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Recently, Katsuki’s been feeling a strange, persistent ache in his chest for no apparent reason.
The war ended just a few months ago. The city is still in the process of rebuilding. The people are slowly recovering from the big battle. Heroes have started resuming their duties. Students are allowed back in school. Class 2-A has nearly made a full recovery. Everything is slowly but surely falling back into its proper rhythm. All of this should be a cause for happiness.
And yet Katsuki finds himself restless.
Maybe it's the fucking nightmares that keep haunting him every time he falls asleep. Or the feeling of powerlessness from not being able to use his quirk with his dominant arm, or push himself physically without putting a huge strain on his heart. It makes him feel like he’s falling behind while everybody else moves forward.
But as much as all these things piss him off, they aren’t quite the root of this persistent unease.
For example, at this very moment, he’s sitting in the lounge with his stupid friends in the common room, and they’re arguing over which movie to watch together. Katsuki can’t find it in him to care enough to join their ridiculous conversation, so instead he simply props his elbow on his knee, resting his chin in his hand, and lets his gaze wander aimlessly outside the window.
It’s late afternoon, and the sky outside is growing dark, a sure sign a storm is on its way. The clouds above are a heavy, swirling grey, piling up on one another like thick smoke. It’s been raining non stop these past few days, and it certainly isn’t helping his mood. There’s nothing he hates more than the rain.
“Kacchan, what movie do you want to watch?”
Katsuki jumps slightly at the sudden voice sounding a little too close to his ear for his liking. He turns around with his usual scowl, and raises his voice in more like a habit with no actual bite to it. “You tryin’ to scare me to death or what, asshole?”
Izuku just sighs with a small, indulgent smile at his childhood friend’s familiar temper and settles down on the spot beside him. Katsuki raised an eyebrow. Class 1-A values their lives enough to leave an entire couch free just for him since everyone knew how much he hated being smothered by a crowd. But Izuku is the only one who dares to casually sit down next to him without a second thought.
Though, thinking back, the green-haired boy is probably the only person who can sit this close to Katsuki without getting blown up.
“Why the fuck are you sitting here for? Where are your stupid friends?”
Izuku rolls his eyes, the corner of his lips creeping up slightly. “They’re not stupid. And Kacchan is my friend too.”
Katsuki falters at those words, but all he does is huff and turn away, unsure of how to respond.
Ever since the war ended, their relationship has become strangely ambiguous. The damn nerd keeps giving these unreadable looks, and the atmosphere whenever there’s only the two of them always seems strained and awkward. He can’t quite wrap his head around it, but the two of them keep dancing around each other with so many unspoken words and feelings. It honestly starts to become a little annoying, and even though Katsuki always faces his problems head on, he doesn’t know what he should do about this. Because, well, Izuku has always been his exception, hasn’t he?
But after experiencing death and being brought back to life, Katsuki realizes a few things. One of them is the realization that the feelings he has for Izuku are entirely different from those he has for his friends.
Don’t get him wrong. Katsuki genuinely cares about and values those stupid friends of his, even if he rarely puts it into words. But when standing at the brink of death, it isn’t any of them, or even his own parents that crosses his mind. Instead, it’s a distant memory from their childhood, back when he and Izuku were two snot-nosed brats. That moment plays over and over in his mind in slow motion, until the second he falls on the battlefield and draws his last breath.
That surely must mean something, right?
“Bakugou, the vote is tied now, hurry up and choose! Hereditary or La La Land? Small hint: the right answer is La La Land!”
Ashido’s mischievous voice suddenly cuts through Katsuki’s wandering thoughts. He raises an eyebrow at her eager face and opens his mouth to respond.
But right that moment, thunder rumbles outside with a deafening crack, making everyone nearly jump in surprise. But before anybody can let out a word of complaint, all the power in the room cuts out, plunged the room into darkness and a chorus of confused voices. Some let out a short scream, a few fumble for their phones to turn on their flashlights, and the rest gather in small groups to call Mr. Aizawa.
Katsuki stays sitting where he is, his eyes not yet used to the dark. But after a moment of thinking, he realizes this is the perfect opportunity to get away from this ridiculous movie night (since he only came because Ashido and Kaminari didn’t leave him the fuck alone). He plants his hands on the sofa, ready to get up and return to his room.
“Kacchan? Are you going somewhere?” Izuku suddenly speaks up right beside him, his voice much closer than Katsuki expected.
“It’s none of your business, Izu—”
At that moment, another thunderclap tears across the black sky, splitting it in two. At the same time, a gust of wind rushes through a crack in the window, rattling the glass. He flinches, and his hand, resting on the seat’s cushion, brushes against the person next to him.
Both of them freeze.
This isn’t the first time the two of them have touched hands. He and Izuku have done it countless times on the battlefield: when they fought against Nine on Nabu Island, or when they teamed up to rescue All Might from All For One. So this accidental touch shouldn’t be a big deal at all.
But now, without the rush of battle adrenaline, something strange sparks in Katsuki’s patched-up heart. The previous touches were too brief to realize it, but sitting in this pitch-black room with the rain tapping against the windowpane, he suddenly notices just how rough and callused Izuku’s hand really is.
His hand isn’t too big—fits neatly into Katsuki’s slightly larger grip, but definitely not big enough to carry all the crisscrossed scars on his skin. The knuckles are bumpy, the skin tough and coarse from countless punches thrown with all his life’s force, from the cursed power that saved and broke him over and over again. And for a moment, Katsuki holds his breath, feeling each jagged scar on the back of the marred hand of the boy he once believed was weak and powerless. He knows the nerd has many scars from the way he breaks his damn bones on a daily basis, but—but this is too many. Does he get even more of them after the war?
Izuku sits stiff as a statue, not even daring to move. And although Katsuki secretly sneers at his cowardice, he makes no move to pull away either.
Outside, rain starts to pour. Thunder rumbles at regular intervals, briefly illuminating the sky before plunging the world back into darkness. Cold gusts rush into the room through the window, making the curtains ripple. All around them, their friends still talk loudly, still arguing about which movie to watch once the power comes back on.
But in the center of it all, two awkward boys quietly let their hands linger against each other, feeling the warmth of the other seep into their skin. A silent confession for all the things they can’t put into words.
And for the first time in the endless days since the war, the ache in Katsuki soothes.
Even just a little.
That singular touch has haunted Katsuki since then, even in his dreams. And he finds himself jolted awake with his heart spiking and his mind spinning more times than he could count.
He has no idea why. Such a small thing shouldn’t affect him this much. He should be focusing on more important things, like how to catch up with his friends after spending so much time in treatment. But now, every time he finds a moment of peace, his mind drifts back to that distant, fleeting memory of the warmth and the scars on Izuku’s hand.
Ever since he was a kid, Katsuki has never been someone who liked physical touch. Raised in a family that isn’t in the habit of openly showing love, the only affectionate contact he received were the overly forceful head pats from his mother or an awkward shoulder squeeze from his father. Even his dumbass friends—the only ones brave enough to get close to him—would at most throw an arm around his shoulder or sneak in a quick side hug, then run away for their life before he could blow up at them.
So Katsuki can’t wrap his head around the significance of all those shitty intimate gestures like hugs, hand-holding, or kisses both in sappy romance movies and in real life. Apart from what’s already been listed, the only physical contact he knows comes from the force of a fist or a weapon tearing into flesh.
Maybe that’s why Izuku’s touch unsettles him so much.
But when he thinks back to all the times he wished he’d grabbed Izuku’s tiny hand by the river, he finds himself wondering. Could the current turmoil in his chest be tied to that longing?
“Bakugou, can we… take a break for a few minutes? I’m seriously gonna die here.”
Kirishima’s breathless voice pulls Katsuki back to reality. He frowns at his friend, now dripping with sweat, his normally spiked hair nearly droopy from all the wetness. Katsuki was so deep in thought that he nearly forgot they were in the middle of a training session together.
He clicks his tongue. “Five minutes.”
Relieved, Kirishima drops his hardening quirk immediately and slumps down on the training mat, panting for air. He glances up at Katsuki with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.
“Man, after all that time resting and healing, your physical condition is still ridiculous. Did you sneak off and train without the doctors’ permission or something?”
Katsuki scowls at the stupid question. As stubborn as he is, even he knows just how severe his injuries were after that battle. Also, if Aizawa finds out he disobeyed the doctors’ orders, he might actually be a dead man.
“Do you really think I’m stupid enough to do that, asshole? Besides, it’s more like you and those extras who are slacking in training.”
“Well… you know, after everything, I think everyone just needs time to… I dunno… process what just happened?” Kirishima scratches his head, smiling awkwardly. “Nobody’s in the mood to focus on school, and Mr. Aizawa himself said we should rest first.”
“Bullshit.” Katsuki grumbles.
“But honestly, Bakugou.” Kirishima fixes his red gaze directly on him now, eyebrows knitted in concern. “Are you really okay with everything we went through?”
“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?” Katsuki raises an eyebrow. “You think a few tiny, stupid things like this are going to affect my goal to become the number one hero?”
“Bro, your heart literally exploded. I don’t think that’s tiny.”
“But I’m still alive and kicking, aren’t I?”
He shoots back immediately, feeling offended. Yeah, sure, he nearly kicked the bucket, but so what? He’s alive in the end, isn’t he? So why should he dwell on the past? Bakugou Katsuki isn’t the kind of person who gets weak or emotional over things that have already gone by; he’s someone who always looks forward. No matter what happened, there’s only a single objective in his mind. That’s how it’s always been from the start.
Or at least, that’s what he’s been trying to convince himself up until now.
“What about… Midoriya?”
Katsuki feels his pulse suddenly quicken at the mention of that name. But he maintains his usual scowl and responds in an annoyed tone.
“What about him?”
“Have you guys talked properly since the fight? I can feel the awkwardness from a mile away whenever you and him are in the same room for like, months now.”
Katsuki’s jaw goes stiff.
“What the fuck are you even talking about?”
He tilts his head, staring at Kirishima in utter confusion. The redhead blinks back at him for a moment, then sighs in exasperation.
“... Alright, got it.”
“Get what, you bastard?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
Kirishima waves it off with a nervous laugh. He stands up and walks over to his gym bag resting on the bench in the corner of the room to grab a water bottle and a towel. Katsuki tilts an eyebrow when he sees him pull out his phone and text someone for a while before glancing back in his direction.
“Oh, right… I might need to leave soon. I have plans today.”
“The fuck? This morning you just said you were free?”
Kirishima shrugs, a big, mischievous grin still plastered on his face, but Katsuki can smell something shady beneath it. He just can’t figure it out.
“Mina asked me to go shopping with her. You know how she is, she’d buy so much we’d need two people just to carry it all.”
“And you two all of a sudden decided to go on a shitty date just now? Right in the middle of training with me? That’s one hell of a coincidence.”
Katsuki crosses his arms, suspicion creeping into his expression. Kirishima immediately turns red, waves his hands frantically, and stammers in protest.
“Well… she asked me about it just now… And it’s not a date or anything! I’m just… um… helping her carry stuff!”
Katsuki tilts his lips into a smirk, amused by his friend’s reaction. Although neither of them has made it official, nearly all of Class A already knows about Kirishima and Ashido. He honestly doesn’t care much about their ridiculous situationship, but of course, he feels happy for his two best friends (until they start making googly eyes at each other in his presence).
“Whatever. Get out of here before I change my mind.”
“Y-Yeah, okay!” Kirishima is slightly startled at Katsuki’s change in mood, but he flashes him a toothy grin. “I’ll get going then!”
Kirishima picks up his things, waves a final goodbye, and quickly disappears behind the doorway, leaving a heavy silence to settle over the large room.
Katsuki doesn’t bother looking after him. He just snorts, grabs his water bottle from the bench now occupied by only his bag, and takes a few deep gulps.
Now, with no one else here, there isn’t much he can do. UA’s training room has a few combat robots for practice, but he’s not allowed to use his quirk with his right hand yet. Even though it has regained almost all of its mobility back now, it’s not enough to handle the impact of his quirk yet and he still has to attend physical therapy weekly. So no matter how confident he might be, going up against a bunch of advanced machines fully armed with guns with only one hand seems like a bad idea. And with the knowledge that sooner or later he’ll be able to use his quirk again, he doesn’t want to form any stupid habits by training with just one single hand.
That’s why, at this moment, Katsuki finds himself standing in front of a heavy punching bag. He drops into a ready stance immediately with feet shoulder-width apart and knees slightly bent. His hands, gloved and raised just below his eyes in a defensive guard, stay close to his body, his chin tilts downward, and his gaze locks directly on his target.
If it were up to him, he’d never choose this kind of outdated training. But with his injured state, it’s not like he has much of a choice.
He exhales, shifting his weight forward, and throws a decisive punch into the bag. The thick leather caves inward briefly, then bounces back under the force of the strike. His subsequent blows come in a steady, precise rhythm, without a single needless movement. Sweat starts to bead on his forehead and hairline again and drops trail down his face and body.
Katsuki likes this feeling. Training isn’t just a way for him to get closer to his goals; it’s a hobby, a way to release stress. When adrenaline rushes through him and all his focus is directed toward landing the perfect shot, there’s no room in his mind for useless thoughts. So whenever he finds himself overthinking, he trains. Especially lately, when his mind can’t seem to let go of a certain damn nerd.
Ever since that incident, the tension between them only grew. It lingered in the air like heavy static before a storm. And he honestly doesn’t get it. They’ve been through the death door together, so why do the words that once came easily now just caught in their throats? These days, they still couldn’t bring themselves to talk about what happened, but the gazes they held were a bit too long, too often, before one of them eventually broke away like the other’s gaze was fire burning on their skin.
Thinking of this, Katsuki lets out a frustrated growl. His next punch slams into the bag with a heavy force, causing the chains holding it up to rattle in protest. He needs to focus. He shouldn’t let himself think about that stupid fucker even once m—
“... Kacchan?”
Katsuki immediately stiffens, his fist freezing in mid-air. He whirls around toward the door which has been opened without him noticing.
Izuku stands there in another one of his stupid oversized T-shirts and gym shorts, a bag slung over his shoulder. His big green eyes are wide with surprise, seemingly not expecting to find him here.
Was the universe trying to mess with Katsuki or something?
“What the fuck? Why are you here?”
“Um… Kirishima texted me asking if I could come to the school gym to train with him.” Izuku scratches his head, confusion creeping into his expression as his gaze darts around the empty room. “He’s… not here?”
For a moment, Katsuki is speechless. So this was the ridiculous scheme Kirishima was up to earlier, huh?
“... Fucking hairs for brains asshole.”
He sighs, mumbles quietly to himself, then glances back at Izuku. The air between them hangs heavy and awkward. Ever since the incident in the common room, interactions between the two of them have felt stiff and strange.
He lets out another exhale.
“Shitty Hair is on a date. So, now what?”
“Huh? What? That’s…” Izuku tilts his head, confusion creeping into his voice. “Anyway… I already came all this way. I might as well train.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes at the nervousness in the other’s tone and turns back toward the punching bag. But just as he’s about to raise his hands again, he slowly drops them and tightens his lips, as if wrestling with himself.
Izuku waits quietly, unsure of what’s going on.
“… If you want, I can spar with you.”
For a moment, Izuku just blinks, as if not quite believing what he just heard. Then his emerald orbs light up with pure happiness. The nervousness drains away in an instant, and his face glows with excitement. Katsuki decides to ignore the tingling feeling blooming in his own chest.
“R-Really?! That’d be great! Thank you, Kacchan!”
One day, this idiot might honestly be the death of him.
“But… are you sure it’s okay?”
“What, my arm?” Katsuki growls as he stretches, warming up. The two of them stand facing each other, preparing to spar. “It’s nearly fully healed. Quit worrying over nothing.”
If this were back in first year, Katsuki would’ve screamed in Izuku’s face that he was fine and to stop looking down on him. But now… after realizing that what he’d mistaken for years as scorn was in reality concern and admiration, he knew better.
“Alright then. Let’s get started, Kacchan.”
Izuku tightens his arm once more, drops into a ready stance, hands raised in guard. Katsuki tilts his head slightly, a small smirk creeping up the corner of his lips at the determination glimmering in emerald eyes. His own form is different—a slight forward lean, center of gravity shifted forward, hands low but poised, piercing crimson eyes locking directly on his opponent.
They agreed not to use their quirks. Katsuki hasn’t gotten the all-clear to use his, and Izuku’s One For All was… well. He slightly closes his eyes and inhales once, now is not the time to be distracted.
The air between them tightens, straining like a wire. As in all their fights, Katsuki is always the first to make a move. His left hand balls into a fist and charges forward at the other’s face. Izuku gracefully pivots aside, narrowly avoiding it, then immediately counterattacks with a right hook toward Katsuki’s side. But the blond was already expecting it. Dropping to a crouch, he uses his elbow to block the attack. Without missing a beat, he sweeps his leg in a powerful arc, knocking Izuku off balance. While he staggers, trying to find his footing, Katsuki drops his center of gravity, turns his back toward him, and grasps his arm. With a strong pull forward and a twist of his hips, he uses his shoulder as a pivot and effortlessly throws the other boy over him.
Izuku’s body hangs in the air for a brief moment before slamming down hard against the mat. But he barely has a chance to gather himself when a decisive attack comes straight toward his face. At the very last moment, he tilts his head just enough to avoid a fist that slams right into the floor mere centimeters from him.
Katsuki raises an eyebrow as the person in front of him springs back up, but he has no intention of letting him counter attack. While Izuku is busy trying to find his balance, he drops his center of gravity and lunges forward, grabbing him by the hips and forcing them both down to the ground. Izuku lets out a small hiss as his back collides with the mat. The blond immediately straddles him, locking his thighs against Izuku’s torso. With one hand, he pins both of Izuku’s wrists above his head; with the other, he fixes his grip on Izuku’s head, his palm covering almost all of his face.
“Have you also been slacking off lately, shitnerd?”
Katsuki sneers between heavy breaths. His intense red eyes bore down into the person beneath him, waiting for a response while keeping him firmly in place, his body like a vice made of flesh and bone clamping down on the other.
Izuku is panting, struggling to fill his lungs. Katsuki’s gaze unintentionally traces the numerous scars marking his arms, gliding downward to his rapidly rise-and-fall chest, then to the adam's apple bobbing in his throat. The pulse beneath his fingertips is strong and rhythmic. Katsuki can feel it through the heated skin of Izuku’s slender yet firm wrist, through the hard muscle of his thighs, and in every searing breath that escapes his lips and ghosts Katsuki’s palm. The warmth of him rushes through Katsuki like a jolt of electricity, spreading to his joints, all the way up to his brain. He spent days dreaming about the single brush of Izuku’s hand against his own, but now when the boy’s body is all over him, his own heart feels as if it might explode.
It’s too much. Too much physical contact. Katsuki isn’t used to this.
But Katsuki knows that’s a lie, because the two of them have fought countless times under All Might’s guidance to train One For All. He’s gotten used to grappling, to having their bodies pressed close, their breaths mingling.
So… why does this feel different now? Why is his pulse skyrocketing, his grip faltering, his senses spinning in a way they hadn’t before? Why does that feeling of confusion, excitement, and almost yearning keep coming back to him when Izuku’s skin presses against his?
What is the meaning behind all this shitshow?
“K-Kacchan...”
Izuku’s voice trembles, each word battling its way past shaky, labored breaths. The way he whispered Katsuki’s name in a mixture of urgency and raw vulnerability makes his mind short-circuit. His whole body suddenly feels like it’s on fire, and his grip on the green-haired boy falters just a little.
In that rare moment of distraction from the blond, Izuku’s dazed green eyes suddenly glimmer with a spark of surprise and resolve. He gets what Izuku intended to do a second later, but it was already too late by then. Izuku’s body tightens, then twists sharply to the side. Caught off guard by the abrupt movement, Katsuki falls hard against the floor with a painful grunt, nearly losing his grip on him.
Seizing the opportunity, Izuku wrenches his wrists free from Katsuki’s loosening hands and immediately jumps on top of him, using his own weight to keep the other pinned. His hands grab Katsuki’s wrists and force them down against the mat, his strong thighs locking around Katsuki’s hips.
And Katsuki could only glare up at the boy above him.
Of course. Naturally this damn nerd would use Katsuki’s own techniques against him. After all, he has spent his whole life observing and imitating him. But… Katsuki doesn’t find it nearly as infuriating as it once would have been. And the realization terrifies the shit out of him.
The moment seems to draw out endlessly between them, until Izuku abruptly lets him go and jumps to his feet, a nervous red creeping up his face in a way that seems almost suspicious. Without the other’s weight on him, Katsuki can finally breathe again.
“I… I won, Kacchan.”
Izuku presses his lips into a shaky, awkward smile, deliberately avoiding Katsuki’s gaze. His cheeks are now a deep shade of red that reaches all the way up to his ears. His hand fidgets at the back of his head, while the other remains knotted in the hem of his shirt.
Katsuki remains on the ground for a while, quietly observing him. Finally, he clicks his tongue, muttering under his breath. “… Don’t get too cocky now, asshole.”
Izuku responds with another nervous smile in his direction. Before the blond could say another word, Izuku rushes over, grabs his belongings, and darts toward the door. Making up some shitty lie about being late to meet Icy Hot at the library, then he’s gone in an instant.
Katsuki remains staring at the training room’s wide-open door (the idiot didn’t even bother to close it) until the sounds of his departing footsteps fall silent in the corridor outside.
He sighs quietly, closes his eyes. He presses his forehead against his knees, a shaky hand grabbing a fistful of his sweaty hair. Fuck, his face is burning, too.
There’s definitely something fucking wrong with the both of them.
Izuku’s face is so hot he thinks he might actually explode.
He runs straight from the gym where they just sparred to the dorm, sprinting through the common room regardless of anyone who says hi, bursts open the door to his own room and unintentionally slams it behind his back. He jumps on the bed, burying his face into the pillow and screaming as loud as possible.
What on earth just happened me and Kacchan were just training like usual why did I run away all of a sudden like an idiot he must think there’s something seriously wrong with me but gosh when we were sparring why did he pin me down just to stare at me like that am I going crazy but the way he looked at me oh my god oh my god oh my godddd
He recalls the way Kacchan just needed one big and strong hand to grab both of his, and the way Kacchan’s palm covered almost all of his face and pin his head down. The way Kacchan smirked triumphantly as he looked down at Izuku. The way their bodies crashed and collided. The way Kacchan’s higher body temperature spread into Izuku’s.
Izuku screams into the pillow once more. He’s definitely gonna die of shame.
“Deku, do you have any plans for the summer break?”
“Hm, not yet. But I do plan to do some voluntary work for rehabilitation projects outside of Musutafu.”
“That sounds cool!”
Izuku gives Ochako a soft grin.
Several weeks have passed since that incident at the gym, and the summer break finally came. Today is 2A’s last day at school and all of them are busy packing up to go home. Though, they decided to do that in the common room so they could finish packing while discussing what to do this summer.
Izuku gives all the chattering friends around him a fond look. After everything they’ve been through, he feels happy that they could still smile through it all. This break is a well-deserved reward for all of them.
However, after emerald eyes finished scanning every familiar face in the room, he suddenly realized something strange.
Izuku raises his eyebrows, abruptly standing under his friends’ curious gaze. He quickly walks over to where Kirishima is clutching his stomach, laughing after something stupid Kaminari has just said. Noticing Izuku approach, Kirishima hastily wipes his tears and looks up at him.
“What’s up, Midoriya?”
“Uh… I just want to ask if you know where Kacchan is, Kirishima?” Izuku scratches the back of his head awkwardly, his voice hesitant. Green eyes dart around the room once more. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
At his words, Kirishima’s sharp eyes glimmer with something unnameable, though Izuku isn’t entirely sure what it means.
“Bakugou’s in his room. He just came back from a follow-up at the hospital so he might still be tired. Didn’t he say anything to you?” Kirishima answers with a casual smile. “Do you have something you want to tell him? I can pass it along.”
“Oh, oh no, that’s fine! Thanks for letting me know, Kirishima!”
Izuku quickly waves his hands at the unexpected offer, awkwardly smiling. He walks back to his seat, a creeping worry rising inside him.
He tries to recall if there’s ever been a time Katsuki comes back from the hospital so exhausted he stays in his room all afternoon, and the answer is no. Aizawa and Recovery Girl both assure him that Katsuki’s right hand won’t sustain any permanent damage once he finishes physical therapy, so the problem probably isn’t that. Could it be his heart that’s worsening…? No, if it were that, the doctors would definitely keep him at the hospital instead of letting him go.
Or maybe he’s just overthinking again. Maybe Katsuki’s simply tired after a long trip to the hospital and a bunch of tests, and just wants to sleep.
Even so, Izuku can’t shake the unease rising in his chest. Ever since the battle, he’s been like this whenever Katsuki disappears from his sight. And though their relationship is in such a strange place, not a day passes where he isn’t overly concerned with Katsuki’s recovery. Even now, despite his sessions with the UA counselor, he still often has nightmares about the moment Katsuki lies collapsed on the battlefield, in a pool of his own blood.
Even before that moment, Izuku knows how much Katsuki means to him. He’s like half of Izuku’s own soul, the only constant in a life of upheaval. He can’t imagine a world without Kacchan, and he wishes he’ll never know a life without him.
So when he saw with his own eyes, the boy he loved with everything he had, the boy who was the embodiment of victory, the boy who was his only north star in the night sky—lying motionless on the ground, his chest pierced and still, those once-blazing eyes dulled and empty; Izuku can only stand frozen, eyes wide, feet rooted to the spot.
After the battle, he thinks he’ll truly die if he has to relive that moment again. But the world doesn’t seem to care. He still breathes, even though he lives that moment a hundred times over every time he closes his eyes. Each time he jerks awake in the middle of the night with his shirt drenched in sweat and tears streaking down his face. Luckily, UA loosens the class schedule so students have time to recover both physically and mentally, giving him some space to settle himself after countless long, sleepless nights.
Izuku’s doctor tells him the best way to stop the nightmares is to face their source head-on. In other words: Katsuki. He’s advised to talk openly with him, or simply spend more time at his side so the fear of losing him can fade away. But that’s easier said than done, especially when Katsuki himself seems to be avoiding him.
Normally, after going through life-and-death together, people grow closer, right? Yet, there always seems to be an invisible wall between Izuku and Katsuki, built from the words they can’t bring themselves to say. And only when one of them finds the courage to speak their truth will that distance disappear.
Maybe it’s time for Izuku to be the one to do it.
Everyone finishes packing up and says their goodbyes. Izuku alone stays behind, waving and smiling at each of his friends. When the last one leaves the dorm, he closes the common room door.
The space around him falls silent. No more laughter, no more chatter, no more hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway. Just rumbling thunder outside. Izuku looks at the sky darkening beyond the window, quietly hoping it won’t rain too hard by the time he heads home.
He thinks about going up to Katsuki’s room but decides to wait for him downstairs instead. If he’s really resting, Izuku doesn’t want to disturb him. And besides, something makes him hesitate at the thought of being alone with Katsuki in his room in an empty dorm. Has he even stepped into Katsuki’s room before? They’re not close enough to just drop by and chat.
Thinking about it now, even though their relationship has improved a lot since entering UA and Katsuki has silently accepted him as a friend, they’ve never really done the kinds of things friends usually do together.
Have they ever hung out, aside from when they were little? Ever played games together (he remembers how they used to compete for the highest scores in All Might: Smash! and All Might Rush and gives a small, bitter laugh)? Have they ever trained together without All Might’s supervision (aside from the most recent time, when he originally planned to train with Kirishima)? Have they ever studied together? Or just simply talking without punching each other black and blue?
No.
Katsuki and Izuku are still rivals rather than friends . And deep down, Izuku knows he can never be a close friend to Katsuki like Kirishima or Kaminari. He doesn’t share anything in common with his friends. With their complicated and tangled history, he doesn’t expect much either.
Yet, the two of them are always ready to risk their lives for each other. And no one understands Katsuki the way Izuku does, and vice versa.
Why is that?
For Izuku, it’s obvious. He’s always willing to sacrifice everything to save Katsuki, be it in past or present. But what about Katsuki? He still doesn’t understand why Katsuki takes that fatal blow for him during the fight with Shigaraki. When did Katsuki stop hating him? Why, on the day Class 1-A tries to bring him back to UA, did he bow his head in the pouring rain he hated so much to apologize? Why did he tear up when he heard Izuku lost One For All? Why does he want to compete with him for the rest of their lives?
The more he thinks about it, the less Izuku understands. He has accepted the fact that Katsuki will never look his way for a long time. But suddenly, Katsuki decides to stop treating him badly and allows him to stand as an equal. It isn’t fair at all. Does he know how much even the smallest of his actions affect Izuku this much?
Izuku no longer knows what Katsuki wants from him.
He shakes his head. Thinking about it is useless. He’ll have the chance to ask him later.
So Izuku waits. Sometimes he stands up to glance out the window at the sky, or checks his phone for messages from friends. By the time the sky outside has turned pitch black and he’s on the verge of dozing off on the sofa, footsteps echo down the stairs.
“Nerd?”
He startles at the sudden voice, quickly turning his head toward the speaker. Katsuki stands at the foot of the stairs, wearing his familiar skull-print T-shirt and long pants. His usually scowling face is softened by traces of drowsiness and exhaustion. He raises his brows when he sees Izuku, clearly not expecting him to still be here.
“Kacchan…! Did you just wake up?”
Those deep-red eyes fix on him, unreadable. Katsuki only sighs and walks over to the sofa, dropping down on the far end, well away from Izuku.
“Yeah. You’re still here?”
“I heard Kacchan just came back from the hospital, so before I left, I wanted to check on you.” Izuku lets out an awkward laugh. “Lately… we haven’t really talked much, have we?”
Silence. He swallows. Did he say something wrong? When Katsuki still doesn’t respond, he sneaks a glance at him.
Katsuki is already staring straight at him. One brow lifts, suspicion etched on his face. Finally, he answers, his voice flat. “Only a check-up. Nothing’s wrong with me. Just ran into a bunch of clingy reporters on the way back asking stupid questions.”
Izuku nods. So that’s why Katsuki’s tired… he worries for nothing. “Have you finished packing yet? Want me to help?”
“No. I’m done.” Katsuki seems surprised by the sudden offer, a flicker of amusement sparking in his eyes. “Besides, my folks are away on business until tomorrow, so I’m going back in the morning. I already got Mr. Aizawa’s permission to stay the night.”
“Oh, I see.”
Izuku rubs the back of his head with an awkward smile. He’d been planning to go home with Katsuki since their houses are near each other and using the chance to talk. Sure, he could start the conversation right here and now, but the fear gnawing at him keeps his mouth shut.
Would Katsuki think he’s weird for being haunted not by the villains he’s fought but by Katsuki’s death? Feeling guilty about a friend’s death isn’t shameful, Izuku knows that. But a long time has passed since the battle, why is he still the only one shaken by it? When even Katsuki’s closest friends don’t seem weighed down?
But then again, none of them caused his death, right?
Izuku has imagined that scene a thousand times, tormenting himself with regret until he can’t sleep at night. If only he’d paid closer attention and dodged Toga Himiko’s sneak attack, Katsuki wouldn’t have died and the other heroes wouldn’t have been so badly hurt. If he came just a little bit sooner, moved a little faster, none of those things would have happened and he wouldn’t get tortured by these regret, guilt and haunting nightmares.
If he tells Katsuki, Katsuki would probably sneer at him, calling him a loser for excruciating himself over something long past. After all, Katsuki has always been someone who looks forward, not behind.
And Izuku’s afraid… afraid his feelings about Katsuki will spill out if he confesses everything. He knows the blond will never return this pathetic love, so maybe it’s better to stay silent.
So Izuku hesitates even more.
“Kirishima said you had something to tell me. Spit it out.”
Katsuki suddenly speaks, impatience edging his tone. Izuku timidly turns his head, only to almost jump when he realizes Katsuki has moved closer without him noticing.
“H-Huh? No…! I just asked him where you were because I didn’t see you when everyone was packi—”
“Bullshit.” Katsuki clicks his tongue irritably, tilting his head like he’s trying to read Izuku’s thoughts. “I know you. That self-sacrificial habit of carrying everything yourself to protect others makes me fucking sick. You think I’m too fragile to handle whatever you’ve got to say?”
“... No, you know that’s not true, Kacchan.” Izuku is startled by the other’s defensiveness, immediately trying to explain. “It’s just… I’m scared. I don’t know where our relationship stands, and I don’t want to cross the line.”
At that, Katsuki stares at him. Izuku swallows under the weight of those sharp eyes.
“What do you mean?” Katsuki’s voice drops low, each word pressed like he’s holding back something deep inside. “What does our relationship have to do with what you want to say?”
“I-I don’t know,” Izuku stammers. “Maybe I’m scared that if I say the wrong thing…”
“You thought I’d leave, or hate you again, or some crap like that, right?”
zuku’s eyes fly wide. How does he know exactly what he’s thinking? But before the question can escape his lips, Katsuki suddenly pushes to his feet. Izuku’s heart stutters, pounding harder with every step Katsuki takes toward him, until he’s standing right in front of him. Katsuki leans down, breath searing against Izuku’s skin, one rough hand tilting his chin upward. The touch is startlingly gentle—a stark contrast with the blaze burning in those blood-red eyes. A shiver runs through Izuku’s spine.
“Izuku.”
He never thought his own name could sound so intoxicating until it left Katsuki’s lips.
“Stay the night.”
Izuku doesn’t think “nervous” is nearly enough to describe how he feels right now.
He trails after Katsuki step by step up the stairs, unease gnawing at him with every breath. When Katsuki told him to come up to his room so they could “talk,” Izuku’s mind went blank, and his mouth agreed before he even realized it.
He knows Katsuki just wants to have a serious, straightforward conversation, so they can finally get comfortable around each other again. Nothing more, nothing less. And yet, Izuku’s heart keeps hammering like it’s expecting something else.
Neither of them says a word until they stop in front of Katsuki’s door. After walking through the empty halls, Izuku feels more aware than ever that it’s just the two of them here, completely alone.
Katsuki opens the door in silence, steps aside, and holds it open for him. Izuku mutters a quiet thank you and slips inside, wide eyes drinking in the space like he’s trying to memorize every detail in this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Just as he expected, Katsuki’s room is minimalist and spotless. Pale gray walls, not a single poster or picture except for a clock. The closet doors are shut tight, the shoe rack perfectly lined by the entrance. The bed is neatly made, not a wrinkle on the sheets or pillows. Still, Izuku notices the limited edition All Might Golden Age keychain dangling beside the closet key, and his lips twitch upward. No matter how tough Katsuki acts, he’s just as much of a diehard All Might fan as Izuku is.
The air holds a faint, acrid tang, like the leftover sting of an explosion. Aside from the bed and the desk by the window, the room is practically empty. Izuku’s eyes land on the suitcase in the corner—just like Katsuki said, everything’s already packed.
“Sit down. Don’t just stand there like an idiot.”
That impatient voice snaps Izuku back to reality. His cheeks warm as he realizes he’s been staring at Katsuki’s room like some kind of creep. Quickly, he perches on the edge of the bed under Katsuki’s sharp gaze, knees pressed together, hands folded stiffly in his lap.
Katsuki frowns at his rigid posture but lets out a sigh instead of complaining. He sits beside Izuku, not too close but not too far either.
“You planning to sit like that till morning?” His voice rumbles again, rough but lacking the usual bite. Izuku can’t help but wonder why.
“I just… uh, I don’t know where to start.”
“Then spit out whatever’s on your mind.”
Izuku takes the advice to heart.
“Kacchan… do you hate me?”
“… That’s the first thing that comes to mind?”
Izuku laughs weakly. “No, it’s just… I’ve always believed you hated me. Maybe after we got into UA, and after you found out about my secret with All Might, you started tolerating me a little more. But I still think Kacchan hat—”
“Even after I took a hit for you against Shigaraki?” Katsuki cuts him off, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. “Even after I apologized?”
“I-It’s just… it still feels too unreal. And honestly, I don’t understand why you did those things, Kacchan.” Izuku lowers his gaze, voice cautious. “Since when did you… start caring about me?”
“You really need me to spell it out for you, huh?” Katsuki exhales sharply. “No, Izuku. I don’t hate you. I hate the way you make me feel. Remember what All Might said back at Ground Beta? About my feelings toward you?”
“… That I admire you, while you’re afraid of my heart?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how the hell he knew, but that’s exactly how I felt. I was scared of you, because ever since we were kids, a weak, useless brat like you always acted more like a hero than anyone else. I twisted that into contempt, like you were looking down on me, so I pushed you away and… bullied you.”
Silence stretches between them.
“But now, my eyes are open. Especially after that speech at Ground Beta—how to you, I’m the ‘embodiment of victory.’” Katsuki tilts his head toward him, lips quivering in mockery.
Izuku’s face burns hot with the memory.
“I was serious about that—”
“Yeah, I know.” Katsuki rolls his eyes. “So that’s settled, right?”
Izuku nods. Katsuki continues.
“So, what else do you want to talk ab—”
“Then… we’re friends now, right?”
Katsuki frowns, ready to snap at being interrupted, but when he sees Izuku’s wide, hopeful eyes, he falls silent.
“… Yeah.” He sighs, relenting. “If that’s what you want.”
Izuku beams, eyes crinkling shut like crescent moons. All the tension and hesitation from before vanishes. Happiness swells in his chest until his throat tightens with a choked sound.
“… Oi, idiot, are you seriously fucking crying right now?”
“I-It’s Kacchan’s fault.”
Katsuki snorts, smirking, while Izuku wipes at the tears streaming down his cheeks. The smile on his lips doesn’t fade. It takes him a few minutes to calm down.
“I want to talk about what happened in the war.”
Katsuki nods, waiting. Izuku takes a deep breath, steels himself, and turns fully to face him. His green eyes lock onto Katsuki’s, surprising him with their sudden determination.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hah? For what?”
“For not being able to save you.”
Katsuki’s brows draw tight, but before he can argue, Izuku keeps going.
“Don’t say it wasn’t my fault. That wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been late. I should’ve been more aware of my surroundings instead of relying on Danger Sense—”
“Izuku.” Katsuki cuts in. “Ever since the war ended… you’ve been tormenting yourself over my death?”
Izuku bites his lip, fists clenched tight on his knees.
“It happened because of that fucking asshole, not because of you. Stop dumping all the blame on yourself. You’re only human, not a damn god. Someday, you’ll have to accept that you can’t save everyone. And I’m no exception.”
The silence that follows weighs heavy. Izuku finally looks up, meeting Katsuki’s eyes. There’s no trace of a lie in that crimson gaze. His lips part, voice small, like a confession.
“To this day, I still dream about the moment when you’re… gone.”
The words escape him before he can stop them. His lungs seize, air refusing to come in. Things he’s never dared say to Katsuki spill out as naturally as breathing, and something shifts in Katsuki’s eyes at the confession.
“It’s always the same dream,” Izuku whispers, softer than the wind. “I—I tried to fly back to UA as fast as I could, but when I got there… you were already—”
His eyes squeeze shut, and the image crashes over him again: Katsuki lying motionless on the ground, chest pierced through, those fiery red eyes empty and lifeless. Rain poured down his pale face like endless tears. His eyes snap open, pupils shrinking. Breath comes in short, ragged gasps. His chest tightens, heart thrashing. Cold sweat beads at his nape, palms, and brow. The world around him fades into a distant hum, and all he can hear is the ringing prison inside his own mind.
Katsuki reacts instantly.
He leans forward, grabbing Izuku’s trembling hand and pressing it firmly to his chest, right over his pounding heart.
“Breathe with me, Izuku.” His voice is steady, yet pleading. “I’m right here. You feel that?”
Izuku lets out a shaky exhale, eyes wet as he shuts them again—this time to focus on the stable beat beneath his palm. The warmth of Katsuki’s body and the rhythm of his heart slowly anchor him back to the present. He remembers his therapist’s advice, breathing in deep, out slow, again and again until his pulse steadies.
And then, he realizes Katsuki's heart is racing too.
Izuku frowns faintly, about to ask, but Katsuki beats him to it.
“How long has this been happening?”
Izuku can’t meet his eyes. “Since after the war.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Anger tightens Katsuki’s face, but his voice stays measured, careful not to push Izuku further. “Let me guess, your dumbass friends don’t know either, right? The only one who does is your therapist, ‘cause you had a panic attack during therapy, huh?”
“… How did you guess that?”
“I know you, damn nerd.” Katsuki sighs. “Izuku, listen. Getting taken down was my own fucking fault. I knew exactly what could happen if I went at Shigaraki head-on, but I still did it. Because I wanted to win. Because I wanted to prove I could keep up with you. But I wasn’t strong enough. That’s why I ended up… dead.”
Izuku shudders at the word, and Katsuki notices. His grip tightens around Izuku’s hand, grounding him.
“But guess what? I fucking survived. And I didn’t come back to life just to watch you tear yourself apart over me.”
Izuku stares at their joined hands, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. Has Katsuki ever touched him so gently before? He’s certain the answer is no. Their contact has always been shoves, punches, rough grabs.
When he finally looks up, he realizes how close they are. Their knees brush, and he can feel Katsuki’s breath ghosting against his skin.
A memory flashes—of the gym, Katsuki pinning his wrists with one hand, body pressing close—
Izuku’s face erupts in heat. What the hell is he thinking?
“Um, that scar… it must be huge, right?”
He blurts it out louder than necessary, flustered. Katsuki doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he does and just ignores it. His concerned eyes stay fixed on Izuku, his voice comes low, even.
“Of course. That bastard almost blew a hole through my chest.”
“Can I… see it?”
The words slip out before Izuku can stop them. He freezes, stumbling over his explanation.
“I-I didn’t mean anything weird! I’m just… curious, that’s all! I mean, it must be pretty big, right? Haha… But if you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to! I-I’m really sor—”
His voice trails off, cheeks flaming, hands flailing like he can wave away the awkwardness.
Katsuki stares at him for a beat, lips twitching like he’s torn between cursing and laughing. Finally, he smirks, a familiar edge curling his mouth while his eyes glint with amusement. His voice drips with mocking drawl, savoring Izuku’s flustered panic.
“Perverted nerd.”
“Kacchan!!!”
Izuku practically yells, slapping his burning face with both hands. Katsuki bursts into laughter, the hard lines of his face softening. The smile fades as quickly as it came, and he tugs at the hem of his shirt.
“Take a good look. Might not get another chance.”
Before Izuku can stop him, Katsuki yanks his shirt off and tosses it aside without hesitation.
The sight knocks the breath right out of Izuku.
The soft light of the room spills over pale skin, marked by countless old wounds. Hard, defined muscles earned from years of training run from his shoulders down to stomach, and even the smallest movement makes Izuku swallow hard. He stands tall, shoulders broad, collarbones cut clean. His chest is firm, solid, split by a dark, jagged scar at its center. Scars of every size scatter across his torso, etched into muscle like unforgiving reminders. Yet they don’t diminish his beauty. If anything, they make him even more devastatingly beautiful.
Izuku has seen Katsuki’s naked body hundreds of times in locker rooms and communal baths. But those stolen, guilty glances in the company of others can’t compare to this—in a sealed room, just the two of them, face to face. Katsuki’s bare body is his alone to admire.
And the boy is so breathtaking that Izuku forgets to breathe.
He can’t help but inch closer, his green eyes, bright as morning dew clinging to leaves, greedily tracing every line of Katsuki’s form. His heart twists with every scar, each one a reminder of pain he knows all too well. But above all else, he feels gratitude. Gratitude that Katsuki is still alive, still here beside him, and that he is allowed to witness the masterpiece that is Bakugou Katsuki.
His gaze lingers, unspoken plea in his eyes. Under the weight of it, a faint blush rises on Katsuki’s cheeks. With a quiet sigh, the blond seizes Izuku’s hand and presses it against his chest, right where his heart is thundering harder than ever. Izuku jolts at the sudden gesture, eyes flicking up to him as though searching for an answer. But those crimson eyes, overflowing with longing, hold nothing except Izuku’s reflection.
The moment Izuku’s clammy hand meets the burning heat of Katsuki’s bare chest, they both flinch. His face flames red, and he pauses, drawing in a shaky breath just to steady himself.
Katsuki’s body feels like an open book waiting to be read line by line. Izuku’s hand moves slowly across his skin, tracing the scars scattered on the blond’s frame. His trembling fingers outline each mark, as if engraving every detail of Katsuki into memory. Katsuki’s bare body is hot to the point of searing, his heat spilling into Izuku until his own skin burns in response. And for a fleeting second, Izuku wonders. Is it Katsuki’s quirk doing this to him, or something else entirely?
Izuku’s hand lingers on the large, dark scar at the center of Katsuki’s chest, nearly spanning its entire breadth. This was the wound that once stole his life, the proof of how close he had come to death. Izuku’s fingertips tremble as he holds them there longer than he should, feeling the steady heartbeat pulsing beneath rough skin.
He moves on, tracing the twisted, sunken scars at Katsuki’s left shoulder and lower right abdomen, as if the flesh there had been carved away. These are the ones that weigh most heavily on him, the reason he chose to leave UA and fight on his own. He remembers the nights spent on rooftops of the few intact buildings among ruined cities, rain pouring in sheets, when he would force himself to rest for just a moment during the endless pursuit of convicts. Yet every time he closed his eyes, he saw Katsuki taking the fatal blow meant for him. Again and again, until Izuku stopped letting himself rest at all because he was afraid that if he slowed down even for a bit, the villains or All For One’s underlings would slip from his reach and hurt Katsuki, and anyone else.
His hand drifts lower, following the hard lines of Katsuki’s body, skimming over smaller scars—slashes and scratches scattered like rough adornments across that sculpted frame. Most of them, he can guess, came from the battle in Otheon.
But what draws him most is Katsuki’s right arm, covered in a web of scars that weave from wrist to shoulder. Looking at them makes Izuku think of his own arms and the wounds he’s carrying there. He remembers the doctor's warning that Katsuki’s right arm might be permanently disabled, and yet he also remembers the way Katsuki has fought on, body straining, with his dominant hand shattered beyond recognition.
A tear slips from Izuku’s eye before he even realizes it.
“What the hell are you crying for now?”
Izuku chokes on a sob. “... I’m sorry.”
“Hah?” Katsuki tilts his head, confusion cutting through his rough tone, though worry is written plainly on his scowling face.
“Y-Your scars. I didn’t realize there were so many.” Izuku hurriedly wipes at the stream of tears slipping down his cheeks. “If I hadn’t been late—”
“Not this crap again.” Katsuki cuts him off, his voice sharp but not angry, just weary. “I fucking told you already, it’s not your fault. I ended up like this because of my own damn carelessness, and I don’t regret a thing. Not one bit.”
“I just… I just wish I could’ve taken these scars for you instead.”
Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. His large hand rises, settling against Izuku’s messy green hair, fingers threading gently through the strands as if to soothe him.
“I don’t need that shit. Besides, don’t you already have enough scars yourself? You literally break your own bones every damn day.” His voice grows hoarse, softening just a fraction. “And you’re here. With me. That’s enough.”
Izuku bites his lip, trying to hold back the sob clawing its way up his throat. His hand drifts along the ridges of Katsuki’s muscular arm, tracing each jagged scar embedded into the calloused skin.
He can hardly believe Katsuki is letting him do this. Wasn’t he the one who hated being touched? Izuku knows how easily he snaps when someone lays a hand on him, even closest ones like Kirishima or Kaminari. So why is Katsuki letting Izuku of all people touch him?
“Izuku.”
His stomach flips when his name leaves Katsuki’s lips. The voice is low, rough, heavy with something Izuku doesn’t dare name. Hesitant green eyes lift to meet crimson, and his heart almost stops in his chest.
Izuku can picture those eyes no matter when he is writhing in pain or fast asleep. That burning red has seared itself into his soul, setting fire to the heart that thrashes wildly in his chest. He’s loved those eyes since they were only kids. In Izuku’s memory, those fiery, unyielding eyes were always fixed straight ahead, burning with the hunger to win, never once looking back, never letting anything ordinary into their sight.
But now, they aren’t searing flames. Not anymore.
That red glows softer, reminding Izuku of fireflies flickering under the summer moon, or sunlight breaking through a passing rain. Katsuki has never been one for words, so he pours everything into his gaze instead. And Izuku—being the only one who can read the storm of emotion inside those crimson depths—loves them with a pain so sharp it steals his breath.
Those eyes don’t lie. And their unspoken confession is so clear it sends fresh tears spilling down Izuku’s cheeks.
Before he can say a word, Katsuki moves. Izuku yelps softly as strong arms wrap tight around his waist, caging him against a body that radiates heat. His own arms fly up instinctively around Katsuki’s neck, his whole body locking stiff for a heartbeat. And they’re face to face, close enough their noses almost touch, Katsuki’s breath stirs the fine hairs by Izuku’s temple, and a shiver races down his spine.
He realizes he’s sitting on Katsuki’s lap. And the thought alone freezes his brain.
“This. Off.”
The words snap through the air. Izuku blinks, not sure if he’s awake or dreaming. His wide eyes search Katsuki’s face, his heart pounding like a drum.
“W-What?!”
“Your shirt,” Katsuki growls, each word sharp as an order. His hand is already sliding up beneath the fabric, rough palm skimming brazenly along Izuku’s spine. “Off.”
Izuku chokes on his breath. In an instant, his mind flashes with the wildest, most impossible scenarios, and his face ignites, ears burning hot as if they might explode.
“H-Huh?! Kacchan—what are you—”
He jerks his arms back, trying to push Katsuki away, but Katsuki doesn’t budge. The grip at his waist only tightens, hauling him closer until their bodies press flush together. Izuku reels from the contact, from the crushing heat of him, every nerve sparking like a live wire. He drags in a shaky breath to steady himself, but it only makes things worse because Katsuki’s scent, sweet and sharp like burnt caramel, fills his lungs and unravels him completely.
Katsuki rolls his eyes at Izuku’s petrified expression. With a flash of impatience, he grabs the hand resting on his chest and lifts it to his lips while Izuku just sits there frozen, eyes wide in disbelief.
Katsuki lowers his head, cradling the scarred hand that is more marked than his own, as though it were something fragile. His lips brush the back of Izuku’s hand in a silent kiss. His thumb traces the veins, his long fingers trailing carefully over each knuckle.
Every touch of Katsuki’s calloused yet startlingly gentle hands makes Izuku’s mind spin. He’s thankful they’re both sitting on the bed because if they were standing, he’s sure his knees would have given out by now. He’s never once felt ashamed of his scars; they’re proof of his efforts, of his survival through countless battles where death was inches away. But he’s never thought of them as anything beautiful either. Never believed they were worthy of being touched with so much reverence and tenderness, as if every old wound deserved even more love than unbroken skin.
He doesn’t understand why Katsuki is treating him so carefully, so softly. Or maybe the better question is why Katsuki is touching him at all. Is this some petty revenge because Izuku had dared to touch him first…?
Katsuki’s eyes flick up, and Izuku flinches under the intensity of his gaze. The corner of his mouth curls at the reaction before he suddenly bares his teeth and bites down on Izuku’s index finger, drawing a yelp of pain. Immediately after, he presses a fleeting kiss to the spot as a whisper of an apology.
His voice comes low against Izuku’s skin.
“Don’t you fucking dare faint on me, nerd. I’m not done with you yet.”
Izuku swears to god he’s going to actually die right now.
Katsuki tugs at the back of his shirt again, this time waiting in silence. Izuku swallows hard, throat dry. Bowing his head, his trembling hands catch the hem of his shirt.
Slowly, he lifts it up over his stomach, his chest—until pale skin covered in scars comes into view. There are more of them than on Katsuki, though most are clustered along his arms. Even before the final battle, his arms had long since been carved up from pushing himself past every limit. And now, after the wounds from Shigaraki’s fight have healed, they’ve left behind thick, twisting scars, like roots branching beneath his skin. They crawl from the backs of his hands, coil up his wrists, and wind all the way to his shoulders.
The shirt slips to the side, falling away like Izuku’s last barrier. His hands hover awkwardly before dropping to his sides, fingers clenching the sheets in tension. He doesn’t dare look at Katsuki’s face. Instead, he fixes his gaze on the window, heart hammering in his chest.
The rain has started to fall. Heavy droplets strike the glass, drumming out a weighted rhythm. Night has swallowed most of the world beyond the window, but if Izuku squints hard enough, he can still make out the shapes of raindrops streaming down in relentless sheets.
And then, without warning, Katsuki reaches for him. His fingers find a long scar running along the inside of Izuku’s left arm, a deep gash that had needed more than a few stitches after the final battle.
The touch makes Izuku shiver, his focus snapping back wholly to the boy in front of him. Noticing the tension in his body, Katsuki’s other hand seeks out the one clutching at the bedsheets. His hotter palm is rough and steady, covering it, coaxing him to relax. His thumb strokes over Izuku’s sweaty skin, tracing down to where his pulse hammers at his wrist.
It takes Izuku a moment to realize the warmth seeping into his skin is Katsuki’s quirk. Like live embers smoldering against his palm. With that realization comes a flood of memories: the searing pain of burns throughout his childhood, the haunting sound of sharp crackles of explosions in the air, the sight of red eyes blazing with scorn, the sound of his shirt, his skin tearing under the heat.
His throat tightens with an old, reflexive ache.
But the hand holding his squeezes gently, grounding him. The heat in his skin no longer burns; it’s clumsy, careful, almost tender, carrying no intention but comfort. And when Izuku looks up, the red in Katsuki’s eyes holds no malice. Only a quiet yearning, like a flame flickering stubbornly in the dead of winter.
“Hey, c’mon. Look at me.”
Katsuki’s voice drops to a whisper, as though confessing something only Izuku is allowed to hear. His hand comes up to Izuku’s cheek, wiping away a tear even he hasn’t noticed falling. The other hand brings Izuku’s scarred palm to his lips again, pressing a kiss into its center.
“If you’re not comfortable with this, we can stop.”
Izuku’s heart surges, swelling so violently with everything he feels for this boy that it’s almost painful, like it’s going to burst right out of his chest.
The next moment, he doesn’t think at all. His body just moves on its own, seizing what it wants. He closes the last of the already too small space between them, throwing his arms around Katsuki with one hand threads into the soft ash blond hair, and the other rests at the back of his neck.
Their lips brush together, natural like breathing.
Obviously, Izuku doesn’t know how to kiss. And he guesses Katsuki doesn’t either, judging by the way he goes completely stiff at Izuku’s reckless move. Their lips press together, tight and awkward, lingering there far too long without really moving. Yet even that is enough to turn Izuku’s body to mush, his head spinning wildly. Katsuki doesn’t react, and that only makes Izuku panic even more. Their breaths tangle, ragged and uneven. Izuku dares to crack his eyes open, and nearly jumps when he finds those crimson eyes staring right back while open wide, pupils blown.
Izuku’s heart sinks, convinced he’s crossed a line. But right when he’s about to pull away, the arm cinched around his waist tightens, dragging him closer into Katsuki’s chest. Their bare torsos press flush, and Izuku accidentally lets out a soft whine into the kiss. The humiliating noise burns his face.
And then, at that very moment, Katsuki moves.
He’s hesitant at first, as if unsure how to even do this. But then he tilts his head, slowly tasting Izuku’s lips, and Izuku swears he feels Katsuki’s entire body shiver.
If Izuku claimed he'd never imagined this, he’d be lying. In his wildest fantasies, he’d like to think that Katsuki kisses his partner with fire and fury, with tongues tangling and hands roaming without pause. He imagines Katsuki kissing like he means to consume, with his mouth fierce and unrelenting, as explosive as the boy himself.
But reality is nothing like that.
Katsuki’s kiss is gentle. Careful. Like a lingering brush. His one hand still anchors around Izuku’s waist, caging him in; while the other finds Izuku’s face, thumb brushing away stray tears, stroking his cheek as though to soothe away all the doubt and pain. Katsuki kisses him like he’s made of fragile porcelain. He kisses him as if he wants to carve every second deep into memory.
He kisses Izuku for the first time, as if it might be the last.
Maybe it would’ve been easier if Izuku had never known Katsuki’s touch. Because right this moment, in this second, the electricity sparking through his brain every time lips catch and rough hands graze skin is the only thing keeping him from crumbling apart. And yet, at the same time, Izuku has no idea how he’s managed to live this long without it. He needs Katsuki’s warmth pressed to him like he needs air to breathe, like blood running through his veins. Like a wanderer in the desert desperate for an oasis. Like withered grass aching for a summer storm.
Izuku must be the luckiest person alive to be kissed this way by Bakugou Katsuki himself. He’s always thought of himself as generous, but he doesn’t think he could ever share these touches, these breathless kisses, or the smoldering look in those crimson eyes that only ever hold him.
Only Katsuki could turn Izuku into someone this selfish.
Their lips part soundlessly. Katsuki’s red eyes and pink lips look a shade darker. His hand still tilts Izuku’s chin up with a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. Izuku’s sure his own face is about to burst into flames. How could Kacchan always look so damn hot?
“Never thought you had the balls.”
Izuku’s lips part but words don’t come, his face blushes violently. Katsuki’s hand keeps him still, forcing him to meet that blazing gaze. There’s no escaping it, or the torrent of emotions rising in his chest.
Katsuki brushes his thumb along the corner of Izuku’s mouth, eyes full of something raw and intense, something he doesn’t dare name. When he speaks again, the teasing edge is gone. His voice is quieter this time, delicate in a way only Izuku ever gets to hear.
“You’re okay with this?”
Izuku blinks up at him. And in that fleeting moment, all the fear and hesitation drain away. The answer slips out of him as naturally as breathing.
“I just want to be with you, Kacchan. No matter what that means.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Surprise, doubt, weakness, or maybe all of them. Izuku doesn’t have time to figure it out before Katsuki leans in again, crushing their mouths together in a kiss much deeper and hungrier. And in that instant, Izuku realizes he doesn’t want to breathe unless the air filling his lungs comes from Katsuki’s lips.
When they finally pull apart, both are gasping for air. Their foreheads stay pressed together, the bridges of their noses brushing softly. Izuku lets his eyes fall shut, feeling every hot breath from the other ghost across his skin, the burn of Katsuki’s hand gripping his hip, the slow drag of his thumb tracing lazy circles along his cheek.
He opens his eyes when he feels Katsuki suddenly go stiff, voice low with concern.
Izuku manages a shaky, “Kacchan? What’s wrong?”
Katsuki’s gaze drops, and his voice comes out low, rough.
“... Never been a big fan of this scar.”
”Why? Because it’s on my face?”
“Fuck no.” Katsuki snarls, as if offended that the other even thought of that. “This might sound stupid, but, uh, it kinda looks like a stream of tears.”
“Well, yours looks like a heartbeat line.”
“What the fuck is a heartbeat line? It’s called an electrocardiogram dumbass.”
“Wha—And you called me a nerd!”
“Because you are a shitnerd!”
“Mean.”
“That’s my charm. But still, how did you get this one?”
“Honestly, I don’t even remember. Why do you hate it though?”
“Tch, of course you don’t.” Katsuki snorts. “Why huh, ‘cause you lost the freckles on this side.”
“Really? That’s why?” Izuku cackles. “I read somewhere that freckles can grow back, I’m not sure if it’s true though.”
“They better will.”
“Why? Kacchan likes them that much?”
Izuku says it as a joke, but Katsuki’s thumb brushes the faint scar on his cheek again, tracing it with such care it almost hurts.
“I do.”
Izuku almost chokes on air. “You’re kinda unfair, you know that?”
“How the hell am I unfair?”
“Because you say things like that and expect me not to lose my mind.”
“Oh? Is that a challenge?”
Izuku’s throat goes dry. “That’s not—”
“Y’know I never back down from one.”
Katsuki’s lips curl into a crooked grin. He leans in again, places a chaste kiss on the side of Izuku’s face, right on the jagged skin of his huge scar. The hand placed on the other’s cheek slips to the damp spot at the back of his neck, softly tangling the hair there; while the other one slowly lowers Izuku to lie on the bed. He doesn’t even get the chance to relax as Katsuki’s burning mouth starts to press lower. His lips trail a small scar on Izuku’s shoulder, then a long one across his arm.
“You’re shaking.” Katsuki mutters.
“Kacchan’s fault.” Izuku breathes, his voice trembling as much as his body.
“Good.” The blond smirks.
He keeps going. The next kiss lands on Izuku’s wrist, right where his pulse thrums fast and frantically beneath the surface. Then another on the inside of his forearm, tracing a thin, silvery line that once split the skin there. His hands roam boldly, leaving Izuku’s body scorching after even the faintest touch. The rain behind the window has quieted to a whisper, the world outside reduced to faint patters against the glass; while Izuku’s world narrows to nothing but the deliberate glide of Katsuki’s soft lips over his rough skin.
By the time Katsuki reaches the scars scattered across Izuku’s torso, he feels like he really needs to speak up before things, uh, escalate.
“Kacchan, if you keep doing this, I might, um…”
His crimson eyes glance up to meet him in confusion. But then suddenly, they widen in realization and amusement, immediately flick down below. And Izuku wishes he could find a hole to bury himself in.
“Damn, you like it that much huh?”
Izuku covers his face with both hands, voice muffled. “Let’s just go to sleep, okay…?”
Katsuki chuckles, the sound vibrating against Izuku’s skin as he presses one last kiss to his chest.
“Sure, I guess this is enough for today. Wouldn’t want your nerdy ass to pass out on me.”
“... Wasn’t gonna.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes, tugging the blanket over them both. He settles beside Izuku, the mattress dipping under his weight. Izuku shifts slightly, trying to calm the rapid beat of his heart as a calloused hand finds his waist under the blanket, pulling him closer. They have never done anything quite like this, but it feels so easy, so right.
“Mm, Kacchan’s warm.”
“You’re just cold.” Katsuki mutters, buries his face deeper into green curls. His voice is lower than a whisper. “Go to sleep, baby.”
Izuku tries to suppress a shudder at the nickname. Their legs tangle together under the blanket. The rhythm of the rain fades into the background, replaced by the soft sync of their breathing. He feels his eyes quickly grow heavy, his cheek pressed against Katsuki’s chest. Izuku’s world shrinks to nothing but the warmth of the boy beside him and the steady thud of his heartbeat.