance to understand what she wanted?

His fingers trembled at his sides, his heart hammering violently against his ribs.

And then—

He thought about the boys.

He thought about how guilty Kirishima had looked at lunch. How awkward and hesitant Denki had been.

And suddenly, rage boiled inside his chest.

They had done this to her.

They had cornered her, made her feel like she had to justify herself, forced her to question herself when all she wanted was to exist.

Izuku’s breathing turned sharp, his pulse roaring in his ears.

He was going to talk to them.

No—he was going to do more than that.

He was going to make them understand.

Because this wasn’t just about Katsuki anymore.

This was about the fact that she had been suffering —for years, for longer than even she had realized—and people kept making it harder.

She deserved better.

She deserved so much more.

Izuku exhaled sharply, his shoulders tense, his fists clenched.

But first—

First, he needed to let Katsuki breathe.

She wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

And he was going to make damn sure she never felt that way again.

Katsuki’s sobs had softened into quiet, shuddering breaths, but her face was still buried in Mina’s shoulder. Her body trembled with the remnants of her breakdown, exhaustion weighing on her limbs like lead. She felt wrung out , like everything she had bottled up for years had been forced out of her all at once, leaving her hollow and raw.

Mina kept holding her.

She rubbed slow, soothing circles against Katsuki’s back, murmuring soft reassurances under her breath. “You’re okay, Kacchan,” she whispered. “I’m right here. You’re not alone.”

Katsuki sniffled, her fingers still clutching the back of Mina’s uniform like she was scared to let go.

They stayed like that for a long moment, the room still except for the sound of Katsuki’s shaky breathing.

Then, Mina spoke.

“I think… I think I always kinda suspected something,” she said, her voice light but thoughtful. “Not this exactly—not in a way I could put into words back then. But looking back…” She tilted her head, her fingers tapping gently against Katsuki’s back. “It all makes so much sense now.”

Katsuki hiccupped, lifting her head slightly to glance at Mina with wet, blurry eyes.

Mina smiled softly. “Like—remember last year, when I painted everyone’s nails at that sleepover?”

Katsuki blinked, then scowled, pulling back a little more. “I told you to shut up about that.”

Mina snorted. “Yeah, yeah, you said that. But do you remember the look on your face when you saw how everyone else’s turned out? You kept sneaking glances at our hands, and your fingers twitched like you wanted to ask me to do yours, too.”

Katsuki stiffened.

Mina’s smile widened, but it wasn’t teasing—it was warm. “And that one time we went shopping together? I remember catching you looking at the skirts a little too long before stomping away like they offended you.”

Katsuki’s face burned.

“I just—” Mina exhaled, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Kacchan. I think I always felt it, in some way, even if I didn’t fully get it back then. And I bet a part of you knew it too.”

Katsuki swallowed, her throat tight, but she listened.

Mina pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, her expression proud . “It’s scary , isn’t it?” she said, squeezing Katsuki’s shoulders. “Stepping into yourself. Letting yourself be seen for the first time. That’s scary as hell. But, Kacchan…” She grinned, her golden eyes shining. “You’re doing it. ”

Katsuki sucked in a sharp breath, her vision blurring again.

“You’re coming out of your shell,” Mina continued, her voice filled with so much warmth it made Katsuki’s chest ache. “And that’s huge. That’s amazing. ”

Katsuki blinked hard, trying to keep the fresh wave of emotions at bay. “I—” Her voice cracked. She let out a wet, half-choked laugh, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. “You’re so fucking sappy, holy shit.”

Mina giggled. “Duh. It’s part of my charm.”

Katsuki exhaled shakily, dropping her hands, her lips twitching despite herself.

Then, her expression flickered—doubt creeping back in.

Mina caught it instantly.

Katsuki hesitated, then spoke quietly, her voice small . “What if—” She swallowed, fingers curling into her lap. “What if I’m just convincing myself this is real?”

Mina’s gaze softened.

Katsuki shook her head, her throat tight. “What if I only think I’m a girl because—because my body changed, and my brain’s just—just reacting to that?”

Mina took her hands gently, squeezing them. “Kacchan,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “You’ve always been a girl. You just didn’t have the space to figure it out before now.”

Katsuki’s breath hitched.

“I mean, come on,” Mina continued, smiling. “The things you wanted as a kid? The way you felt when people told you who you were supposed to be? The way you always fought back against that, even if you didn’t have the words for it?” She squeezed Katsuki’s hands again. “That wasn’t nothing.”

Katsuki’s jaw clenched.

“You’re not making this up,” Mina said, unwavering. “And if you ever need a reminder of that, I’ll gladly be the one to slap that doubt out of your head, okay?”

Katsuki let out a choked laugh, another tear slipping free.

Mina grinned. “Besides—if anyone is trying to convince you of something, it’s them. The ones who think you’re wrong. The ones who think you’re something you’re not. ”

Katsuki’s breath shuddered out of her, her heart pounding.

Mina nudged her. “But you know what I think?”

Katsuki wiped at her nose, sniffling. “What?”

Mina beamed. “I think you’re gorgeous. ”

Katsuki froze .

Mina giggled at her expression, squeezing her hands tighter. “Seriously, Kacchan—you are so pretty. Like, insanely pretty. I can’t believe I didn’t realize how pretty you are sooner!”

Katsuki’s face went up in flames.

“Just imagine when we do your makeup,” Mina continued, buzzing with excitement. “Your cheekbones? Stunning. Your eyes? Sharp as hell. Your lips? So perfect for lip gloss— ”

Katsuki made a strangled noise.

Mina laughed . “Ohhh, and your nails—wait ‘til we get some color on them! We’re gonna have so much fun, Kacchan!”

Katsuki let out a wheezing laugh, pressing a hand over her face. “ Shut up ,” she mumbled, but she was smiling —bright and real for the first time all day.

Mina grinned. “Nope. You deserve this, and I’m not letting you miss out on it any longer.”

Katsuki wiped at her eyes again, her heart feeling light for the first time in what felt like forever.

Then—hesitantly, shyly —she asked, “Uh. About, um… shaving?”

Mina perked up. “Ooh! Yeah, what about it?”

Katsuki fidgeted, looking off to the side. “…It, uh. It scares me.”

Mina blinked, then gasped , dramatically clutching her chest. “Kacchan,” she whispered, “are you telling me that big, bad Dynamight is afraid of a razor ?”

Katsuki scowled , but her face was burning. “Shut the hell up,” she snapped. “It’s not that —I just—I don’t know how to do it!” She crossed her arms, huffing. “And I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

Mina beamed . “Well, don’t worry—I got you.”

Katsuki hesitated, biting her lip. “…My mom didn’t tell me anything ,” she admitted quietly. “Nothing about, y’know… girl stuff. I don’t even know what to expect with, uh. Periods. ”

Mina’s expression softened. “That’s okay, Kacchan. I’ll teach you everything you need to know, alright?”

Katsuki swallowed, then nodded.

Mina squeezed her hand. “Also—you ever wonder why girls’ clothing sizing makes zero sense?”

Katsuki groaned. “ What the hell is up with that?! ”

Mina cackled . “Right?! It’s the stupidest thing ever. But don’t worry, I’ll help you with that too.”

Katsuki smiled, small and real .

And for the first time in forever—

She felt like she was starting to remember who she actually was.

Chapter Text

The hallway stretched before them, endless and alive with laughter. Katsuki’s heart pounded in time with her racing footsteps as she skidded a corner, Mina’s grip on her wrist grounding her in the surreal, breathless moment. Their giggles bounced off the walls, reckless and free, and the sound alone made something tighten in Katsuki’s chest—something she couldn’t name but could feel, warm and aching, behind her ribs.

She had never run for the sake of running before. Not like this. Not without a destination or a reason or a need to escape. She ran because she could. Because she wanted to. Because the girl tugging her forward made her feel like the world had cracked open into something brand new, and Katsuki was finally allowed to step inside. Her breath came in short, ecstatic bursts, her lungs burning, but the sting only made her feel alive .

Mina glanced over her shoulder, her sharp golden eyes glinting with mischief. “Hurry up, slowpoke! You’re supposed to be the number one hero, right?”

Katsuki snorted, breathless. “I will fucking end you, Ashido.”

Mina let out a wild, gleeful cackle, twisting mid-run to flash Katsuki a dazzling grin before yanking her forward with renewed vigor. Her feet barely touched the ground, her whole body a blur of pure, chaotic energy. “Not if we make it to my room first! Then I’ll be in my territory, and you’ll be powerless before my feminine ways!”

Katsuki groaned but didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The air around her felt electric, thrumming against her skin as her feet pounded against the floor. Her chest was tight, but not in the suffocating way it used to be. It was different now—an expansion, a stretching, like her heart had suddenly been given room to breathe.

She was still catching her breath when Mina finally shoved open her door and yanked them both inside, kicking it shut with her foot. Katsuki stumbled, hands on her knees, grinning despite herself as she huffed out, “You’re so fucking dumb.”

Mina beamed, spinning dramatically in the center of her room before striking a pose. “And yet, I am correct in all things. Welcome to your first ever official girl’s night, Kacchan.”

Katsuki scoffed but straightened, taking in the room around her. It was so Mina that it almost hurt—neon pink LED lights framing the ceiling, posters of pop idols and powerful pro heroines covering the walls, a vanity cluttered with an ungodly amount of makeup, and a giant bean bag chair that practically swallowed up the floor. The whole place smelled faintly of strawberries and bubblegum, warm and sweet and overwhelmingly safe .

Her throat tightened. Safe . That was what this felt like. She had spent so much of her life bracing for something—judgment, rejection, a quiet reminder that she wasn’t meant to be the way she was. But here? With Mina? There was nothing but warmth.

Mina plopped onto her bed, grinning up at Katsuki. “Alright, rule number one of girl’s night: no fucking way am I letting you do anything until you’re the cutest princess in the entire world.”

Katsuki raised a brow. “What.”

Mina sprang upright, her movements fluid and theatrical, practically pirouetting across the room before seizing her closet doors and flinging them open with the gusto of a stage performer unveiling a grand finale. Inside hung an array of cute pajamas, oversized sweaters, fluffy shorts, and socks that all but screamed cozy chaos. “I command you to change into something disgustingly adorable. Preferably these—” She yanked out a set of soft pink pajamas with white lace trim and fuzzy cat paw socks .

Katsuki stared. “You’re a menace.”

Mina wiggled the socks enticingly. “A menace with taste .”

Katsuki rolled her eyes but snatched the clothes from her hands anyway. “You’re insufferable.”

Mina beamed. “I love you too, Kacchan!”

Katsuki snorted, but something warm settled in her stomach at the words. She didn’t say anything back, but when she stepped into the bathroom to change, her hands weren’t shaking. Not even a little.

Meanwhile, Izuku found himself outside in the courtyard, his breath coming in short, measured bursts. He had stormed out of the dorms after hearing Katsuki’s sobs, his emotions too tangled to sit still. He needed answers. He needed to do something.

And that was when he saw Shoto.

The taller boy stood beneath the dim glow of a garden lamp, hands in his pockets, his breath forming faint clouds in the cool air. His gaze was distant, unfocused, but when Izuku approached, Shoto turned as if he had been waiting for him.

“She was crying,” Izuku dry swallowed, his voice raw, no preamble.

Shoto nodded slowly. “I heard.”

Izuku’s fists clenched. “Do you know what happened?”

Shoto exhaled, rubbing his temple with his fingers. “I wasn’t there when it happened,” he admitted. “But I started putting things together after lunch. The atmosphere shifted. Something was… off.”

Izuku’s breathing was shallow, his hands trembling with barely restrained frustration. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Shoto’s brows furrowed. “Because I didn’t realize the extent of it until it was too late.” He tilted his head slightly, studying Izuku. “You think I don’t care, but I do. I wasn’t there when they cornered her, but I should have been.”

Izuku opened his mouth to snap something back, but Shoto raised a hand. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. About how I’ve failed her.” His voice was level, but there was something weighty beneath it, something laced with self-recrimination. “I should’ve told her sooner that I support her. That I see her.” He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. “So, I wrote this.”

Izuku blinked. “What is it?”

“A list,” Shoto said simply, handing the notebook over. “Ways to support her. Things I should have done earlier. Things we all need to do better.”

Izuku stared at the pages. It wasn’t just a handful of bullet points—it was pages of observations, notes, and personal reflections. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He had been ready to rage—to yell, to demand answers, to fight if he had to. But seeing this, seeing the sincerity and effort Shoto had already put into this moment, his anger shifted into something else.

Shoto looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t think I should be the one leading this conversation,” he admitted. “You should. But I want to stand beside you.”

Izuku took a deep breath, his pulse still hammering but no longer out of control. He nodded once, gripping the notebook tightly. “Then let’s go.”

When Katsuki stepped back out, Mina gasped, her whole body jerking backward as if she had been struck. Her eyes widened, shimmering under the warm glow of her bedroom lights, and then—

She staggered backward like she had been shot right through the heart. Mina clutched her chest with both hands, eyes wide, mouth hanging open in shock. Then, as if the force of the sight before her was too much to bear, she collapsed dramatically onto the bed, flopping backward as if she had fainted.

“OH MY GOD,” she wailed, hands shaking as she pushed herself back up, pointing at Katsuki with both hands. “YOU’RE SO CUTE I’M GONNA DIE!”

Katsuki’s face melted, her stomach twisting into knots as she tugged at the hem of her pajama top. “Shut the hell up,” she grumbled, shifting on her feet, but Mina’s reaction was relentless.

Mina practically lunged off the bed, circling Katsuki like a scientist examining a rare, extraordinary specimen. “Your HAIR,” she gasped, fingers twitching as she reached forward, then hesitated. “The way it falls just a little messy but in the coolest way possible—are you kidding me?”

She then grabbed Katsuki’s hands, inspecting them with fervor. “And your nails! Your hands are so delicate but still so powerful—I can’t believe you haven’t let me paint your nails before!”

Katsuki couldn’t stop the small, strangled sound that escaped her throat. She curled her fingers inward, her shoulders tensing as she fought to keep her emotions at bay. It was too much —the excitement, the attention, the warmth seeping into the cracks she hadn’t realized were there. It made her chest ache in a way she wasn’t ready for.

Mina, ever the perceptive one, softened instantly. She squeezed Katsuki’s hands before letting go, her golden eyes twinkling with something gentler. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop gushing—for now.” She plopped onto her bed and patted the spot beside her. “But you better sit your cute ass down, ‘cause I'm about to go all out .”

Katsuki swallowed, forcing herself to breathe past the lump in her throat. She sat down beside Mina, legs tucked up, heart still hammering in her chest.

Izuku stood before them, his hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white from the force of his grip. His chest burned, not with the usual determination that had carried him through countless battles, but with something rawer, something furious and aching and helpless . He took a deep breath, forcing himself to speak through the fire in his throat.

“She was crying,” he said, voice measured but trembling under the weight of it. “I heard her from the hallway. I’ve never—I’ve never heard her cry like that before.” His breath hitched, and he exhaled sharply, trying to keep himself steady. “She was that broken up about whatever the fuck you said—whatever the fuck you did .”

Silence thickened the room, suffocating. No one dared to move.

Eijirou’s face was drawn in quiet horror, his lips pressed into a thin line. Denki’s fingers twitched against his thigh, restless, guilty. Even Hanta, always one to deflect with humor, had his gaze fixed on the floor, his hands shoved into his pockets as though that could hide the weight of his shame.

Izuku swallowed hard, his breathing ragged. His fists unfurled, fingers twitching at his sides. “You need to reflect on this. You need to understand what you’ve done,” he continued, his voice lower now, but no less intense. “Because whatever you think this was—whatever joke, whatever offhand comment—it wasn’t harmless.”

His throat constricted, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to keep going. “You hurt her. And I won’t fucking stand by and watch it happen again.”

A heavy pause followed, stretching into an unbearable eternity.

Then, movement. A rustle of fabric as Shoto shifted beside him. Izuku turned just in time to see him flip open his notebook, the faint scratch of paper breaking the silence. Shoto’s expression was unreadable, but there was something resolute in the way he gripped the edges of his book, his voice calm but weighted with intent.

“I’ve made a list,” he said simply, his tone even. “A list of ways we can support her. Things we should have done already. Things we will do better from now on.”

The boys lifted their heads, some hesitant, others wary.

Shoto’s gaze swept over them, assessing, then he spoke. “Respect her pronouns at all times.”

He let that sit. Let them absorb it.

“Listen. Don’t assume you know what she needs—let her tell you.”

Another pause. A breath.

“Pay attention when she’s struggling—not just when she’s smiling.”

The weight of it all settled in, and slowly, one by one, heads began to nod, understanding—genuine, painful understanding—beginning to take hold.

The room was alive with energy, the air thick with the scent of floral perfumes and body sprays as more girls from Class 3-A filtered into Mina’s room, drawn in by the sheer excitement vibrating through the walls. Ochako bounced onto the bed, her eyes twinkling as she grabbed a tiara from Momo’s hands. “Okay, okay—hear me out. Princess Bakugou .”

Hagakure giggled, clapping her hands. “Yes! And not just any princess—a hero princess!”

Momo nodded approvingly, adjusting a delicate silver hair clip between her fingers. “The world always needs more hero princesses. And who better than our own fearless leader?”

Katsuki, who had been sitting stiffly on Mina’s vanity stool, scowled. “I am not a princess.”

Mina, unbothered by the glare, grinned wickedly and plopped onto the bed beside Ochako. “Oh, but you are —a badass princess. A warrior princess. The strongest, most explosive, most badass princess the world has ever seen.”

Katsuki huffed, crossing her arms, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. There was something about the way they all looked at her—like this was normal, like she belonged, like they had been waiting for this moment as much as she had. It sent a thrill down her spine, overwhelming and warm.

Jirou leaned against the wall, her arms folded as she smirked. “I don’t know, Kats. You’re kind of killing this look right now.”

“I hate you all,” Katsuki grumbled, but her voice wavered with something dangerously close to laughter.

“Now, now,” Momo said, stepping forward with a brush in hand. “Enough bickering. We need to complete the transformation.”

Katsuki’s laughter rang through the room, light and unburdened, the sound bouncing off the walls like a melody she had never let herself sing before. Mina sat beside her, hands clasped together in excitement as the other girls crowded around, giggling and chattering over makeup brushes and scattered nail polishes.

Katsuki’s face ached from smiling, from laughing , and she didn’t care. She wiped at the corner of her eye, barely realizing when a tear slipped down her cheek. Another followed. Then another.

She choked on a breath, her heart pounding, the realization striking her like a bolt of lightning. Oh my god. This is real. This is happening. I can do this now. I can be me now. It’s okay to be me.

Her shoulders shook as she pressed a trembling hand over her mouth, the weight of years of silence crumbling all at once. She wasn’t holding back. She wasn’t bracing for someone to tell her to stop.

She was safe .

Mina caught the change instantly. “Kacchan?” she murmured, voice soft, cautious. But there was no fear, no pity. Just understanding.

Katsuki let out a shaky laugh, dropping her hands as fresh tears spilled over her lashes. “I’m fine,” she croaked, her voice uneven, her throat tight. “I’m—shit, I don’t even know—”

Mina grinned, grabbing Katsuki’s hands and squeezing tight. “You’re happy,” she said simply, eyes shining. “That’s what this is. You’re happy .”

A sob broke free from Katsuki’s throat. “Yeah,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “Yeah, I am.”

Mina squealed as she grabbed a collection of nail polishes, spreading them out like a treasure trove. "Alright, Kacchan, it's time for the most important decision of your life. What color do you want them to be?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously. “Any designs?”

Katsuki wrinkled her nose, eyeing the bottles with an almost comical level of hesitation. She had never really thought about something like this before. Sure, she had seen people with their nails done, had watched from afar, pretending not to care. But now? It was different. She was different.

Her fingers twitched in her lap. "I—I don't know," she mumbled, her voice quieter than she intended.

Mina tilted her head, then gasped dramatically. "Wait! I bet I know !" She wiggled her fingers over the array of colors, humming in thought before grabbing a bottle of a soft, pastel green. "How about this? It's cute, but not too cutesy. It has edge ."

Katsuki’s mouth opened, then shut, her face heating instantly. Green.

She has green nail polish.

Greeeeeeeeeeeen.

Her mind betrayed her, conjuring an image of Izuku—his stupid, bright eyes, the warmth in them whenever he looked at her, the way he always seemed to see her, even before she fully saw herself. She scowled, hoping the sudden warmth in her chest didn’t show on her face.

“Green. Green. Bunnies.”

She choked and hoped the sun would explode. You know. Instant death.

Mina giggled and grinned triumphantly, kicking her feet back and forth as she bounced in her seat. "Ohhh, Kacchan, I knew it! You have a soft cute side!"

Katsuki clicked her tongue, but didn’t pull away when Mina took her hand and started carefully painting her nails. The brushstrokes were gentle, precise, the polish cool against her skin. Katsuki stared, mesmerized by the slow, deliberate motions. It was oddly relaxing.

"You know," Mina mused as she finished the first coat, "I think this is the happiest I've ever seen you."

Katsuki blinked, her throat tightening unexpectedly. She glanced away, biting the inside of her cheek. "Yeah? Well… maybe that's ‘cause it is."

Mina’s fingers stilled for just a second before she beamed. "Damn right it is."

The anticipation in the air was thick, electric.

Katsuki sat still, heart pounding, breath shallow. The scent of setting spray clung to the air, the feeling of soft brushes lingering against her skin. She could barely process the voices around her, the murmurs of excitement, the rustling of movement as Mina and the others made their final touches.

She clenched her fists in her lap, fingers digging into her palm. Her whole body buzzed.

Then—

“Okay,” Mina breathed, practically vibrating with excitement. “Three… Two… One—”

The cloth covering the mirror was pulled away.

Confetti popped. Squeals of excitement erupted.

Katsuki saw herself.

And the world stopped.

She blinked, unable to breathe, unable to think . The girl staring back at her had wide, glassy eyes, cheeks flushed pink, lips painted the perfect shade of red. Her hair was styled—not too much, just enough to soften the edges. Her eyeliner was powerful and perfectly pointed, pairing gorgeously with her smokey eyeshadow. The dim glow of the room made her look like she belonged here, like she had always belonged.

Like she had been waiting to be seen.

Her hands trembled as she reached out toward the mirror, fingertips brushing against the glass. Her reflection did the same. It was real. It was her .

She couldn't hold it back anymore. Her throat clenched. A choked sob tore from her lips, her shoulders shaking with the force of it. She gasped for breath, but it came out broken, overwhelmed, unstoppable.

Mina wrapped her arms around her from behind, squeezing tight. “You see her now, don’t you?” she whispered.

Katsuki nodded and sobbed harder.

Because she did.

"I know who I am!"

She finally did.

Izuku felt it before he heard it.

A familiar, undeniable pull in his chest—like a thread wrapped around his heart, yanking him toward her . His breath caught, his head snapping up, his entire body tensing. And then—

Kacchan’s crying.

He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.

His feet moved before his mind could catch up, muscles coiling, his instincts kicking in as if someone had screamed for help. He sprinted, his legs burning, his pulse pounding in his ears. He barely registered the halls flying past him, barely noticed the stunned glances of students as he tore through the dorms with single-minded focus.

What happened?! Who hurt her?!

He slammed the door open, his breath ragged, his body thrumming with adrenaline—

And then he saw her.

Confetti littered the floor, drifting in slow, weightless spirals. The mirror stood uncovered, its glass reflecting the scene in front of him. And there—

Kacchan.

She stood at the center of it all, bathed in warm golden light, her wide crimson eyes glassy with tears, her hands trembling as they clutched at her chest. Her makeup was perfect—sharp, defined eyeliner that made her eyes burn like embers, her lips painted a bold, confident red. Her hair was tousled into an effortless cascade of spunky waves, soft and wild, framing her face like she had stepped out of a dream. Her nails— green, with tiny bunnies —caught the light as her fingers curled against her palm. And her pajamas—an absolutely ridiculous pink set with lace trim and fuzzy cat paw socks—should have made her look silly.

But she didn’t look silly.

She looked breathtaking .

Izuku’s breath stilled in his chest, his world narrowing to only her. The sheer joy on her face, the way her entire being glowed —it was gorgeous. It was overwhelming. It was everything .

Katsuki Bakugou had always been the most powerful force in his life—brilliant, unrelenting, alive in a way no one else was. But this? Seeing her like this? Seeing her happy ?

It destroyed him.

She turned then, their eyes locking, and something inside him snapped .

Without thinking, without stopping to filter the words forming on his tongue, Izuku whispered, raw and reverent.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

The words weren’t just a compliment. They weren’t empty flattery. They were the undeniable, immutable truth .

Katsuki’s breath hitched, her hands flying to her mouth, her eyes blown wide, shimmering with something raw and warm.

And Izuku knew.

He was falling in love all over again.

Chapter Text

Katsuki stood outside the dorms, shifting her weight impatiently as she texted her parents to see where the hell they were. The pastel orange and green phone case Momo had made her swung slightly from her fingers, the attached bunny charm bouncing with each flick of her thumb. She barely noticed it, too focused on ignoring the trio of girls surrounding her.

“You totally ran away from him,” Mina teased, poking Katsuki in the shoulder.

“I did not ,” Katsuki snapped, her face immediately heating up.

“You so did,” Ochako chimed in, grinning. “You just—froze. Like—” she lifted her arms and struck a dramatic, stiff pose, mimicking Katsuki’s wide-eyed paralysis from the night before.

Tsuyu tilted her head. “You stood there for about ten seconds without breathing. It was kinda impressive.”

Katsuki groaned, slamming her face into her hands. “Shut up .”

It had been humiliating . Izuku had looked at her—really looked at her after her makeover—and then, without hesitation, had said, Kacchan, you’re the prettiest girl in the world like it was the most obvious thing. Katsuki’s brain had immediately blue-screened. Ten whole seconds of nothing but static noise. Then, when her thoughts finally caught up, she’d combusted—stammering, blushing furiously, waving her hands frantically at Izuku to shut the hell up while he, in turn, started panicking about saying too much, apologizing in rapid succession while the other girls squealed in delight at their antics.

And now here she was—avoiding Izuku like the plague while Mina, Ochako, and Tsuyu refused to let her live .

“Aw, come on, Kacchan,” Mina crooned. “You were so cute. And Izuku was totally freaking out too—”

“I will explode you,” Katsuki grumbled, stuffing her hands into the sleeves of her blood-red cardigan, embroidered with tiny skulls, flames, and explosions. She adjusted the collar of her graphic T-shirt, glaring down at her red Chelsea boots.

Ochako clasped her hands together, her eyes shining. “But you like that he thinks you’re pretty, right?”

Katsuki sputtered. “Th—that’s— not the point—!”

Mina wiggled her eyebrows. “Oh, but it so is.”

Before Katsuki could lunge at her, the sound of a car pulling up cut through their teasing. Katsuki immediately straightened, her heart rate spiking for an entirely different reason.

The moment the car stopped, Masaru practically leaped out. “Katsuki!” His voice cracked as he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around her in a crushing hug. “Oh, sweetheart, look at you,” he choked, his voice thick with emotion. “You look so happy!”

Katsuki stiffened for a moment, then slowly relaxed into the embrace, her hands gripping the back of his jacket. “Yeah,” she muttered, her throat feeling tight. “I—I am.”

Mina, Ochako, and Tsuyu stood a few feet away, watching the moment unfold. Their smiles were softer now, the teasing forgotten.

But then Katsuki’s gaze flicked to the car.

Mitsuki was still in the passenger seat, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable. She didn’t move to get out. Didn’t even roll down the window.

Katsuki swallowed hard. The warmth Masaru had given her quickly shrank under the weight of Mitsuki’s icy silence.

Masaru pulled back, wiping at his eyes. “Let’s get going, Kat. Big day ahead.”

Katsuki nodded, turning to her friends. “Later,” she smirked, but it didn’t meet her eyes.

They waved her off, though Ochako and Mina shared a small, knowing glance before Katsuki climbed into the back seat.

As they drove off, Masaru beamed at her through the rearview mirror. “So, how’s school been? You settling in okay?”

Katsuki nodded. “Yeah. It’s been… good.”

“Classes alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Making friends?”

“Mhm.”

But her voice was quieter now. Her focus had narrowed onto Mitsuki’s posture—her stillness, the way her fingers gripped her arms just a little too tightly.

Masaru kept talking, kept trying to keep the mood light, but Katsuki barely heard him. She was too busy studying every shift in her mother’s body language, trying to gauge where things stood. Trying to anticipate anything that might… happen .

The joy from Masaru’s hug faded, replaced by something colder, something that settled deep in her bones.

She hated this feeling.

But she knew it all too well.

Their first stop was a large furniture store, the kind that specialized in the grossest displays of customer service. Masaru had insisted that they get Katsuki’s dorm furniture taken care of early so that by the time they got back later, everything would already be in place. “That way, all you have to do is unpack and decorate,” he had explained excitedly.

Katsuki exhaled as she stepped into the store, the blast of air conditioning hitting her full force. The artificial chill bit at her skin, contrasting sharply with the smell of freshly unpacked wood, synthetic upholstery, and the faint chemical tang of floor polish. The sheer brightness of the overhead lights made everything feel sterile, unnatural. The store was too big, too loud, too cluttered with furniture displays designed to make customers feel at home but instead making her feel claustrophobic.

Rows of beds, dressers, vanities, and bookshelves stretched before her, their arrangements neat but soulless. There were too many choices. She clenched her jaw, trying to suppress the wave of irritation crawling up her spine. This was supposed to be fun. A fresh start. But her skin itched with the weight of her mother’s presence just a few steps behind her, an inevitable force of critique waiting to land.

“This way,” Masaru gestured, leading her toward the dorm-sized furniture sets. His excitement was infectious, but Katsuki could only muster half-hearted participation.

Katsuki gravitated toward a sleek black dresser with gold handles, running her fingers over the polished surface. The texture was smooth, too perfect, lacking any character. The gold accents shimmered under the overhead lighting, catching her eye. She could work with this.

Mitsuki, who had been trailing behind silently, finally spoke. “That one’s kinda fancy,” she commented, her tone unreadable. “Are you sure that finish is good quality? It looks like it could scratch easily.”

Katsuki bristled. Her fingers twitched slightly over the surface. “So what?” she muttered, shoulders tensing.

Masaru stepped in smoothly. “She likes what she likes, Mitsuki.”

The conversation drifted, but the tension lingered. As they moved to bed frames, Katsuki paused at a dark green upholstered headboard. It was sturdy but had a softness to it, something that felt comfortable .

Masaru grinned. “That’s a good choice. Looks strong but still cozy.”

Mitsuki huffed. “Green? That doesn’t match with anything else you’ve picked.”

Katsuki clenched her jaw, her stomach twisting. “I don’t need everything to match,” she said, voice low, measured, trying not to snap.

Mitsuki eyed the setup warily, but Masaru patted Katsuki’s shoulder. “It’ll make the space yours, and that’s what matters.”

By the time they picked out a bookshelf, a small desk, and a vanity with a mirror lined with warm LED lights, Mitsuki let out another skeptical noise. “You’re really going with a black dresser, a green bed, and now this?”

Katsuki exhaled sharply, gripping the strap of her bag tighter. “Yes, Mom. I am.”

The words settled between them like an invisible weight. The air around them felt heavier now, like something unspoken had curled into the silence. Masaru, ever the peacemaker, quickly arranged for the furniture to be delivered and set up by the evening. “There,” he said, clapping his hands. “That’s one big thing off your plate.”

Katsuki allowed herself a small smile. It was nice to know she wouldn’t have to struggle with furniture assembly when she got back.

Mitsuki still hadn’t said much beyond her critiques, but Katsuki tried not to let it bother her.

Tried.

After finalizing the furniture, they moved on to a nearby home decor store. Masaru led the way, enthusiastically pointing out different wall decorations, rugs, and lighting fixtures. Katsuki trailed after him, scanning the aisles with interest.

They moved on to the bedding section. Katsuki immediately gravitated toward a deep crimson comforter, one with a soft, plush texture that looked both warm and sleek, embroidered with black skulls. The fabric felt luxurious beneath her fingertips, smooth but thick, the kind that would keep her warm even in the dead of winter. She imagined curling up under it, shielded, protected, unseen. “This one.”

Mitsuki snorted. “That’s going to make your room look like a gothic horror show.”

Katsuki tensed. “And?”

Mitsuki crossed her arms. “It’s just so… dark. What about something lighter? More neutral?” She gestured toward a set of pale gray sheets and a beige comforter. “These would match better with anything.”

Katsuki rolled her eyes. “I don’t want beige. I want this.”

Mitsuki scoffed. “Of course you do.”

Masaru stepped in quickly. “Katsuki should pick what makes her happy, Mitsuki.”

But Mitsuki wasn’t letting up. “You’re making everything so mismatched. Black dresser, green bed, gothic vanity, now this?”

Katsuki’s hands clenched around the comforter. “It’s my dorm.”

“Yeah, and it looks like it was thrown together by a teenager with no sense of coordination.”

Katsuki felt her temper flare. “Good thing I am a teenager, then.”

Masaru sighed. “Alright, alright. Let’s just—”

“No, I’m done,” Katsuki cut him off, voice sharp. “I’m getting this. End of story.”

Mitsuki narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue further, though Katsuki could still feel the tension radiating off of her.

As they moved deeper into the store, Masaru patted Katsuki’s shoulder. “It’s going to look great, sweetheart.”

Katsuki swallowed hard, gripping the comforter tighter. She wished she could believe that.

Then, something caught her eye—a massive, soft green bunny plush sitting on the shelf, almost comically oversized. Before she could stop herself, she grabbed it, running her fingers over the velvety fabric, squeezing it just enough to feel the give of the stuffing. It was absurd. Ridiculous. But it was soft. Comforting.

A memory stirred in her chest, unbidden and sharp.

She was four years old, standing in the middle of a toy store aisle. Everything smelled like fresh plastic and faintly of floor wax, the colors around her loud and bright. Her tiny hands had grabbed a stuffed rabbit from the shelf—plush and vibrant green, its oversized ears flopping to the side.

She had gasped, hugging it to her chest, marveling at how soft it was, how perfectly it fit in her arms.

Then, the weight of a hand on her wrist.

Mitsuki’s voice, firm and dismissive. “Put that back, Katsuki. That’s for babies.”

A sting of rejection. Confusion. She had squeezed the rabbit tighter, hesitant. “But I like it.”

Mitsuki had sighed, her patience running thin. “You don’t need that.” And before Katsuki could protest, it was plucked from her arms and placed back on the shelf.

She had said nothing. Just stood there, watching as the rabbit faded into the sea of other toys, already out of reach.

Katsuki’s grip on the plush in the present tightened, her jaw locking as she shook the memory away. She wasn’t four anymore. She didn’t need permission.

Masaru stifled a laugh. “That’s a contrast.”

Katsuki scowled at him, face heating up. “It’s soft, okay?”

Behind her, Mitsuki had stopped walking. Katsuki felt her mother’s gaze burning into her, but she refused to turn around.

Mitsuki stared at the bunny in Katsuki’s arms, something unreadable flickering across her face.

She remembered, too.

The way her daughter had hugged that rabbit so tight, her little fingers clutching at the fabric like it was something vital, something she needed. The way she had quietly wilted when Mitsuki had told her to put it back, her shoulders curling inward as she obeyed.

Mitsuki hadn’t thought about it since. Hadn’t thought it had mattered. But now, seeing Katsuki standing there, gripping that ridiculous plush with stiff fingers and a clenched jaw, something heavy settled in her chest.

Had she done this?

Had she been wrong?

Mitsuki exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples. “Your aesthetic is all over the place.”

Katsuki just shrugged. “It’s my dorm.”

By the time they reached the checkout, Masaru was still beaming. “This place is gonna look amazing once it’s all set up.”

Katsuki allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. She was making her dorm hers.

Mitsuki remained silent, but Katsuki ignored the tension pressing against her.

This was her space. And for the first time, she was claiming it.

Their next stop was a home essentials store, filled with aisles of towels, bathroom accessories, and everything Katsuki needed to set up her morning routine. Masaru led the way, pushing the cart while Katsuki scanned the shelves.

She picked out a set of dark gray towels, soft to the touch, and tossed them into the cart. “These are fine.”

Mitsuki sighed. “More dark colors? You’re really committing to this whole ‘brooding antihero’ aesthetic.”

Katsuki scowled. “They won’t show stains.”

Masaru chuckled. “That’s practical, at least.”

Katsuki moved further down the aisle, stopping at the shower curtains. She reached for one with an elegant black lace pattern over a deep purple background.

Mitsuki arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

Katsuki gritted her teeth. “Yes, really.”

Masaru, trying to keep the peace, quickly grabbed a matching bath mat. “There. Now it’s coordinated.”

They continued through the store, grabbing toiletries, storage containers, and finally reaching the hair care section. Katsuki picked up a sleek black blow dryer and a straightener, hesitating slightly before adding them to the cart.

Mitsuki pursed her lips. “You’ve never cared about styling your hair before.”

Katsuki felt her chest tighten. “Well, I do now," she snapped.

Mitsuki exhaled through her nose, but for once, she didn’t argue.

Masaru smiled as he nudged the cart forward. “Alright, let’s get checked out. We’ve got everything you need to start fresh.”

Katsuki let out a breath, gripping the handle of the cart. It wasn’t perfect, but at least she was one step closer to making this space truly her own.

As they made their way toward the checkout, Katsuki’s eyes landed on a small display of nail polish tucked in the miscellaneous aisle. The tiny glass bottles lined up neatly, their colors glimmering under the fluorescent light. Her fingers twitched before she reached out, brushing against the smooth glass, the cool surface sending a small shiver up her arm. Deep reds, purples, sleek blacks—each hue bold, striking, and enticing in its own way. A warmth settled in her chest, a quiet hum of excitement at the thought of painting her nails, the small indulgence of something that felt right .

Her breath steadied as she traced her fingertips lightly over the caps, feeling the cool smoothness beneath her touch. It was ridiculous how something so small, so simple, could stir something so unfamiliar in her chest. A quiet hum of want. The thought of painting her nails—of claiming something delicate and unapologetically hers —sent a ripple of warmth through her, cautious but real.

Then—

“That’s not for you!”

The words crashed into her like a gunshot, shattering the moment.

Katsuki flinched so hard she nearly knocked over the display. Her hand ripped away as if she’d been burned, her spine locking ramrod straight as her pulse spiked in a dizzying, stomach-churning lurch. Her breath hitched, a jagged inhale that felt too loud, too sharp, as the store suddenly felt too bright, too much . The air turned thick, cloying, pressing against her skin, and she stood frozen, heart hammering in her ribs.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She knew that voice. Knew it too well. The warning behind it, the absolute certainty, the expectation of immediate compliance.

Mitsuki.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry as she hesitantly turned, dreading what she would see—her mother, arms crossed, gaze sharp and disapproving, ready to correct her. Ready to remind her of what was acceptable and what wasn’t.

But when her eyes landed on the source of the voice, it wasn’t Mitsuki at all.

It was another mother.

A woman stood a few feet away, gripping her young daughter’s wrist with an impatient scowl, yanking a small blue toy car from the child’s grasp. The little girl, no older than four, let out a choked sob, trying to hold onto it, her tiny fingers scrambling uselessly against the woman’s firm grip.

“That’s for boys,” the mother said, shaking her head as she pulled her daughter away. “You don’t need that.”

The girl hiccupped, her face red and tear-streaked. “I just wanted to see—”

“Enough.” The mother’s voice was final, unyielding, the same tone Mitsuki had always used.

Katsuki’s stomach twisted violently, nausea curling at the edges of her consciousness. The scene blurred, colors bleeding together, sounds distorting into something distant, muffled, like she was suddenly underwater.

The mother dragging her daughter away—

Her own small hands clutching desperately at something—

A flash of pink and gold plastic—

The past hit her like a freight train.

She was five years old.

The store was bright, the air thick with the scent of plastic and polished tile. She stood in the aisle, her small hands gripping a Barbie doll with wide, unblinking awe.

The doll was cool . She wasn’t delicate or frail like the others—no frilly dresses, no pastel accessories. This one was strong. Powerful. She was dressed like a female version of All Might, muscles sculpted, stance proud, smiling with unwavering confidence. She had it all—strength, beauty, presence . Just like Katsuki wanted to have. Just like Katsuki could have.

A grin split her face. She turned, holding it up as if presenting her greatest discovery.

“Mama! Look at her! She’s—”

The words died in her throat.

The doll was ripped from her hands before she could blink. A sharp tug, swift and final, leaving her fingers curled around nothing but air.

“That’s not for you,” Mitsuki said, voice clipped. Her face was unreadable, brows slightly furrowed as she shoved a different toy into Katsuki’s small hands. “Here.”

Katsuki blinked down at it, confused. An action figure. Some pro hero she didn’t care about. Hard plastic, stiff limbs, nothing like what she’d held before.

It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t her .

Her chest clenched, a sharp, unfamiliar ache twisting in her ribs. Her throat tightened, her eyes burned, and before she understood why, she was crying—hot, frustrated tears spilling down her cheeks as she clutched the unwanted toy, her small fingers trembling around it.

She didn’t understand. She had just looked . Had just liked something. What had she done wrong? What had she done bad ?

But Mitsuki was already walking away, the Barbie tucked back onto the shelf, out of reach. Out of sight.

Out of possibility.

Katsuki’s breath hitched violently as she snapped back to the present, her head spinning.

Her hands were shaking. She hadn’t even realized. Her fingers twitched at her sides, curled into tight, useless fists as she willed herself to breathe, to steady the erratic pounding in her chest.

The nail polish display loomed in front of her, mocking her with its shimmering colors, its quiet invitation.

She shoved her hands into her pockets, pressing her nails into her palms hard enough to sting. Her jaw clenched. Her vision burned.

Without a word, without looking at anyone, she turned and walked back to the checkout line.

She didn’t meet Masaru’s gaze. Didn’t check to see if Mitsuki had noticed.

Didn’t look back at the girl still sniffling as her mother dragged her away.

She didn’t need to.

She already knew how the story ended.

Mitsuki watched from a few aisles away, her gaze following Katsuki as she reached for the nail polish display. The way her daughter's fingers brushed against the small glass bottles, tentative yet purposeful, sent a strange pull through Mitsuki’s chest. It was a movement that felt both new and familiar—something Mitsuki couldn't quite place.

Then she saw it—the flinch, the sudden rigidity in Katsuki’s shoulders, the way her hand snapped back as if she had been burned.

Mitsuki frowned. Her grip tightened on the shopping basket she was holding. She hadn’t said a word. But Katsuki’s reaction was unmistakable.

Then she saw why.

A mother dragging her crying daughter away from a toy aisle, scolding her for reaching for something that didn't fit the expectations imposed upon her. That’s for boys , the woman had said. Mitsuki felt the words in her own bones, felt them settle like stones in her chest.

The scene flickered, blending into something older, something distant yet suddenly too close.

She was back in the brightly lit aisles of a department store, the scent of plastic and freshly unpacked merchandise filling her nose. Five-year-old Katsuki stood before her, gripping a Barbie doll with wide, sparkling eyes. She was vibrating with excitement, her small fingers cradling the box like something fragile, something precious.

“Mama, look! Look at her! She’s so strong!” Katsuki’s voice was filled with awe. She turned the box around in her hands, marveling at the doll’s bright blue and red costume, the defined muscles sculpted onto her arms. “She looks like All Might, but a girl ! She’s so cool, she’s—”

Mitsuki had acted before Katsuki could finish. The doll was ripped from her hands with swift precision, the plastic crinkling under Mitsuki’s firm grip.

“That’s not for you,” she said, voice clipped and automatic.

Katsuki’s breath hitched. For a moment, she just stood there, blinking up at her mother, confusion twisting her small features. “But—”

Mitsuki shoved an action figure into her daughter’s hands instead, something firm, angular, something correct . “Here. This is better.”

Katsuki stared down at it. The plastic was cold, heavier than the doll had been. The character’s face was sharp and fierce, but it didn’t make her chest swell with the same wonder. It didn’t make her eyes light up.

It didn’t feel right .

Her lips trembled. “But I liked her,” she mumbled, her voice growing small.

Mitsuki exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Come on, brat, what do you need with dolls?”

The words were meant to be casual. Light. Dismissive. She didn’t think—she didn’t see —how Katsuki’s shoulders curled inward, how her tiny hands gripped the unwanted action figure like an anchor, how her lower lip wobbled before she bit down on it hard, too hard, to stop it from trembling.

Mitsuki had already started walking away, expecting Katsuki to follow. She had thought nothing of it. Just another moment, a fleeting interaction.

But now—

Now she saw it again. From a different angle. A different light.

Katsuki wasn’t standing behind her, obediently trailing after her mother’s authority. She was standing in front of a shelf of nail polish, her hands shaking, her body stiff with a kind of learned fear Mitsuki hadn’t realized she had instilled. The past and present blurred together in Mitsuki’s mind, overlaying each other like two reels of film running side by side, each playing a version of the same moment.

Katsuki, five years old, clutching an action figure she didn’t want, her face blotchy from holding back tears.

Katsuki, standing in a fluorescent-lit store now, shoving trembling hands into her pockets, avoiding everyone’s eyes, walking away from something she had wanted.

Mitsuki’s throat tightened.

She had thought she was keeping Katsuki safe.

Had told herself that she was preparing her, shielding her from the world’s cruelty before it could get to her first. That she was toughening her up, shaping her into someone who wouldn’t be hurt by trivial things, someone who could take on the world without flinching.

But all she had done was teach her daughter to flinch anyway.

Mitsuki’s hands curled around the shopping basket, the plastic handles biting into her palms. Her heart felt heavier than it had in years.

She had thought she was protecting her.

But had she only been teaching her to hide ?

Chapter Text

Katsuki sat stiffly in the back of her parents’ car, her fists pressed against her thighs in a poor attempt to steady the trembling in her fingers. The leather seats were cold beneath her, an unwelcome contrast to the heat pooling under her skin. Her lungs felt constricted, each breath tight, as if the air around her had thickened into something tangible, something suffocating. Her tongue was dry, the lingering taste of bile at the back of her throat reminding her how close she had come to breaking down completely. The scent of the car’s faint lavender air freshener clashed with the sharp, synthetic tang of nail polish still clinging to her skin—a cruel reminder of her humiliation, of her mistake.

She focused on keeping her breathing even, but her chest felt tight, like an invisible weight was pressing down on her ribs, making every inhale sharp and shallow. Every exhale came out shaky, betraying the panic clawing its way up her throat. Her nails, short from habitually biting them down, dug into the fabric of her jeans, desperate for some kind of anchor. Her ears buzzed with the muted sound of the car engine, the occasional sigh from her father, the gentle rustle of fabric as her mother shifted in her seat. Everything felt too loud and too quiet all at once.

Her thoughts spiraled, looping back over themselves, digging deeper into the self-doubt that clawed at her insides. The weight of Mitsuki’s expectations pressed against her like a vice. She could still hear the sharpness in that mother’s voice from earlier— that’s not for you —a phrase that had been drilled into her bones since childhood, a phrase that still echoed in her head, warping her reflection in every mirror.

She had been stupid to think this could be easy. Stupid to believe that trying to be herself wouldn’t come with consequences. Stupid to hope that maybe, just maybe, she was allowed to be happy.

Her mother had been right. She had always been right. Katsuki had been chasing something she had no business reaching for. Maybe she really was just playing pretend. Maybe this was all just some delusional phase. Maybe she was just—

"Katsuki?"

Her father’s voice barely registered. It was quiet, hesitant, full of the kind of concern that usually set her on edge. But she couldn’t focus on it. Her ears were ringing, and she was too lost in her own head to find her way out.

"Katsuki, sweetheart? Are you alright?"

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her stomach churned. If she spoke, would her voice betray her? Would it waver? Would she sound as weak as she felt?

Masaru exchanged a worried glance with Mitsuki, who had been watching Katsuki carefully in the rearview mirror. The stiffness in her shoulders, the way her lips pressed into a thin line—these were all signs of her usual brand of frustration. But beneath it, something else lingered. A realization. A weight that had settled on her chest the moment she saw Katsuki’s face when she caught sight of the nail polish.

"Masaru, pull over," Mitsuki ordered suddenly, voice tight.

He startled but did as she said, pulling the car into the nearest gas station. He glanced over at his wife questioningly, but Mitsuki was already unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Give us a minute," she said. "Go inside."

Masaru hesitated, his concern only growing. But Mitsuki’s expression left no room for argument. With a reluctant nod, he stepped out of the car and headed toward the convenience store, casting one last worried glance over his shoulder before disappearing inside.

The car door opened again, but instead of following her husband, Mitsuki slid into the back seat next to Katsuki.

Katsuki blinked, finally snapping back to the present. Glass shards burned her throat, bringing with it the soft embrace of Mitsuki’s perfume—sharp citrus layered over something faintly floral. It was familiar, grounding, yet too much in the tight space of the car. Her breath hitched. How long had they been stopped? How long had she been zoning out?

She looked around, momentarily disoriented, but the moment she realized her mother was sitting beside her, her body went rigid.

She did something wrong.

The thought struck like a bolt of lightning, igniting the panic already simmering beneath her skin. Her mouth went dry, her tongue pressing against the roof of her mouth uselessly. She didn’t know what she had done, but there had to be something. Why else would Mitsuki be sitting next to her instead of up front? Why else would her father leave them alone?

Her heart pounded as she scrambled to figure it out, her breathing growing unsteady. Think. Think. What did you do?

"I—I’m sorry," she stammered, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t mean to—whatever I did, I—"

Mitsuki cut her off by reaching out, gripping her arms firmly but not harshly. Her touch was warm, grounding—but it still sent a tremor down Katsuki’s spine, followed by the ghosts of the past.

"Katsuki, stop. You have nothing to apologize for."

Katsuki flinched at the words, shaking her head as her eyes welled with tears. "No, I—Mom, I—" Her voice cracked. "I know I messed up, I just—"

Mitsuki didn’t let her finish.

She pulled her daughter into a hug.

For a moment, Katsuki froze. Every muscle in her body locked up, her breath hitching sharply. She could feel the steady rhythm of Mitsuki’s heartbeat against her ear, the rise and fall of her chest. Her mother wasn’t someone who gave soft, tender gestures like this. She wasn’t someone who hugged without reason. Without restraint.

And yet, here she was, arms wrapped around Katsuki, holding her close. Trembling.

"I’m sorry," Mitsuki whispered, her voice unsteady. "God, Katsuki, I’m so sorry."

Katsuki’s breath caught. The apology felt foreign. Unfamiliar. Wrong.

Mitsuki smelled like home. Like childhood. But also like every mistake Katsuki had been forced to swallow.

Her lip quivered. She tasted salt on her tongue, the familiar sting of a sob held too long in her throat.

And then she broke.

A choked sob wrenched itself from her throat, and then another, and then she was falling apart.

She buried her face in Mitsuki’s shoulder, shaking violently. Her body burned from the weight of the guilt that had been held inside for far too long, her lungs ached with the weight of every held-back cry.

Mitsuki held her tighter. And for the first time in her life, Katsuki let her.

She broke. The dam inside her shattered, and she sobbed against Mitsuki’s shoulder, her entire body shaking with the force of her grief. But even as she cried, even as her fingers clenched into the fabric of her mother’s jacket, she still apologized.

“I’m broken,” she choked out. “I—I’m wrong.”

Mitsuki tightened her grip, pressing her lips into Katsuki’s hair. "No, baby, no," she murmured, her voice raw, trembling at the edges like fraying fabric. It cracked slightly, breaking under the weight of emotions she had held back for too long. Her throat felt tight, her breath uneven, as if each word she spoke threatened to choke her. Her lips quivered against Katsuki’s hair, her brow furrowed deeply with the sheer force of her regret. "That’s not true," she whispered again, her voice barely holding together, thick with sorrow, thick with guilt .

Katsuki hiccuped, struggling to steady her breath, but it was no use. “I—I should’ve been—I should’ve been better. A better son. I should’ve just—”

Mitsuki shook her head fiercely, her breath hitching as she fought to keep her composure. "You don’t need to be anything other than who you are," she said, her voice breaking like glass on the last word. Her throat clenched, the weight of years pressing down on her. Her lips trembled, and her brows furrowed in anguish as she took in Katsuki’s tear-streaked face. She exhaled sharply, a shudder running through her body, and rubbed Katsuki’s back in slow, deliberate circles, grounding herself in the rhythm. "I’m sorry for what happened with the nail polish," she whispered, her voice hoarse and uneven, a mixture of regret and desperation lacing every syllable. "I’m sorry for all of it."

Katsuki sniffled, gripping Mitsuki’s jacket tighter. She felt so small.

“I taught you to be afraid of yourself,” Mitsuki continued, voice raw. “That’s my fault.”

The car door opened, and Masaru returned, his expression shifted instantly, his brows furrowing, lips parting slightly as if forming words he couldn’t quite say yet. His eyes, filled with concern, darted between Mitsuki and Katsuki, widening at the sight of them wrapped around each other. A deep crease formed between his brows, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, shoulders tensing as though bracing himself for the worst. He took in the sight of his wife and daughter, wrapped in each other’s arms, tears streaking down their faces, and he understood.

Mitsuki turned to him, her resolve solidifying. “We’re going to the mall,” she said, voice firm. “I need to fix this.”

Masaru blinked, startled by the certainty in her voice, but then his shoulders eased. Relief softened his features as he nodded. “Okay.”

He turned to Katsuki, his gaze full of warmth. “I’ll take care of your old dorm while you’re out,” he promised. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

Katsuki sniffled and gave a tiny, hesitant nod, still unable to fully lift her head.

Mitsuki squeezed her hand. “Come on, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

She led Katsuki through the mall, the soft chatter of shoppers blending into the hum of overhead lights. The emotions between them still simmered beneath the surface, but neither spoke. The weight of what had just happened in the car lingered between them, fragile yet significant. The raw edge of the conversation had softened, but the undercurrent of unspoken words remained.

Katsuki walked half a step behind Mitsuki, shoulders stiff, fingers curling into the sleeves of her cardigan. She swallowed hard before finally speaking. "What are we doing here?"

Mitsuki slowed, casting a glance at her daughter. A small, wistful smile tugged at her lips, tinged with something heavier, something closer to regret. "What you’ve always wanted. What you’ve needed."

Katsuki blinked, her brows pulling together in uncertainty, but Mitsuki didn’t explain further. Instead, she led her forward, turning the corner into the main thoroughfare of the mall. Then, she stopped.

Katsuki followed her gaze, her breath catching in her throat. Selena.

The name gleamed in elegant, bold letters above the entrance, backlit by a soft golden glow. Beyond the glass doors, neatly arranged shelves stretched from wall to wall, stacked with rows of pristine makeup palettes, delicate glass perfume bottles, and an array of meticulously organized beauty products. The air carried a faint mix of floral perfume, powder, and the sterile tang of alcohol wipes.

Katsuki froze.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. Her eyes, wide and bright, softened with something like awe— then flickered with doubt. Her body remained still, yet Mitsuki could see the way she leaned in , almost imperceptibly, drawn toward the store like something magnetic. Like something she had wanted for a long, long time.

Mitsuki looked at her daughter’s face and, for the first time in years, saw something fragile, hesitant, hopeful. And with that, the memories came crashing in.

She had seen the signs. They were always there, but she was colorblind.

She first suspected something when Katsuki was three.

The warm glow of Mitsuki’s studio lights reflected against the vanity mirror, casting a soft haze over the clutter of makeup brushes, powders, and shimmering palettes. The scent of pressed foundation and floral perfume filled the air, wrapping around them like something familiar, something safe.

Tiny, chubby fingers reached for a fluffy powder brush, barely able to grasp the handle. Such small hands.

Mitsuki had smiled, amused by the way Katsuki’s tiny fingers traced the bristles, eyes wide with curiosity. The way she had giggled, wiggling her nose as she lightly tapped the brush against her own cheek, mimicking her mother’s every move.

Then, a sharp pang of unease settled deep in her chest.

She started to worry when Katsuki was four.

Katsuki perched on a chair beside her mother, legs swinging as she watched Mitsuki apply foundation to a model’s face. Her gaze tracked every movement— unwavering, intense, studying.

"Why that one? Why not the other one?" Katsuki had asked, pointing at a different shade in the palette.

Her voice was small, filled with something that made Mitsuki pause. It wasn’t just a child’s idle curiosity—it was something else. Something more.

Mitsuki had chuckled, ruffling Katsuki’s wild hair. "Because this one blends better, brat." She had turned away quickly, brushing off the weight that settled in her chest.

But now—

She made her first mistake. Katsuki had to be five, no, maybe still four?

The scent of hairspray and foundation hung thick in the air as Mitsuki turned back toward the vanity. And there, right in the middle of the studio, stood Katsuki, eyes bright, cheeks dusted in glittery pink eyeshadow.

"Mama! Look! I’m pretty like you!"

The pure joy in her voice had sent Mitsuki’s breath stuttering. Katsuki’s entire face lit up , her eyes shining with excitement, pupils wide, reflecting the warm glow of the vanity lights. Her small body vibrated with energy, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as if the feeling inside her was too big to stay still. Her cheeks were flushed pink—not just from the eyeshadow, but from delight , from the sheer giddiness bubbling up inside her. Her lips stretched into a grin so wide it nearly overtook her face , her tiny hands clutching the beauty blender like it was something precious, something magical. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just unfiltered joy , as if she had found something that made perfect sense in a way nothing else ever had.

Then Mitsuki felt it.

The weight of the other adults in the room. The quiet stares. The judgment.

Panic snapped through her like a whip. Before she could think, she was moving.

She ripped the sponge from Katsuki’s hands.

"Katsuki! No! That’s not for you!"

Too sharp. Too fast. Too much.

Katsuki’s eyes widened as realization and fear warred behind them. Her lips parted slightly, as if forming words she didn’t know how to say, the edges of her mouth trembling. Her small hands clenched at her sides, knuckles going white, the tension in her shoulders making her appear even smaller than she already was. Her chest rose and fell in uneven, shallow breaths— she was trying to hold herself together, trying not to let the weight of shame press her into the floor. But Mitsuki saw the flicker of something else, something fragile. Hope. Longing. A quiet, desperate wish that she wouldn’t be turned away again.

She didn’t cry.

But her bottom lip wobbled.

Mitsuki’s fingers trembled as she scrubbed the glitter off Katsuki’s face with a makeup wipe. "You don’t need this stuff," she muttered, her voice uneven, failing to mask the discomfort settling in her chest. Katsuki’s breath hitched, her brows pulling together in sharp, silent confusion . Her crimson eyes, so bright and eager just moments ago, dimmed, flickering with the first spark of hurt —a hurt that she didn’t yet understand. Her lower lip trembled, as if on the verge of forming a protest, but she bit down on it hard, willing herself to stay silent. Her small fists clenched at her sides, the tips of her fingers pressing deep into her palms, her shoulders tensing as if bracing for another rejection. She looked lost. The spark in her eyes, that innocent flicker of joy, was extinguished in a matter of seconds.

Something broke that day.

With a heavy heart, Mitsuki realized that this was when Katsuki learned that she needed to hide.

Mitsuki blinked, pulled harshly back into the present. The bright lights of the make up store burned against her retinas, stark and unforgiving.

She turned to Katsuki. She was still standing frozen at the entrance.

Her eyes flickered between the displays, her fingers curling, almost reaching.

Mitsuki inhaled sharply. She had done this to her.

Without thinking, she reached out and took Katsuki’s hand.

Katsuki startled, blinking up at her mother in confusion.

Mitsuki squeezed gently. A promise. A reassurance. A silent apology.

She exhaled, forcing herself to steady. "Come on," she smiled, her voice softer than before. Kinder. "Let’s go in."

And this time, she didn’t pull Katsuki away.

She coaxed her forward instead.

Mitsuki led Katsuki through the warmly lit aisles, the scent of powders, floral perfumes, and freshly opened packaging thick in the air. The soft hum of background music blended with the hushed conversations of other shoppers, but Mitsuki barely noticed. Her attention was fixed on Katsuki, who followed her hesitantly, her hands still tucked inside the sleeves of her cardigan.

The first few steps inside, Katsuki’s shoulders were hunched, her eyes darting across the displays like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to be there. Mitsuki could see the subtle tension in her frame, the way she held her breath when they passed the neatly arranged rows of foundation bottles and blush compacts.

Mitsuki knew that feeling. That uncertainty. That lingering fear of stepping into something that had once been forbidden.

She wouldn’t let it be forbidden anymore.

"Alright, brat," Mitsuki said, her voice light, teasing in the way it always had been. "First thing’s first. You need a foundation that actually matches your skin."

Katsuki blinked up at her, startled. "I— what?"

Mitsuki smirked, grabbing a tester bottle off the shelf and dabbing a small amount onto the back of her own hand. "See this? Too warm. You need something with a neutral undertone." She held out the bottle toward Katsuki. "Here. Try it."

Katsuki hesitated, her hands still tucked away. Then, slowly, she pulled them from her sleeves, reaching out cautiously. She took the bottle, her fingers brushing against Mitsuki’s for just a second before she squeezed out the smallest drop onto her wrist.

Mitsuki watched her carefully. The way Katsuki’s brows pulled together in concentration. The way she hesitated before blending the product into her skin, as if waiting for someone to stop her.

When no one did, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

"See? Not bad," Mitsuki said, nudging her shoulder. "But you can do better. Let’s find your real match."

Slowly, aisle by aisle, Mitsuki guided her through everything she needed to know. How to swatch for the right shade, how to layer concealer without making it cakey, the difference between a matte and dewy finish. At first, Katsuki was stiff, nodding along, murmuring half-hearted "yeahs" and "got its." But the more Mitsuki talked, the more Katsuki leaned in. Her hands twitched toward the displays, her fingers brushing over the sleek packaging.

Then, finally, she reached out. She grabbed a blush compact, turning it over in her hands before glancing up at Mitsuki, hesitant. "What about this one?"

Mitsuki’s breath caught. She schooled her features before giving a firm nod. "Good choice. It’ll go great with your skin tone."

Katsuki’s lips twitched—almost a smile. Almost.

Mitsuki still felt the weight of guilt pressing against her ribs, but she ignored it. There would be time for that later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the look on Katsuki’s face. The quiet, cautious excitement blooming behind her eyes.

She didn’t care how much they spent. Didn’t care what the total would be when they reached the register.

For the first time in too long, Katsuki looked like she was allowed to want something.

And Mitsuki would make sure she never had to second-guess it again.

The bags in Katsuki’s hands felt heavier than they should have. The moment they stepped out of the store, her mind was already shifting back to the dorms, to unpacking, to maybe—maybe—trying some of this new makeup alone in her room. She adjusted her grip, preparing for the familiar route back.

But Mitsuki didn’t turn toward the exit. Instead, she smirked, grabbed Katsuki’s hand, and tugged her in the opposite direction.

"One more stop, brat."

Katsuki barely had time to process the shift in movement before her eyes landed on their destination. Her entire body locked up .

Elizabeth’s Whisper.

The soft pink and cream-colored sign loomed over them, the store’s elegant window displays showing off lace, satin, and delicate ribbons. The second Katsuki realized where Mitsuki was taking her, a tremor ran down her arms.

She froze mid-step. Her breath hitched. Her grip on the bags faltered.

"W-we—" Her throat closed up. "We’re not—"

Mitsuki barely glanced at her, still leading the way, a teasing lilt in her voice. "You have any bras yet?"

That was the breaking point.

Katsuki’s hands shook. Her vision blurred. The bags tumbled to the ground with a dull thump as she slapped her hands over her face, trying— failing —to hold back the tears that surged forward.

Mitsuki turned at the sound, the smirk on her lips vanishing the instant she saw Katsuki standing there. Shaking.

"Katsuki—?"

Katsuki couldn’t breathe. Her fingers dug into her face, pressing against her eyes, as if she could block everything out. Block out the store. The question. The sheer, overwhelming sense of wrongness that churned in her stomach.

Mitsuki reacted instantly. She bent down, gathering the fallen bags, then placed a firm but gentle hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. "Hey, hey —what’s wrong? Talk to me."

But Katsuki only shook her head, shoulders jerking with every silent sob. She tried to speak, but her throat burned, and the words wouldn’t come.

Mitsuki glanced around, spotted a nearby bench away from the flow of shoppers, and gently but firmly led Katsuki there. She guided her down to sit, kneeling in front of her, hands steady on her daughter’s shaking arms. "Deep breaths, brat. You’re okay. Just breathe."

Katsuki sucked in a gasping breath, but it barely helped. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, the weight of something horrible pressing down on her chest.

"I—I don’t—" She choked, voice thick and broken. "I don’t wanna be a pervert."

Mitsuki’s stomach dropped.

Katsuki’s breath stuttered. Her fingers curled into her sleeves, shoulders caving in. "I—I don’t wanna be bad. I don’t wanna be—be disgusting—"

Mitsuki felt a deep, sharp pang in her chest— a pain that came from realizing something too late.

She was back in Katsuki’s childhood bedroom, the scent of fresh linen detergent and the faint musk of childhood clinging to the air. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes floating lazily above the neatly made bed. Mitsuki had been tidying, mindlessly fluffing pillows, rotating the mattress—until something flopped onto the floor with a soft, unmistakable thud .

A glossy magazine cover stared up at her from where it had landed, the image of Mirko mid-action, powerful and poised in sleek, sporty attire. Mitsuki blinked, then bent down to retrieve it, fingers grazing the smooth pages as she lifted it into her hands.

A slow tension built in her gut. Something tight. Suspicious. Uncertain.

Her grip firmed as she flipped through the pages, her breath catching when she realized what she was looking at. The images—Mirko in fitted sportswear, defined muscle, confidence radiating from every page, all while posing in many, many, different ways.

Heat rushed to Mitsuki’s face. What was this doing under Katsuki’s mattress?

Her first thought—her only thought—was that Katsuki was a growing boy, hitting puberty, and had hidden this for a reason. A deep frustration, disappointment, and something else—something uncomfortable—coiled in her chest. This wasn’t appropriate. This wasn’t what she had raised her son to be like.

By the time Katsuki stormed through the front door after school, Mitsuki’s frustration had brewed into something sharp and unyielding . She barely noticed the redness in Katsuki’s puffy eyes, the tightness in her expression. She had been too focused on the secret she had found.

Heavy footsteps thudded up the stairs, followed by the sharp slam of a bedroom door.

"Don’t stomp through my house like that!" Mitsuki yelled from the bottom of the staircase, already making her way up, her grip tightening around the magazine. "You better fix that damn attitude before I come in there—"

"Fuck off!" Katsuki’s voice snapped through the door, raw and unguarded, the kind of anger that was hiding something else beneath it.

Mitsuki saw red.

“I know your secret!”

She threw the door open.

Katsuki was on the bed, arms crossed, face still blotchy from whatever had happened earlier. But as soon as her eyes landed on what was in Mitsuki’s hands , something in her broke apart.

She froze —not just in stillness, but in a way that made her body seem locked , rigid with something beyond fear. Her breath hitched— sharp, jagged, uneven , as if she had suddenly forgotten how to breathe. Her arms, once defiantly crossed, unraveled , her fingers twitching before clenching into the fabric of her uniform pants. Her knuckles went white.

Her eyes widened, but they weren’t just wide—they were hunted, trapped , flickering between Mitsuki’s face and the glossy pages she held. A slow, dawning terror settled into them. The way her chest rose and fell, erratic, uneven— she was panicking.

Then, a barely-there tremble ran through her shoulders, and her lower lip quivered . She bit down on it, hard enough that Mitsuki saw the skin blanch before turning red again. She was holding something back.

Mitsuki saw it—the sheer collapse happening inside her. The way her body caved in , shoulders curling inward as if trying to make herself disappear. Like she wanted to fold into herself, shrink, vanish. Like she was trying to make herself smaller, less noticeable, less of a target.

And still, Mitsuki’s anger carried her forward.

"Explain this.” She slammed the magazine down on the desk, the sharp crack of paper against wood reverberating through the room. The force rattled Katsuki to her core. Mitsuki’s finger jabbed at the cover—right at Mirko’s chest. Accusatory. Condemning.

Katsuki flinched so violently she physically recoiled , her body jerking backward as if struck by a Detroit Smash. A strangled noise caught in her throat, a sharp, desperate inhale that barely made it past her lips. Her muscles tensed, every nerve in her body screaming to run, escape, disappear —but she couldn’t move. She hung her head, shoulders curling inward, instinctively bracing for impact, for judgment, for punishment.

Mitsuki’s glare bore down on her, heavy, searing. "Are you a damn pervert now?" Her voice was sharp— colder than Katsuki had ever heard it. "I raised you better than this, Katsuki! What the hell were you thinking?!"

Katsuki’s breath stuttered, shallow and uneven, her chest rising and falling too fast, her ribs locking tight around her lungs. Her fingers twitched at her sides before clenching into her pants, nails pressing deep, deep enough to sting. She couldn’t breathe.

"I—I—I—" Her voice cracked, fractured , barely pushing past the tightness in her throat. Each syllable trembled, splintered , breaking apart before she could form them into something that made sense. She was falling apart.

But Mitsuki didn’t wait. Didn’t listen.

"This is disgusting," Mitsuki spat. "You—you’re disgusting! What kind of perverted freak hides shit like this?!"

Katsuki shrank back, eyes wide with sheer, unfiltered terror. Her lower lip quivered violently , her entire body trembling as if she were standing in the middle of a storm with no shelter. She bit down on her lip— hard , so hard that the metallic tang of blood burst onto her tongue. She had to hold it in. She had to keep it down. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t let it show.

She shook her head frantically, gasping, trying to explain, trying to fix this —but the words were stuck. Stuck behind the tight, painful lump clogging her throat. She couldn’t force them out. She couldn’t breathe.

And then it happened.

Mitsuki slapped her.

The impact wasn’t massive, but it didn’t have to be. The sheer shock of it sent Katsuki stumbling back, her legs buckling, her knees hitting the bed frame as she collapsed onto the mattress. The world tilted. Her breath caught. Everything inside her fractured at once.

Her mother had never—

She had never—

A numb, eerie stillness took over her body. Her mind disconnected.

Mitsuki’s chest heaved, her face twisted in anger, but she didn’t move forward again. Not physically.

But her words did. They kept coming. Kept cutting. Kept sinking into Katsuki’s skin like knives.

"You should be ashamed of yourself! This is wrong, Katsuki! Wrong and perverted and sick! I raised you better than this!"

The words struck harder than any slap ever could.

Katsuki stared at the floor, eyes empty, hollow, lost. She didn’t flinch anymore. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The trembling stopped. The light in her eyes, the fire, the spark—it all went out.

Something inside her collapsed.

Something irreversible.

From that day forward, Mitsuki noticed the difference.

Katsuki stopped talking unless spoken to. Stopped looking her in the eye at dinner. Spent hours locked in her room without a word.

Mitsuki had thought at the time that Katsuki was just being stubborn.

Now—watching her daughter breaking apart before her, begging not to be seen as a pervert, not to be disgusting—the memory twisted into something horrible. Something wrong.

Mitsuki’s breath shuddered as she pulled herself back to the present.

Katsuki was still curled in on herself, still trembling, still gasping for air between frantic, panicked sobs.

Mitsuki didn’t hesitate.

She wrapped her arms around Katsuki, pulling her in tight, cradling her against her chest. Holding her like she should have all those years ago.

"That’s not true," she whispered, voice thick, aching . "You are not disgusting. You are not bad. And I am so sorry I ever made you think you were."

Katsuki’s breath hitched sharply—then she broke completely.

She sobbed into Mitsuki’s shoulder, fingers clutching desperately at the fabric of her jacket. She cried like she had been holding it in for years.

Mitsuki held her, stroking her back, whispering apologies she should have said so long ago.

"You just wanted to be like her, didn’t you?" Mitsuki choked back a sob, biting her lip as Katsuki’s cries softened into shaky breaths. "Like Mirko. Like the All Might Barbie." She swallowed thickly. "You just wanted to be strong. To be her."

Katsuki nodded , face still buried against Mitsuki’s shoulder, unable to speak through the lingering sobs.

Mitsuki pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Then let’s make sure you get what you need, okay? No more running."

Katsuki pulled back, sniffling, her face red and blotchy but her eyes— her eyes were clearer now.

Mitsuki squeezed her hands. "Let’s go in together."

And this time, when Mitsuki led her toward the store, Katsuki let her.

The air inside Elizabeth’s Whisper was different. Soft, almost sacred, filled with the subtle scent of lavender, delicate fabric, and something light and powdery—like the promise of something new. The lighting was warm, casting everything in a gentle glow, making the lace and satin shimmer against polished displays. It was a space designed to be inviting, to feel safe. But to Katsuki, it was overwhelming.

She took hesitant steps forward, her fingers still trembling in Mitsuki’s grasp. The moment they had stepped through the doors, her body had gone rigid again, her breathing uneven. She felt exposed , like every eye in the store could see right through her, could see that she didn’t belong.

Mitsuki didn’t let go of her hand. "Come on, brat. One step at a time."

Katsuki swallowed hard and nodded, but her movements were stiff, mechanical. Her grip on Mitsuki’s hand tightened just slightly, her knuckles paling as they wove through the aisles lined with lace-trimmed bras and neatly folded undergarments.

She didn’t know where to look. The colors blurred together—pale pinks, soft creams, deep blacks, and intricate embroidery. Everything felt so delicate , so far removed from anything she had ever allowed herself to consider wanting. Her fingers twitched at her sides, an almost imperceptible reach, before she clenched them into fists again, stuffing them into the sleeves of her cardigan like a child afraid of being caught.

"First thing’s first," Mitsuki said, stopping in front of a size chart. She took a tape measure from a nearby stand, her movements confident but gentle . "We need to figure out what actually fits you."

Katsuki’s breath hitched. "I—I don’t know how."

Mitsuki met her gaze, and for a moment, she softened. "That’s what I’m here for."

Inside the fitting room, Katsuki stood stiffly in front of the mirror, her arms hugging herself as Mitsuki measured her. The cool tape glided against her skin, and she flinched at first, instinctively trying to shrink away. The sensation was foreign, intimate in a way that startled her , as if it was measuring something deeper than just her body—measuring the weight of years spent denying herself. Mitsuki murmured reassurances as she worked, taking careful notes of each number before stepping back.

"Alright," she said, holding up a neutral-toned bra. "This one has more support—firmer fit, good for everyday wear. But this one—" she gestured to a softer, lace-trimmed piece "—is lighter, more natural. It just depends on what you want."

Katsuki stared. The choice felt impossible. It felt too real.

Her fingers hovered over the lace-trimmed bra, barely brushing against the delicate fabric before she pulled her hand back as if burned. Her throat felt tight. "I don’t know. I don’t know what I like."

Mitsuki ruffled Katsuki's hair, patience unwavering. "Then we figure it out. Together. Duh. "

Slowly, the tension in Katsuki’s shoulders eased. She tried on different styles, awkward at first, hyper-aware of the unfamiliar sensation of fabric fitting against her body in a way that felt right. The mirrors no longer felt like something that would betray her secrets; instead, they became something she cautiously faced. As Mitsuki continued to encourage, not judge , she started to relax. She started to breathe.

Each new fit came with another hesitant touch—fingertips tracing embroidered flowers, smoothing over satin straps. The textures sent tiny shocks through her fingers, as if reminding her that this was real. When Mitsuki showed her a deep crimson bra with black intricate lace stretching over the cups, Katsuki hesitated before finally taking it into her hands, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. It felt luxurious, indulgent, like something she shouldn’t be allowed to have.

"This one…feels nice."

Mitsuki’s smile brightened, soft and warm, crinkling the corners of her eyes. It was the kind of look that Katsuki had wanted for so long but never thought she’d see directed at her. With pride, with relief. "Then let’s add it to the pile."

By the time they were done, Katsuki had seven bras. Two sports bras , practical and supportive. Three plain ones—black, red, and a soft gray , comfortable and simple. And two delicate, lacy pieces , intricate embroidery woven across the fabric, something that felt special.

She stood before the mirror, looking at herself, the way these things fit , the way they felt . Something inside her stirred— not fear, not shame, but something closer to recognition.

Mitsuki smiled. "See? Not so bad."

Katsuki swallowed, then, almost instinctively, took and squeezed her mother's hand again.

She only blushed harder when Mitsuki tilted her head and asked, "You got any new underwear, or do we need to fix that too?"

Katsuki turned scarlet. She shook her head quickly , eyes dropping to the floor. "I—uh—I was too scared to ever—"

Mitsuki snorted and smiled at her. "Guess we’re fixing that too."

Masaru waited outside the store, leaning against the car with his arms crossed, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he spotted Mitsuki and Katsuki approaching. The sight before him was one he had never expected to see again—his wife and daughter bickering like old times, their teasing jabs exchanged with the familiar ease of years spent in each other’s company.

“I’m just saying,” Mitsuki scoffed, adjusting the bags in her hands, “you didn’t have to get seven bras. Who needs that many?”

Katsuki rolled her eyes, huffing as she balanced her own shopping bags. “Oh, I don’t know, Mom. Maybe someone who wants options?”

“Options, my ass,” Mitsuki laughed. “At this rate, you’ll need a whole damn closet just for your lingerie.”

“Jealous?” Katsuki shot back, her smirk wicked.

Masaru chuckled, shaking his head. He had seen glimpses of this dynamic over the past few years, but this— this was the closest they had been in a long time. It was rough around the edges, filled with sarcastic quips and exasperated sighs, but there was love in it. That, more than anything, reassured him.

As they reached the car, he opened the trunk, helping them load the bags. “Looks like you two had fun.”

Katsuki rolled her eyes. “If you call nearly getting a lecture over underwear ‘fun,’ then sure.”

Masaru snorted but said nothing as he started the drive back to the dorms.

When they arrived, Katsuki was hit with a wave of relief as she saw her new dorm. Her old room in the boys’ wing had been completely taken care of—everything packed up, sorted, and donated. There was nothing left for her to return to. All that was left now was the space she had carved out for herself here, in the girls’ wing.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Stepping inside, she stopped cold.

Her bags hit the floor with a dull thud. Her hands rose to her mouth, her fingers trembling slightly as her eyes darted around the space. It was—

Perfect.

She had picked out mismatched furniture, worried that it wouldn’t come together right, that it would just look like a collection of pieces instead of a home. But now, standing here, she realized how wrong she had been. It all fit. It all made sense.

The walls were a smoky, deep grey, grounding the space, while the maroon accent wall behind her bed added warmth. The dark jewel tones gave it an elegant, almost gothic feel, while her new green bed, plush and inviting, added a touch of vibrancy. The gothic aesthetic of her vanity, the carefully chosen decor, and the shelves that lined one side of the room—everything screamed her . It was a reflection of every part of her she had been afraid to embrace, now spread out before her like a declaration.

A soft sniffle from behind her made her turn. Mitsuki stood in the doorway, hands covering her mouth, her eyes glistening. Masaru, standing beside her, had his own look of awe—like he was witnessing something he never thought he’d see.

Katsuki turned back to her room, her chest tightening. This was hers. All of it. A space she had built, a home she had made.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt like she truly belonged.

A grin broke across her face as she surged forward, immediately diving into the chaos of unpacking. She scurried from corner to corner like a sugar-high toddler, arranging makeup on the vanity, stacking books on the shelves, folding and putting away clothes with a fervor that could only be described as pure, unfiltered joy.

Masaru chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he and Mitsuki stood frozen in the doorway. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy before."

Mitsuki swallowed hard, shaking her head as she wiped at her eyes. "Me neither." She exhaled shakily, watching Katsuki move around with an energy she hadn't seen in years. "God, look at her. She looks so..." Mitsuki paused, struggling for the right word before settling on the only one that truly fit. "Free."

They watched as Katsuki twirled, laughing to herself as she placed a plush bunny onto her bed—a ridiculous, soft, green thing that had no business being in the room and yet fit perfectly. She turned to them then, her eyes sparkling, waiting for their approval.

Mitsuki let out a shaky breath and smiled.

Masaru felt his throat tighten as he nodded. "It’s perfect, sweetheart."

Katsuki beamed, her heart swelling with something so warm, so deep, that she thought she might burst.

For the first time in her life, she was home.

And then, before either of them could react, Katsuki bolted toward them, arms outstretched, and threw herself into both of them at the same time. Mitsuki stumbled , Masaru let out a surprised grunt, but neither of them pulled away.

Mitsuki sucked in a sharp breath, hands instinctively wrapping around her daughter’s back, feeling the warmth of her embrace— real, solid, undeniable . Masaru, still slightly stunned, let out a chuckle before squeezing her tight.

Katsuki held on , burying her face between them, like she was trying to make up for lost time.

Neither of them could remember the last time she had done this. If she ever had.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight bled through the curtains, thick and heavy, soaking the room in liquid gold. It pooled across the wooden floor, stretching long shadows across the walls, creeping into every untouched corner. The air smelled clean—fresh linen, faint traces of fabric softener, the familiar scent of home, but laced with something else. Something new. Something hers.

The weight of sleep still clung to her limbs, an invisible fog pressing against her skin. For a moment, she simply lay there, tangled in the blankets, caught between the warmth of her bed and the pull of the world waiting beyond it. The soft hum of morning campus life drifted through her open window—distant chatter, the faint chirp of birds, the occasional rush of footsteps along the dormitory halls. She was awake, but the world had not yet asked anything of her.

Her eyes flickered open, scanning the room. Her desk sat cluttered yet organized—her makeup bag cracked open, the glint of her jewelry catching the low morning light, textbooks stacked neatly beside a half-empty cup of tea. Proof that she was here. That she belonged. That this space was truly hers.

Something soft brushed against her arm. The green bunny plushie, slightly crumpled from how she had slept, rested against her pillow. Her fingers ghosted over its fabric, lingering for just a second too long.

You’re acting like a child.

Mitsuki’s voice curled at the edges of her thoughts, unbidden and sharp. A thorn pressing into tender skin. A pang clenched in her ribs, something raw and bitter. She had been different yesterday, but the thorns of the past don’t wilt as quickly as we would like them to.

Her fingers curled around the plush for just a moment before she forced herself to let go. She shoved it aside and swung her legs out of bed, planting her feet firmly onto the cold wooden floor. The sharp contrast burned away hesitation, grounding her in the present.

It doesn’t matter. Today’s a new day.

She caught her reflection in the mirror—smudged mascara, pillow creases pressed against her cheek, her hair tousled and wild. But instead of reaching for a wipe, instead of scrubbing herself clean like she had done for years, she simply… looked.

And for the first time, she didn’t feel like she had to change a thing.

The closet door groaned as she pushed it open. Inside, everything she had ever wanted stared back at her. No longer hidden. No longer shoved into the back, out of sight, out of reach. Each piece hung proudly, waiting.

Her fingers ghosted over the fabrics, tracing textures she had spent years denying herself—the smoothness of satin, the structured cut of jackets tailored just right, the weight of leather, the effortless softness of cotton skirts with just enough edge to still feel like her. The choices were endless, overwhelming, exhilarating.

Her hand hesitated over a hanger. Then another. Then another.

She was allowed to have this now.

Taking a steadying breath, she grabbed the first piece—a simple black bra. The first real one she had ever owned. The fabric felt foreign, a weightless thing but somehow monumental. She slipped it over her arms, fumbling awkwardly with the clasp in the mirror. Twist, adjust, fail.

She exhaled sharply. How the hell did people make this look so effortless?

Gritting her teeth, she tried again. Click. The band sat snug against her back, the fit unfamiliar but firm. Strange, but right.

Next came the clothes. A fitted black top, cropped just enough to feel daring, hugging her frame in a way that accentuated every curve she had once been told to hide. Then, a high-waisted skirt—asymmetrical, sharp in its design, structured yet effortlessly flowing with her movements.

The image in the mirror stole her breath for a moment. The silhouette staring back at her was hers. Truly, finally, hers.

She moved back to the vanity, fingers tracing the handle of her makeup brush before picking it up. A new kind of weapon.

She worked methodically—foundation smoothing over her skin, a thin, precise line of eyeliner sharpening her gaze. Her hands were steady, her movements calculated. She knew her face better now—where to highlight, where to shade, how to make her features stand out in a way that felt right.

Then, the final touch—a bold red lipstick. Defiant. Undeniable. She rolled the pigment over her lips, pressing them together, watching as the color settled against her skin. Not a mask. A declaration.

Her stomach twisted—not with doubt, but with anticipation. She still had to walk through campus like this. Still had to exist, openly, in front of people.

She tugged on her combat boots, lacing them up tight. One last layer of armor.

Outside her door, the world waited.

She took a breath.

She stepped out.

The Support Lab hummed with energy, the scent of metal and oil thick in the air, the distant sounds of welding and whirring machinery reverberating through the walls. Katsuki stepped inside, her heartbeat picking up despite herself.

“Finally!”

Before she could react, Mei Hatsume materialized out of nowhere, her manic grin stretching impossibly wide.

“Kacchan! You took forever!” Mei practically vibrated with excitement, seizing Katsuki’s wrist and yanking her toward the center of the lab. “I have been WAITING for this moment!”

Katsuki barely had time to roll her eyes before Mei yanked a tarp off a mannequin. “Behold!”

Her breath caught.

Sleek. Sharp. Undeniably hers.

The black-and-orange color scheme remained, but the fit was more refined, crafted for movement, power, and presence. The material hugged her frame, flexible yet unyielding, designed to withstand impact without sacrificing fluidity. The gauntlets—slimmer, sharper, designed for precision—gleamed under the fluorescent light.

But it was the details that stopped her cold.

The stitching along the torso wasn’t just functional; it was elegant. Gold embroidery traced the seams, catching the light like embers in the dark. Inside the collar—hidden from sight, but deliberately placed—was a delicate cherry blossom motif.

Her throat tightened. Best Jeanist had been part of this.

Mei was still rambling, listing specs and features, but Katsuki barely heard her. She reached out, her fingers tracing the fabric, absorbing the weight of it.

This was hers.

This was who she had always been.

“Well?” Mei prompted, practically bouncing in place. “Do you love it? You love it, right?”

Katsuki smirked, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Damn right, I do.”

She clenched her fists, rolling her shoulders. She was ready.

And the world was about to see her for exactly who she was.

The sleek glass doors of the agency loomed ahead, their polished surface reflecting the city skyline. Each step felt heavier, like a drumbeat syncing to the rapid pulse in her chest. She had walked these halls before, but today felt different—more personal, more terrifying.

Inside, the air smelled of crisp fabric, starch, and the faint traces of cologne. The lobby was pristine—receptionists moved with practiced efficiency, assistants maneuvered between conversations, a low hum of productivity thrumming beneath it all.

Eyes followed her, some lingering, some quickly averting. Recognition flickered in their gazes—some approving, some hesitant, some merely curious. But no one said a damn thing. She was Dynamight.

The receptionist barely glanced up before nodding. “He’s expecting you.”

She nodded back, pushing forward. Her hands flexed at her sides, her gait steady, shoulders squared. She wouldn’t shrink herself here. Not now.

She stopped in front of Best Jeanist’s office. The door was closed, imposing in its quiet stillness. She inhaled sharply, ignoring the nerves curling in her stomach.

Then, she knocked.

“Enter.”

The door swung open, revealing him—Best Jeanist, standing tall, arms crossed, his eyes keen and unreadable.

For a moment, the air between them stretched thin, heavy with something unspoken. The familiar scent of his cologne hit her first—subtle, clean, but grounding. The last time she stood here, she hadn’t been this person. Not completely.

Then—

“You’ve always had an impeccable sense of structure,” Jeanist mused, his voice as smooth and composed as ever, but there was something softer at the edges. “And yet, I see you more clearly now than ever before.”

Katsuki swallowed, her throat thick. She fought to keep her voice steady. “How long?”

Jeanist regarded her for a long moment, his head tilting slightly, gaze unwavering. “Since the beginning.”

Her chest tightened. The weight of those words pressed into her ribs, something fragile and sharp all at once. She had spent so much of her life trying to be seen, only to realize now that someone had been looking the entire time.

“I suspected you weren’t ready to hear it then,” he continued, his voice quieter now, like he was careful with his words, careful with her. “But I am glad to meet you properly, Miss Bakugou.”

Her fingers twitched at her sides. The breath she had been holding slipped from her lips in a shudder, her vision momentarily blurring. It took everything in her to steady herself. She wouldn’t break down here. Not now.

“You serious?” she asked, her voice rougher than she meant it to be.

Jeanist nodded. “Always.”

The weight in her chest loosened, but it didn’t disappear. Not yet. She had spent years proving herself, years clawing to be acknowledged. But this… this was different.

She clenched her fists, grounding herself. Her eyes flicked toward the window, the vast cityscape stretching beyond. Jeanist followed her gaze before gesturing toward it.

“Shall we begin?”

She squared her shoulders, stepping forward. This was hers.

Her lips curled into something fierce, something steady. “Hell yeah.”

The air was thick with city life—the scent of gasoline and pavement baked in the afternoon sun, the constant hum of voices layered over the distant wail of sirens. The pulse of the world had always been loud, but today, it felt like it was pressing in on her from all sides.

She strode beside Best Jeanist, her new hero costume molding to her body like it had always belonged there. The city streets stretched before them, an endless grid of movement and unpredictability.

Eyes turned toward them, lingering just a second too long. She could feel it—the whispers, the recognition, the subtle shifts in body language as people processed what they were seeing. She was back, and she was different.

A cluster of kids stood at the edge of the sidewalk, wide-eyed and whispering furiously amongst themselves. One of them, a girl no older than ten, hesitated before calling out. “Dynamight?”

Katsuki’s stomach twisted—too tight, too sudden. Not with dread, but something else. Something foreign. Her pulse hammered against her ribs as she turned, her movements slower than they should have been.

The girl stared at her, her small hands gripping the hem of her hoodie. There was no fear in her gaze, no hesitation—only excitement, pure and blinding.

Then she grinned, bright and unabashed. “You look awesome!”

Katsuki felt the world tilt slightly beneath her feet. Her chest felt too small for the sudden rush of warmth flooding in, pressing against her ribs, crawling up her throat. It wasn’t like the roaring adoration from a stadium crowd. It wasn’t the blind, frenzied chants she was used to. It was smaller. Softer. Real.

Before she could respond, another kid—a boy with wide, eager eyes—stepped forward, his voice bright with curiosity. “Are you a girl now?”

The question hit her square in the chest, knocking something loose inside her. She wasn’t sure why it caught her off guard, but it did. The way he asked—earnest, excited, like it was the coolest thing he’d ever heard. Like he wanted the answer to be yes.

Katsuki swallowed, something thick in her throat. She forced herself to smirk, her voice coming out steadier than she felt. “Yeah. I am.”

The kids lit up. The girl from before practically vibrated with excitement. “That’s so cool! You’re a strong girl hero! There’s not enough of those.”

Another kid, younger, her voice small but determined, piped up. “Do you think I can be a hero like you one day?”

Katsuki’s heart clenched. She had never thought of herself as someone others would look up to—not like this. Not in a way that felt so deeply personal.

She exhaled slowly, then crouched down slightly, her gaze level with theirs. “Hell yeah, you can,” she said, voice firm. “You train hard, you don’t give up, and you do things your way.”

The kid beamed, eyes sparkling with possibility.

The warmth in Katsuki’s chest burned hotter, fiercer. She had fought for her place in this world, clawed her way to where she stood now—but for the first time, she realized she wasn’t just fighting for herself.

Jeanist watched the exchange, his expression unreadable. “You command attention differently now,” he noted as they crossed the street. “It’s not just your strength they see—it’s your certainty.”

Katsuki exhaled, shaking out her shoulders. The tightness in her chest hadn’t faded, but it no longer felt like it would strangle her. She scoffed but didn’t argue. She felt it, too.

The radio in Jeanist’s ear crackled, cutting through the hum of the city. “Robbery in progress, three blocks east.”

Jeanist glanced at her. “Shall we?”

Katsuki rolled her shoulders, adrenaline already thrumming beneath her skin. Her smirk widened, sharper now. Grounded. Ready.

“Let's go.”

They moved fast, cutting through the city streets, the pounding of Katsuki’s boots against pavement syncing with the rapid beat of her pulse. The thrill of battle buzzed under her skin, coiling tight in her muscles.

As they turned the corner, the robbery scene unfolded before them—a convenience store, its glass doors shattered, a clerk cowering behind the counter as two masked men stuffed duffel bags with cash and supplies. A third stood watch outside, his grip tightening on a crowbar as he caught sight of them.

“Heroes incoming!” he barked, panic lacing his voice.

The two inside snapped their heads up. One bolted for the exit, the other jerked a pistol from his waistband, aiming it at the clerk. “Don’t move!”

Katsuki didn’t hesitate. She exploded forward, her gauntlets igniting with a sharp crackle of energy, the heat blooming against her skin as adrenaline surged through her veins.

The lookout swung his crowbar, but she ducked, rolling beneath his attack. She could hear the way the air sliced apart as the metal arced just inches above her head. Her muscles moved on instinct—tight, controlled, deadly.

Her leg shot out, catching him in the ribs. A sickening crack, the breath punched from his lungs. He wheezed, crumpling against the pavement, but she was already moving.

Inside, the gunman’s hands shook, his knuckles white around the pistol’s grip. Katsuki could hear the fear in his breath, the sharp hitch in his throat. The clerk whimpered, pressed so far against the counter it was like he was trying to disappear into it. The air was thick with tension, suffocating and electric.

Jeanist moved like a shadow, his coat billowing as threads snapped out like vipers. They wove through the broken doorway, faster than the eye could track, wrapping around the gunman’s wrist, twisting, tightening—

The gun clattered to the ground, bouncing once before skidding across the linoleum.

Katsuki was already on the second robber. He fumbled with his bag, reaching for something—a knife, maybe. She didn’t let him get that far.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, heat pulsing from her palms as she twisted—hard. He yelped, dropping the bag. She barely gave him time to register the pain before she wrenched his arm behind his back and slammed him against the floor. His breath left him in a sharp exhale, the impact rattling through the tile.

“Stay down,” she growled, her voice low, dangerous.

The last guy made it two steps before Jeanist’s fibers lashed out, coiling around his legs and snapping tight. He hit the floor with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the tile. He groaned, dazed.

The whole thing had taken seconds.

Katsuki straightened, exhaling sharply, her heart hammering with adrenaline. The thrill still crackled in her veins, but something else lingered beneath it—a strange, settled sense of rightness. This wasn’t just about fighting. This was about protecting.

Jeanist glanced at her, nodding once. “Efficient.”

She rolled her shoulders, energy still thrumming beneath her skin. “Could’ve been faster.”

The clerk peeked up from behind the counter, eyes wide. Shock, gratitude, lingering fear. “Th-Thank you…”

Katsuki didn’t know what to say to that. She just grunted, giving a short nod before stepping outside, letting the weight of the moment settle in her bones.

People had gathered—bystanders watching, murmuring amongst themselves. A few snapped pictures, others whispered excitedly. Someone clapped. A few voices cheered. The sound was foreign to her—this wasn’t the applause of a stadium, the roar of victory. This was something different. Something real.

Her skin prickled under their gazes, but it wasn’t the same as before. It wasn’t scrutiny. It wasn’t doubt.

Then came the reporters.

A wall of flashing cameras, microphones shoved forward, voices clashing over each other in a storm of demands.

"Dynamight! This was your first patrol since your return—how does it feel to be back in action?"

"Do you think the public will accept you as you are now?"

"Have any agencies expressed concern about your—change?"

The last question made something sharp coil in her chest. Her teeth ground together, fingers flexing at her sides. Before she could snap back, another voice cut through the chaos.

"Dynamight! Are you planning to be a role model for young girls looking up to strong heroes like yourself?"

Katsuki hesitated. The world slowed for just a second. The words landed heavier than she expected, pressing into her like something unshakable. A role model?

She thought of the kids from earlier, the ones who had looked up at her like she was something larger than life. Something possible.

Before she could answer, another voice—low, gravelly, filled with unmistakable contempt—broke through the crowd.

"You sure you’re still as strong as you used to be?"

The reporters stilled. The crowd parted slightly, just enough for Endeavor to step into view.

His gaze raked over her, eyes narrowing with something cold and condescending. Judgment. Doubt.

"Or have you lost some of that edge now that you’re playing dress-up?"

Silence dropped like a hammer.

Katsuki’s blood roared in her ears. Heat flared beneath her skin, her vision sharpening, honing in on him like a predator locking onto prey.

Best Jeanist shifted beside her, his posture tensing. A warning. A silent ask—how would she respond?

Katsuki inhaled sharply through her nose, steadying herself. She could lash out. She could make a scene. Or—she could do something worse.

She smirked.

"You worried about being outshined, old man?"

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. Some reporters scribbled frantically, others exchanged glances, as if unsure whether to laugh or brace for impact.

Endeavor's eyes narrowed, but she didn’t let him get a word in.

"I’m still stronger than you," she continued, her voice smooth, unwavering. No hesitation. No doubt. "And if anyone wants to test that? They’re welcome to try."

The tension in the air shifted—charged, electric. A few reporters leaned in closer, the glint of a breaking story flashing in their eyes.

Endeavor scoffed, his lip curling slightly before he turned on his heel, walking off without another word.

Katsuki rolled her shoulders, exhaling as she turned back toward the press. The world was watching. They always had been. But now? Now she wasn’t just something to be observed.

She was something to be reckoned with.

Jeanist stood beside her, arms folded. “Not bad for your first patrol.”

Katsuki smirked, shaking out her hands. “Damn right.”

The city moved around them, steady, unrelenting. But she was moving with it now.

And she wasn’t stopping.

By the time she made it back to the dorms, exhaustion clung to her bones like the frigid talons of winter. The energy of the day—the fight, the crowd, the press, Endeavor’s words—had left her buzzing, but now, standing at the entrance of the building, it all settled like dust after an explosion. She was spent.

She shoved the door open, stepping inside, the familiar scent of home washing over her. Laundry detergent, something faintly sweet from the common area, the ever-present warmth of familiarity.

She barely made it halfway across the room when she heard a familiar voice. “Kacchan?”

She turned, and there he was.

Izuku stood near the couch, a steaming cup of tea in his hands, eyes wide and searching. His hair was slightly damp, like he had just gotten out of the shower, his hoodie hanging loosely off his frame. His gaze flickered over her—her suit, the dirt smudged along her gauntlets, the tension still locked in her shoulders.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then, quietly, “You okay?”

Katsuki swallowed. The weight of the day pressed heavier now, the vulnerability of a quiet moment making it harder to keep standing upright. She scoffed, shifting her weight, trying to shake it off. “’Course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Izuku didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at her, deep and knowing, like he could see the cracks beneath the surface. Like he always had.

“You did good today,” he smiled after a beat. “I saw the news.”

Something in Katsuki’s chest twisted. A sharp inhale she didn’t let escape.

She clicked her tongue, looking away. “Yeah, well… wasn’t bad.”

Izuku chuckled—small, soft. “It was better than ‘wasn’t bad,’ Kacchan.”

A silence stretched between them, comfortable but charged. A thousand things Katsuki didn’t know how to say. A thousand things Izuku probably already understood.

Then, Izuku held out the cup. “Want some?”

Katsuki blinked. The simplest of gestures, the smallest of kindnesses.

She exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders as she reached for the cup, fingers brushing against his. “Yeah. Sure.”

They stood there in the dorm’s quiet glow, the noise of the world held at bay for just a little while longer.

After a moment, Izuku shifted, setting his own cup down before settling onto the couch. He patted the space beside him, an unspoken invitation. Katsuki hesitated for only a second before dropping down next to him, her gauntlets clicking lightly as she rested her forearms on her knees.

The silence between them stretched, not awkward, but thick with things unsaid. Izuku took a slow sip of his tea before speaking. "I mean it, Kacchan. You were amazing today."

Katsuki exhaled sharply through her nose. The words sat too warmly in her chest, making her feel both steady and unsteady at the same time.

She tilted her head, finally letting herself really look at him. His hoodie swallowed his frame, his fingers curled loosely around his cup, his gaze distant—not at her, not really, but at something else, something just out of reach.

She knew that look. The longing. The ache.

Her throat tightened. "You miss it."

Izuku blinked, his fingers twitching slightly against his mug. His smile faltered at the edges, the cracks in his carefully composed exterior showing just enough for her to see.

"Yeah," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I do."

Katsuki didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know if there even was anything to say. So instead, she did what she always had—she stayed. Sat beside him in the quiet, let the weight of his sadness settle between them without trying to shove it away.

She huffed after a beat, nudging his knee with her own. "You’ll find your way back."

Izuku’s breath hitched, his eyes flicking to hers, wide and vulnerable. Like he wanted to believe her. Like he needed to.

Katsuki smirked, sharp and sure. "You always do."

The silence stretched between them, the warmth of the tea between their hands the only grounding force. Izuku shifted, just slightly, his knee brushing against hers again, but this time, neither of them moved away. The touch was light, barely noticeable, but it sent a sharp current through Katsuki’s nerves, making her grip on her cup tighten. It was ridiculous how much space such a small thing took up inside her chest.

Izuku exhaled, slow and measured, like he was working up the nerve to say something. His eyes flickered up to hers—wide, green, burning with something unspoken. They weren’t just looking at her; they were searching, tracing over her face as if he could carve the answers he wanted from the slope of her brow, the curve of her lips, the tension locked in her jaw. He looked at her like she was something precious, something fragile, something he didn’t quite know how to hold.

Katsuki’s throat went dry. She had seen him look determined, fierce, even desperate before—but never like this. Never like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. What the hell was he thinking? Why was he looking at her like that? She should say something—should break whatever spell had settled between them, should shove him away with some sharp retort—but she didn’t. Couldn’t.

His fingers curled around his mug, then, hesitantly, he let his free hand drift toward her—stopping just shy of touching, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. He was holding his breath.

The hesitation in his gaze was painfully obvious. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to, but he was too damn nervous to close the distance.

Katsuki’s breath caught. What the hell was he doing?

Her pulse picked up, a slow-building, maddening thrum in her ears. She should say something, do something—but what? Pull away? Meet him halfway?

Izuku’s cheeks were already burning, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Katsuki swallowed hard, her fingers twitching, the thought of just grabbing his hand—of making the choice for him—racing through her mind like a wildfire.

She should just do it.

She should just—

The dorm door creaked open.

A gruff voice cut through the moment like a knife. "Bakugou."

They both flinched. Izuku yanked his hand back so fast he nearly dropped his tea, his entire face turning an alarming shade of red. Katsuki, meanwhile, felt her heart slam against her ribs in a mix of frustration, embarrassment, and something far too close to regret.

Aizawa stood in the entrance, arms crossed, his perpetually exhausted gaze flicking between the two of them before settling on Katsuki. "I need to talk to you."

Katsuki swallowed hard, forcibly ignoring the lingering heat on her skin. She set her mug down with more force than necessary, exhaling through her nose before standing. "Yeah. Sure."

Izuku rubbed at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes as she passed him. Katsuki didn’t dare look back either.

Aizawa gave them one last glance before stepping into the hallway, leading Katsuki away from whatever the hell had just almost happened.

The walk to his office was quiet, the steady click of her boots the only sound between them. Aizawa hadn’t said a word since they left the dorms, but his posture—rigid, tense—made it clear that whatever this was, it wasn’t a casual check-in. Something was wrong.

When they reached his office, he pushed the door open and gestured for her to step inside. Katsuki hesitated for only a second before walking in, the scent of coffee and paperwork thick in the air.

And then she saw them.

Sato, Sero, Denki, Kaminari, and Kirishima sat stiffly in the chairs lined against the far wall. Their faces were pale, hands clasped tightly together in their laps, their eyes darting up to meet hers before immediately dropping back down. They looked miserable. Guilty.

Katsuki’s jaw clenched. What the hell were they doing here?

Aizawa stepped inside, closing the door behind him before moving to lean against his desk. His arms crossed, his dark eyes sharp with irritation—but not at her. At them.

“They asked to speak with you,” Aizawa said, his voice low, barely restraining the simmering anger beneath it. "And I figured you deserved the choice to hear them out."

Sero, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, lifted his head. His voice wavered, raw with regret. "Bakugou… We—we just wanted to say we’re sorry. For all of it."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his usually easygoing face twisted in something that looked close to pain. "We were assholes. We were cruel. And we hurt you in ways we didn’t even realize at the time."

The words hung in the air, heavy, uncertain. Kirishima, his hands balled into fists on his lap, exhaled sharply. "I let it happen," he admitted, his voice thick. "I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve stepped in. But I didn’t. And I hate myself for it."

His hands shook slightly, and when he finally looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed, guilt pooling deep within them. "I hurt you, Bakugou. And that’s not something I can take back. But I swear, I’ll do better. I’ll be better."

Katsuki stood still, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. She didn’t know how to respond to this.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe them—it wasn’t even that she was angry anymore. She wasn’t sure if she ever really had been.

Because the truth was, it hadn’t just been their words or their actions that had hurt her that day. It had been how familiar it felt. How much it had mirrored the past.

Her mother’s voice echoed in the back of her mind. Sharp. Cutting. Unforgiving.

You think you can just be whatever the hell you want?
People aren’t gonna accept that.
Stop acting like something you’re not.

The boys had been cruel, yeah, but it was the way their cruelty had echoed Mitsuki’s words—the way it had scraped open wounds she hadn’t realized were still bleeding—that had really done the damage.

She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "Yeah? And what do you want me to do with that?"

The boys flinched slightly, but the one in the middle—the one who had spoken first, the one who looked the most regretful—didn’t back down. "We don’t expect you to forgive us. We just… wanted to own up to it. And to say that we were wrong."

Denki, his voice quieter but just as earnest, added, "We’ve been talking about it since then. About how we acted, what we said… And, fuck, Bakugou, I—" He let out a shaky breath, his usual bright energy dimmed to something soft, vulnerable. "I don’t think I ever stopped to consider what you were actually going through. I don’t think I ever really saw you. And that’s—that’s messed up."

His shoulders hunched, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. "I don’t want to be that kind of person. I don’t want to be someone who makes you feel like shit when all you’re doing is existing. You didn’t deserve that."

Katsuki exhaled slowly, the weight of everything pressing down on her chest. She had spent her whole life being told she had to fight for herself, to never expect apologies, to never expect people to change.

And yet, here they were. Trying.

Aizawa watched her closely, giving her space to decide. What she did with this moment was entirely up to her. She knew that.

Katsuki's throat felt tight, her hands curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to scream at them, to tell them that words didn’t erase the damage, that an apology wouldn’t unmake the memories that haunted her.

But when she looked at them—really looked at them—she saw it.

The regret. The pain. The way they carried their guilt in the stiffness of their shoulders, in the way they struggled to meet her eyes. She saw that they weren’t just saying this to clear their consciences. They meant it.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone.

Katsuki exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders back, loosening the tension in her arms. Her fingers twitched at her sides, the familiar crackle of energy sparking at her palms. A flicker of gold, a sharp hiss of heat—controlled, but unmistakably dangerous.

The boys tensed instinctively, their shoulders jerking as the air crackled around them. Denki nearly yelped, his hands flying up in surrender. "Wait, wait—you're not gonna blast us, are you?!"

Katsuki narrowed her eyes, her smirk slow and sharp. "Nah," she smirked, flexing her fingers as tiny pops of light flickered from her palms. "If I was gonna blast you, you’d already be on the floor."

Sero let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, that’s… comforting."

Kirishima swallowed hard, sitting up straighter. "So, uh… does this mean—?"

Katsuki let the sparks die out, crossing her arms over her chest. She wasn’t going to make this easy for them. "I ain’t gonna forget what happened. And I don’t trust people who apologize just to make themselves feel better."

Their faces fell slightly, but they stayed quiet, letting her speak.

She clicked her tongue. "But… I trust you idiots enough to know this ain’t just about guilt."

Sato looked like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated, pressing his lips into a firm line. They were letting her decide.

Katsuki let out a slow breath, glancing toward the ceiling before rolling her eyes. "Tch. Fine. I forgive you morons. Just don’t expect me to go easy on you for it."

Denki let out a strangled noise that was somewhere between relief and fear. "Holy shit, I really thought we were about to die."

"Not yet," Katsuki shot back, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward—just a little.

Kirishima's face broke into a grin, his shoulders finally relaxing. "Thanks, Bakugou. Really."

She huffed, looking away, arms still crossed tight. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all gross on me."

Aizawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If you’re all done causing unnecessary stress, you’re dismissed."

The boys scrambled to their feet, still looking wary, but their relief was palpable. As they filed out, Denki hesitated by the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "Hey, Bakugou?"

She raised a brow. "What?"

His grin was softer this time. "You’re really damn cool, y’know that?"

Katsuki’s ears burned, and before she could stop herself, a small, sharp explosion crackled from her palm. "Get the hell outta here before I change my mind!"

Denki yelped and bolted, laughing as he ducked through the door.

Aizawa sighed heavily. "I regret every decision that led me to teaching you all."

Katsuki smirked, shoving her hands into her pockets. Maybe today hadn’t been so bad after all.

Chapter Text

The hallway stretched before him, dimly lit, the warm glow of the overhead lights pooling in soft, golden puddles along the polished floor. It was quiet, save for the distant hum of the common room television, the occasional murmur of voices from behind closed doors, the shuffle of socked feet against wood. A normal night. A peaceful night. But then—

Laughter, bright and unguarded, rang through the halls, splintering the stillness.

Izuku barely had time to process before she came into view, tearing down the hall like a force of nature, all wild energy and reckless abandon.

Kacchan.

Izuku’s breath hitched. His pulse spiked.

She was running, socked feet sliding slightly as she turned the corner, her body twisting with an effortless kind of control, all instinct, all her. Mina was right behind her, eyes alight with mischief, a devilish grin stretched across her lips.

“You wish you’re getting that ice cream sandwich, raccoon eyes! It’s already mine!” Katsuki taunted, voice bright, teasing.

Mina lunged—missed—gasped as Katsuki twisted, laughing, and bolted toward the common room.

Izuku forgot how to breathe.

Katsuki had changed since coming out. And yet, she hadn’t changed at all—she was still sharp edges and blazing fire, still the same relentless, untouchable force. But there was something different, something freer, lighter, something that stole his breath every time he looked at her now.

It was in the way she smiled. And tonight— tonight—dressed in that ridiculous, impossibly cute pajama set, she was nothing short of devastating.

The hoodie she wore was oversized and soft, a muted green with white accents, familiar colors that made something in Izuku’s chest ache. The hood had floppy bunny ears attached to it, swaying as she ran. And her shorts—god, her shorts—were short, showing off long, strong legs, the shifting of muscle beneath fair skin.

She looked like some sort of goth-emo bunny, wrapped up in something both sharp and adorable, and Izuku—

Izuku was not surviving this night.

Because the second she passed him—the second—the second she looked at him.

Her grin faltered—just a fraction. Just enough to let something else slip through. A flicker of something soft. Something warm. Something that sent his brain spiraling off the fucking rails.

And then she was gone, laughter trailing behind her like an aftershock.

Izuku barely made it to his room.

His hands fumbled with the doorknob, his feet moving without thought, his vision swimming, spinning, until the door clicked shut behind him, sealing him into the quiet darkness.

And then—then—he collapsed onto his bed and screamed into his pillow. His heart was pounding. His skin was burning. His face was an absolute inferno. He rolled onto his side, gasping, hands curled into his sheets, body coiled tight like a live wire.

Katsuki Bakugou was going to kill him.

And worse—worse—he was going to let her. Because when he closed his eyes—when he let himself sink into the quiet—his mind was full of her. Her grin. Her voice. Her laughter. The way she moved, the way she existed, unshackled, radiant, beautiful. She had always been beautiful. But now—now —she was finally herself. And it made him realize—really realize—that he had never seen her before. Not fully. Not the way she had deserved to be seen.

And fuck, it hurt.

Because how could he have been so blind? How could he have missed the signs—the ones that were always there, just waiting for him to see? How could he have spent his entire life worshiping her, idolizing her, loving her, and still not realized? A choked laugh left him, breathless, helpless.

He had been in love with her since they were four.

Four years old. And nothing had changed. No—no, that wasn’t true.

He loved her more now. Because now—now he saw her, really saw her, and there was nothing in the world that could stop him from loving every part of her, every piece she had ever hidden away. His fingers curled into the fabric of his pillow. His chest felt too tight, his lungs struggling to hold the sheer weight of it all.

And then—then he remembered.

The moment they had almost—almost—held hands earlier. The way she had looked at him—lips parted, bottom one wobbling slightly, cheeks dusted a soft, fragile pink. The way her fingers had twitched, like she had been reaching, like she had been waiting. And fuck, she had been yearning—so obviously, so deeply. She had looked at him like he was her whole world. And the terrifying, undeniable truth was—She was his whole world, too.

His breath caught, his face burning.

His hands fisted into his sheets, his body coiling with the weight of it all, with the sheer, devastating want thrumming through his veins. And then—like ice water poured straight down his spine—the fear set in.

What if she thought…?

His stomach twisted . What if she assumed—what if she believed —that he only loved her now? That he only had feelings for her because she was a girl? Because she was pretty?

The thought wrecked him.

Because fuck, that wasn’t true. That had never been true. He loved Kacchan. And he still did. And now—now—he loved her more, because she was everything she had always been, everything she had ever hidden, everything he had ever needed. But did she know that? Would she believe that?

His pulse spiked. His hands trembled.

And then—then his mind lurched in an entirely new, equally terrifying direction. What if he was wrong? What if she didn’t like him back? What if he had been misinterpreting everything ? What if—what if—she was just happy, just free, and he had mistaken it for something more? His brain spiraled. His stomach plummeted. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. And then—like a bolt of lightning splitting the sky—

I have to ask her out.

The thought struck so hard, so suddenly, that he physically jolted. He had to do it. He had to. And he had to do it right.

His mind snapped into overdrive. Plans formed, scrambled, crashed into one another. What was the best way to do this? A grand gesture? A simple confession? Should he be obvious? Should he play it cool?

You’ve never played it cool a day in your life, Midoriya, a voice in his head sneered.

It didn’t matter. He had to figure this out. He had to make it perfect. Because he loved her. And if there was one thing in this world worth fighting for—

It was her.

Izuku barely slept.

Between the sheer magnitude of his realization, the crippling overthinking, and the absolute terror of potentially messing this up, his brain had been a war zone all night. By the time his alarm blared at 6:00 AM, he was already lying awake, staring at the ceiling, his body vibrating at a frequency that could only be described as deeply unhinged.

He had one goal today: ask Kacchan out.

Except—how? Izuku stared at his ceiling, unmoving, as doubt began to claw at his resolve. Did he go casual? Just casually slip it into conversation like oh, by the way, Kacchan, would you like to grab dinner with me sometime?

No. No, that was stupid. He would die before he uttered something that painfully normal.

Did he go grand gesture? Roses? A dramatic rooftop confession? A romantic scavenger hunt leading to a candlelit dinner where he professes his undying love?

No. Kacchan would actually set him on fire.

Maybe he could just text her.

Coward.

Izuku groaned, dragging his hands over his face. He needed a plan. A real plan. A good plan.

He bolted upright, lunging for his notebook, flipping past his old hero analysis notes until he found a fresh page.

Mission: Ask Kacchan Out

Objective: Secure a date with Kacchan without dying.
Obstacles:

• Extreme blushing
• Stammering
• The overwhelming crush-induced paralysis that renders him completely useless.
• The very real possibility of Kacchan saying no (cue existential crisis).
• The even worse possibility of Kacchan realizing how bad he has it for her and never letting him live it down.

Izuku exhaled sharply. Okay. He could do this. He was a man with a plan. Or at least… he would be once he came up with one. He tapped his pen against his notebook.

Step 1: Find a good opportunity. Somewhere natural, casual, low pressure.

Step 2: Don’t overthink it. (Too late.)

Step 3: Actually say the words.

Step 4: Try not to pass out.

Izuku nodded firmly.

This was foolproof.

Attempt #1: Breakfast

( Status: Utter failure. )

The dorm kitchen was warm, filled with the scent of toasted bread and fresh coffee, the early morning quiet stretching thick between the hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muted sound of birds outside the window. It was peaceful, untouched— perfect.

Izuku stood at the counter, hyper-focused, hands steady as he carefully spread butter over the golden-brown surface of the toast. His mind was locked onto the plan—today was the day. He’d find the right moment, he’d ask, and—if fate was kind—he’d leave this kitchen with a date.

The toast was just a prop, really. A lead-in, an excuse to start talking, to slide a plate across the table like Oh, Kacchan, I made you breakfast—casual, effortless, totally not suspicious. He just had to say it.

"Hey, Kacchan, wanna go out with me sometime?"

Izuku exhaled, hyped himself up, nodded firmly to no one in particular.

This was it. This was foolproof. And then—The kitchen door creaked open.

And Izuku’s brain fucking imploded.

Because there she was. Katsuki shuffled in, rubbing one eye, movements slow and completely unguarded in that way she always was right after waking up. Her golden hair was a mess, spiked in every possible direction, like she’d spent all night wrestling sleep itself. Her eyelids were still heavy, dark lashes fluttering as she squinted at the room in groggy confusion.

And she was wearing his hoodie.

Not just any hoodie—his hoodie, the one he’d let her borrow last week, the one that was now draped over her body, swallowing her whole, oversized sleeves hanging past her fingertips, the fabric loose enough to slip slightly off her shoulder, exposing a sliver of warm, golden skin.

The world tilted.

A rush of warmth slammed into Izuku’s chest, knocking the air straight from his lungs. His heartbeat was a hammer, his breath hitched, his entire body frozen as his brain scrambled for any semblance of coherent thought—

Kacchan was wearing his hoodie.

And she looked so stupidly perfect in it.

The kitchen, the toast, the entire plan— everything ceased to exist .

Katsuki yawned, stretching her arms up, her voice thick and raspy from sleep as she muttered, “The hell are you looking at?”

Izuku, who had spent all night meticulously planning this moment, who had a whole strategy in place, who had mapped out every possible outcome—

Made a completely unintelligible, high-pitched, dying animal noise.

Katsuki frowned.

“…You good, nerd?”

Izuku’s hands were shaking. His brain was blank. His face was seconds away from combustion. He had to say something. He had to salvage this. He had to—

“I-I MADE TOAST!” he blurted.

A pause. A long, painfully awkward pause. Katsuki’s eyebrows furrowed as she blinked at him, clearly trying to process whatever the hell was happening. Then—very slowly—she looked down at the plate of toast he’d shoved forward in desperation. Then back up at him.

“…Okay?” she said, voice flat.

Izuku nodded way too aggressively, heart slamming against his ribs, every nerve in his body firing at maximum intensity.

Katsuki, still frowning, reached for the plate. Picked up a slice. Took a bite. Chewed.

Silence.

“…Tastes fine,” she said, voice dry, unimpressed.

Izuku nodded aggressively again, grabbed his own slice—And sprinted out of the kitchen like his life depended on it.

Mission status: Failure. Utter humiliation. Absolute shame.

Izuku did not recover. By the time he made it back to his dorm room, his body was still on fire, his soul in shambles, his entire existence a disaster.

"I made toast"?!

He collapsed face-first onto his bed, groaning into his pillow. This was a disaster. An embarrassment. A monumental, soul-crushing failure. Katsuki probably thought he was having a stroke. He wasn’t, but he might as well have been, because he had somehow managed to make his first attempt at asking her out an absolute joke.

And now she was eating toast in peace, probably not even thinking about him at all, while he was curled into a ball of existential crisis, still screaming internally about the fact that she had worn his hoodie.

"New plan," he thought miserably. Forget breakfast. New approach. New mission.

He exhaled.

Later.

Later, he’d try again.

Later, he would not make an absolute fool of himself.

( Spoiler: He absolutely would. )

Attempt #2: The Training Grounds

( Status: Catastrophic failure. )

The training field stretched wide and open beneath the midday sun, the sky above a blinding blue, heat shimmering in the distance. The air was thick with the scent of warm earth, the metallic tang of sweat, the low hum of cicadas vibrating in the background.

Izuku should have been focused.

This was the perfect setup.

Step 1: Challenge Katsuki to a spar.
Step 2: Let her win. ( Or win himself—but let’s be honest, he was not winning shit today. )
Step 3: After the match, in the heat of the moment, casually drop a confession.
Step 4: Profit.

Foolproof. The only problem? He had forgotten one very important detail.

Kacchan was terrifying.

Not in a scary way—not in the way that made people back down, not in the way villains feared her, not in the way that made weaker opponents crumble beneath her sheer presence.

No.

She was terrifying because she thrived in battle. Because she moved like the world bent to her will, like the laws of physics were merely suggestions. She was alive when she fought—every movement sharp, controlled, devastating.

And the moment the match started—Izuku knew he was doomed.

The first explosion cracked through the air, sending Izuku skidding back, his boots digging into the dirt as dust kicked up around him.

Katsuki lunged, relentless, her body a blur of movement—sharp, deadly, breathtaking.

“C’mon, nerd,” she taunted, her voice alive, feral, a grin stretching across her lips as she closed the distance faster than he could react. “That all you got?”

Izuku barely dodged the next blast, the heat searing past his skin, his brain scrambling for something—anything—that resembled a coherent thought.

Focus. He had to focus.

He grit his teeth, inhaled sharply, then countered—twisting on his heel, pivoting fast, throwing his full weight into a sweeping kick aimed for her legs.

Katsuki dodged effortlessly, twisting in the air, countering so damn fast that Izuku barely registered the moment his back hit the ground.

Hard.

A rough oof punched out of his lungs, his vision blurring for half a second—And then. Then.

Katsuki was straddling his waist, pinning him down, wrists locked above his head, her smirk glowing wicked and golden in the sunlight.

Izuku’s brain promptly self-destructed.

Every thought—every ounce of rational thinking—gone. Because—Because what the fuck?! Kacchan was right there, hovering above him, her body pressed flush against his, her thighs bracketing his waist, her hands gripping his wrists so tightly that heat curled through his entire body like molten aluminum being poured into an anthill. Her breathing was ragged, her face flushed, the sharp glint of her eyes dripping with victory, challenging, daring. Her smirk stretched wide, her chest rising and falling, her lips curling as she looked down at him, cocking her head just slightly.

Izuku swallowed so hard it was audible. The world had stopped turning.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “Give up, nerd?”

Immediate full-body shutdown.

Izuku’s throat worked uselessly, his entire face blazing, his lungs failing, his soul actively trying to leave his body. 

Katsuki was still waiting. Her smirk deepened, her fingers tightening around his wrists, her grip warm and unrelenting, pressing him further into the dirt.

Izuku—who had spent the entire night planning this moment, who had spent hours strategizing his confession—Wheezed. And then—And then he blurted, like an absolute moron,

“D-Did you always smell this good?”

Katsuki froze. The world held its breath.

Izuku immediately knew he had fucked up. A long, excruciating pause stretched between them.

Katsuki blinked. Slowly.

Her grip on his wrists loosened. Her expression shifted from smug victory to stunned disbelief to—To pure, unfiltered rage.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?!”

Izuku, realizing he had ruined everything, yeeted himself off the ground with full-blown panic strength, shoved Katsuki off him, and ran.

Mission status:

• Confession: Not achieved.
• Sanity: Missing in action.
• Dignity: Dead.

Izuku didn’t stop running until he was inside the dorms, behind a locked door, face-first into a pillow, screaming internally.

“Did you always smell this good?”

What was wrong with him?! What kind of dumbass confession attempt was that?! He groaned, rolling onto his back, hands covering his face as heat seared all the way to his ears. And Katsuki—god, Katsuki—He had felt her against him. Her warmth, her weight, the sheer presence of her—His heart had never beaten so violently in his life.

And she had smirked at him like that.

Izuku was never recovering from this. And worse—Worse—He still had to try again.

Because damn it, he wasn’t giving up.

Attempt #3: The Common Room

( Status: Utter exposure. No survivors. )

The common room was quiet at this hour, dimly lit by the soft glow of the TV, playing some mindless late-night rerun. The air was thick with the scent of popcorn, leftover coffee, and the faint traces of wood polish from the furniture. It was calm, still, the kind of atmosphere perfect for late-night studying.

Or in Izuku’s case—late-night spiraling.

He sat hunched over the coffee table, eyes heavy with exhaustion but fingers still twitching with nervous energy. His backpack lay open beside him, half-scattered with notes, a few textbooks stacked haphazardly on the floor. His notebook—his Kacchan Volume 28—lay right in front of him, open to the latest disaster of an entry.

He had officially run out of ideas.

Every single attempt today had been a complete and utter disaster.

First, he had choked so hard at breakfast that he might as well have launched himself into the sun. Then, the sparring match had ended with Katsuki probably thinking he was some kind of creep who sniffed people.

And now? Now he was here, rereading his notebook like a man on the brink of insanity, staring at the absolute mess that was his handwritten plans.

Each one was worse than the last.

Plan #7: Just walk up to her and say it. Outcome: Immediate rejection. Death.
Plan #8: Write her a heartfelt letter. Outcome: Feels like a middle school confession. No.
Plan #9: Ask her to “train” with him again. Outcome: Will 100% result in another humiliation kink accusation. NO.

Izuku groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch, arms over his face, notebook discarded at his side.

"This is hopeless," he thought miserably.

Kacchan was too perfect. Too strong, too sharp, too gorgeous, too everything. She had been his hero since they were kids—his rival, his inspiration, his sun. And now? Now that she was finally free to be herself, she was more dazzling than ever, brighter, like something straight out of a dream—

And he was ruining everything.

What if she really didn’t like him back ? What if she thought he was just reacting to her new looks, not who she truly was?

Izuku exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands down his face. God, he was a wreck. And then—Then, from somewhere in the quiet, a soft giggle.

Izuku froze.

His blood ran cold.

Slowly—so, so slowly—he peeked through his fingers.

And that’s when he saw her. Katsuki. Standing by the couch. Holding his notebook. His Kacchan Volume 28. One of the many notebooks that was literally dedicated to her.

Izuku forgot how to breathe.

Katsuki flipped through it, eyebrows raised, cheeks pink, her lips twitching like she was trying so hard not to lose her shit.

“…Deku,” she said, voice slow, deliberate, dripping with amusement. “The hell is this?”

Izuku made a strangled noise.

Panic. Panic. Panic.

He sat bolt upright, body moving before his brain could even process what was happening, lunging forward to grab it back—

“K-Kacchan, WAIT—”

Too late. Katsuki yanked it away, stepping just out of reach, flipping the pages with absolute delight.

And then—She started reading. Out loud.

“‘Kacchan smiled today. Like really, really smiled. Like a full, no-holding-back, bright-as-the-fucking-sun kind of smile. I think I died.’”

Katsuki grinned.

Izuku died instantly.

She turned the page.

“‘She called me a dumbass, but she sounded kind of fond when she said it. Is it normal to want to pass out when someone insults you???’”

Izuku actually collapsed.

He slid off the couch, knees hitting the floor, hands buried in his hair, face burning hotter than the fucking sun.

This was it. This was how he died.

But Katsuki wasn’t done.

“‘She looked at me today, and I swear I saw the whole goddamn galaxy in her eyes. I think I’m in too deep.’”

Katsuki giggled.

GIGGLED.

Izuku—who had never heard Katsuki giggle before in his life—was actively trying to astral project into another dimension.

“Holy shit, nerd,” Katsuki wheezed, still flipping through the pages, her face so, so red, her shoulders shaking. “Are you serious with this crap?”

Izuku whimpered.

His soul was leaving his body.

Katsuki suddenly stopped.

Her expression shifted.

Her eyes flicked to the next page—one where Izuku had meticulously written down every possible way he could ask her out.

Plan #12: Invite her to an arcade.
Plan #13: Movie night. Maybe offer to make popcorn??
Plan #14: Just tell her she’s the most beautiful girl in the world and be honest.
Plan #15: Cry.

Izuku, who was still a heap of existential despair on the floor, peeked up hesitantly.

Katsuki was staring at the page. Her cheeks were burning. And then—she laughed. Not a smirk. Not a chuckle. A full, bright, unguarded laugh.

And Izuku forgot how to function.

Because she was so stupidly beautiful when she laughed. She grinned at him, tossed the notebook aside—And jumped onto his lap.

Izuku blue-screened.

There was no warning. No hesitation.

Just heat—warm, solid, overwhelming—as she pressed against him, her hands gripping his face, fingers curling against his jaw, holding him steady.

His brain short-circuited.

Every muscle in his body locked up, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat, and the only thing he could focus on was her. The weight of her. The press of her thighs hugging his waist, the sheer, undeniable presence of her settling against him like she belonged there.

And then—

Then she kissed him.

Soft.

But not hesitant.

Not timid.

No—this was something burning, something deep, something that made Izuku’s fingers spasm against her waist before gripping tighter, his body acting before his mind could even catch up.

His eyes fluttered shut, every nerve alive, every thought drowned out by the sensation of Katsuki against him—The warmth of her lips, softer than he ever could have imagined. The scent of her skin, something clean, faintly sweet, laced with lingering smoke. The way her chest pressed against his, how her body moved instinctively into him, as if she was closing the space between them before he could even think to do the same. The sheer electricity crackling beneath her fingertips, tiny, harmless micro-explosions popping against his skin—

Like stardust, like fireworks, like she was setting his whole fucking world alight.

Izuku whimpered, hands gripping, body tilting forward, giving in, completely and utterly helpless to the gravity of her.

Katsuki sighed against his lips, a breathy, shaky sound that sent heat curling through his gut, that made something in his chest collapse and rebuild itself all at once. She kissed him again, deeper this time, more sure, more desperate, her fingers trembling slightly against his jaw, like she was trying to memorize the way he felt beneath her hands.

And Izuku—Izuku was gone. There was no past. No future. Only this. Only her. Only the way her lips moved against his, how she tasted like sweetness and heat and something so achingly familiar that he could have sworn he’d been chasing this feeling his entire life.

Because he had. Because this—this was home.

Katsuki shifted, pressing closer, her hands dragging down his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie like she was trying to pull him inside of her.

Izuku’s hands moved on instinct, sliding up her sides, feeling the way she shivered beneath his touch, the way her body reacted to him, to this, to them.

And god—She was so warm, so soft, so real—A small, shaky sound escaped her, something caught between a whimper and a sigh, something unraveling.

And that—that—was what did it.

That sound—so vulnerable, so raw, so undeniably hers—was the moment Izuku realized that this wasn’t just a kiss. This was everything. This was her trusting him. This was her giving herself to him. This was her heart, her soul, her entire being—pressed against his, holding him, wanting him, just as much as he wanted her.

And it was over for him. Because he had loved her his whole life. And now—now—he knew, with absolute certainty, that he would never stop.

Izuku groaned, the sound low, deep, involuntary, his hands gripping tighter, pulling her closer, his lips parting beneath hers, deepening the kiss, letting her feel everything he could never put into words.

Katsuki gasped, her body tensing, her nails digging into his chest, her fingers trembling where they gripped at him.

And then—

Then she tilted her head, bit his bottom lip, and sucked.

Izuku broke.

A sound—completely wrecked and unholy—escaped him before he could stop it, his hands dragging up her back, clutching at her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. Katsuki shuddered against him, her lips pressing open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, his neck, before crashing back onto his mouth, her hands wandering, exploring, as if she needed to touch, to feel, to memorize every inch of him.

They were breathless, panting, shaking, drowning in each other, lost in something bigger than both of them.

Katsuki whimpered, her forehead pressing against his, her breath hot against his lips, her fingers still curled into his hoodie like she was afraid to let go. Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with something raw, something fragile, something terrifyingly real.

“Deku…”

And Izuku—Izuku had never been more in love in his life. His heart ached, his chest too tight, his entire body thrumming with the weight of this moment, with the sheer, undeniable certainty that there was no one else for him, there never would be, there never could be. He opened his mouth—to say something, to tell her, to tell her everything—But then—

A voice.

A tired, deeply unimpressed, emotionally exhausted voice.

“You two are so goddamn exhausting.”

Izuku and Katsuki froze. Their entire bodies locked up—Then—slowly, so painfully slowly—they turned their heads—And locked eyes with Aizawa. Standing in the doorway. Arms crossed. Face completely deadpan.

Izuku choked on his own spit.

Katsuki’s entire body went rigid.

Aizawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking like he was seconds away from throwing himself off the nearest balcony. “…I assume you’re aware that public acts of intimacy are prohibited in the dorms.”

Katsuki made a choked, garbled noise, somewhere between rage, horror, and the overwhelming desire to die.

Izuku, whose entire soul had just left his body, actively stopped breathing.

Aizawa sighed again, looking so, so tired.

“Get up. You’re both coming with me.”

Mission Status:

• Confession? Achieved.
• First kiss? Life-changing.
• Romantic Moment? RUINED.
• Life expectancy? Rapidly decreasing.

( Status: Absolute mortification. Immediate regret. )

The walk to Aizawa’s office was the longest, most excruciating experience of Izuku’s entire life. He had fought villains. He had bled in battle. He had literally died and come back to life before. But nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared him for this level of secondhand embarrassment.

The common room had not been empty.

Oh, no. There had been witnesses.

Mina had been gasping into her hands, vibrating like she had just ascended into a new plane of existence.

Kirishima had been staring wide-eyed, looking both proud and deeply concerned.

Denki had been wheezing on the floor, clutching his stomach like he had just witnessed the greatest cinematic romance of the decade.

Shoto had merely blinked, taken a slow sip of his tea, and muttered, “About time.”

And then—Then there was Iida. Who had stood up so fast his chair nearly fell over, his arms moving in furious chopping motions, his face beet red as he sputtered, “PUBLIC DISPLAYS OF AFFECTION ARE PROHIBITED IN THE DORMS, MIDORIYA! I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU HAVE—YOU HAVE COMPROMISED THE SANCTITY OF—”

And at that point, Izuku had decided that he simply did not want to exist anymore.

Katsuki, to her credit, had remained silent, walking with stiff, robotic movements, hands clenched into fists at her sides, her entire face burning red.

If he had any doubts before about whether she loved him back, they had vanished the second he saw the absolutely wrecked expression on her face. But there was no time to process that, because Aizawa was leading them down the hall, sighing so loudly it sounded like he was aging in real-time. And then—They arrived.

Aizawa opened the door to his office, stepped inside, and motioned for them to follow.

Izuku and Katsuki exchanged a single, panicked glance. Then, wordlessly, they stepped in.

Aizawa shut the door. Locked it. Sat down behind his desk. And then—He folded his hands on the desk and leveled them with a stare so cold, so calculating, that Izuku felt every single one of his organs immediately shut down.

“You know the rules,” Aizawa said, voice eerily calm, dangerously unreadable.

Izuku swallowed thickly.

Katsuki tensed beside him.

Aizawa continued, voice flat, even, devastatingly ominous: “Any inappropriate conduct in the dorms must be immediately reported to the parents.”

Izuku choked on air.

Katsuki went rigid, eyes widening, fingers twitching.

Aizawa let the silence stretch.

Izuku felt sweat bead at the back of his neck.

Katsuki looked like she was actively debating if she could make it out the window before he finished dialing.

Aizawa slowly leaned forward. “I assume,” he said, voice so infuriatingly slow, so deliberately terrifying, “neither of you would like that to happen?”

Izuku’s entire soul nearly left his body. “No—NO, SIR— PLEASE—”

Katsuki physically recoiled, her face shifting through at least five different shades of panic, before she gritted her teeth and forced out through clenched teeth: “…I will actually die.”

Aizawa let that sit for a second. Then—He sighed. Rubbed his temples. And then, finally—

“I’m not going to call them,” he muttered.

Izuku and Katsuki both collapsed in their seats. Their lungs started working again. Izuku felt like he had just survived a near-death experience. But then—

Then Aizawa raised a single finger, gaze sharpening.

“I should. And by all rights, I could,” he said, voice warning, stern, a reminder that they were not off the hook. “But I’ve known both of you long enough to recognize that you’ve already been through enough trauma in your lives.”

Izuku stilled.

Katsuki’s jaw clenched.

Aizawa exhaled, looking tired, so, so tired, like he had aged ten years just sitting here dealing with them. “That being said,” he continued, his gaze leveling into something cold, firm, unshakable, “I am still your teacher. And as your teacher, it is my responsibility to enforce discipline and provide relevant, fitting punishment when necessary.”

Izuku felt it before he saw it. The shift in atmosphere. The subtle click of the remote in Aizawa’s hand. The way the room dimmed slightly as the screen flickered to life. And then—Aizawa pulled up a PowerPoint presentation.

The words “SAFE SEX PRACTICES & HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS: A GUIDE FOR PROBLEM CHILDREN” appeared in large, bold letters.

Izuku immediately started sweating again.

Katsuki made a noise that could only be described as a horrified choke.

Aizawa, looking so, so done, clicked to the first slide.

A very large, very detailed anatomical diagram of the reproductive system appeared on the screen. “…So,” Aizawa said, voice painfully monotone, “since it appears neither of you have the self-control to refrain from jumping each other in public spaces, we’re going to have a discussion about safe sex.”

Izuku actively stopped breathing.

Katsuki made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a wounded animal.

Aizawa did not blink. “This is a uterus,” he said flatly, pointing at the diagram.

Katsuki jerked like she had been electrocuted. “I KNOW WHAT A FUCKING UTERUS IS, OLD MAN—”

“Good,” Aizawa cut her off, clicking to the next slide. “Then you should have no issue reviewing the proper use of contraceptives.”

Izuku choked so violently that he nearly died on the spot.

The screen was now covered in diagrams of condoms, birth control pills, IUDs, and a bullet-point list that included the words “pull-out method” and “NOT RELIABLE.”

Katsuki buried her face in her hands.

Aizawa did not blink. “Let’s start with some basics,” he droned. “Midoriya, can you explain the correct way to use a condom?”

Izuku blacked out. Literally. His soul physically left his body.

Aizawa took a slow sip of his coffee. “…Because I can.”

The next two hours were absolute hell. By the end of it, Katsuki had gone completely silent, looking shell-shocked, her face still burning. Izuku had simply put his head down on the desk, muttering prayers to every god in existence. 

Aizawa took another sip of coffee, sighed, and clicked to the final slide. A simple, bolded message in the center of the screen:

“PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO NOT MAKE ME HAVE TO TEACH YOU THIS AGAIN.”

Without another word, he pointed to the door.

Izuku and Katsuki stumbled out like survivors of a natural disaster. And then—Then Katsuki started laughing. And Izuku—Izuku laughed, too. Because what the hell had just happened?

Because they were still stupidly, hopelessly in love.

( Status: Absolute chaos. No escape. )

The second Katsuki and Izuku stepped back into the dorms, the air changed. It was too quiet. Too still. The kind of silence that wasn’t silence at all, but rather, the deep inhale before the explosion. Izuku didn’t even get a chance to process it—the door had barely clicked shut behind them when—

“THERE THEY ARE! GET ‘EM!”

A stampede erupted from the common room. Mina led the charge, launching herself at full speed, eyes wild, mouth stretched into a grin of pure mischief. Denki was right behind her, cackling like a man on the verge of death. Iida was barreling forward with full-on emergency rescue mode activated, arms chopping furiously. Shoto, calm as ever, merely sipped his tea, watching patiently from a safe distance, like he was waiting for the disaster to unfold.

Izuku had half a second to process the absolute warpath heading toward them before—Impact. Mina grabbed Izuku by the hoodie, shaking him like a ragdoll, her voice a shriek of unholy glee.

“DID YOU SERIOUSLY GET CAUGHT MAKING OUT?! BY AIZAWA?!”

Denki was laughing so hard he was wheezing, clutching his stomach, barely able to breathe.

“I CAN’T—MIDORIYA—YOU—” He doubled over, slapping his knee, his voice dissolving into pure hysterics.

Iida was already lecturing, pointing accusingly, looking like he was about to go into cardiac arrest.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?!” he bellowed. “YOU HAVE VIOLATED THE DORM CONDUCT AGREEMENT! PUBLIC DECENCY RULES HAVE BEEN—”

Katsuki, who had been frozen in horrified silence, finally snapped.

“EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU NEEDS TO SHUT THE HELL UP, RIGHT NOW.”

Immediate silence.

Mina, Denki, and Iida all froze mid-motion. Kirishima, who had been hanging back nervously, took a cautious step forward, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh… you okay, Bakugou?” he asked, voice careful, concerned.

Katsuki’s eye twitched. She was still red, still reeling, still so emotionally wrecked from the PowerPoint of Doom that her soul had not yet recovered. And then—Very, very slowly—She turned to Izuku. And narrowed her eyes.

Izuku—who had just barely survived one of the worst nights of his entire existence—blinked at her. “…K-Kacchan?”

A beat of absolute silence. Then—Katsuki stepped forward, grabbed his hoodie, yanked him down so they were nose to nose, and hissed, “This is all your fault, nerd!”

Izuku flinched. “HUH?!” he squeaked, voice breaking on the spot.

Katsuki’s grip tightened. “If you weren’t such a dumbass, I wouldn’t have kissed you in the middle of the damn common room,” she snapped, voice low, dangerously close to unraveling.

Izuku sputtered, brain short-circuiting all over again. “WHA—BUT—YOU’RE THE ONE WHO—”

“SHUT UP.”

Mina gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Oh my god,” she whispered, eyes wide. “She kissed you?”

Izuku, still reeling, turned even redder.

Denki doubled over again, screaming. “I CAN’T—”

Shoto nodded approvingly from his spot near the couch. “About time.”

Iida looked like he was going to explode from sheer indignation. “YOU ALL ARE MISSING THE POINT—”

Kirishima grinned, clapping Katsuki on the back, his voice proud, emotional, borderline teary-eyed. “Bro. You finally confessed.”

Katsuki froze. Her grip on Izuku’s hoodie loosened. Her eyes flicked to his. And suddenly—The weight of everything hit them all at once. They had really done that. They had really kissed. They had really just made everything real.

Izuku felt it before he saw it. The subtle shift in her breath. The way her grip softened against his hoodie. The way her lips parted—just slightly—like she wanted to say something, but didn’t know how. And suddenly—the world faded away. The teasing. The shouting. The humiliation. It all blurred into nothing. Because Katsuki was looking at him. And her face—Her face wasn’t angry. Her face was soft. Almost shy. Almost like—Like she was realizing something, too.

And Izuku—Izuku felt his entire chest squeeze. His hands—still holding onto her wrists—tightened. And then—Then she yanked away. Stepped back. Scowled so aggressively that it felt forced. And with one last growl, she turned on her heel and stomped toward the elevators.

“I’M GOING TO BED.”

Slam.

Elevator doors closed.

Silence.

The remaining dormmates stared after her. Denki, still dying, finally wheezed out, “Dude. You are so screwed.”

Mina nodded solemnly. “So screwed.”

Izuku, still standing there like a malfunctioning robot, did not deny it. Because yeah. Yeah.

He was screwed.

And he had never been happier about it.

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.

Chapter Text

The air in the OBGYN office was too cold. Too white. Like bleach had scoured the world raw and left it sterile. Everything buzzed. The fluorescent lights overhead whined like a mosquito trapped in her skull, and Katsuki swore she could hear her own heartbeat echoing against the walls.

The paper gown crinkled where it clung to her thighs. Too thin. Too small. Her knees were pressed tight together, feet dangling inches above the floor like she was a little kid again. Her arms stayed locked over her chest, her posture tight as a drawstring bag—trying to fold in on herself, disappear into her own ribs.

Mitsuki sat across the room in a molded plastic chair, one leg crossed over the other. The magazine in her lap was long forgotten, its glossy pages slack in her hands. She studied Katsuki for a beat too long.

"So," she said, like this was just another doctor visit. "You gonna tell me what changed since this morning?"

Katsuki didn’t answer.

Mitsuki leaned back. Her tone shifted—teasing, sing-song. "Don’t play dumb. You’ve been acting like a bomb about to go off since I picked you up. So what happened? Hm? What’d you and Izuku get up to after I left?"

The name alone was enough to make Katsuki’s shoulders jump.

She flinched like she'd been struck. Her jaw snapped shut. Her gaze darted away, heat flooding her cheeks until they burned red. Her fingers dug into the soft flesh of her upper arms, nails biting in deep. Anchor points. Sharp pain to keep the tears down.

Silence stretched.

Then, so quiet it barely survived the air between them:

"...He told me he loves me."

The words hovered there, delicate and irreversible.

Mitsuki’s lips parted. The air between them thickened like it had weight.

Katsuki was shaking now—shoulders drawn up to her ears, spine taut as wire. Her breath hitched, and the words that followed came out raw, splintered.

"I don’t get it. I don’t fucking get it."

There was nothing performative in her voice. No bravado. No bark. Just something broken. Something unraveling by the thread.

She wasn’t acting like herself—no, that wasn’t quite right. This was herself. Stripped down. Unmasked. Not the Bakugou that barked and snarled and exploded her way through pain.

This was Katsuki. Small. Scared. Sobbing over something as impossible as love.

And for a split second, Mitsuki forgot how to breathe.

Because that pain—it wasn’t new. It wasn’t about today. It wasn’t even about Izuku.

It was older. Deeper. Like scar tissue layered over a still-bleeding wound.

And then—

It had been late when they got home from the hospital.

Masaru had driven, white-knuckling the steering wheel. The lines in his face were deep, drawn, focus razor-sharp as he paid attention to the road. Mitsuki sat in the passenger seat, hands shaking, heart stuttering in panic-beat bursts that barely reached her fingers.

"How the fuck are we supposed to accept this?" she asked, voice brittle with disbelief. "How do we even know it’s real?"

Masaru didn’t answer right away.

She turned to him, jaw tight. "I’m serious. What if the quirk changed something in his head? What if it messed with his brain chemistry or his emotions or his personality? What if this—" she gestured vaguely toward the back seat, toward Katsuki, small and silent and curled up like a fist "—what if this isn’t permanent? What if he’s just confused? What if this isn’t really him but someone from a different dimension or universe?"

Masaru’s hands clenched the wheel. His voice was soft, pleading. "Mitsuki, please—"

"What if it rewired him?" she hissed, barely able to look in the rearview mirror. "What if this girl isn’t even our Katsuki anymore?"

"Not right now," Masaru said quietly. "Please. Don’t do this right now."

But she couldn’t stop. The fear was gnawing through her ribs, screaming beneath her skin.

"You think I want to feel like this?" she barked. "You think I want to be scared of my own child? To not know who she is? I raised a son. We raised a son. How the hell are we supposed to just forget that overnight?!"

Her voice cracked. Her hands curled into fists in her lap. And that was when it happened—

A single, breathless sob from the back seat.

It was small. Fragile. Like the sound of a heart breaking through clenched teeth.

Mitsuki froze.

She twisted in her seat and saw her daughter—shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shut, one hand over her mouth, shaking like she was trying to disappear inside her hoodie.

Katsuki was still there. She had heard everything.

And suddenly, Mitsuki couldn’t breathe.

They pulled into the driveway minutes later, but it felt like years. The second the car rolled to a stop, Katsuki exploded from the back seat in a blur of panic, blasting into the sky with a plume of smoke. She didn’t even use the door. Just launched herself toward her bedroom window like the house was burning and she had to escape it before the flames reached her skin.

She slammed the window shut and locked it. The curtains snapped closed. Gone.

"DON’T YOU RUN AWAY FROM THIS!" Mitsuki screamed up at the house, fists clenched, rage boiling through her veins. She stormed inside, feet pounding against the tile, and threw herself against Katsuki’s locked door.

"You think hiding’s gonna fix this?!" she yelled, slamming her fist into the wood again and again. "You think locking your door is going to make this all go away?!"

No response.

She kept pounding. Screaming. Cursing. Until her voice gave out.

Until her knuckles throbbed.

Until the silence on the other side of the door became unbearable.

Until Masaru pulled her away, arms slipping around her from behind.

Mitsuki collapsed.

She fell into him, knees buckling, sobs tearing out of her like something raw and wounded had split open inside her chest. Masaru held her. Didn’t say anything. Just pressed his face into her shoulder and held on as she shattered in his arms.

They sank to the floor together, tangled and broken and silent.

Later—much later—when the house had gone dark and the quiet was thick as grief, Mitsuki curled into Masaru’s chest, voice hoarse and trembling in their bed.

"She’s going to lose everything, Masaru."

Her husband’s breath hitched.

"She’s going to lose her future as a hero—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?"

He didn’t answer.

"She’s going to lose her friends. 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—"

Her voice cracked.

A sharp inhale.

Then, barely a whisper:

"Who’s going to love her?"

Silence.

Her hands shook. Her breath shuddered.

"Who’s going to support her when she’s like this? Who’s going to look at her and see the boy she used to be—and love the girl she is now?"

She buried her face in Masaru’s chest.

And he held her.

Now, Katsuki was still trembling.

Still digging her nails into her arms to keep from sobbing. From ripping out her own hair. From falling apart. All because of three words from a boy who loved her.

Mitsuki couldn’t move.

A ball of lead dropped into her stomach. Heavy with every mistake she had ever made.

How much had Katsuki heard back then?

How many times had Mitsuki said or done something without realizing how deep the damage would go?

She opened her mouth—

The nurse knocked.

And the moment shattered.

The appointment passed in sterile silence.

Every surface gleamed—cold metal, sharp corners, antiseptic-smelling air. Katsuki sat stiff and silent on the paper-covered exam table, the crinkle of the sheet beneath her thighs loud in the quiet room. Her fists twisted into the gown with knuckles white, the thin paper creasing beneath her fingers like crushed leaves. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ground, lashes low, as if avoiding her own reflection in the floor tiles.

The nurse took her vitals. Clicks, beeps, numbers jotted down on a clipboard. Each sound echoed through the hollow space behind Katsuki’s ribs.

She didn’t speak unless directly asked a question. Even then, her voice came out thin and brittle, like frost on glass. Every syllable tasted wrong in her mouth.

She couldn’t look up. Couldn’t look around. Couldn’t look down.

She hadn’t even looked at herself—not really—since it happened. Since she woke up with a body she didn’t recognize. Since the change turned her skin foreign, her muscles traitorous, her whole anatomy an uncanny echo of something she never asked for but had always wanted.

And now they expected her to open her legs. Let a stranger see what she couldn’t bear to even glance at. Probe it. Touch it.

The doctor’s voice was calm. Explaining. Professional. Something about a pap smear. Necessary. Standard.

Katsuki barely nodded.

She felt like she was moving through viscous sludge. Like her brain had wrapped her in a thick fog to keep the panic out. But it wasn’t working. She was choking. Suffocating. Her heart was a drumline. Her skin prickled with sweat. Her stomach twisted with something that wasn’t quite nausea—more like shame. Dread. Like she was about to be punished for something she didn’t do.

Then the nurse asked her to lie back.

Katsuki’s breath hitched.

The stirrups unfolded with a mechanical groan. The sound alone made her flinch. Her legs moved stiffly, like her muscles had forgotten how to obey her.

The moment her foot touched the metal, something inside her clenched. Her hips jerked. Her jaw locked. Her fingers shot out—reaching, seeking—

Mitsuki.

She grabbed her mother’s hand like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.

Mitsuki blinked. Startled. But she didn’t pull away.

Katsuki’s grip was bruising.

Her eyes were wide, wet, glassy. Unspoken panic screamed behind them. She didn’t have to say a word.

Don’t leave. Don’t let go.

Mitsuki squeezed back.

Hard.

The paper gown rustled. The gloves snapped. Cold gel. Clinking metal. The doctor murmured something about pressure.

And Katsuki—

She buried her face in Mitsuki’s sleeve.

The smell of her mother’s shampoo—something vaguely floral and sharp like citrus—was the only thing that grounded her.

Her knees shook. Her teeth dug into the inside of her cheek. Her body tensed like a rubber band stretched too thin. Every part of her screamed to move—to run—to fight.

But she didn’t.

She held still.

She let it happen.

Because this would make her safe. Safer. It would be over soon.

She didn’t cry. Not yet. But the tears were there. Pressed up against the back of her throat. Making it hard to breathe.

Mitsuki held her hand like she’d never let go again.

And all Mitsuki could feel was guilt—hot and sour in her gut, curdling every maternal instinct that told her this was supposed to be normal. Milestone shit. But this wasn’t prom. Wasn’t makeup. Wasn’t something to celebrate.

This was survival.

And Katsuki looked like a survivor. Hollow-eyed. Battle-scarred. Braced for something worse.

When it was over, the doctor murmured that she had done great.

Katsuki didn’t reply.

She slid off the table slowly, stiff and aching. The nurse helped her dress in silence. She moved like someone whose bones had turned to glass.

Back under the paper blanket. Hunched. Silent.

The nurse returned with the results. Bloodwork looked good. No hormonal interference from her nitroglycerin quirk. No issues expected.

Now they had options.

Birth control pills: familiar. But inconsistent. Easy to forget. Costly—3,000 yen per month and not covered by insurance.

An IUD: more invasive. More permanent. But safer. 50,000 yen upfront. Still not covered.

Mitsuki nodded like it didn’t matter. Money was secondary.

"Whatever you want," she said. "Don’t worry about the cost. Just pick what feels right."

Katsuki hesitated. Swallowed. Then leaned in.

"...I want the IUD," she whispered, barely audible. "I’m scared I’ll forget the pills."

Mitsuki ran a hand gently through her hair.

"Badass choice," she murmured. "Hardcore. You’re tougher than me."

Katsuki tried to smile.

But it didn’t reach her eyes.

She just nodded once and looked away. "You never know what'll happen to a hero."

And Mitsuki sat back, pretending not to notice the tear that slid down her daughter’s cheek and got caught in the collar of her gown.

By the time they stepped out of the clinic, the sun had already begun to dip behind the trees, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. The world felt quiet in that strange, too-loud way. Like every sound had been muffled under gauze, but the pain in Katsuki’s body turned every footstep into a scream.

Katsuki limped with each step, her hips stiff and muscles spasming in protest. Her face was tight, jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached, and her eyes flickered between the pavement and the distant horizon as if refusing to acknowledge her own body. Her whole core felt like it had been twisted, stabbed, and left throbbing with a deep, searing ache. She leaned on Mitsuki, squeezing her mother’s hand like it was a lifeline keeping her tethered to earth.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—why does it feel like someone shoved a fucking brick into my uterus," she hissed, voice raw and barely above a whisper. Each step sent another jolt of pain twisting up her spine. Her legs trembled beneath her. Her nails dug crescent moons into Mitsuki’s palm.

Mitsuki didn’t flinch.

She didn’t speak either.

Not yet.

The image of her daughter screaming in the exam room played on a loop behind her eyes. Not just screaming— wailing . Guttural. Like something had been torn from her. The way Katsuki had buried her face in Mitsuki’s side, crying so hard she could barely breathe, body curled like she was trying to escape from her own skin.

Now, Katsuki hadn’t said a word since the nurse walked out with the paperwork. Not one. Her face was pale. Too pale. Her lips bloodless. Her expression unreadable—not angry, not upset, just…gone. Like the rest of her had stayed behind on that paper-covered table.

Every few steps, she blinked a little too hard. Like her eyes were fighting back against something warm and stinging behind them.

Mitsuki spotted the small park off the side of the clinic road—a duck pond nestled among weeping willows and shadowed stone benches. It was tucked away just enough. Quiet. Still.

She gestured to it.

“C’mon,” Mitsuki said gently. “Let’s sit.”

Katsuki didn’t argue. Didn’t speak. She just let herself be led, each breath caught on the jagged edge of pain. When they reached the bench, she all but collapsed into it. A sharp gasp cracked out of her as her body folded forward, arms winding around her midsection like she was trying to keep her insides from falling apart.

The breeze off the water smelled green and damp. Willow branches swayed, slow and sleepy. Somewhere in the distance, a duck quacked.

Katsuki didn’t notice any of it. She sat hunched, breathing through her teeth, fingers trembling where they gripped the fabric of her hoodie. Her whole body was clenched tight like she was bracing for another blow. Like the worst hadn’t come yet.

Mitsuki watched her.

Her daughter looked like she’d been cracked open and poorly glued back together. Too many fractures. Not enough hands.

“You okay, kid?”

Katsuki flinched at the sound.

“You haven’t seemed like yourself today.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Her eyebrows pinched together like she was trying to figure out how to speak a language her throat no longer remembered. She gave a small shake of her head. Her voice rasped out low.

“Don’t—”

But Mitsuki wasn’t done.

“Is this about Izuku?”

That broke something.

Katsuki’s spine stiffened. Her breath caught in her throat like a stone. Her whole body went rigid.

She turned her face away, eyes locked on the rippling surface of the water like it held answers she didn’t know how to ask for.

“I don’t understand it,” she whispered, her voice thinner than thread, frayed and unraveling.

Mitsuki didn’t breathe.

“I don’t get why he’d love someone like me and actually want to be with me. I’m just going to ruin everything he worked so hard for.”

Her voice cracked on the last word. Splintered open.

And then the tears came.

Hot, fast, stinging. They spilled before she could stop them, before she could breathe through the panic, before she could shove them down like she always did. Her shoulders hunched as if trying to collapse inward, her arms clamping tighter around her stomach. She cried like she was trying not to. Like if she kept it quiet enough, it wouldn’t count.

But the sobs wracked her chest. Made her wheeze. Her sleeves soaked through in seconds as she hid her face and shook with the force of it all.

Mitsuki reached for her—

Then stopped.

Because she’d seen this before.

She’d seen Katsuki fall apart exactly like this once, years ago.

And back then, Mitsuki had been the one holding the hammer.

The way Katsuki held herself now—the way her knees angled inward, her head ducked, her arms a fortress—wasn’t just pain. It was protection.

Like she expected to be hit.

Like this was her penance.

Like love was something she wasn’t allowed to have, and now the world was correcting her for daring to want it.

And Mitsuki—Mitsuki had no idea how to fix that.

But god, she was going to try.

That day. That goddamn day.

She had just gotten home from school, uniform clinging to her like it didn’t want to let go. Her skin was sticky with sweat, and her eyes were raw—burning from the salt, the sun, the effort it had taken to hold herself together long enough to make it home without falling apart.

The sludge villain’s touch still clung to her like a second skin. Not just the choking, the suffocation, the helpless flailing—it was deeper than that. It was invasive. Violating. Like it hadn’t been enough to trap her, crush her, humiliate her—it had wanted to enter her. Fill every inch of her lungs, her throat, her mouth, her nose. Maybe more. She couldn’t tell anymore. Maybe it had entered her. It felt like—.

Did that really happen? she thought. Or was I just so scared and weak that I can't figure out what's real or not?

Her stomach twisted. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She wanted to scream. Vomit. Rip her skin off and start over. But instead—she did what she always did.

She stomped.

Through the front door, up the stairs, fists clenched tight at her sides until the skin over her knuckles split white. Her jaw locked. Her chest ached. Her face burned with the heat of everything she couldn’t let out.

"Don’t stomp through my house like that!" Mitsuki’s voice came sharp from the bottom of the stairs. "You better fix that damn attitude before I come in there—"

"Fuck off!" Katsuki shouted, her voice cracking down the hallway like a whip as she slammed her bedroom door hard enough to rattle the frame.

She threw herself onto her bed, chest heaving, face pressed into the pillow as she bit down hard on the fabric to muffle the noises clawing up her throat. Rage. Panic. Shame. The panic curled in her gut like barbed wire. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t . That would make it real.

Then—

"I know your secret!"

The words detonated in the hallway like a grenade.

Katsuki’s whole body seized. Her blood iced over. Her heart slammed once—twice—then roared up into her throat, choking her.

Which secret? her mind screamed. Which one?!

The sludge villain? The way she’d flinched when Izuku touched her arm? That she had a crush on the nerd? The Mirko magazine? The quiet, ugly truth buried so deep inside her she’d never dared name it?

That she didn’t feel like a boy. That she never had. That she was faking it. Performing it. That it was getting harder and harder to keep the mask on. That she wasn’t a boy at all—she was a girl. And it terrified her.

Heavy footsteps. The stairs groaned.

Katsuki sat up, trembling.

The door burst open.

Mitsuki stood there, face twisted in fury, one hand clenched around a magazine.

Katsuki’s breath locked in her chest.

The Mirko cover. That issue. The one she kept hidden. The one she only dared look at when the world was quiet and her hands stopped shaking long enough to touch the truth.

Mitsuki held it like it was proof of something sick. Like it was a weapon.

Everything inside Katsuki shattered.

Her eyes flew to the glossy print, then up to her mother’s face. Her arms uncrossed. Her hands fisted in the fabric of her school pants, gripping tight until the fabric wrinkled beneath her palms. Her throat closed. Her lungs refused to pull in air. Her body folded inward, her shoulders curling as if to hide her heart.

If she could have vanished into the seams of her mattress, she would have.

Mitsuki stormed in and slapped the magazine down on the desk with a crack loud enough to make Katsuki jump.

"Explain this."

Katsuki flinched so violently her whole body jolted like a live wire. Her spine lit up with white-hot adrenaline.

Her voice caught in her throat. All the words turned to ash.

"Are you a damn pervert now?!" Mitsuki’s voice sliced through the air like glass.

"I—I—I—" Her mouth moved, but nothing coherent came out. Her tongue felt swollen. Her teeth hurt from how hard she bit down. Her bottom lip split, blood flooding over her tongue, metallic and sharp.

"This is disgusting! You’re disgusting! What kind of perverted freak hides shit like this?!"

The room spun.

And then—

The slap.

It wasn’t a punch. Wasn’t even enough to leave a mark.

But it didn’t need to be.

The betrayal was enough.

Her knees buckled. She staggered back, legs hitting the bedframe, and she crumpled onto the mattress like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Everything inside her stopped.

Her body trembled, then went deathly still. Her eyes locked on the carpet. The walls. The empty space where she used to feel safe.

Mitsuki’s voice kept going.

"You should be ashamed! This is wrong, Katsuki! Wrong and perverted and sick! I raised you better than this!"

Wrong.

Freak.

Sick.

The words lodged deep. Took root. Wrapped around her ribs and squeezed until her breath came short and shallow.

She learned something, then.

Not about herself. She already knew who she was.

She learned what love could be taken away with one wrong word. One truth spoken aloud.

Being trans—being a girl—wasn’t safe.

Not even in her own home.

And the silence that followed? The silence she locked herself into after that day?

That was survival.

If she never spoke, she couldn’t be punished. If she never reached for softness, it couldn’t be used against her.

She would not cry. She would not scream.

She would stay still.

She would survive.

Now—back in the park—Katsuki was sobbing again.

The world blurred behind her tears. Each breath stuttered out in shallow bursts, burning her throat raw. Her shoulders hunched, spine curled like a folding chair collapsing inward. Her arms wrapped around her middle like armor, pressing against the dull, twisting cramp in her uterus, but it did nothing to soothe the ache. Not just physical—emotional, too. Deep. Crawling under her ribs like rust.

Her voice came cracked, broken. "I’m not supposed to be like this. I’m not supposed to be like this. I’m not supposed to cry like this. Be this weak. Be this—"

The word never came. It didn’t have to. It hung in the air, heavier than all the rest.

Mitsuki moved without thinking. She wrapped her arms around Katsuki and pulled her close.

Katsuki didn’t fight it.

Didn’t jerk away. Didn’t snap. She just cried harder, her forehead pressing into her mother’s collarbone, fists clenched in Mitsuki’s coat. Her whole body trembled, little hiccupping gasps shoving their way out of her lungs.

Mitsuki’s arms tightened, her own throat burning. She held her daughter like she’d fall apart if she let go.

"I—I thought I could do this," Katsuki rasped between sobs. "Thought if I just stayed strong enough, I could handle it. That I could be... normal. That if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t hurt so much."

"Oh, baby..."

Katsuki shook her head. "But it does. It fucking hurts. It’s like I’m watching everyone else move on and be okay, and I’m still stuck. Still trying to be a person I don’t even recognize anymore. And Izuku—fuck, Mom, he looks at me like I’m... whole. Like I’m worth something. And I don’t know how to be that. I don’t know how to believe him."

Mitsuki’s heart cracked wide open.

"He’s not wrong," she said softly. "You are worth something. Worth everything. You’re just... you’re carrying too much alone."

Katsuki’s breathing hitched.

"I don’t know how to let go," she whispered. "I don’t know how to stop pretending I’m okay. Even when I’m with him, it’s like... like I’m scared I’ll break the second I let him see all of it."

Now, Katsuki was still trembling.

Still digging her nails into her arms, carving crescent moons into her skin through the sleeves of her hoodie. Anything to hold herself together. Anything to stop the sob threatening to crack her sternum in half. She sat stiffly on the bench, spine arched like a bowstring pulled too tight, eyes burning from the pressure of holding it all in.

Her breathing came shallow. Too fast. Like her lungs were folding in on themselves. Like her ribs were cages and her heart was a cornered animal.

She wanted to scream. To rip out the part of herself that still believed she didn’t deserve softness. Still believed that love was a ticking time bomb. Still believed that Izuku—sweet, stupid Izuku—had made a mistake when he said those three fucking words.

I love you.

They echoed in her skull like a siren. Beautiful. Deafening. Terrifying.

Mitsuki sat frozen beside her.

A ball of lead had dropped into her gut the moment Katsuki started crying. Heavy with guilt. Regret. Every terrible word she’d ever spat in anger. Every time she hadn’t listened. Every time she had failed to see her daughter for who she was instead of who she expected her to be.

Her hands twitched in her lap. She didn’t reach out. Not yet. She didn’t know if she was allowed.

Katsuki’s voice broke the silence.

"I used to think... if I could be the best—if I could be stronger than everyone else—then maybe I’d be worth loving," she said hoarsely. "That if I was perfect enough, no one would ever find out how fucking wrong I felt all the time."

She laughed, but it was hollow. Wet. A bitter breath through clenched teeth.

"But I’m not perfect. I’m not strong. I’m not even okay. I’m just this—this mess. And he still said he loves me."

She looked up, eyes glassy and red, staring out over the rippling pond like it might give her an answer.

"What if I ruin him? What if I pull him down with me? What if he wakes up one day and realizes I’m not who he thought I was?"

Her voice cracked again.

"What if he looks at me and doesn’t see her? What if he sees the boy I used to be and thinks I was lying to him this whole time?"

Mitsuki exhaled, barely a sound.

"You’re not ruining him," she said. "You’re letting him see you. The real you. And that’s... Katsuki, that’s not a burden. That’s a gift."

Katsuki scoffed.

"Feels like a fucking curse."

"Then we’ll learn how to carry it together."

Katsuki didn’t answer. Her nails kept biting into her arms. Her breath trembled. Her shoulders hitched, like every word had scraped against something raw.

Mitsuki finally moved.

She placed a hand gently over Katsuki’s fists.

"I fucked up," she said, low. "Back then. At home. I didn’t know how to process it. I said things I can’t take back. But I want to try. I want to do better."

Katsuki’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"It’s not just about you doing better. I... I don’t know how to let you try."

Mitsuki nodded.

"I know. But I’ll be here. Even when you don’t want me to be. Even when it’s messy. Even when you’re hurting. I’ll stay."

Katsuki squeezed her eyes shut.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry again. Don’t—

But her chest heaved, and her lip quivered, and she couldn’t stop the next sob.

Mitsuki moved closer, pulling her into a side hug. No pressure. Just an open palm pressed against her shoulder blade, grounding.

"You don’t have to talk more right now," Mitsuki murmured. "Just breathe. Just let me be here."

Katsuki nodded, barely.

The wind rustled the branches above them. A duck flapped noisily across the pond. The world kept moving, but here—on this worn wooden bench—time stilled for just a breath longer.

Mitsuki swallowed hard.

"You don’t have to do it alone," she said. Her voice was quiet but firm. "Let someone help you carry it. Not just Izuku. Someone who’s trained for this. Someone who knows how to listen."

Katsuki didn’t respond right away. Her fingers curled tighter into Mitsuki’s coat. Her tears soaked into the fabric.

"We need help. Both of us," Mitsuki added, her voice trembling now. "I think—we should try family therapy. Together. And maybe... maybe you could find someone just for you. Someone who can help you learn how to breathe again."

Katsuki hiccupped. Sniffled. Shuddered out a breath that sounded like it took everything she had.

"What if it doesn’t help?" she asked. Her voice was so small.

Mitsuki stroked her hair.

"Then we keep trying until something does. Because I’m not giving up on you. Not ever."

Katsuki didn’t speak.

But she didn’t pull away.

She let herself be held.

And Mitsuki held her tighter.

Because maybe, just maybe, this was how they start healing.

Together.

Chapter Text

The wind stirred the trees with the sound of soft applause—like the world itself was trying to encourage her to keep breathing. Katsuki didn’t move.

The park was too still, like it had been frozen in amber, locked in that awful in-between space after a storm but before the sky remembered how to shine. The silence wasn’t comforting. It scraped.

Mitsuki’s hands twitched uselessly in her lap, knuckles white, fingers stained with faint lavender from the packet of tissues clutched too tight between them. She hadn’t spoken since they sat down on the bench, hadn’t known what to say after crying and watching her daughter break again. She just kept hearing it.

You never know what’ll happen to a hero.

Katsuki had said it too cold, too casually, like someone talking about the weather—like she hadn’t meant for anyone to notice the breathlessness beneath the sentence. Like it wasn’t heavy with the weight of something awful.

The memory played on loop: the sterile room, Katsuki’s back too straight, shoulders locked, that one tear carving a salt path down her cheek. Like her body was betraying her, leaking what she refused to say.

Mitsuki’s stomach twisted violently, anxiety and guilt boiling in her gut like battery acid. Her voice came out quieter than breath.

“What happened to you, Katsuki?”

And the world stopped.

Katsuki froze like a deer hearing the crunch of snow behind her. Her shoulders tightened, and she didn’t look at her mother. Didn’t speak. Just bit her lip hard enough to bleed and stared down at her lap like the tattoos on her sleeves might offer her a script for how to survive this.

“You never know what’ll happen to a hero,” Mitsuki repeated, voice cracking under the strain of everything she’d never let herself feel. “That’s what you said.”

She reached forward instinctively, but Katsuki flinched. Not violently—just enough. Just barely. But enough.

“What happened, baby?”

Katsuki didn’t speak for a long time.

The world was quieter than it had any right to be—muted by the kind of hush that only settled after a scream. A sharp, post-shock silence. Even the wind seemed unsure whether to stir the leaves or let them rest.

She sat curled in on herself, bones clenched around bones, fingers clutching at her own sleeves like they were the only thing keeping her upright. Her knuckles were white. Her palms—slick with nitroglycerin—left damp streaks on the fabric, faintly shimmering like oil spill reflections on pavement.

Mitsuki didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her body had gone leaden beside her, spine locked, hands limp in her lap. The question she’d spoken was still hanging in the air between them, trembling like a struck chord— What happened to you, Katsuki?

Katsuki breathed through her nose, short, sharp. Like her lungs were catching on barbed wire. She couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes. Couldn’t risk being looked at while feeling like this—peeled raw, ribs exposed, nothing but soft tissue left.

“I’ve never…” Her voice came in a whisper, a tremor, a ghost clinging to her vocal cords. “I’ve never talked about it before.”

The sound of her own voice made her flinch.

She pulled her hood up, burying her face in the dark cotton tunnel of it, clinging to the pressure like it might contain her. Her arms wrapped around her shoulders in that subconscious, childlike way—as if she could fold herself so small the past wouldn’t find her. As if she could disappear inside herself and be safe again.

“It’s not something I like to think about, Mom.”

Mitsuki’s breath hitched, but she didn’t speak. Her throat had closed up, her tongue thick and dry with panic.

“I’m not even sure it actually happened,” Katsuki murmured. “Not really. I mean—It all happened so fast. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t move. I just—”

The words broke like a dam cracking under too much pressure, leaking out slow and viscous. Her cheeks were wet, though she hadn’t noticed herself start crying. Salt cut streaks down her skin, catching in the fuzz of her hoodie. Her face felt cold, burned raw.

“It was the day the sludge monster got me.”

Katsuki bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. It helped, somehow. Helped keep her tethered. She tilted her head until it rested against her knee, cheek scraped against rough denim. It stung, but at least it was real.

“The day you found the magazine.”

The muscles in Mitsuki’s back went rigid. She looked away.

“He… It… I don’t know.” Katsuki’s voice hitched again. The wind pressed through the branches above them like a breath catching in a throat. “I was scared. I couldn’t breathe. My explosions—they wouldn’t work. My hands just—”

She held them out in front of her like evidence. As if her trembling palms could explain it better than she ever could.

The nitroglycerin shimmered under the filtered sunlight, like sweat made of mercury. Her fingertips sparked uselessly—soft, popping whimpers of heat that fizzled before they could even begin to burn. Like her body didn’t trust itself anymore.

“I wasn’t strong yet,” she whispered. “I didn’t know what strong meant back then. I just… I thought…”

She swallowed hard. The pressure in her throat was unbearable, like she was trying to choke down a scream that wouldn’t stop clawing.

“It wanted to get inside me. My body. It wanted to be me. Control me. Take me.”

The words tumbled out in a monotone, like she was reading them off a medical report. Like she’d rehearsed them for years in her head but had never dared let them leave her mouth.

“There was so much happening. I just knew I couldn’t breathe—I was choking. It wanted to—”

She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t.

Her voice fell silent like a light flicking off. And then she was just breathing again, sharp and shallow, tears dripping off her chin one by one into her lap. No sobbing. Just leaking. Just unraveling.

Mitsuki couldn’t hear anymore.

Her body had gone numb. Her ears filled with white noise, like she was standing at the bottom of the ocean with the pressure crushing in on her skull. Her baby girl—her baby —was saying these things, and she hadn’t known. She hadn’t asked. She had yelled. She had accused.

Pervert.

Wrong.

Disgusting.

The words echoed through her memory like a slap. Her own voice, venom-laced, thrown like shrapnel at a child who had just— just —survived something that should have never happened.

Mitsuki didn’t know when she started crying, only that the tears felt scalding against her cheeks. Her heart was pounding in her throat, a wild, frenzied thing trying to claw its way out.

She reached out and touched Katsuki’s back. Lightly. Barely a brush. And when Katsuki didn’t flinch this time, didn’t shrink away, Mitsuki let herself gather her daughter in her arms.

She held her like she had when Katsuki was three years old and had skinned her knee on the driveway. Like she had when her grandmother died and Katsuki had sobbed on the kitchen floor for hours. Like she had in every dream where things might still be okay.

And Katsuki—Katsuki didn’t resist. She folded into the embrace with a shudder, face buried in her mother’s shoulder, hoodie soaked through with silent sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Mitsuki whispered, voice cracked open and bleeding. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know, baby.”

Katsuki clung to her like she was trying to patch the holes in her own skin. She couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t think anything. The only thoughts in her head were sludge and sparks and Izuku’s face. The guilt crashed into her chest like a wave she’d been too tired to outrun.

She had nothing to give him now.

Nothing.

She had wanted—always wanted—for her first time to be with him. Not just sex, but her first . Her body, her choice, her love. And now it felt like that had already been stolen. Contaminated. Soiled by hands she hadn’t wanted, a will that wasn’t hers.

And worse—she hadn’t realized it. Not until now. Not until she had looked her doctor in the eye and felt her own body lock up in terror. Not until her mother had asked what happened, and she had finally let herself say the words.

And now they were real.

Now she had to live with them.

The wind felt colder now.

Not in the skin-prickling way that comes before a storm, but in that eerie stillness after —when all the thunder has passed and the world remembers what silence is. Mitsuki sat frozen, arms wrapped around her daughter, and she realized in that moment how small Katsuki had become. Not in size. Katsuki was almost her height now—had been for years. But her body felt light in Mitsuki’s arms. Hollow. Like everything inside her had been wrung out and tossed into the void.

I didn’t know.

The words echoed through the marrow of her bones, sickening and bitter. They didn’t make her feel better. They made her feel worse. As if not knowing was some form of innocence she could still claim.

But she’d known enough to be angry.

She had stormed up those stairs with fire in her gut and venom on her tongue. She had barged into her child’s room waving that fucking magazine like it was evidence in a trial, like it was proof of something rotten growing inside her son— daughter , now—God, how could she have missed it?

She remembered the day with crystalline clarity. The sun had been bright. Too bright. Katsuki had come home late, filthy and breathless, shirt ripped and clinging to her skin, and Mitsuki hadn’t asked why. Hadn’t asked what happened. Hadn’t asked if she was okay.

She remembered shouting. Her voice rang in her room like a goddamn gavel.

“You pervert. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

She had been scared, she told herself. She hadn’t understood. That had been her excuse for years. But excuses didn't change the fact that her daughter— her baby —had been violated and then shamed by the one person who should have held her and never let go.

Mitsuki could still see the way Katsuki had crumpled. The way she’d lost her voice, eyes glazed, numbness in her soul—but underneath it, there had been something else. Something broken. Something scared. Something shattered .

And Mitsuki had missed it.

Or worse—she’d chosen not to look.

She thought of Katsuki’s silence after. The way she stopped eating dinner with them. The way she threw herself into training like it was the only way to drown. The late-night sobs she’d muffled with her pillow. The weeks she stopped talking entirely.

And all Mitsuki could think about was the fucking magazine.

You wanted to be Mirko, she thought now, tears dripping freely down her face. Not touch her. Not defile her. You wanted to be strong and beautiful and real and seen.

But Mitsuki hadn’t seen her. Not then.

She had looked at her child—newly cracked open, bruised and bloodied by something she didn’t have words for yet—and called her disgusting.

And now she was holding her daughter in her arms, and all she could feel was the aching absence of every hug she hadn’t given, every apology she’d never spoken, every goddamn moment she’d dismissed out of fear and ignorance and—

“I’m sorry,” Mitsuki whispered again, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

She rocked them both gently, back and forth on the bench like motion might fill the silence, might soothe the wounded animal shaking in her arms. The park was nearly empty. The sun had lowered behind the trees. Shadows reached toward them like slow, gentle hands.

“I should have asked what happened that day,” she breathed into Katsuki’s hair. “I should have listened. I should’ve just… held you.”

Katsuki didn’t speak. Her fingers twisted in Mitsuki’s shirt, holding tight as though any loosening might make her unravel. Her shoulders hitched in silent sobs, one after another after another. It sounded like the air breaking.

Mitsuki tightened her grip and pressed her lips to her daughter’s temple. Katsuki’s skin was warm, damp from tears and sweat, smelling faintly of salt and that sick-sweet chemical scent her quirk always left behind. Mitsuki breathed it in anyway. She would’ve choked on it if she could trade it for Katsuki’s pain.

“You’re not dirty,” she said, voice thick. “You’re not broken. You’re not weak.”

Katsuki flinched.

“I know it feels that way,” Mitsuki went on, softer now. “But you’re not. You’re whole, Katsuki. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. Even if it never feels like it again.”

Another breath. Another pause. The ache in her chest was suffocating.

“I was wrong,” she said. “About the magazine. About… everything. I was scared, and I took it out on you. And I will never forgive myself for what I said to you that day. For what I didn’t say. For not seeing you. For not asking. ”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she buried her face in Katsuki’s hair. Her baby girl. Her fighter.

The wind curled around them, lifting fallen leaves in tiny spirals at their feet. Katsuki’s sobs grew quieter. Her body trembled less. But Mitsuki could feel how deep the wound went—how long it had festered, how much of her daughter’s identity had been shaped by this pain.

And it broke her.

But she would not let Katsuki carry this alone anymore.

Not now. Not ever again.

Mitsuki held her daughter close, her chin resting gently against the crown of Katsuki’s bowed head, and her eyes stared past the wind-stirred trees and into memory.

God, it didn’t start with the magazine.

It had started so much earlier.

The sins of the past weren’t sharp and sudden—they were slow-dripping. Subtle. Insidious. Like rust. Like mold in the walls you swear isn’t there until it starts to rot the whole goddamn house.

She could still see it. Katsuki—no taller than her knee, wide-eyed and bright with toddler warmth—clutching a cheap pink lipstick from Mitsuki’s purse like it was treasure. They’d been at the agency that day, Mitsuki rushing paperwork before the models arrived. Katsuki had insisted on tagging along, too young for daycare and too stubborn to sit still.

She’d tugged at Mitsuki’s sleeve, mouth already smeared with the waxy pink, eyes gleaming like starlight. “Look, Mama! Pretty like you!”

The memory struck like a punch to the throat.

She hadn’t smiled. She’d laughed—but it had been hollow. Too high. Too frightened. She’d wiped the lipstick off Katsuki’s mouth with a tissue, heart racing like she was defusing a bomb, whispering “Not here, baby. Not now.” And Katsuki had blinked, confused. Hurt. But she’d nodded. She always nodded. Always wanted to be good.

Mitsuki had been so goddamn scared.

Not of her daughter. Never of her. But of the world. Of the other agents in the office with their loud jokes and sharp eyes. What would they think if they saw her “son” wearing lipstick? If they saw how Katsuki always reached for her mascara, her heels, the flower clips in her hair?

Back then, Mitsuki had told herself she was protecting her. That the world was cruel, and she had to make Katsuki stronger than it. That she couldn’t afford to be soft—not in a world like this.

But now— now —she saw what she’d really done.

She had shamed her daughter one small moment at a time.

One doll snatched from her hands in the toy aisle. One bottle of glittery nail polish silently returned to the shelf. One “that’s not for boys” whispered too sharply when Katsuki marveled at a dollhouse window. One shhh , one redirect, one heavy sigh.

And then the overcorrections. The action figures. The plastic weapons. The blue-and-red Lego sets wrapped in shiny foil every birthday. The congratulatory pats when Katsuki punched too hard in sparring, the quiet pride when her explosions grew bigger, angrier, louder.

She had taught her to be strong like that —all while pretending that strength and softness couldn’t share the same goddamn heartbeat.

Mitsuki’s hands curled tighter around her daughter. Her nails dug into the fabric of Katsuki’s hoodie like she could anchor them both to the present by force.

You were always trying to be like me, she thought, throat aching. And I kept pushing you away.

Not just from makeup. Or dolls. Or softness.

But from yourself.

Mitsuki had taught her that certain parts of her had to be hidden. Crushed. Burned out.

She had thought she was building a hero.

But she was really teaching a child how to bury her joy and call it discipline.

A quiet whimper shook through Katsuki’s chest. Mitsuki blinked back fresh tears. Her daughter didn’t even know she was doing it. It was just her body—still bracing, still fighting, still trying to survive this moment even now.

You never got to bloom, Mitsuki thought. I didn’t even let you try.

She wanted to scream. Wanted to reach back through the years and stop herself. She wanted to hand her baby girl that lipstick. Those dolls. That magazine. She wanted to kneel down in that goddamn toy store and say, Yes, sweet girl. You can be strong and pretty. You can be whoever you want. I will love you through it.

But she hadn’t.

She had been too scared of what people would say. Too scared of what it would mean. Too scared of the world to trust her own child.

And now—now she was holding a girl who’d been broken in ways no mother could ever fully mend. And some of that brokenness, Mitsuki knew, belonged to her.

Not all of it. But enough.

More than enough.

The wind had stilled. Or maybe it just seemed that way, the world softening around them like breath fogging glass.

Katsuki’s sobs had quieted into tremors, each one a silent aftershock rolling through her chest. The hoodie clung to her back like second skin, damp and heavy with sweat and tears. Her face was red and raw, nose clogged, cheeks flushed, throat torn thin from the effort of crying without sound.

And Mitsuki had seen it all. Had held her through it. Had said all the things Katsuki was terrified to hear— you’re not ruined, you’re not dirty, I should’ve listened, I see you now.

So why did it still hurt?

Why did it feel like there was glass in her lungs every time she tried to breathe?

Katsuki’s fingers twitched against Mitsuki’s shirt. Her jaw worked silently for a moment, like her brain was testing words against the tip of her tongue to see if any of them still had edges.

“…Do you remember,” she rasped, voice hoarse like gravel underfoot, “when I was little… and I took that beauty blender and rubbed eyeshadow over my cheeks?”

Mitsuki went still.

Katsuki swallowed, the motion thick, painful. She didn’t lift her head yet. Just breathed through her nose and blinked at the dark tunnel of her hoodie, eyes burning.

“You wiped it off,” she said. “Didn’t even say anything at first. Just wiped it off like it was dirt.”

Mitsuki’s arms trembled around her. Not pulling away. Not yet.

Katsuki sniffled. Her chest felt like a bell cracked in half. Her ribs throbbed. Her voice softened further, all splinters and static.

“Made me feel like I did something wrong.”

Mitsuki let out a sound—half gasp, half sob—and gently cupped the back of her daughter’s head, smoothing damp hair from her face. She didn’t try to explain. Didn’t try to defend. The truth was too heavy for that.

“I just…” Katsuki breathed, finally lifting her head enough to rest her chin on Mitsuki’s shoulder. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lashes clumped from crying. Her voice hitched like it was trying not to shake. “I just always wanted to be pretty like you.”

The words struck like lightning. Mitsuki couldn’t stop the cry that caught in her throat, sudden and strangled. Her arms closed tighter around her daughter.

“You always were,” she whispered. “I just… I was too scared to see it.”

They stayed there, cradled in the aftermath—two women shattered and reassembling in real time. There was no manual for this. No right words. Only breath, and closeness, and the trembling beginning of something like forgiveness.

And under all of it, tucked deep beneath the pain, something stirred.

Not healing. Not yet.

But space.

Space for it to begin.

The silence between them now wasn’t hollow.

It breathed.

It expanded and settled like dusk, soft around the edges. Like the kind of silence that wraps a living room after a hard day—the one that doesn’t ask anything of you except to exist in it. Katsuki’s fingers had stilled on Mitsuki’s sleeve. Her body trembled still, but her breathing had evened, little by little.

Mitsuki stared past the trees. Her mouth moved once before any words came out. Not because she didn’t know what to say.

Because she knew exactly what she had never said.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice cracking faintly, “when I was eight, I stole my mom’s red lipstick and put it on before school.”

Katsuki blinked. Her chin still rested against Mitsuki’s shoulder, but her gaze slowly shifted up, not quite making eye contact.

“I wanted to feel beautiful,” Mitsuki continued. Her tone was distant, soft, like she was pulling the memory out of fog. “I didn’t care that it wasn’t allowed. I just… wanted to see what it looked like. What I looked like. I even braided my hair to try and look like the cover model in this old sewing magazine.”

Katsuki didn’t speak, but her breathing stilled slightly.

“I got to school, and my teacher—Mrs. Takahama—she pulled me out of the classroom by my arm. Dragged me to the bathroom and made me wipe it all off. Called my mother and told her I was being ‘vain.’ Said I was distracting the boys.”

Mitsuki gave a thin, bitter laugh. It dissolved fast. “The world was different back then. You might think that Japan is... conservative, today. I mean, it is. But things have progressed a lot since then. I remember crying in the mirror, not because I got in trouble, but because my face looked wrong again. I felt like I disappeared the moment the lipstick came off.”

Katsuki’s brows furrowed gently. She turned her head just enough to look up, searching Mitsuki’s face like she was seeing it new for the first time.

“No one ever told me I was pretty after that,” Mitsuki said, softer now. “So I started telling myself I didn’t care. That pretty didn’t matter. That strength was what made people look at you. That being loud and smart and impressive was better than being delicate or soft or… wanted.”

A pause. A breath. Her eyes stung.

“I think I told myself that lie for so long, I forgot it was a lie. I forgot how much I wanted someone to look at me and see me. Not just the girl who threw punches or did the yelling. But the girl who wanted someone to stay. ”

Katsuki’s lip trembled. She blinked hard, like she was trying not to cry again.

Mitsuki smoothed a hand down her daughter’s back, her voice a little more steady now. “I saw you doing the same thing, baby. And instead of helping you feel safe being all the things you are… I shoved you into the same mold that broke me.”

She paused.

And then: “I didn’t want the world to hurt you. So I hurt you first. That’s what I did.”

Katsuki let out a soft, sharp breath. A hiccup. She looked down, biting her bottom lip hard, but not to stop herself from crying—this time, it was to keep from speaking too soon. From saying the wrong thing.

Because how do you respond when your mother tells you she sees the damage she caused ?

How do you hold that without flinching?

Katsuki swallowed hard, voice barely there. “You looked so strong all the time.”

“I wasn’t,” Mitsuki said. “Not really. I just got good at pretending.”

And then, for the first time since they’d sat on that bench, Katsuki reached for her. Not in desperation. Not in collapse. But like she wanted to be there , too. One hand, small and trembling, slid over Mitsuki’s.

Fingers laced.

No forgiveness yet. But something that maybe— maybe —could be the start of it.

They stayed like that as the sky faded above them, bleeding from gold to indigo. The cicadas had gone quiet. The streetlights buzzed faintly behind the trees. The bench beneath them creaked gently as the wind passed through, softer now.

They didn’t need to speak. Not yet.

Some truths didn’t need to be rephrased. They just needed to be shared.

And held.

Together.

Katsuki’s fingers still laced with Mitsuki’s, and for a while, they said nothing. The sun had melted almost completely behind the treeline now, casting the park in soft gray twilight. Cicadas hummed their slow lullaby, and the bench creaked softly as one of them shifted—Katsuki, knees drawing a little closer to her chest.

She didn’t look up when she spoke again. Her voice was low, uncertain, like a secret trying to crawl out of hiding.

“…My first girl’s night was a few weeks ago.”

Mitsuki turned her head slowly. She didn’t speak—just watched, just listened, breath catching in her throat like the moment might vanish if she exhaled too loud.

Katsuki’s fingers fidgeted with the threads on her sleeve, tugging them loose one by one. Her face was turned slightly away, lit only by the last bleeding edges of the sun. “Mina set it up. Dragged me down the hallway like a lunatic, shouting something about feminine wiles and war crimes.”

A puff of breath escaped her nose—halfway between a laugh and something smaller, more broken.

“She had these dorky pink pajamas with lace and cat paw socks, and her goddamn room that smelled like bubblegum and pop idols, and she made me put on makeup. Like, full face. Eyeshadow, blush, the works. Even the other girls got involved. Tiaras and everything.”

She paused. Her cheeks flushed—not just from embarrassment, but from something tender. Something sacred.

“And I… I didn’t hate it.”

Her voice faltered. Her thumb scraped a slow line over the heel of her palm. “I thought I would. I thought it would feel fake, or stupid, or like I was playing dress-up with someone else’s skin, but… when I looked in the mirror…”

Her throat closed. Mitsuki didn’t move. The breeze had stopped again. Even the cicadas seemed to wait.

“…I saw myself. For the first time. Not the face people expect from me. Not the one I learned to wear just to survive. Just… me.”

She looked down at their hands, still joined. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I started crying. Like—ugly crying. Couldn’t even stop. It felt so good and so awful and so big I thought I was gonna throw up.”

Mitsuki gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

“And then—of fucking course—Deku just appears. Like a fucking NPC coded to my breakdowns.” She huffed, cheeks pink, eyes still wet. “Walks in. Sees me. Freezes like he’s buffering.”

She snorted into her sleeve.

“He just stands there. Staring. Like I’ve knocked every last brain cell out of his skull. Gawking at me like I’m a fucking star going supernova.”

Mitsuki’s mouth tilted up, just barely.

“And then he says…” Katsuki’s voice faltered again. Her face was red now, but her eyes shone. “He says I’m the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Silence.

Katsuki swallowed. “Before we’d even confessed to each other. Before I even knew what the hell I was doing.”

She looked down at her lap again, voice suddenly small.

“I felt… seen. Like all the noise in my head finally shut up. Like I was allowed to want that. To want to be looked at that way. And not feel ashamed.”

The words hung between them like wind chimes—fragile, shimmering, sacred.

“I think that was the moment I really knew,” Katsuki whispered. “That I was a girl. That it was okay.”

Mitsuki’s eyes blurred with tears she hadn’t realized she was holding back again.

She didn’t speak.

She just leaned in and kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

Katsuki didn’t flinch.

Didn’t pull away.

And when Mitsuki wrapped her arms around her again, Katsuki leaned in—just a little. Just enough.

They stayed there as night swallowed the sky, held together by a moment they had both waited far too long to share.

Two girls. Two histories. Two halves of a beginning.

The walk back to the dorms felt quieter than it should have.

Mitsuki carried the little paper bag from the pharmacy, Katsuki walking beside her with stiff shoulders and burning ears. Her hood was flipped up even though the night was warm, and her hands were shoved into her pockets like she could bury herself in them. She didn’t say much—not since the crying stopped. Not since she and her mom had sat in silence, just breathing the same air, sharing the same grief.

When the dorms came into view, Katsuki almost turned around.

And then the noise started.

“BAKUGOU’S BACK—!”

“AYYYEEE, KACCHAN!!”

“SOMEONE GOT THEIR PILLZ, LET’S GOOOOOO—”

“Oh my God, I knew it! You have that post-OBGYN energy!”

Katsuki didn’t stop walking. She didn’t look at anyone. She powered through like a warhead, eyes straight ahead, face so red it looked sunburned.

Mitsuki could barely keep from laughing—not at her daughter, but at the way Katsuki didn’t quite growl, didn’t quite explode, didn’t quite sprint. She was trying not to blow a fuse. And it was adorable.

“Don’t say a fuckin’ word,” Katsuki muttered, her eyes fixed on the the door to her room like it was the only salvation in the universe.

Mitsuki raised her hands in mock surrender and smiled as she passed the brown paper bag over. “Prescription’s in there. Should help with the cramping.”

Katsuki took it without a word. Her fingers brushed Mitsuki’s, and she lingered in the contact just long enough to mean something.

They stood there, half in shadow, just beyond her sanctuary. Light spilled from the windows behind them—warm, familiar, chaotic in all the ways a dorm should be. Laughter filtered out through a cracked window above. Katsuki didn’t look up. She stared at her boots, chewing the inside of her cheek.

Then, with a slow rub of her neck, she mumbled, “You… sure about the therapy thing?”

Mitsuki blinked, surprised by the softness in her voice. By how small she sounded again.

“I mean—” Katsuki shifted her weight. “It’s fine if you’re not. I just. I dunno. I wanted to ask.”

Mitsuki stepped closer. She reached out, brushing some blond hair away from Katsuki’s forehead, her hand lingering.

“I’m sure,” she said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Katsuki looked up.

“I want you to be happy,” Mitsuki continued, voice low but steady. “And I want to be the kind of mom you can trust. That starts with doing the work. With therapy for me. Family therapy for both of us. And individual therapy for you.”

Katsuki’s mouth twitched. She looked away, biting her lip, heart pounding so loud she could hear it in her ears.

“You shouldn’t have to carry everything on your own,” Mitsuki whispered. “You’ve carried enough.”

Katsuki’s throat bobbed as she nodded once, fast. Her voice didn’t work, but her body did—and when Mitsuki kissed her forehead and pulled her in again, she let herself be held. Let herself lean into it.

“I love you,” Mitsuki said, her voice thick with the kind of emotion that couldn’t be laughed off.

“Yeah,” Katsuki mumbled into her shoulder, voice muffled but warm. “I know.”

Mitsuki let go reluctantly, gave her a final squeeze, and turned toward the door.

And then she paused.

Her hand hovered near the knob.

She turned back, eyes glassy, and rummaged through her purse with a frown of determination. It took a moment—keys clinking, lipstick tubes knocking against each other, receipts rustling like dry leaves.

Then—

A large manila envelope, thick but worn.

Mitsuki stepped forward again and held it out with both hands.

Katsuki took it carefully, confused, her brows drawn tight.

“I found another copy,” Mitsuki said softly. “Thought maybe you’d want it back.”

Katsuki opened the flap with trembling fingers.

And there it was.

The same Mirko magazine from all those years ago. Not a replacement copy. The copy. She recognized the bent corner. The smudged fingerprint on the back. Her own, probably. She had held this magazine like it was a lifeline. Dreamed through it. Longed through it.

She looked up at her mother, eyes wide.

Mitsuki just smiled, soft and tearful.

“I see you now,” she said. “And it’s okay.”

Katsuki pressed the envelope to her chest. Her eyes burned again, throat thick. She nodded, slow and shaky.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

She didn’t hide it that night. Not in her pillow, not under her mattress, not taped under her desk. Her ceiling tiles remained unmoved.

She rested it on her vanity instead, displaying it for the whole world to see.

Chapter Text

The clock blinked 1:58 a.m. in soft red digits, casting little ghostly glows against the walls like a heartbeat left hanging. Katsuki's phone screen painted her face in flickering hues of cold blue, each swipe down her feed another breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her eyes were half-lidded. Dry. A little raw. She hadn’t cried. Not really. Not since earlier.

She hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t moved. Just curled up on her side like something trying to disappear into the mattress, one arm curled under her head, the other balancing her phone with a trembling hand she refused to acknowledge.

The cramps had dulled from white-hot agony into a low, ceaseless ache—like someone had wedged a hot, grinding stone in her gut and left it to pulse there. Not sharp enough to scream over. Just enough to feel everything wrong.

It coiled through her hips, settled in her spine, and radiated in a slow pulse beneath her navel. Her legs were drawn up, knees half-tucked to her chest. Even the softness of her sheets scraped against her skin like noise.

She didn’t know what she was looking for online. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. Anything to keep her from looking inward.

Her feed buzzed past in fractured motion: photos of classmates at dinner. Hero news. A stupid meme about dating All Might. Bonfire clips. One of them her—smiling with a false sharpness, voice pitched half a register too high.

She flinched. Kept scrolling.

Don’t think.

Not about Mitsuki’s hands on the steering wheel, white-knuckled. The gravel of her voice as she apologized again and again until it wasn’t language anymore. Not about her own silence in the passenger seat. That deep, choking quiet she’d mistaken for strength. The way the world looked blurry even though her eyes had been dry. 

And absolutely not about him.

Not about the way sludge had wrapped around her chest like a noose. The pressure. The suffocation. The vile heat of it.

Her throat constricted.

Don’t.

Her thumbs paused mid-scroll.

Izuku’s name lit up her phone like a flare on a battlefield. A quiet little rectangle of light in the storm. He’d texted her. Hours ago.

She didn’t open it. Just stared. Her chest hurt—not like the cramps, not sharp like grief. It was a deeper ache. A guilt-shaped one. Heavy as lead.

He cared. Of course he did. And that made it worse.

She didn’t deserve the way he loved her. Not when she was like this—fractured, tired, brittle in places she hadn’t known could break. Katsuki shut her eyes, the glow of the screen bleeding through her lids. She wanted to be normal. To feel light and good and whole. But she was cramping and spiraling and broken open. And she didn’t know how to let anyone see that. Not even him.

The knock was soft.

Not demanding. Not sharp. Just… careful. Like someone trying not to break a moment that might already be broken.

Katsuki flinched. The sound punched through the fog in her head, and for a second, the world narrowed to the hammering of her pulse in her ears.

Then—

“Kacchan?”

Izuku’s voice. Sleep-rough and thick with worry. Muffled slightly by the door, but still unmistakable. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

Her heart cried a painful thud. She could pretend to be asleep. Let the moment slip past like a wave she wasn’t ready to stand against. But her bottom lip wobbled. Her eyes stung. She’d missed him.

God, she’d missed him so much it ached in her teeth.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she was pushing the blanket off and moving. Her body felt heavy, like her bones were filled with wet cement, but she crossed the room anyway. Each step buzzed in her calves. Her hand shook slightly as she undid the lock.

The door cracked open.

Izuku stood there, rumpled and wide-eyed, his hair a halo of soft curls stuck up in every direction. He wore a hoodie she’d stolen before and returned without washing, and his face was pinched in that way it always got when he was hovering on the edge of panic.

“Kaccha—”

She didn’t let him finish. She surged forward. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t even conscious. She just folded into him like something collapsing, arms looping around his waist, head crashing against the familiar warmth of his chest.

He gasped—just once—as the impact knocked him back a half-step. Then his arms were around her, fast and sure and strong. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair like muscle memory. The other wrapped around her shoulders, anchoring her.

“Kacchan,” he breathed, stunned. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

She said nothing. Just held him tighter. Her face burrowed against his chest, where his heartbeat pounded like war drums. And for the first time that day, she let herself breathe. Not because the pain was gone. But because Izuku was here. 

And he hadn’t let go.

“Kacchan,” Izuku whispered, voice gentled to something barely more than breath. “Hey… hey, I’ve got you.”

His arms wrapped around her fully now, drawing her close like she might slip through the cracks of the world if he wasn’t careful. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers spread protectively in her hair, the other anchored low across her back.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t look up. But he felt her breath hitch against his chest, ragged and hot. A bloom of damp spread slowly through the fabric of his hoodie—salt and heat sinking in, proof of the tears she wasn’t letting the world see.

He adjusted instinctively—one arm snaking beneath her thighs, the other shifting to support her back. She gasped softly as he lifted her off the floor like she weighed nothing at all. Her hands clutched tighter into the worn cotton of his hoodie, knuckles white.

She didn’t protest.

He bumped the door shut with his heel, the latch catching with a soft click that seemed to seal them off from everything beyond her dorm room.

The lamp clicked on at her bedside. The light was golden, low and warm, catching in the blonde at her temple and setting a soft halo along the curve of her cheek.

Shadows receded. Corners softened.

Izuku crossed to the bed and sat carefully, her weight still balanced in his arms. She remained curled into him like something fragile, like porcelain gone warm from body heat. He shifted back against the headboard, pulling her into his lap, letting gravity settle her where it wanted to.

Katsuki pressed her face into his chest again, her cheekbone digging into the plane between collar and sternum. Her breath came shallow, uneven, her lips parting on small, shuddery exhalations. Her legs tucked in, one between his, the other half-curled around his thigh. She gripped him with everything she had, even as her body shook.

Izuku didn’t speak. Didn’t move too fast. He just let his fingers drift through her hair in slow, steady lines. A quiet rhythm. Like combing through silk strands strung too tight. His other hand rubbed gentle, grounding circles into the dip of her spine, just above where the pain likely still lingered. Not pushing. Not asking.

Just present.

Just with her.

The only sound was the hush of their breathing—hers shallow and fractured, his calm and steady. He kissed her hair. Once. Then again. And again. Like a lullaby made of lips and love. And she let him. She let herself be held.

Katsuki melted by inches.

Not all at once. Not like wax to flame. But slowly, like winter thawing at the edges—frozen breath softening into fog. Her breathing slowed. Each inhale no longer felt like a war. Her body, stiff from hours of silent defense, began to loosen in Izuku’s arms. The tension in her spine unwound bit by bit, every knot another piece of armor she didn’t realize she’d been clinging to. Her shoulders, always so high and tight near her ears, dropped a fraction. Her jaw unclenched. She tilted her head, face brushing the slope of his collarbone, and breathed him in.

He smelled like cedar soap, cinnamon toothpaste, and that faint cotton-static scent that came from worn fabric and sleep. His warmth was absolute, steady and patient, like a campfire left burning just for her.

Her fingers, still tangled in his hoodie, eased. Her grip went from desperate to deliberate, palms flattening against his chest to feel the weight of his heartbeat.

One-two. One-two.

A rhythm that didn’t ask anything from her. She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

Izuku tilted his chin slightly and pressed a kiss to her temple. Soft. Reverent. A whisper of warmth.  Then another. And one more, like punctuation. His lips lingered, unmoving.

A blush rose slow and warm in her cheeks. Not from embarrassment, but from safety. From affection so quiet it made her chest ache. Her face tucked deeper into the hollow of his neck. She fit there.

She really fit.

One of her legs slid further between his, nestling in the cradle of his thigh. Her shin brushed the fabric of his pajama pants, and her toes curled under his knee. She hooked an arm around his back, pulling herself closer like she was stitching their bodies together stitch by stitch.

The world didn’t fade—it just paused. Everything outside this bed stopped mattering. Her body, which had been nothing but static and sharp edges for hours, finally went quiet. Still. Safe.

And in that silence, she began—finally—to breathe again.

“Sorry,” she murmured into his hoodie.

The word barely made it out. It was crumpled—hoarse and frayed at the edges, like it had been sitting too long in her throat, waiting for permission to speak.

Izuku didn’t answer at first. His hand didn’t stop moving through her hair. He only hummed gently, pressing his nose into her bangs. A sound like I’m here , like take your time .

Katsuki swallowed thickly. “For… hiding,” she continued, voice still muffled into his chest. “For not coming back down after I got back.”

He made a soft noise—somewhere between understanding and worry. She felt it, more than heard it, blooming against her cheek.

“I just…” Her eyes blinked slow. Her stomach twisted again—not pain this time, just something nauseatingly heavy . “I thought seeing her—talking to her—would make everything feel better. And it did. At first. But then it didn’t.”

She curled a little tighter, gripping his sleeve like a lifeline. “It’s like… like I opened this wound and now I can’t stitch it back up.”

Izuku shifted slightly to get a better look at her face, brushing her hair back with a tender slowness that made her want to sob.

“You’ve been through a lot, Kacchan,” he said, soft but certain. “Of course it hurts. That doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong.”

Her breath hitched. “I know. I know , but it’s still so fucking loud in my head. And I don’t get it. I should be happy . I finally get to be who I am. I’m out. I’m transitioning. I’ve got friends. I’ve got you —and you’re, like… you’re everything I ever wanted. So why does it feel like I’m gonna ruin it all?”

Izuku didn’t flinch. Just held her tighter.

Her voice cracked again. “I keep thinking I’m gonna mess it up. Or that someone’s gonna figure out I don’t belong. That I’m just some mistake that everyone’s tolerating. I keep waiting for the good shit to vanish. For someone to tell me I was never supposed to have it.”

He kissed her hairline. “You do belong. You’re not a mistake. You’re… you’re Katsuki. You’re my Kacchan. That’s never gonna change.”

She let out a wet laugh, the kind that hurt behind the teeth.

“I even got the damn birth control,” she muttered. “Like some twisted badge of honor. Like if I prove I’m careful enough, smart enough, I won’t screw everything up. Like birth control can stop the part of me that’s still scared I’ll ruin us.”

Her words hit the wall like broken glass.

Izuku pulled her impossibly closer. “You could never ruin us.”

Katsuki blinked slowly, chest tight, mind racing. Her gaze unfocused on a crack in her ceiling, and the words came spilling out like water from a cracked jar.

“I think I’m scared because I want all of this so bad,” she whispered. “Because it feels so good, so real, that I don’t know what to do with it. I thought… if I could just keep everything perfect, I wouldn’t feel like this anymore. I wouldn’t feel like this thing clawing under my skin. But it’s still there. Even now.”

Izuku’s voice wavered, warm against her temple. “You don’t have to be perfect to be loved. Not by me.”

She nodded. A shaky, fragile nod.

Izuku leaned back just slightly, enough to look at her—really look at her. His eyes were glossy, brows drawn up with that aching, tender pinch that always made Katsuki feel like he was seeing every version of her at once: the angry kid, the teenager on the edge, the girl trying to rebuild herself from ashes. He hesitated for just a breath, then smiled—soft, boyish, a little shy.

“You know…” he murmured, “I’ve seen you be this serious before. When we were kids.”

Katsuki blinked, suspicious. “The hell are you talking about?”

“The day we got married in your backyard.”

She groaned immediately, rolling her eyes and burying her face into his hoodie with a growl. “Oh my god. Don’t remind me.”

But Izuku’s laugh was already bubbling up, shaking both of them. It wasn’t teasing, not really. It was warm. Gentle. Like sunlight catching on something precious.

“I have to remind you,” he said, voice feather-light but reverent, like a sacred thing remembered. “You were so serious. You had this pink All Might notebook you’d filled with doodles of your wedding dress—big poofy skirt, combat boots, sparkles on everything. You even gave it sleeves like your winter hero costume.”

Katsuki groaned louder. “Please stop talking.”

“You told me not to help because ‘heroes don’t need help unless they’re dying.’”

“I was five! ” she hissed.

“You were five and a half,” he corrected, grinning. “And extra. So extra. You wrapped yourself in your All Might bedsheet and stabbed yourself with safety pins until I begged you to let me help.”

“I said please,” she huffed, cheeks puffing.

“You definitely didn’t.”

He chuckled. “But I helped anyway. And then you made me wear a red towel around my shoulders and stuck one of your sticker earrings on my forehead.”

Katsuki snorted despite herself, but immediately slapped a hand over her mouth.

“We had a whole ceremony,” Izuku continued, his voice quieter now. “Your dad took pictures with that little polaroid. Your mom was laughing and crying and trying not to ruin it. And then you gave me a cherry Ring Pop and made me kneel down while you said your vows.”

Katsuki blinked slowly. Her chest squeezed.

Izuku smiled, eyes shimmering. “You said, ‘I promise to love you forever and be your hero partner until the day I die, ‘cause I wanna protect you and be with you forever.’ And I swear, Kacchan… I’d never seen anyone so serious in my life. You meant it with your whole soul.”

She stared at him, eyes wide and wet.

“I still remember the way you looked at me,” he whispered. “Like I was the whole world. Like I mattered. Even back then, before anyone else saw me… you did. ”

Katsuki’s throat bobbed. Her voice came out quiet and raw.

“I still mean it.”

Izuku didn’t speak. Just reached for her hand, threading his fingers between hers like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Silence stretched between them—soft but taut. Fragile, like the air just before glass shatters.

Katsuki stared somewhere past his shoulder. Not at the lamp. Not at the wall. Just… past. Her face was unreadable in the low light—blank in that dangerous way, like a mirror fogged with breath. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her brows twitched faintly, as if fighting not to furrow.

“I didn’t mean to think about it tonight,” she murmured, voice thinned with exhaustion. It barely crossed the space between them. Just a ripple.

Izuku didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe too loud. Didn’t blink too fast. He sat there with her like gravity had doubled around them, like one wrong motion might shatter something sacred. His eyes stayed steady on hers—wide with worry, softened by the kind of green that only ever showed up when he was looking at her like this. His thumb drew quiet circles against her arm, slow and anchoring. A lifeline made of skin and silence.

“It was the IUD,” she said, and her voice shook like it was balancing on the edge of a blade. “I guess. Or—what it means. Birth control. Because I’m having sex now. Or I could. Because we might. Someday. And I needed to be smart. Responsible.”

Her arms curled in around herself, knees tucking up slightly as if trying to fold herself into something smaller. Something easier to hide. Her fingers twitched at the hem of his hoodie—grasping, uncertain, like she didn’t know if she wanted to cling to him or claw it off.

“But then I kept thinking about how I’ve never really… had sex,” she said. “Not real sex. Not anything I wanted. Not anything I chose.”

Izuku’s breath hitched—a small sound, barely there—but his eyes never left her. His brows gathered, lips parted just enough to speak, but he stayed quiet. Reverent. Like a prayer was holding its breath in his chest.

Katsuki swallowed. Her throat clicked.

“And then it just… hit me.”

She blinked, lashes thick with tears that hadn’t yet fallen. Her whole body trembled like a struck string.

“The sludge villain,” she said, and her voice went flat. Hollow. Like a drum with the skin stretched too tight. “That day.”

Her hands pulled at the fabric of her sleeves now, knuckles pale. Her shoulders curled forward as if preparing for a blow. Her voice floated somewhere above her, detached, like she was reading a script written in someone else’s blood.

“I didn’t get it back then. Told myself it was just gross. Just a villain attack. Slime and tentacles and panic. Almost dying.”

She sucked in a breath that caught halfway.

“But it wasn’t just that. Wasn’t just a close call. It was… worse. Deeper. Inside. ”

Her body froze.

Rigid.

Muscles locked down by memory.

“I’ve been running from it ever since.”

Her mouth twisted. The inside of her lips stung, raw with the taste of metal—old blood and silence.

And then, so softly it could have been a sigh:

“He raped me.”

The words shattered the room.

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t move. Her eyes were locked somewhere between his shoulder and the glow of the lamp, as if light alone could keep her from drowning. But she felt the stillness in him. Not horror. Not recoil. Just… still. As if holding his own pieces together.

“I didn’t fight,” she said quickly, panic sparking behind her words. “He didn’t need to. Didn’t take my clothes off. Just… changed. Slid inside. Wrapped around everything. Like he was taking possession.”

Her chest heaved.

“It felt like drowning. But not in water—in filth. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Just this pressure. Something thick and twisting and wrong inside me, like my body was being hollowed out and used as a container for garbage.”

She gagged suddenly and covered her mouth, her body curling tighter.

“My quirk,” she rasped, voice strangled. “It kept me awake. Alive. Sparking. Shorting out, just enough to keep my mind… aware. I felt everything. Every second. I couldn’t pass out. Couldn’t escape. Not even that.”

Her eyes filled. Blinked. Refused to fall.

“And then… I looked up.”

Her voice cracked.

“I saw you.”

She choked. Her face crumpled.

“You were already running. Already screaming my name. You looked at me like I was something worth saving. Like I was yours. And I—”

She shook her head violently.

“I couldn’t let you see. I didn’t want you to know. Not back then. Not now. I didn’t want to be ruined. Didn’t want to be used. ”

Her breath hitched, raw and jagged.

“You looked at me like I mattered. Like I was strong. And all I could think about was how he’d already taken that from me. And if you knew… if you really knew… maybe you’d stop looking at me like that.”

She trembled. Her voice fractured.

“I keep wondering if someone saw. If people knew. If they heard something and didn’t care. If they watched. If I screamed and no one listened. Or worse—if they listened and just looked away. ”

Katsuki didn’t cry.

She burned.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “Not my mom. Not the teachers. Not even myself. I sealed it off like a landmine. Like maybe if I never touched it again, it wouldn’t go off.”

Her voice cracked. Then broke.

“But it’s still there. It’s always been there. This rot in my chest. This voice that says I’m not clean. Not strong. That I didn’t fight hard enough. That I let it happen. And I hate it. I hate how it lives in me. How it stains me. How I’m scared every goddamn day that you’ll look at me and see it too.”

She finally lifted her gaze.

Her voice was a thread.

“Do you?”

Izuku’s hands found her face with reverence, cupping her cheeks like he was afraid she might vanish if he blinked too long. His thumbs trembled slightly where they cradled her jaw—warm and real and desperate not to let her fall through the cracks.

His lips were parted, breath shaking in his lungs. No words came at first. Just his eyes—wide and wet and glowing under the soft gold lamplight. Raw. Unarmored. Crushed and luminous, like something sacred had been broken open between them.

But his expression didn’t twist into pity.

It folded inward. Softened. Something deeper than sadness bloomed across his features—something like awe. Like he was holding something holy and bleeding.

“I see you,” he whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “Kacchan—I see you, and you’re still you. You’re always going to be you.”

He blinked, and the tears fell—silent, inevitable, like the kind the earth makes after a long drought. No sobbing. Just gravity. Just grief that had nowhere else to go.

“There is nothing,” he said, firmer now, grounding each word with breath, “ nothing you could ever say to make me see you differently. Not this. Not anything. Nothing you’ve done. Nothing that’s been done to you.”

He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, lashes brushing hers with every blink. The contact was featherlight. Steadying. Real.

“You are still my Katsuki,” he breathed. “My strong, brilliant, fire-breathing, terrifyingly stubborn Kacchan. The girl who always wins in the end, because she refuses not to. The one who burns so bright, she reminds me I’m alive.”

Her breath hitched. Her chest ached like cracked glass.

“You changed me,” he whispered, the words falling like petals and ash. “Just by being who you are. You—Kacchan—you made me believe someone like me could still matter. That even if I didn’t have a quirk, even if I was scared or soft or messy… I could still be enough.”

His hands slid down her arms, gliding slow as sunlight—like he was touching something fragile and beloved. A live wire he refused to let go of.

“Because you saw me,” he said. “Back then, when no one else did. You saw more. And that’s how I see you now.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, eyes glossy with tears and certainty.

“You’re not broken, Kacchan. Not tainted. Not ruined. You are the strongest person I know. ”

She let out a sound—guttural and disbelieving. A sob that fractured at the edges. Her mouth trembled. Her whole body did.

“And hey,” he added, softer now, pulling her close again, like the universe was shrinking around this one truth, “you know all the cells in your body replace themselves every seven years?”

Her brows knit, confused. She blinked up at him, breath caught somewhere in her throat.

He smiled—shaky but luminous. “Seven years. That’s all it takes. For every part of you—skin, blood, bones—to be made new. So one day, Kacchan… you’ll have a body that he never touched.”

Her lips parted. Her eyes flooded. The air in the room stilled.

“A body that only you shaped,” he said. “That only you own. That only I get to hold— if you want me to. ”

He placed a hand over her heart, his fingers splayed gently across her chest.

“But even now,” he said, and his voice shook with wonder, “this body? It’s not his. It never was. It’s yours , Katsuki. It’s yours, and it’s beautiful. Because you live in it.”

The dam shattered.

Katsuki broke.

She sobbed into him—loud, aching, guttural. But she didn’t turn away. Didn’t hide.

She buried herself into him like she was trying to stitch their bodies together. Trembling. Raw. Shattered open in all the right ways.

Izuku wrapped around her like armor. Like sky. Like home.

He kissed her hair over and over—soft, anchoring, like a prayer spoken without words.

This was the truth.

This was the bloodletting.

And for the first time in her life, it didn’t destroy her.

It freed her.

It made room for something else.

Light.

They stayed like that for a long time—wrapped around each other in the hush between heartbreak and healing. Katsuki’s sobs softened until they were just tremors, then hiccups, then silence. Her chest rose and fell against his in something like rhythm. The kind of rhythm that meant she wasn’t holding her breath anymore.

Izuku held her like she was something precious. Like he was afraid to move too fast and break the quiet, but not so afraid he’d ever let her go. He didn’t speak. Just kissed the crown of her head and breathed with her until the shaking passed.

The air between them shifted—still heavy, but no longer suffocating. And when Katsuki finally moved, it was slow. Tentative. Like her muscles were rediscovering what it meant to exist outside of survival.

Her cheek still pressed to his chest, she blinked blearily at the soft golden light of the lamp. The shadows in the room had changed. No longer threatening. Just… there. Background noise to the steady beat of his heart.

Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Not broken this time. Just worn.

“I got the IUD today,” she muttered.

Izuku blinked. His breath caught with a soft, surprised hiccup.

“Y-You…? Oh.”

Izuku blinked, his breath catching mid-inhale like it had tripped over her words. His hand, still resting lightly on her back, paused just slightly—then resumed its gentle strokes, slower this time, more deliberate.

“You—oh,” he said softly, blinking again like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, helplessly floundering for footing on a moment that mattered more than he’d expected. “That’s… that’s a big deal, Kacchan.”

A flush crept up his neck, his ears going red. “Are—are you okay? I mean, I know you’re not okay okay, but did it—was it bad?”

Katsuki’s lips pulled into a tired smirk as she watched him unravel with wide, blinking eyes and that damn nervous thumb twitch he always made when he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“It sucked,” she murmured. “Felt like my uterus was trying to claw its way out.”

He winced in sympathy, eyes round. “Ouch.”

“But,” she added, eyes flicking up to meet his, “I did it anyway. Because I wanted to. Because I needed to.”

Izuku’s face changed—shifted from worried to awe-struck, like she’d just thrown a punch through a meteor.

“You’re amazing,” he said, voice almost reverent.

Katsuki rolled her eyes, cheeks warm. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t gonna let some slimy piece of shit make me scared of my own body forever.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Izuku laughed. It was soft and breathy, like he couldn’t help it. Like something inside him unclenched.

“You’re the bravest person I know,” he said.

Katsuki blinked, caught off guard by the gentleness in his voice. He was looking at her like she was something radiant. Something rare. Not fragile— fierce.

And it made something deep inside her ache.

“You really think so?” she whispered.

He nodded, inching closer until their foreheads nearly touched again.

“You didn’t have to tell me anything tonight. You didn’t have to let me in. But you did. And that…” His eyes glistened. “That means everything.”

Her throat tightened.

She kissed him before she could stop herself. Just once—soft and sure. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his hoodie like she was anchoring herself to shore.

He kissed her back just as gently.

And when they pulled apart, she stayed close. Stayed in his arms, her head tucked under his chin, one leg draped over his.

Her voice came barely above a breath, brushed raw at the edges.

“I did it because I wanted to be ready.”

Izuku blinked, still wrapped around her like he was afraid to let the moment dissolve. “Ready?”

She nodded slowly, breath fanning warm against his neck. “For… if we ever wanted to. You know.”

His face went crimson.

“I—oh.” He blinked fast, hands twitching slightly where they rested on her arms. “Kacchan—I didn’t mean to assume—I wasn’t trying to—I’d never rush you—”

“You’re doing it again,” she said, dry as sandpaper and twice as amused.

His flush deepened, and he groaned softly into her hair. “You’re evil.”

A real laugh broke out of her then—sudden, bright, unguarded. It spilled from her chest like spring water. A startled sound that made both of them freeze.

Then she giggled again, snorting into the space between his collarbone and hoodie.

Izuku blinked like he’d seen an angel.

“You’re such a nerd,” she muttered, lips curling against his skin.

He groaned again, dramatically this time. “I am! I just—wow, Kacchan, I didn’t know you were thinking about that. Not that I wouldn’t have supported it—I mean, obviously I do—I just didn’t expect it.”

“I didn’t either,” she admitted, voice smaller now. “It just felt like… something I could control. Something that made me feel safe. Like I had a say in what happened to my body for once.”

He stilled.

Just for a second.

Then his hand moved, fingers trailing up to cradle the back of her head again. He kissed her hair with a tenderness that felt stitched out of stars.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered. “Seriously, Kacchan. That’s such a brave thing to do.”

She hummed. Quiet. Her lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk.

“Damn right it is. I don’t half-ass shit.”

Izuku laughed—relieved and real—pulling her even closer like gravity had chosen her bones specifically.

“No. You really, really don’t.”

He paused, thumb brushing her shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, softer than anything had a right to be.

The words hit somewhere deep—beneath ribs, beneath memory. Her breath caught. Her eyes fluttered.

She shifted, pulling back just enough to look at him. Their noses nearly brushed.

“Yeah?” she asked, and for once, the question didn’t sound defensive. It sounded like a hope.

He nodded. “Yeah. So proud I might combust.”

Katsuki rolled her eyes, but the smile blooming on her face was real.

Warm. Whole.

Like light returning to a place that thought it had forgotten the sun.

And when he leaned in to kiss her—slow, soft, patient—she met him halfway.

Their lips brushed like a secret passed between them. No urgency. No rush. Just warmth shared in the hush of the lamp-lit room. 

The next kiss came quieter. Slower. A second inhale of the same breath. Open-mouthed and reverent, the way one might kiss a scar that had finally stopped bleeding. Izuku melted into it, hands gentle and sure. One slid up her back, his fingertips just barely grazing the base of her skull. The other curled around her waist like a tether. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just there. Steady. Real.

Katsuki shifted, tucking her leg more securely over his hip, aligning their bodies until they slotted together like puzzle pieces finally found. Her palm slipped under the hem of his shirt, tentative, curious. She needed to feel the heat of his skin, the life beneath it.

He gasped. The kind of sound he didn’t mean to make. The kind that made her heart jump and her skin flush. Izuku’s hand paused, then wandered lower, skimming the small of her back, trailing the dip of her waist like he was learning a map by touch.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, each word a whisper against her lips.

She nodded. Eyes fluttering. Breath catching. Her pulse raced, but this time it wasn’t from fear. It was from wanting. From being wanted back.

They kissed again—deeper now. Slower. Open-mouthed and aching. The kind of kiss that simmered with heat in her belly, that made her ribs feel too small to hold all the feeling. Her fingers curled against his chest.

His hand found her thigh, thumb moving in slow arcs through the fabric of her shorts. She shivered.

“God, Kacchan…” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You’re…”

She didn’t let him finish. Just kissed him harder. Her hand fisted in his curls. Her leg tightened around his waist.

He moved, pressing into her—gentle but firm. Friction sparked between them. Her breath hitched, caught between a gasp and a moan.

And then—His hands moved. One slid down, gently catching her wrist. Guiding it up, above her head. Then the other. Pinned. Soft. Barely pressure at all. But it was enough.

She froze.

Her eyes flew open.

She wasn’t in her dorm room anymore. She wasn’t with Izuku.

She was small. Trapped. Pinned under something formless and slick and unrelenting. Her muscles locked. Her lungs rebelled. Her body screamed without making a sound. Panic bloomed—dark and thick and choking.

“Izuku—” she breathed, sharp and trembling.

He froze. Instantly. “Kacchan?”

She shook her head, turning away. Her voice cracked. “C-Can we stop? I just… I need to stop. I’m sorry.”

He was off her in a second, scrambling back like he’d touched fire.

“Yes—yes, of course!” he said, hands up, voice panicked. “You don’t have to apologize! Shit—I didn’t mean to—are you okay?”

His eyes were wide, his face flushed, guilt and worry rising in equal measure. His hands hovered, desperate to comfort, but waiting. Waiting for her permission.

Katsuki blinked fast, forcing breath back into her lungs. “I’m okay,” she whimpered, voice hoarse. “I’m okay. Just… not ready.”

Relief washed over his face like a crashing wave. He nodded fast, scooting beside her and pulling the blanket up around her shoulders like it could protect her from what she’d just remembered.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He looked at her, unwavering. “Always. You’re more important than anything else, Kacchan.”

He kissed her temple, then shifted to gather her close again. She let him, curling into his chest, burying her face beneath his jaw.

“I love you,” he said, voice low and certain.

She exhaled. A long, shaking breath. Like she’d finally stopped bracing for something that didn’t come.

“I love you too.”

This time, the words weren’t a confession. They were a truth. A vow. Something ancient and marrow-deep, carved into the walls of her ribs. Their legs tangled again, familiar and warm. Her eyes drifted closed. And for once—she wasn’t pretending to sleep. She was safe.

Time passed, but neither of them marked it.

The world outside their window was still. No traffic. No wind. Just the low hum of the dorm’s heating system and the slow, synchronized rise and fall of two chests, breathing in tandem beneath a shared blanket.

Izuku had drifted halfway to sleep, his hand splayed across her back like a shield. Not gripping—just resting. A promise in skin. The other curled beneath his cheek, knotted in the folds of her hoodie like something holy.

Katsuki didn’t sleep.

Not yet.

Her eyes stayed half-lidded, drifting between the lamplight’s soft glow and the subtle flutter of Izuku’s lashes every time he breathed in deep. He looked angelic in the low light—like a boy drawn in charcoal and candlewax. Not the top student. Not the hero-in-training. Just Izuku. Her nerd. Hers.

The ache in her lower belly from the IUD was faint now, a whisper beneath her skin, like the ghost of something she no longer feared. Her breath moved freely. Her limbs didn’t feel locked in stone. She could move if she wanted to. But she didn’t. She traced lazy circles into the fabric of his shirt, slow and looping like handwriting only her body understood. Each swirl steadied her pulse.

“Izuku?” she whispered.

He hummed in answer, low and sleepy, his face turning toward her hair like instinct.

“Still here.”

She smiled faintly, eyes closing, then opening again.

“I think I’m gonna be okay.”

His body stilled. Just barely. A breath suspended.

Then, his voice, hoarse with sleep but sure.

“You are okay. You’ve always been okay. Even when the world didn’t deserve you.”

Her heart clenched, and she buried her face into the space beneath his jaw, like she could hide from how completely he saw her. How much it made her want to cry all over again. Then, without meaning to, without thinking it through, she asked—

“You still wanna marry me someday?”

Time cracked. She felt his breath catch. Felt his heartbeat falter beneath her hand. Izuku froze—not in fear, but in reverence. Like something unspeakably precious had just landed in his lap, fragile and glowing.

He pulled back just enough to see her.

Katsuki flushed under his gaze, her cheeks hot with something that wasn’t embarrassment, not really. Her eyes darted, suddenly shy. Vulnerable in a way that felt sacred.

But Izuku didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He just looked at her like he’d been handed the rest of his life.

“I don’t wanna marry you someday, ” he whispered. “I wanna marry you always. ”

Her brain stuttered. Breath caught halfway up her throat. Her stomach fluttered with fizzy nerves.

“L-like now?” she croaked, blinking up at him.

His smile grew, soft as dawn. “Like every day you kiss me like I’m yours. Like every time you let me hold you. I don’t care if it’s a backyard wedding or a ring pop. I just want you. I always want you.”

She laughed—half incredulous, half overwhelmed. Her throat burned.

“We’re still in high school,” she muttered, voice tipping into a wheeze. “We haven’t even graduated.”

“I know,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “And I’m not saying let’s run off tomorrow. Just—when I picture the future? You’re in it. You are it.”

Her lungs fluttered. Her whole chest swelled with something she didn’t know how to name.

“You don’t have to say yes now,” he continued. “But the question? It’s yours. Forever.”

Her mouth trembled.

And then—

Laughter. Real and wobbly. A giggle that cracked through the quiet like a crack in winter ice.

“You’re such a dumb nerd,” she whispered, voice wet.

He grinned, eyes brimming. “So… is that a yes?”

She nodded, pressing her smile into his chest.

“Yeah. It’s a yes.”

Her fingers clenched into his shirt like she was holding on to a star.

They didn’t need rings. They didn’t need a date.

In that moment—dorm lights low, hearts still raw, futures unwritten—they were already something whole.

Two kids clinging to something sacred in a bed too small for forever, but big enough for now.

And for the first time in so long, Katsuki didn’t just believe she might survive.

She believed she might get to live.

Chapter Text

The seasons turned.

Graduation came. So did the headlines. Internships. Professional, nonprovisional, licenses. Media flashes that called them the next great pair of rising heroes.

But those were just things that happened around them.

What mattered lived in the spaces in between.

It lived in the mornings they spent curled around each other in a shared apartment, floor still cluttered with unopened moving boxes and old dorm memorabilia they never quite managed to throw out. It lived in the smell of half-burnt toast and katsudon leftovers reheated with too much soy sauce. In the way Katsuki pressed a kiss to Izuku’s jaw when she thought he was still asleep. In how Izuku always folded her hero gear and left it at the edge of the bed with her socks tucked inside, because he knew she always forgot them.

There was no formal proposal. No ring.

But a paperclip once appeared on her desk after a long patrol—shaped like a heart, bent carefully with green-tipped fingers. She hadn’t stopped wearing it since. She’d looped it onto her utility belt beside her detonator, right where her left ring finger sat when her hands curled into fists.

They’d come so far from where they began. From muddy backyards and Ring Pop weddings. From trauma sealed in silence. From the long nights in dorm beds too small for their futures, whispering promises into collarbones and counting down the days until they could breathe freely without curfews and curfews and shame.

Katsuki had started therapy just after graduation.

It had been hard—harder than anything she'd ever trained for. Talking about the sludge villain. Her body. Her shame. Her fears. The way her voice trembled even when her fists didn’t. The way she caught herself flinching at shadows or backing away from mirrors on bad mornings.

But she kept showing up.

Week after week. Session after session. Tearing the scabs off slowly, until the wounds beneath stopped bleeding just for attention and started healing for real.

Until, one day, she didn’t flinch when someone told her she was strong. Until the weight of survival didn’t feel like it had to be carried alone.

She still went.

Not because she was broken. But because she deserved to heal.

Katsuki smiled more now. Laughed with her whole body. Let herself feel things without always needing to smother them in anger or bravado.

And when little girls lined up in pink Dynamight merch to meet her at events—when queer kids in hand-stitched pride pins shouted her name from behind the barricades—Katsuki crouched down and met their eyes. Signed plushies with her glitter-sparked signature. Took selfies with bunny-ear filters and peace signs. Told them they were brave. That their stories mattered. That being soft was never a weakness. That she used to be terrified, too.

She hadn’t expected to become a role model. But it was the best thing that ever happened to her.

Because when they looked at her like that—like she was theirs —she started to believe she belonged, too.

As for Izuku—

He still patrolled sometimes. Still showed up in the headlines when things got rough. But he’d found a different calling, too. A softer one. A steadier one.

He was now a history teacher at U.A.

No one could match his passion for it. The way he made the past feel alive. The way he turned tragedy into context, mistakes into maps, and heroes into people with jagged edges and real regrets.

He loved it. He loved his students. The quiet ones. The loud ones. The ones who reminded him of himself—awkward and hopeful and too big-hearted for their own good.

And every lesson he taught them—about resilience, about truth, about building better futures—carried a little bit of Katsuki in it.

Because he wouldn’t have made it to the battlefield without her.

Because one night, long after the dorms and trauma and whispered promises in the dark—she’d slipped a box into his hands. A sleek black case, cold to the touch.

Inside was a custom-designed hero suit.

Crafted from metals she’d spent eight years saving for.

She had sketched the design herself. Had hidden the payments between commissions, costume upgrades, side jobs, and ramen nights. She never let him see the receipts. Never breathed a word of it until the moment it sat between them.

It gleamed like a second skin—green and gold and silver, etched with tiny detailing that only someone who knew him by heart would think to include.

On the back of the chestplate, near the collar, she'd welded a tiny symbol. A heart, made of intertwining thread and flame.

He cried the moment he touched it.

Because Katsuki Bakugou didn’t give rings.

She gave armor.

She gave him the ability to stand beside her—not behind her, not in her shadow, but beside her—as equals. As partners. As the stubborn, aching, resilient team they’d always been.

And that was how he knew—truly knew—she’d loved him all along.

He wore the suit on his first patrol as a licensed hero. Only five hours. Just long enough to remind the world that you didn’t need a quirk to be brave. That sometimes, all it took was one girl with dynamite in her heart and too much love in her bones to believe in you before you could believe in yourself.

And now?

They were parents.

Their oldest daughter—affectionately dubbed The Firecracker —was a five-year-old blur of soot-stained t-shirts, tiny combat boots, and enough raw power to level the neighbor’s fence. Twice.

Name: Toshiharu Bakugou-Midoriya
Quirk Name: Combustion Core
Type: Emitter/Mutation Hybrid

Her quirk was an explosive fusion of Katsuki’s sweat glands and Izuku’s latent fire-breathing genes.

She ignited the air around her fists when she punched—superheated vapor that shimmered like sunlight on asphalt. The first time she threw a tantrum, the smoke alarm exploded off the ceiling. She had zero chill , infinite confidence, and a laugh that cracked like flint against steel.

Drawbacks? Oh, plenty.

She overheated easily. Izuku carried around mini ice packs shaped like frogs. Katsuki installed cooling fans in her playroom. Her temper matched her mother’s, and she flared bright when she didn’t get her way. But gods, she was perfect.

Katsuki said she’d be a top hero or destroy the living room—either way, it was fine.

Then there was the younger one.

Name: Honoka Bakugou-Midoriya
Quirk Name: Graviton Bloom
Type: Emitter

Where Toshiharu was heat and volume, Honoka was quiet gravity.

She didn’t scream to get her way. She stared. And then the living room table floated six feet into the air.

Honoka could alter gravity in concentrated bursts—make things weightless or impossibly heavy with the flick of her finger. She didn’t crawl so much as glide , and she was terrifyingly precise with her control… until she fell asleep mid-air from overuse.

Inko cried the first time she saw it. Said it was like watching All Might and herself being reborn in this gentle, strange child.

Katsuki called her “quietly dangerous.” Not because she ever raised her voice—but because she never needed to.

They were chaos. They were wonder.

They were theirs.

Two little girls, born from something broken that refused to stay shattered. Two futures that never would’ve existed if Katsuki hadn’t lived. If she hadn’t fought. If she hadn’t chosen to let herself be loved.

They still had battles to fight. Schedules. PTA meetings. Teething. Emotional flashbacks and unexpected grief. But they faced it together now.

Because healing didn’t mean forgetting.

It meant learning to breathe again. To fall apart and be held. To rebuild—not back into what was—but forward, into what could be.

It meant building something new with the pieces you still had.

It meant waking up, one morning at a time, and choosing love anyway.

And it meant knowing—truly knowing—that no matter what came next, she’d never face it alone.

Not ever again.

Because she was still Katsuki. And Izuku was still Izuku.

And together? They were home.