Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS!” Mineta shrieked, slamming the locker room door open so hard it bounced off the wall. “MIDORIYA’S DICK FELL OFF!”

The room exploded.

“WHAT?!” Kirishima yelled, dropping his towel as he ran. “That can happen?” Kaminari squeaked, peeking nervously into his own boxers.

A whole herd of Class 3-A boys stampeded after them, faces twisted with disbelief and secondhand panic. Katsuki, still peeling off his hero suit, paused mid-boot removal and rolled his eyes. “Fucking morons,” he muttered, yanking off one shoe.

Midoriya fucking Izuku. He’d always been a walking contradiction.

Katsuki’s mind flashed back to a green-haired girl in pigtails, all skirts and scraped knees, barking orders at playground villains. Then middle school came, and suddenly it was a boy in a gakuran with cropped curls and a spine that somehow hadn’t snapped yet.

A girl who insisted she was a boy. Who called herself he, over and over. Who said, loud and proud, he’d be a hero one day.

It used to piss Katsuki off. A lot.

“Why the fuck do you keep calling yourself boku, stupid Deku?” he’d snapped once, shoving him down in the mulch. Deku had refused to play damsel for their dumb little hero game. “You’re not a boy.”

“I am a boy, Kacchan!” Tears in those big green eyes. Fist to his own face, trying to rub them away.

“No you’re not!” Katsuki had shouted, kicking up mulch chips. “You’ll never be a boy… and you’ll never be a hero!”

He shoved his boots into his locker now, replaced them with slip-ons, and slammed the door shut. Then headed toward the showers. Someone had to do damage control.

Middle school had brought its own nightmare cocktail of hormones and bad decisions. Izuku had shown up at Aldera in his uniform, head held high, calling himself a boy. Walking like he believed it.

Katsuki had lost it.

Milk dumped on his head. Books knocked from his arms. Words—ugly ones—hissed in stairwells. His lackeys didn’t get it, just followed his lead. Katsuki didn’t get it either.

He just knew something about Izuku was wrong. The way he looked. The way he was. The way he made Katsuki feel.

He’d woken up more than once sticky and ashamed, with green eyes still burned into his brain. But he wasn’t gay. Couldn’t be. So that meant Izuku was just a delusional tomboy. A fake.

A liar.

But then… the sludge villain happened. The entrance exam. Kamino. The war. All of it.

And somewhere in the middle of that shitstorm, Katsuki had run out of excuses. Izuku was a hero. He was a boy. And Katsuki…

Katsuki had to go save his ass. Again.

Inside the showers, his dumbass classmates were gathered around Mineta, who was proudly holding up a pair of black boxer-briefs with a round cutout.

“What even is this?” Mineta announced like he was unveiling a goddamn relic.

Katsuki stormed over and snatched them from his hands. “Fuck off and clear out.” His glare swept the rest. “All of you.”

“Dude, we need to check on Midoriya,” Sero said, looking genuinely worried. “I doubt his dick fell off, but he’s locked himself in a stall and won’t say anything.” “And that’s not enough of a fucking clue to mind your own business?” Katsuki barked.

He spotted Todoroki bending to pick up a soft beige cylinder that had rolled into a corner. Katsuki snatched that too. “And give me that.”

Tucking it under his arm, he looked around at the rest of them. “He’s fine. Fuck off. He doesn’t need you dipshits gawking.”

They hesitated, but left. Kirishima lingered. “Bro, I’m not gonna pry, but… Midoriya’s okay, right?”

Katsuki exhaled through his nose, shoulders dropping. “He’s fine, Shitty Hair. Seriously.”

Kirishima gave a shaky grin. “Okay, man. You know him best. Just… tell him we’re here, yeah?”

“He knows.”

When the door finally shut behind them, Katsuki stepped up to the last stall and knocked. “You good, Nerd?”

“…Yeah.” The voice was quiet. A scarred hand reached over the top of the stall. Katsuki passed him the packer and briefs. “Thanks, Kacchan.”

Katsuki shrugged. “Whatever.” He leaned a shoulder to the wall next to the stall, arms crossed tight.

Like Izuku owed him anything. Like a single thanks was gonna tip the scales.

For everything he’d done, for everything he was, Izuku could Detroit Smash Katsuki through the roof and still come out in the red. The bastard had saved his life. Risked his own. Over and over. Kept trying to reach him, even when Katsuki had made damn sure he shouldn’t.

So he didn’t need thanks. Especially not for this.

There was a quiet sniff from the other side of the stall. Katsuki sighed. “Oi, if you’re leaking out your face, clean it up before I start charging rent.”

A wet, startled laugh. “C-can you… can you grab my uniform?”

“Yeah.” Katsuki didn’t wait for the rest, just turned and grabbed the neat pile of clothes sitting beside Izuku’s open locker. He passed the bundle over the stall wall, careful not to drop it, then stepped back to give him space.

He waited.

Water dripped from the far end of the shower room. Someone had left the tap half-on. A fly buzzed somewhere near the ceiling. The smell of stale body spray and wet tile clung to the air.

Eventually, the stall door creaked open, and Izuku stepped out. Fully dressed, hair damp, eyes pink at the corners. His brows were drawn, eyes pinned to the floor like he was calculating something with a time limit and no good options.

Katsuki knew that look. He’d seen it after Kamino, on the field of Ground Beta. After their class had dragged Izuku back to UA, kicking and screaming. After the war.

Katsuki hated it.

Izuku Midoriya was a mess of contradictions from the jump. Born without a quirk, but still managed to carry the weight of eight others. Born in the wrong body, and still made it his own.

The idiot broke his bones to protect people. Broke them again to get stronger. Bent everything, sinew and soul, toward the kind of hero he wanted to be. Not what they said he could be. What he decided.

It pissed Katsuki off for years. Still kind of did.

But somewhere along the line—maybe in a hospital bed, or on a battlefield, or during some stupid, insignificant moment in the dorms—he’d looked at Izuku and felt something different.

Not rage. Not jealousy.

A feeling that Katsuki didn’t recognize or know what to do with. Begrudging, but undeniable. The kind that stuck in his throat like a secret.

They walked side by side back toward the dorms. Katsuki could feel the tension rolling off Izuku like steam. Shoulders pulled in tight, eyes down, mind chewing itself to death. Probably weighing a dozen shitty options about what to tell the rest of the class.

Izuku finally looked up. His eyes were dry, but the edges were still an angry pink. “They’re gonna ask questions.”

“Then don’t answer.” Katsuki shrugged. “Or do. Your call. I’ll deal with the grape.”

Izuku huffed a humorless laugh. “You can’t blow him up.”

“I’m not making promises I can’t keep.”

They stepped through the dorm entrance and into the common area. The second the door clicked shut behind them, silence dropped like a guillotine. Iida stood by the kitchenette, one hand raised mid-lecture towards a sheepish looking Kaminari and Sero. Mineta sat on the floor sulking, an ice pack balanced unevenly on his purple lumps.

All eyes shifted to Izuku.

He stopped just past the entry, shoulders tense. Katsuki could feel him holding his breath.

“Do you think he lost it in the war?” Mineta muttered, just loud enough to hear.

Katsuki’s palms sparked with tiny, involuntary pops of heat. He took one heavy step forward, cracked his neck, and jerked his chin toward the grape. “What’d I say about minding your own fucking business?”

Todoroki, from the window seat, looked up from his book and spoke directly to Izuku. “Midoriya. Are you alright?” Izuku blinked, clearly not expecting that.

“I’m not hurt,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “I dropped something personal. It’s not a big deal. I’d just appreciate it if everyone could let it go.”

The moment stretched. Then Todoroki nodded once and went back to his book.

Iida cleared his throat, floundering for structure. “As class representative, I would like to formally apologize for the, ah… confusion.” “You mean the part where everyone was yelling about dicks like it was a crime scene?” Jirou muttered from her beanbag, earbuds hanging around her neck.

“I- we thought it was a medical emergency!” Kaminari tried, flailing his arms.

“Oh my god, Denki,” Mina groaned.

Sero raised both hands. “Hey man, we just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay,” Izuku said again, firmer this time.

Kirishima stepped into the space with a toothy grin that was a little too wide to be casual. “Cool. Then I’m making popcorn. We’re watching the dumb villain documentary Denks found. You in?”

Katsuki didn’t miss the way Izuku’s shoulders sagged as he turned. Less tense, yeah, but not better. Just tired. “Maybe another time,” Izuku replied with a thin, forced smile. “I think I might call it an early night.” He stepped around Mineta like he didn’t even see him and trudged up the stairs, one hand dragging along the rail. Katsuki’s palms itched to explode something. Preferably Grape-Fuck.

“Bakugou.” Kirishima’s voice, low and close. Katsuki turned, just barely, jaw clenched.

“You good?”

No. He was not good. He was half a second from marching up the stairs and making sure the nerd wasn’t spiraling out into a full-blown panic attack. But instead he grunted, “Fine.”

Kirishima raised his brows like he didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push. Just jerked his chin toward the couch where Mina had already sprawled out with a massive bowl of popcorn. “Come sit. You’ll hate this documentary.”

“That’s supposed to be a selling point?”

Kirishima grinned. “Yup.”

Katsuki dragged his feet toward the couch, not sure why. Maybe because it was easier than going upstairs and pretending he wasn’t hovering outside Izuku’s door like a fucking creep.

Everyone settled in as the TV screen lit up with the intro sequence: grainy footage of an old villain skirmish, dramatic voiceover about moral gray areas and government overreach. Kaminari was already talking over it. Jirou kicked his shin.

Katsuki sat at the edge of the couch, arms folded tight, eyes fixed on the screen but not watching. A few minutes in, Kaminari leaned in a little. “Hey,” he said quietly, “So, uh… was it, like… an injury?”

Katsuki’s head whipped toward him. “Dude,” Kirishima interrupted from Katsuki’s other side. “Read the room.”

“My bad!” Kaminari whined, sinking down further into the couch cushions. “I’m not trying to be, like, insensitive or whatever. It was just sort of a shock, y’know?” Uraraka shot him a disapproving look from one of the other couches. “I think we’re all better off not speculating about Deku-kun’s private matters.”

“Someone’s just salty they won’t be getting that sweet Midoriya loving.” Mineta snarked from a nearby beanbag. Ojiro slapped him upside the head with his tail. Mineta yelped, clutching his head. “What the hell?! I’m just saying what we’re all thinking!”

Katsuki stood.

The low hum of the TV buzzed in the sudden quiet. Popcorn crunched under his heel as he stepped forward, slow and deliberate. Crackling sparks fizzled along his fingertips.

“You think this is funny?” His quirk was simmering under his skin, but Aizawa was going to put him on house arrest if he caused any more damage to the dorms. And Izuku said he couldn’t. “Go ahead. Keep running your fucking mouth.” Mineta shrank back into the beanbag, looking like he wanted to disappear between the cushions.

“That goes for the rest of you chucklefucks.” He added, glaring down the room. “Keep your shitty thoughts to yourself. Deku’s business is his own damn business, he doesn’t need you shitheads taking bets about what’s in his pants. Grow the hell up.”

With a click of his tongue, Katsuki turned and left.

Katsuki hauled himself up the steps two at a time, jaw clenched tight. His palms still tingled from the aborted urge to blow a crater in the floor. It would’ve felt good—so good—to scorch something. It used to be so easy, to react at a hair-trigger, to skip past talking and thinking and just act. His middle school self wouldn’t have hesitated.

He skipped a step.

If this were middle school, he probably would’ve said something worse than Mineta. He would have been leading the charge, slinging insults and more. Treated Izuku’s packer like a punchline, not a gut-punch. God. He scrubbed a hand down his face. Shame, fury, helplessness, tangled together like a ticking bomb he couldn’t disarm.

He hated it. Hated remembering who he used to be, how easily that version of him would’ve slid right in beside Grape-Fuck with some loudmouthed bullshit and called it funny. Would’ve looked at Izuku’s flushed face, his trembling hands, and thought he deserved it.

In their final year at UA, Katsuki and Izuku had somehow wound up bunking on the same floor. Izuku’s room was almost as familiar as his own, hours spent studying surrounded by those god-awful posters, All Might’s wide grin beaming down on him from every direction. Katsuki meant to walk past, lock himself in for the night. Put on some screamo and tune everything out.

That’s not where his feet took him, though.

He stared at the door. Cheap ass paint job, the threadbare All Might nameplate Izuku had brought from his childhood bedroom, a couple of old char marks from some argument they’d had. He ran his hand over them. Katsuki couldn’t even remember what it had been about.

It would be so easy to knock. Or say something. Or walk away. But a soft sound gripped him. A wet sniffle, muffled like someone had their face shoved in a pillow to keep the sound in.

Katsuki moved without thought. His feet carried him forward, through the door and into the room. Up to the bed, where that stupid All Might comforter covered a quivering lump. “Hey.” He rasped, settling on the edge of the bed.

The lump shifted a bit to make room. “Are they talking about it?”

“No.” Katsuki lied.

Another hiccuping sniff. “Liar.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself.” Katsuki exhaled. “If they were talking about you, you’d be sneezing right now, wouldn’t you, dumbass?”

Izuku rolled over fully, his red-rimmed eyes squinted in suspicion. “Kacchan, that’s just an urban myth.”

Katsuki flicked his nose. “They’ll find something else to gossip over by tomorrow. It’s old news.”

Izuku groaned and buried his face back in the pillow. “I’d been so careful! I almost made it all the way through school, and now one stupid mistake—“

“Izuku—“

“They saw!”

“So fuckin’ what?” Katsuki snapped. “It’s your body. Nobody else’s. And if anyone thinks they get a say in that? They can choke.” He glared at the floor. “Shoulda let me blow Grape-Fuck through a window.”

Izuku let out a wet huff that might’ve been a laugh. “You’d get expelled.”

“Worth it.”

That earned him a weak snort. The comforter rustled. Izuku peeked out from beneath it, wild curls sticking up in every direction. He scooted a little, toward the wall.

Katsuki kicked his shoes off, hauled himself up, and lay on top of the covers, shoulder to shoulder. Staring at the ceiling like it had answers. “You don’t owe anyone shit,” He muttered, “Not a damn explanation. Not a label. Nothing.”

“It’s not that simple.” Izuku replied with a sigh, stretching out beside him. “They’re my friends. And I know they care about me, I know that, but…” His voice cracked. “I don’t want them to look at me different.”

Katsuki stared up at the popcorn ceiling. There was a weird stain in the corner shaped like Godzilla. Looked like it was snarling right at him.

“They’re dumbasses,” He said finally. “But they’re good ones. Better than I ever was. It won’t be like back then.”

Izuku sat up. Turned toward him, all wide eyes and trembling mouth. “Kacchan,” He said, wavering. “You know I don’t hold any of that against you, right?” A scarred hand gripped his forearm. “You’ve more than made up for back then, a hundred times over. You’re… you’re so, so important to me. I trust you with my life.”

Just like Izuku. Putting his life in hands that had burned him. Scarred him. Like it didn’t matter. Even when Katsuki didn’t deserve it. That kind of blind faith, it kept Katsuki up some nights. Left him sweating and breathless in the dark.

Because no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried…

The scales would never balance.

Chapter Text

The morning light was too damn bright.

Katsuki stood outside Izuku’s door, scowling at nothing. The hallway was empty, the rest of their floormates already off to class. He should’ve left already. He was halfway out the door. Shoes on, backpack slung, ready to go… but somehow his feet had dragged him back here anyway.

Maybe Izuku was just sleeping in. He usually did. Katsuki clicked his tongue and turned away. The nerd would get there in his own time.

The classroom was already half full when he got there, buzzing with a hushed tension. Kirishima shot him a look from across the room, brows drawn. Mina, sitting beside him, looked like she was trying not to bounce out of her chair.

Katsuki made a beeline for his seat, shoved his bag down hard enough to rattle the desk. Making himself unapproachable had never been difficult.

Off to the side, the Nerd Herd was deep in their own mess. Four-Eyes had his arms crossed, frowning like someone had violated traffic law. Froggy sat perched on her desk, legs swinging, calm as ever. Round-Face was speaking low, trying to be soothing.

And Icy-Hot?

“It would explain his ability to break bones so often, with few ramifications.” The moron was saying with a stoic face.

“Todoroki-kun, Midoriya-kun is not a robot.” Tsuyu replied flatly.

“But androids are often retrofitted with silicone skins to protect the delicate machinery—“

Before Katsuki could grind his teeth to dust, Uraraka caught his eye and broke away from the group. She crossed the room with the kind of caution people use around unexploded land mines. Katsuki sat back in his chair. Folded his arms.

She stopped just beside him. “Hey,” she said, voice low. “Is he okay?”

Katsuki didn’t answer right away.

Because fuck. What was he supposed to say? That Izuku had cried himself to sleep last night? That he curled into a ball like the smallest damn thing, and Katsuki still didn’t know how to hold something that breakable without crushing it?

He glanced away.

“He’ll be fine,” he muttered.

Uraraka studied him for a moment, like she wanted to say something else, but didn’t. She just gave him a nod, quick and mindful, and headed back to her seat.

Aizawa shuffled in with his usual Monday morning scowl, a half-full thermos clutched in one hand like a lifeline. He gave the room a tired once-over, took attendance without fanfare, and muttered something about chore rotation schedules for the week.

Katsuki glanced at the clock on the wall. Izuku’s seat still sat empty.

Four minutes until the bell.

Two.

The door creaked open. Izuku slipped in with his head ducked, curls an untamed mess. He kept his eyes trained on the floor as he made his way to his desk, seat third from the front, nearest the window. Pulled out a notebook. Didn’t open it.

Aizawa shot a suspicious glance around the room at the lack of usual dumbassery. But he sighed as the bell rang, before uncapping his pen and starting the lecture. Katsuki watched Izuku. His shoulders were curled over his desk, almost flinching at the sounds of shifting papers and bags. It was so much like the way he’d held himself in middle school that Katsuki could taste bile in the back of his throat.

He spent the rest of the period sending death glares at anyone that so much as looked in Izuku’s direction.

Lunch came, and Izuku bolted.

Katsuki was halfway out of his seat when Izuku was already halfway out the door, notebooks shoved in his bag like he couldn’t get away fast enough. Like he’d been waiting for the bell to ring.

Katsuki gathered up his own supplies and slipped out after him, scanning the hallway. He didn’t know what he was doing. Not really. He passed the lunchroom, peered into a couple empty classrooms, circled a wing and doubled back. Half the damn period was gone, and he hadn’t caught a single glimpse of that broccoli-haired bastard.

Somehow, word of yesterday’s event had gotten out, and the general student body was already spreading lies like wildfire. Katsuki had overheard one idiot claiming All For One had bitten off Deku’s cock during the final battle, another swearing Shigaraki disintegrated it, and a third insisting Deku just had a microdick and used a prosthetic to piss.

His hands were smoking by the time he finished with them.

Eventually, he heard familiar voices, tucked under a stairwell landing near the practice gym. He slowed. Quieted his steps.

“…It’s kind of hard to explain,” Izuku was saying, soft but clear. “But it’s who I’ve always been. Even when… when it didn’t make sense to anyone else.”

Katsuki felt his breath catch.

Fucking Round Cheeks. Of course it was her. All pink cheeks and soft eyes, the girl half the class assumed would end up with Deku eventually. They were always hanging out, and Izuku always blushed like an idiot whenever she touched his arm or sat too close.

Katsuki clenched his jaw. Rage surged, then gave way to something heavier, duller.

Why wouldn’t it be her?

“I didn’t tell anyone for a long time,” Izuku added quickly. “I didn’t want it to be… defining, I guess. Or worse, the only thing people saw when they looked at me. But after yesterday, I figured… you’re one of my closest friends, Uraraka-san. I want you to know me.”

“You’re still you,” Uraraka said, warm and sure, her hand reaching out to rest on his arm. “Nothing’s changed. I’m glad you told me, Deku-kun.”

Watching Izuku offer up that trust so freely to someone else sparked something hot and ugly in Katsuki’s chest. Izuku deserved that, deserved to be fully known, to be wholly accepted for the incredible person he was.

But did it have to be her?

Katsuki didn’t stick around to hear the rest. He turned on his heel and stomped off, not caring who heard. Let the two of them have their little heart-to-heart under the damn stairwell like something out of a shitty school drama.

He ended up on the second floor, tucked in some hallway no one used anymore, where the vending machines buzzed like they were about to die and the window looked out over the back quad. He didn’t sit. Just stood there with his fists jammed into his pockets, breathing hard like he’d run the whole way.

He knew. He’d always known. He was there, wasn’t he? Before everything—before the binders, before the hormones, before Izuku started looking people in the eye when he gave his name. Katsuki had always known his secret, because he’d been there when it wasn’t one.

So what the fuck was his problem? It wasn’t like Izuku owed him anything. Not when he was part of the reason it was even a secret in the first place.

He thumbed at the All Might trading card in his pocket, running his fingers along the creases.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he’d been stupid enough to think, deep down, in the lowest, most selfish part of him, that keeping that truth just between them made it theirs. A tangled thread, tying them together. Like All Might’s legacy, like all the other secrets that had bound them. All coming unraveled.

Katsuki thumped his head once against the cool concrete wall, let it rest there.

God, he was a bastard.

Katsuki made it back to class just before the period ended, and slipped into his seat just as Present Mic’s voice boomed through the door behind him with all the subtlety of a pipe bomb.

Izuku was already there. Back in his desk, arms folded tight on the surface, eyes on the grain of the wood like it owed him answers. He didn’t look up when Katsuki entered. Didn’t look up when the teacher cracked some dumbass joke about verb conjugation, either.

Not a good sign.

Katsuki hoped none of the rumors floating around school had reached him yet. But the way he was curled in on himself—shoulders tight, jaw working as he chewed at the inside of his lip—yeah. Something had.

His Nerd Herd, at least, had closed ranks. Round Cheeks and Four-Eyes had taken the desks to either side, with Icy-Hot sitting directly in front of Izuku as a silent sentinel. That left Katsuki to take up the rear, slouching into the desk behind him and pinning the back of his broccoli head with a glare like it was responsible for the sick twist in his stomach.

He had no fucking right to be pissed, he knew that. But it stung. After everything they’d started to rebuild, watching from the sidelines as Izuku went to others for comfort felt like losing grip on something he hadn’t even realized he’d been clutching. Was this how Izuku had felt, back when they were kids? Watching Katsuki walk ahead and never look back?

He shook his head to clear the pathetic pining thoughts. Focus. English. Verb tenses. Who gave a shit about future perfect progressive anyway? It should be obvious from context.

He spent the rest of the period ignoring the lesson, idly jotting down notes and sketching mod concepts for his gauntlets in the margins. Since his right arm was still half-fucked, maybe some kind of recoil absorption… something like the stabilizers Izuku had built into his shoes. Might lessen the strain from bigger blasts.

Or maybe he was just looking for an excuse to borrow Izuku’s tech notes again.

After the war, their whole class had been swarmed with unwanted attention from underclassmen. Couldn’t walk ten steps without some first-year loser trying to slide into their orbit. Katsuki got his share of shitty locker notes from cowards who didn’t even have the guts to confess to his face.

Icy-Hot caught it too. The two of them had started using Four-Eyes as a human shield whenever the fanclub crowd got too bold.

Izuku probably got it the worst. Golden-boy savior of Japan, of course the extras were obsessed. Big green eyes, freckles for days, and those dumbass cupid curls didn’t help. Katsuki had eaten himself sick last Valentine’s between his and Izuku’s piles of damn chocolate.

But today, something was off.

Katsuki fell in beside Izuku after the last period, skin prickling as they made their way through the throng of students. There were eyes on them. He was used to stares, sure. But the gawking today felt different. People kept whispering when Izuku walked by. Elbowing each other, the kind of attention that felt pointed. Not the usual admiration and awe.

They reached the shoe lockers, and a gaggle of first-years were hanging around like they owned the place. Hero course freshmen, all puffed-up quirks and zero sense. Izuku ducked down to change his shoes, slipping on his chunky red monstrosities. A couple of the girls tittered as he sat. “You think he’d peg me if I asked?” Came a loud fake whisper, setting off another round of giggles. Katsuki saw Izuku’s knuckles go white around his laces.

“Shove off, extras.” Fuck these stupid freshman. Fuck this entire day. Fuck the whole damn school, did no one have anything better to do with their time?

One of the girls shot him back an ugly sneer. “My bad, Bakugou-senpai. Didn’t realize he was taken.”

Izuku stood slowly. “Not taken.” He cut in, dusting off his pants. “Not deaf, either.” His voice had an edge to it. “You’re UA students. Do you really think that’s appropriate conversation for school?” The whole group went quiet. The first girl flinched like she’d been slapped. “S-sorry, Midoriya-senpai,” she mumbled. The rest of them stared at their shoes. Izuku didn’t wait for more. He slung his bag over his shoulder and swept past without a glance back. Katsuki followed, a shadow with teeth.

“I can handle myself, you know.” Izuku finally broke the tense silence.

Katsuki bristled. “Obviously.” He said, catching up to Izuku’s steps. “They were in my way.” Izuku gave him a look Katsuki couldn’t place. It made something in his chest coil tight.

“I’ve never asked…” Izuku’s voice was soft. “Do you have a type, Kacchan?” Green eyes. Freckles. Thick hands and strong legs. A stubborn streak that could rival a natural disaster.

“…The fuck kind of question is that?” Katsuki snapped, too fast. He felt like he’d been plunged in ice. “Since when do we talk about that kinda shit?” Izuku looked away. “I dunno. Just thought it was weird. I know everything else about you, but not that.”

Katsuki snorted. “Tch. ‘Cause I don’t have a type. I’ve got more important shit to worry about.”

“People make time,” Izuku said. “Ojiro and Hagakure are dating now, did you hear?”

“‘Bout fuckin’ time. They’ve been circling each other since first year.”

Izuku was like a dog with a bone. “But do you ever think about it?” he asked, voice too light to be casual. “Y’know. The kind of person you’d like. If that was… something you wanted.” Katsuki gave a noncommittal grunt. “Most extras shove their shitty confessions in my face without knowing a damn thing about me. Pisses me off. What’s the point of asking out a complete stranger?”

Izuku nodded. “That makes sense. I think… I think some people like the idea of me. It doesn’t feel right, accepting their feelings when they might have… certain expectations. Of me.”

Did Izuku have someone whose feelings he wanted to accept? Was that why he’d talked with Round Cheeks?

Biting back the searing disappointment, Katsuki scoffed. “Yeah, just wait until they find out what a massive All Might nerd you are. That’ll send ‘em running.” He expected a laugh, maybe a snotty comeback, but Izuku stopped walking.

“Well, no, I mean… yeah, I guess being an otaku is another part of the picture. But I meant more—“ He gestured up and down his body.

Katsuki frowned. “What?”

Izuku averted his eyes. “You know.”

Katsuki didn’t answer. There was so much he could say, but the words stuck in his throat. He didn’t say “You’re more of a man than any asshole in this school.” He didn’t say “You’re braver than I’ll ever be.” He didn’t say “I wish I was brave enough to tell you just how much I want you.”

Instead, he stuffed his fists deeper into his pockets and stared straight ahead, like he could glare the sidewalk into submission.

Izuku spoke quieter now. “I just… wonder, sometimes. If anyone could really want me. All of me.”

And the fact that Izuku could ask that, the fact Izuku had any doubt at all that anyone could look at him in his entirety and not fall to their knees in complete and utter adoration—that was Katsuki’s doing. Katsuki’s fault. That snot-nosed brat that haunted his past, who had been too wrapped up in ego and insecurity to admit how threatened he was by someone unafraid to be authentically themself.

“Izuku,” he said roughly, the name raw on his tongue. “If someone can’t see how fucking great you are, exactly as you are, they don’t deserve even a second of your time. Let alone anything more.”

Izuku had always been a crybaby. He’d start bawling from the smallest things, skinned knees and broken toys, kittens caught up in trees. So it didn’t surprise Katsuki to see fat tears welling in those big green eyes. What did surprise him was what came out of his own dumb fucking mouth next.

“And for the record, I’d let you peg me anytime.”

Fuck.

FUCK.

The second it left his mouth, Katsuki wished for death. Immediate. Violent. Where was Shigaraki when you needed the bastard?

Izuku’s face went blank. Then red. It was rapidly approaching purple. His lips parted, opening and closing like a fish. Katsuki turned so fast he nearly twisted an ankle. “Forget I said that.” He barked, speedwalking away like he could outrun his own stupidity.

“KACCHAN?!” Izuku shrieked. Katsuki didn’t look back. Couldn’t. The rapid scuffle of footsteps pounding pavement just made him speed up the pace.

“Kacchan, wait— wait, what did you mean by— wait!”

He was practically sprinting by the time the scarred hand caught his wrist. “Kacchan, please.”

Katsuki swore and stilled.

“Did… Did you mean it?” Izuku’s voice was small.

He could lie. Laugh it off. Walk into traffic.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, barely audible. “Yeah, I fucking meant it.”

“ Oh.” Just a tiny exhale of sound, stunned and barely formed. Katsuki gritted his teeth and waited for the rejection. Izuku would be kind, so kind and painfully earnest, letting him down in the gentlest way possible and shattering Katsuki to pieces.

Or… he’d start muttering frantically.

“I’m not sure my prosthetic is made for those sorts of activities, I know they make pack-and-play devices but mine is really just intended for stealthing and helping me pee standing up, I don’t think it has the pump capability necessary to give Kacchan the proper experience and I wouldn’t want to attempt anything without doing some research beforehand on the various available models—“

“Holy fuck, Nerd,” Katsuki wheezed, whipping around to face him. “Take a goddamn breath.”

Izuku’s mouth snapped shut, eyes widening in horror. “ Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to— if that was meant to be, um, hypothetical…” “Who the fuck hypothetically asks someone to peg them?” Katsuki spluttered. “Who asks someone to peg them in the middle of the sidewalk?!” Izuku’s voice was pitching higher.

“Izuku.” Katsuki’s voice came out in a rasp. “It’s not about that shit. It’s you.”

Izuku’s breath caught.

“I mean, sure,” Katsuki added quickly, face turning red. “It sounds hot as fuck. But only if it’s with you.” He clenched his sweaty fists, willing his quirk not to detonate from sheer mortification. “I think about you, all the fucking time. And if you wanted to… to try something like that, or anything else— Then yeah. Fuck yeah. But I’m not expecting it.”

Silence.

“Kacchan,” Izuku’s eyes were teary again. Was that bad? Good? He bit his lower lip. “I think about you, too.”

“You do?” Katsuki choked.

Izuku gave the tiniest nod. “A lot,” he mumbled, his voice rising with every word. “Like, an embarrassing amount, actually. Sometimes when we’re training I just sort of stare at your hands and then I realize I’ve been staring too long and I pretend I’m analyzing your blast technique, and sometimes I think about… well, about you, a-and—”

Katsuki couldn’t hold back the smug grin tugging at his mouth. “You’ve been perving on me during training? Dirty nerd.”

“ KACCHAN!” Izuku squeaked, voice cracking. Katsuki cackled. “You can’t say things like that in public!”

“You like me, though,” Katsuki shot back, still grinning like an idiot. “Sucks to be you.”

Izuku peeked at him through his hands, helplessly fond. “…Yeah.”

The air between them softened. Katsuki hesitated for half a second, then nudged Izuku’s elbow with his own. “C’mon. It’s Ponytail’s night to cook, so you know it’s gonna be good. If Pikachu scarfs it all down before we get there, I’m gonna commit a murder.”

Izuku dropped his hands and fell into step beside him. “You can’t murder our friends, Kacchan. We can always order delivery.”

Their fingers brushed once, twice. Neither pulled away.