Archive of Our Own

Katsuki dies. 

That, he’s completely sure of. 

Katsuki dies like how meteors hit the Earth’s atmosphere, moving so fast he’s burning up from the inside, bursting into a million tiny pieces and disintegrating. He goes out in the biggest fucking explosion of his life, seeing nothing but iridescent sparks. A blazing shooting star, at the end of everything.

It was something he’d known might happen, and had already accepted deep down, when he enrolled at Yuuei. It was just that, he’d hoped to graduate first. But, he supposed, it couldn’t be helped. All people succumbed to fate eventually. He wasn’t the first.

Right when he takes his last breath, he knows it’s his turn.

Everything goes black, and it’s almost velvety, the way he loses consciousness; how it wraps around him, like a whisper, a confession.

Fate, however, surprised him. It was funny like that.

*

The first thing he notices after he dies, after the infinite void of space and time, is that it fucking hurts. He still has a form, somehow, but he can’t move. Trapped. 

The darkness is still there. He pulls on it with all his might, and it falls over him like a blanket. Then, nothingness.

*

There’s this searing sensation where his heart is. Or used to be. Doesn’t matter, except that he’s so tired, and it’s annoying the shit out of him. 

Something is tugging on him. 

Pulling him in on himself, tearing him apart in all directions. 

Katsuki’s fucking exhausted. 

It’s whatever. He lets it happen, lacking the ability to choose otherwise.

*

He’s on fire, again.

Maybe he wasn’t allowed to die comfortably, after everything he did when he was alive. 

He thinks of the color green. Late spring and tenderness. A laugh that isn’t his, bubbling up from somewhere, but belongs all the same.

Yeah. 

There’s that familiar ache. He leans into it, and ignores how it bites at him all over.

*

If he was dead, then why was it so fucking loud all of a sudden. 

High-pitched, fluctuating siren, screaming.

Dead people couldn’t hear, as far as he was aware. Or do much at all. 

Katsuki didn’t think there would be so much thinking in death. It was pissing him off. He wished that the velvet blanket of darkness was in reach. He didn’t want this, this cursed, in-between feeling. Would he have to stay here forever? Maybe he’d finally used up all of his luck that he didn’t deserve. 

*

A sudden weight on his chest, slammed down, slotting in. It hurts, but it belongs to him, so he bears it. 

It’s reminding him of something. 

If he still had a heart, it’d be screaming, and screaming, and screaming.

*

The sound changes eventually, after another eternity. 

Drip. Drip.

It’s watery. It sounds like someone crying. 

It feels cold.

*

Being dead was fucking annoying, Katsuki decided. 

He couldn’t do shit. He didn’t have a body. Yet, the endless stream of consciousness would not leave him. He fucking died in battle, and he couldn’t even take a nap, for one second, because he had no eyes to close or open. 

And since he was dead, there wasn’t anyone around to knock him out or take away the ache. 

He got the feeling he was missing something. Maybe he forgot to do something before dying. 

Hell, there were so many things he was supposed to do. Graduation. There was that movie that Mina pirated that he was supposed to watch with Kirishima. His fucking birthday, his promise to make Kaminari and Sero dinner after losing some dumb bet, sparring with stupid Todoroki. All his secret promises to himself, his dreams, desires.

He couldn’t make good on any of those plans, now. 

If this was how the bigshot heroes felt after they died too, he didn’t want to be one. Not that he could. 

Becoming Number One . He couldn’t do that now, either. 

Izuku.

For the second time since dying, he thought about green , and decided that being dead was lonely.

*

It kept getting hotter. The crying sound got louder, and louder. It was driving him insane.

Maybe that’s what he’d do, then. Go fucking nuts. Maybe he’d already gone over the edge when he was alive, always on the verge of losing it. Nothing mattered anyway.

*

Katsuki remembers, that there was a softness associated with green. 

It was faint, but he could feel it extended to him, even now. He didn’t feel worthy of it. A promise he made to himself, to never let go of it.

*

Then Katsuki wakes up, maybe because he was extremely lucky, or unlucky, but either way, fate wasn’t done with him yet.

It goes like this:

He can suddenly see again, and it’s horribly bright. He notices he still has all of his arms and legs, but they’re all wrapped up in bandages and he can’t move them very well. There’s a device on his face to help him breathe, and wires and tubes everywhere, all over his body; liquids in plastic bags that distort the lights dangling over his head, monitors beeping. He couldn’t feel a thing. Blinking takes immense effort, because his eyelids are so heavy. Katsuki figured he was on some massively impressive painkillers.

When he gets the strength to open his eyes again, after a few minutes— or hours, he had no fucking clue— finally, he notices someone is holding his hand.

The color green floods his vision. Izuku is alive, and he’s here in this hospital room by Katsuki’s side, slumped over in a chair, and Katsuki wants to tell him it’s okay now, I’m back, but his drug-addled brain decides that’s too many words.

Instead, he croaks, “What the fuck.” His voice is horrible and stringy and deep in a strange way, the vibrations rattling his bones uncomfortably, and he wonders exactly how long it’s been.

Izuku’s head shoots straight up, his face tired and confused. 

“Huh?” He says sleepily, and he turns his head, and then, finally, he meets Katsuki’s eyes, and his mouth gapes, opening and closing. Izuku’s eyes are wide and glassy.

Katsuki says, “Stop that, you look dumb.”

Izuku promptly and violently bursts into tears. He sobs loudly, open-mouthed, keeled over with his hands clutching the bedsheets, creating a wet spot at an alarming rate. 

“They’re going to think I pissed myself,” Katsuki grumbles around his tongue, slow, and Izuku hiccups— a laugh maybe, crying even harder.

Then, there’s an equally teary, oh fuck from his other side, and it’s his mom, and dad– looking at him with stars in their eyes. 

“You brat, we were so worried,” his mom says shakily, and puts her face in her hands. His father just trembles quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks, staining the lens of his glasses.

Actually, Katsuki’s so glad to be back. Really, really glad.

Everyone cries a little when they visit him that day. 

First, after Izuku and his parents, is his group of idiots. Kirishima, Sero, and Kaminari. 

Kirishima looks at him with compassionate eyes, and whispers, “I missed you, man,” and in that moment, Katsuki’s so grateful. 

Even though Katsuki can’t give them hugs, they gather around him and grin stupidly, buzzing with excitement until the nurse kicks them out to give Katsuki more of his medication.

His other classmates trickle in, in small groups. Even Todoroki, who has a few stitches and new scars, visits him, and he brings fucking flowers in a vase, and says, “I hope we can be friends from now on,” all serious and shit, and Katsuki says, “In your fucking dreams, Icy Hot.” Todoroki just smiles at him in response, unfazed.

All Might, Aizawa, and Best Jeanist come to see him too. Jeanist adds a couple of flowers to Todoroki’s vase, and rearranges them approvingly.

All Might says excuse me for a moment, and quietly cries in the corner for a good couple of minutes, while Aizawa says, “I’m proud of you, kid,” and gives him one of those rare smiles. 

Jeanist pats him on the head and announces, “You need a haircut, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight,” and his eyes are watery. “Come see me when you get out of the hospital.” 

And Katsuki feels like a child, for the first time in years.

Katsuki dies in the spring, wakes up one summer afternoon, and finds out that the war ended while he was gone, and at night, after all the visitors are chased out of his room, after the nurse on the day shift leaves, finally, he cries alone in bed; for his classmates, for all the heroes that died in battle, for the terrible ache of relief in his heart.

*

He took it back. He was no longer glad to be back. Who the fuck cared about integrals and finding the area under the curve when all of the school just went through literal hell?

Katsuki lived, and died, and lived again, just to be killed by calculus homework as a second-year in high school. 

Yeah, he was being a bit fucking dramatic. It was just that he didn’t see how this was going to help him, considering the field he was going into after graduation, and it was tedious and it pissed him the fuck off.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this,” said Kaminari, who was sitting next to him at one of the tables in the common room, slumped over his homework, seemingly on the verge of tears. Then he turned to Katsuki, and whined, “Bakubro, save me.”

“I’m fuckin’ busy, dumbass.” 

“But you’re the only one who knows how to do u-substitution,” Kaminari pleads. 

“Okay, fine, I’ll help you after I’m done with mine,” Katsuki grumbles. He was not, in fact, the only one in class who knew what they were doing. Kaminari just liked bugging him for attention and getting away with it, since they were friends.

Kaminari said, “Really? Yay! Kacchan’s the best,” doing the worst impression of Izuku ever, while clasping his hands together and wriggling. 

Katsuki got chills down his spine. “Fuck you. I changed my mind. Go ask someone else.”

Kaminari pouted disgustingly. “Kacchaaaaaan.”  

“I’m going to literally explode myself if you do that again. I’d rather have you call me Bakubro.”

Kaminari drops it instantly. “Man, I knew you liked Bakubro.” He looks smug, as if he’s managed to touch a nerve. 

Katsuki said, “No, I fucking don’t, go die,” and Kaminari wiggled away to grace someone more unfortunate with his presence, like Sero.

It was really jarring, actually, to hear Izuku’s nickname for him come out of other people’s mouths. He didn’t want to hear it from anyone else. 

Since he apologized to Izuku, his friends just wouldn’t let go of any of the opportunities that came up to tease him, and they kept smiling or raising their eyebrows suggestively any time Izuku and him interacted in class. When Katsuki begrudgingly admitted that Izuku and him were friends again, they had grabbed him and shook him with excitement, so much that he accidentally set one of the common room’s couch cushions on fire. 

Right before the war, he’d made a wish at night, that he could be close to Izuku still. They weren’t doing the sleepover thing they did before the war. It wasn’t like they needed to or anything. Izuku wasn’t waking up at night and screaming the dorm awake anymore, and he seemed fairly cheerful, his usual self. So why did Katsuki get so lonely at night now? 

The honest truth was that he knew. He could admit that maybe, he needed Izuku there at the time as much as he needed Katsuki. But he couldn’t figure out what to do with that feeling now, when it persisted. 

The two of them didn’t have time to actually hang out until after the war, of course. As soon as they could, they navigated their newly rekindled friendship carefully, making their way through a list of standard friendship activities, which Izuku curated himself (Katsuki thought it was unnecessary and dorky, but Izuku just looked so determined and happy that they were friends again, that he just went along with it), like watching old reruns of All Might movies, doing their assignments together, and cooking dinner (which went disastrously on Izuku’s end). Of course, they still trained together, but they held off on the sparring, since Katsuki was still technically in recovery. 

For the first time, Katsuki found himself overwhelmed by the way Izuku was gentle to him in a way he wasn’t to other people. He noticed, more than ever, how Izuku’s voice took on this reverence when he spoke to Katsuki. And most of all, he noticed how Izuku always, always looked at him like there was something else he wanted to say, something important he just remembered. 

Maybe it was the same thing Katsuki was thinking, but he hadn’t quite figured out what to call it yet, so he settled for letting his guard down, and gazing right back. 

Katsuki was someone who could be gentle, now. It was funny, how it took dying to realize that he couldn’t take any of it for granted, how lucky he was. Even though he was just seventeen, he felt much older, and he wondered if he was going to feel like that for the rest of his life.

That aged feeling, was probably war trauma. Post-traumatic-stress-disorder. Most of the school, and a good chunk of society overall, probably had it now, to some degree. Katsuki saw how some of his classmates would just go quiet some days, and how nobody ever wanted to talk about the springtime, and once he saw some of them weeping together in the common room. 

Katsuki couldn’t feel a thing when he thought about the war. That was how he knew there was probably something wrong with him. He couldn’t remember a whole lot of it either, but maybe that was also because he fucking died, and was unconscious for a while. It was complicated, and he was busy, and he didn’t really feel like unraveling it.

He wondered about Izuku, though. He always did, nowadays.

*

The school had created a sort-of recovery program, to help with the students, where every month, they would invite pro heroes and teachers to talk to each student one at a time, to work through the burden of loss, or memories from the war. The point was to connect or some shit. Katsuki didn’t really pay attention.

Today was one of those days. When it got to Katsuki’s turn, he stepped into the room, and saw Present Mic waiting for him.

“Sensei,” he said in surprise. 

Present Mic threw his hands up in greeting. “What’s up, young Bakugou! It’s my turn today to talk with you.”

Katsuki nodded stiffly in acknowledgement, and sat down. These sessions were always uncomfortable for him. He didn’t want to be there, but since Yuuei mandated it, he had to go. Katsuki would rather be off training, or running outside, or doing anything else.

“As usual,” Present Mic was saying, “Everything you say in this room is confidential! So don’t be afraid to share.”

Katsuki just sat there, pointedly staring out the window, watching birds fly by.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to say anything, either,” Present Mic said, suddenly. “No pressure.” 

Katsuki could tell he meant it. So he said, “Can I ask a question?”

“Yeah!”

“What happened while I was out?” 

He means, what happened in war after I died? What happened to everyone?

Present Mic’s face solidifies into something more serious then, and he says, “During the war, or after?”

“Everything,” Katsuki responds. 

Present Mic sighs, a resigned sound. “It’s a lot...I can only tell you what happened on my end.” He pauses, and then looks out the window too. “I was with Sho— Aizawa-sensei. I can’t remember a lot of what happened, to be honest. I was terrified that he would die, with the way he was injured before. But I,” and he exhales, “I wasn’t all that afraid for myself. We won, in the end. But not without losing a bunch of people, too.”

Katsuki knows the feeling. “Yeah,” he says, hollow. It’s then, he remembers that Present Mic went to Yuuei, too. He looks over, and wonders, of all the heroes that died, how many of them did he go to school with? How many were his friends?

Present Mic fixes his eyes onto Katsuki’s face, and says. “You’re my student, before a hero, you know. I’m glad we didn’t lose you.” His face is gentle, and he looks so much older all of a sudden, weighed down by this hidden sadness.

Katsuki swallows, and looks down into his lap. “Thanks.”

Then they’re quiet again for a few more minutes. A few sparrows loop around their section of windows, before flying out of view.

“Say, young Bakugou,” Present Mic said thoughtfully. “You should invest in some hearing protection. Your quirk isn’t exactly quiet. The vibrations from sound can injure you seriously.” He taps his pair of headphones. “I blew my eardrums out all the time as a student. I started wearing these not only because it’s cool, but also because they protect me.”

“I thought it was because you DJ,” Katsuki blurted out. 

Present Mic cackles. “And also because I DJ.” He smooths out his costume. “Seriously, though. Even with all the medical advancements they’ve made to help with hearing loss recovery, it’s not something that’s widely available. You can’t have Recovery Girl heal you every time you blast your ears out. It’s more convenient that way too, for hero work. Trust me.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki grumbles. “I’ll look into it,” and Present Mic grins at him.

It actually was a relief to hear that a pro hero was just like him, struggling with the events of the war.

When time’s up, he makes a mental note to see that Hatsume from the support course Izuku’s always complimenting. 

*

Just when he thinks he’s finally going to be able to sleep normally for once on the weekend, there’s a weak knock on his door right as he closes his eyes. 

Will the universe just leave me the fuck alone for once, he thinks, and he opens the door, just to be greeted with a stream of familiar babbling.

“Kacchan, I’m really sorry for waking you up, I know you’re usually asleep at this time and I know you don’t like being bothered because resting is obviously super important—”

“What,” Katsuki says tiredly. “Spit it out already, damn nerd.”

“I just,” Izuku says. “I just had to see. I had to make sure you were here.”

And then Katsuki sees the redness of Izuku’s eyes, the freshly dried tear tracks on his cheeks; the way he’s holding onto himself, breathing shakily. 

Izuku continues, “I dreamed it was raining— you– you always hated the rain,” and he draws in another breath, eyes unfocusing. 

Oh, Katsuki thinks. Yeah.

He’d forgotten. It was raining, the day that he– 

It suddenly makes sense, why Izuku’s standing in his doorway like this right now.

“A-Anyways!” Izuku wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Clearly you’re right here, so I was being stupid. It’s stupid. I’m sorry,” he says, with a breathy, small laugh. “I’ll leave now. I’m sorry for disturbing your sl—”

“Stay over,” Katsuki cuts him off, before he realizes his own mouth is moving. 

Izuku’s eyes widen.

“Stay,” he repeats, softer, insistent; and Izuku crumples, says, “ Yeah,” in this wrecked voice.

Izuku lets Katsuki lead him inside by the wrist, head bowed, completely silent except for the sound of sniffling. It’s a familiar ritual from before, the way they both slip under the covers; Izuku reaches for him, and Katsuki lets him. He takes the other’s hand, which clasps him with desperation.

Once again, they’re pressed closely together, and Katsuki feels some sort of horrible ache, the one that eats at him when he can’t sleep nowadays.

It’s been so long since they were like this. Katsuki inhales, stiltedly. March? Early April? It was autumn now. 

Izuku has both of his hands on Katsuki now, as if he’s trying to ascertain that Katsuki is real and whole, breathing unevenly and panickedly. 

“You’re here, right?” He says, anguished. “I’m not making it up, am I?” And he has this removed look on his face, like he’s somewhere else.

Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m here,” he whispers back. “I’m real.” 

“You have to promise,” Izuku pleads.

“I promise—”

“You can’t leave.”

He opens his eyes, and a cold sensation wraps around his spine. Izuku has this wild look on his face, wide-eyed, in tears.

Katsuki grips Izuku by the shoulder, says, “I won’t leave. Promise.”

Izuku seems to return to himself then, and he retracts his hands, curling in on himself. “I’m sorry,” he hiccups. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”

It hits Katsuki then, that he really did die. That was real.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Katsuki says. Then, swallowing around the lump in his throat, in a much softer tone, “Come here.”

Then, Izuku shifts and crawls slightly on top of him, and then slowly, he leans down and presses his ear against Katsuki’s chest, right over that blast-shaped scar under his shirt. 

It’s not cold at all, but he shivers anyway. He inhales, and his heart beats up into Izuku’s body, singing with familiarity. When his hand comes up to curl around the other’s waist, Izuku makes this tiny, wounded sound, almost moving fully on top of him, and Katsuki feels the thumping in his chest stutter.

He says, “Hey. You’re not sleeping again?” And he wonders if Izuku’s plagued by visions of fire and mutated hands reaching for him, too.

Izuku exhales. “No,” he whispers with certainty. “But in my dreams, it’s always raining.” 

Oh. Katsuki clenches his teeth into themselves so hard, he feels the nerves in his mouth stinging.

“That sucks,” Katsuki mumbles, and he winces internally. Great fucking choice of words.

“Yeah,” Izuku wipes his eyes. “It does.”

And Katsuki doesn’t know what he else can say to that, so he lets Izuku wrap his scarred arms around his waist, and it’s a very long time, before either of them finally fall asleep.

*

The two of them had changed a lot since getting into Yuuei. Katsuki was no longer the same insecure teenager feared by his peers, and Izuku had, obviously, gotten much stronger. But looking at him, Katsuki saw Izuku had retained that same determination and warmth that drove him to do his best every day. Sometimes he wondered if Izuku had remained exactly the same all these years, and the real change was just that Katsuki had changed his own outlook on the world. 

The thing about them was that neither of them could back down from a competition when it came to the other. Winning, was everything to them. So as soon as Katsuki was cleared to start building up to full use of his body and quirk again, he dragged Izuku with him back down into one of their many rituals: sparring.

It was another way for him to learn new intricacies about Izuku. He enjoyed the heady rush of it, how neither of them ever tired of it, even after becoming friends. Katsuki felt closer than ever to Izuku, when he would look into the other’s eyes while blocking a punch, and simultaneously see that infallible determination and protectiveness over their space. 

Izuku always came at him like he meant it, and Katsuki enjoyed that, the honesty. It meant that there was no bullshit.

There was nothing to be kept secret when they fought, at the most simple versions of themselves, stripped bare. The best part was that nobody else could get in on it. Nobody knew him as much as Izuku did on this level, and now, he revelled in it, prideful and quiet. Maybe it was the same for him; he could close his eyes, and still know his way around Izuku’s reflexes, could recite the many ways in which the air flowed around them, the sound of his movements.

It was safe to say, he’d really missed the sparring, their way of working through things. Now that they were friends, it had finally settled into this comfortable-ness. It was still tension-charged, of course, but it had changed into this electrifying current, clear and bold.

Katsuki thinks, he’s never trusted anyone as much as he does now with Izuku. 

Which was why there was something new irking him. 

Izuku had been avoiding him, after he’d shown up crying at Katsuki’s door last time. They’d woken up in the morning, and Izuku had just gotten up promptly and left, without so much as a word. 

He didn’t think much of it at first. They were both busy students. But as the day went on, Izuku refused to look at him, and acted strange and jumpy after Katsuki finally got them to make eye contact. 

It wasn’t like they didn’t talk at all, when they were together with their respective friends. But as soon as Katsuki tried to get him alone or just say something to him directly, Izuku would laugh awkwardly, and not continue on with conversation, or make up an excuse, like sorry Kacchan, there’s this assignment I still have to do or I forgot to clean my room .

It felt like Izuku was the one keeping him at arm’s length, and he didn’t want that, not after everything. He couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong, and it was eating away at him, and he needed Izuku to just babble about quirks at him again, or just laugh , something. The worst part, for Katsuki, was that Izuku pretended nothing had happened.

He tried to not become irritable, but as it dragged on, he found himself snapping at people again, and it made him feel horrible. 

Around two weeks, Katsuki couldn’t take it any more.

One night, when he had stayed up a bit later than usual, he headed down into the kitchen for a cup of water. As he drank, he opened the fridge, inspecting.

I need to get more peppers, and coriander leaves, and those mushrooms Kirishima likes—

Suddenly, a fumbling sound came from the other side of the fridge door. 

Surprised, he let go of it, accidentally making it slam. 

Izuku stood there, clutching a bag of snacks awkwardly, looking like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “Hey,” he says. 

It’s almost completely silent, except for the buzzing of the appliances around them.

“What’d you get,” Katsuki says, feeling like an idiot.

“Spicy chips,” Izuku mumbles, and his ears turn a visible shade of pink.

Katsuki narrows his eyes. “You don’t even fuckin’ like those.”

“They’re not for me, I just—” Izuku gulps. “They were for you. It was supposed to be a surprise, because I thought you’d be asleep by now. I didn’t expect you to be down here.”

He looks closer, squinting, and it’s actually his favorite brand of spicy chips. Okay. That’s actually sweet, Katsuki’s brain supplies unhelpfully. But it doesn’t make any sense.

“Why the fuck,” Katsuki hisses, suddenly feeling the frustration of the last two weeks rise up, “Are you putting surprise snacks in the fucking kitchen for me, while you’ve been avoiding me for the last two weeks, you damn shithead.”

Izuku doesn’t even answer his question, just puts the bag of chips on the counter, and says, “It’s getting late, uh, I should be going to bed—”

What the fuck, what the fuck—

“No,” Katsuki growls, and he grabs Izuku’s wrist roughly. “We’re sparring. Now.”

Then without even a pause, he turns and drags Izuku out of the kitchen, ignoring the yelp of Kacchan! All the way down to the dorm gym mats, and only then does he let go, flinging them into a corner.

“Fight me. Usual rules.” He crouches into position, and focuses his eyes onto Izuku.

“Kacchan, I don’t think this is a good idea, what if we wake up everyone–”

“Then we’ll be fucking quiet,” Katsuki spits, and he starts pacing counter-clockwise, which immediately prompts Izuku to do the same, whose facial expression steels once he realizes, there’s no arguing with Katsuki on this one.

They circle each other at the distance of a mat, for another good couple of minutes. They’re getting absolutely nowhere, and it’s frustrating as hell.

“Come at me already,” Katsuki says. “Come on, you’re fucking pissing me off.”

Izuku shakes his head, curls bouncing. “I don’t want to fight you,” he whispers.

That pisses Katsuki off even more. His anger sharpens into a single point, prodding at him.

“You don’t want to fight,” He taunts mockingly. “You won’t even– talk to me. Is that it? You don’t want anything to do with me anymore? What’d I do?” 

Katsuki’s only saying it to get a rise out of him. But he’s scared it’s true.

“No! It’s not like that– I do talk to you,” Izuku says, and his jaw flexes weird when he moves his mouth.

Katsuki scoffs. “You know what I mean. You wanna talk about why you’re avoiding me?”

And Izuku’s eyes harden, and he shakes his head.

“So you admit it. You’ve been avoiding me,” Katsuki snarls, and he feels the meanest he’s ever felt, and he hurts all over, even though he hasn’t been touched.

Izuku looks fucking conflicted, his face all scrunched up in embarrassment, and Katsuki just wants to know why . 

He slows. A pause. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Why can’t you just talk to m–”

It’s great fucking timing, because right as he opens his mouth, Izuku barrels into him, catching him by surprise, which hasn’t happened in months. He uses his weight to throw Katsuki off balance, but Katsuki’s quick too, and he flips, landing on the front of his feet.

“So now you want to fight, huh,” Katsuki grits, and he can’t help it, he’s smiling, maybe from relief and acknowledgement. He probably looks insane. He pivots and swings, clean and precise.

Izuku pants, catches his fist and holds against him,  biceps taut. They struggle for a few seconds, before he manages to duck out under and fling Izuku over him using momentum.

It doesn’t faze Izuku one bit, because he still knows Katsuki just as well. Izuku twists in the air, and grabs him from behind, holding his arms down.

He notices, Izuku doesn’t hold him in a headlock, even though it would be easier. Even though they’re fighting, Izuku’s still careful to not touch his neck. For some reason, that pisses him off, too.

Katsuki snarls, and breaks free with a kick. “You haven’t looked me in the eye once since we started. ”

Izuku falters, for some reason, and Katsuki careens towards him, curving close to his face, missing on purpose when Izuku doesn’t step back. 

He taps Izuku at the waist. 

“My point,” Katsuki says, hollow, a bitter taste at the back of his tongue. It feels empty. It feels like losing. 

Then Izuku, finally, opens his mouth, and it’s absolutely not what he expects.

“Every time I look at you, I remember what it was like,” Izuku says, straightening his back.

The war.

“What,” Katsuki glares, and they start to move again.

Izuku puffs, almost desperately, comes at him on the right with a fist. “What else? I–”

“Spit it out already!”

“Fine,” Izuku says, and he slams them both on the ground, Katsuki feeling the impact roll through him. “Did you know, that when I got teleported to the wrong battle, I had to make it back to where you were, and when I got there, Shigaraki was smiling at me because of what he did to you?”

Katsuki struggles, and raises his torso off the ground, but Izuku straddles him and pushes him back down. 

“Did you know,” Izuku continues, voice breaking, “That the first thing I looked for was you?” And he leans down, trembling, hovering over Katsuki. “You were just laying there. I couldn’t– I didn’t get there in time. Blood everywhere– you were– they told me your heart exploded, Kacchan.” 

Katsuki stills, for a moment.

Izuku’s face is anguished, and his eyes are far away when he opens them again. Tears drip onto Katsuki’s cheeks and nose, and Katsuki’s heart is breaking, it’s breaking–

“You know, at night, when I close my eyes, I always see your body like that again, and it’s haunting me–”

Katsuki manages to get his arms loose. He doesn’t know why, but the words spill out of his mouth. “Did you know that when I fought the bastard, he called me the person closest to you? Did you know that right before I died–” and Izuku cries out, helplessly, mouth twisting. 

“Right before I died, I thought about you?”

It’s kind of the same thing as admitting what he’d do for Izuku; his most secret impulse.

Izuku’s eyes go wide, and he lets go of Katsuki, slumping backwards with a sob.

Katsuki sits up. Both of them are breathing hard. He’d never planned to say something like that, and his heart beats faster, and he can’t catch his breath. He’s freaking the fuck out. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

“I yield,” Katsuki pants, turning away. His shirt is too tight. His skin is too tight. He grips at himself and stumbles toward the exit, leaving Izuku in the gym by himself.

“Kacchan,” Izuku sobs after him. “Wait, don’t–!”

But Katsuki can’t breathe. He needs to get out of himself, away from himself. The door slams, and the sound echoes the whole time Katsuki drags himself up the stairs to his room. 

He’s fucked it up, again, somehow. 

The world is ending for a second time for him, but in his bed, and he shoves his palms against his eyes and tries to be very, very quiet.

*

Katsuki dreams that night, of a memory, but not the violent ones, for once.

The school year was supposed to start in the spring, but the first term had been skipped, with the government’s approval, since society needed to rebuild. The initial recovery, after Katsuki woke up, was the worst. It probably would have been worse if he had to make up an an entire term of school. 

Even so, he got bored after a while. After a bunch of tests and checkups and physical therapy, Katsuki had gotten out of the hospital on July 15th. Izuku’s birthday.

He was supposed to leave in the morning, but since they had to run their last rounds of checkups or something on him, and the hospital was busy that day, he’d ended up leaving in the early afternoon. His parents had driven him all the way back to their house, and by then it was about dinnertime, and, well. The thing was, he’d wanted to see Izuku. They hadn’t really done anything together for their birthdays since they were eight or so. It was Izuku’s first birthday since they’d become real friends again. And friends celebrated each other’s birthdays, right?

As soon as he was done washing the dishes, he was practically dashing over to the Midoriya residence, with an embarrassing amount of eagerness. His mom called after him, saying, tell Izuku and Inko hi for me, okay? And Katsuki had no idea how she even deduced that he was going to see Izuku, but he yelled shut up in response, unfortunately confirming it, and she just cackled, be careful.

It was eight at night. He hoped it wasn’t too horribly late. 

When he reached the door, panting and sweating, he presses the doorbell, and slumps over to catch his breath, hands on his knees. 

“Hello–? Oh! Katsuki-kun. I haven’t seen you in forever!” Inko Midoriya’s voice floated above him, and he snapped straight back up, bowing stiffly. 

“Hello, Auntie,” he said politely, feeling sheepish suddenly. He hadn’t seen her since before middle school, when–

She smiled at him, tired eyes warm. “Are you here to see Izuku?” That’s when he figured, she knew Izuku and him were friends again. He could tell from the spark in her expression.

Katsuki exhaled, cursing the nervous way it left his body. “Yeah,” he said simply.

“I’ll tell him you’re here,” she said. “Come in, come in!”

So, he sat there in the living room. It looked as if it hadn’t changed a bit, save for a few more pictures and report cards, and a few more figurines (Izuku’s, definitely). When was the last time he’d been here? Did he know back then, that one of the times he played with Izuku as kids would be the last?

“Kacchan?” That familiar voice, astonished, called his name. Izuku padded out into the room, and said, “Did you really come to see me? Didn’t you just get out of the hospital? I thought you’d be tired, or– ah– do you want water or something?”

His heart did that weird thing, again. He doesn’t fucking get it.

“I’m fine, nerd,” Katsuki said, and raises his cup of water that Inko had given him. “Not tired. I was cooped up in there for so damn long, I almost blew myself up again.”

Izuku’s eyes got a bit watery, the smile dripping off of his mouth, and he said, “Kacchan, not funny. ”

Shit. Shit. He was off to such a bad start. 

Katsuki winced. “Fuck– sorry. I forgot that– I’m sorry. It was a joke. Sorry.”

Izuku sniffled. “It’s okay.” 

Fuck. He’d just gone over without thinking over what he’d say at all, and run his mouth. Katsuki cursed himself silently for being so impulsive. 

“I’m happy to see you,” Izuku said, clearing his throat. “Like, not laying in a hospital bed.” And then, he smiled, tentatively, he grinned at Katsuki, big and stupid, eyes crinkling.

Katsuki scoffed. “Yeah. I’m glad, too.” 

Izuku smiled, even wider. He looked–

“You look stupid as hell,” Katsuki grumbled, and his ears turned hot. “Happy birthday, or whatever.”

Izuku froze. Then, he said, quietly, “You remembered my birthday?”

“It’s not a big deal– of course I remember,” Katsuki said, looking down in his lap. “That’s why I came.”

Izuku’s silent for a little, and then he comes and sits by Katsuki, buzzing nervously.

“Kacchan, do you remember when we were kids, we would play in that stream near here? I still have those fish nets with the handles. Do you want, do you want to go– I mean, it’s late and I understand if you have to sleep soon–”

“It’s not like I have school tomorrow,” Katsuki drawled, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Of course he remembers. 

(Kacchan, I want to catch a BIG fish!

Idiot, you can’t get any big fish in a tiny creek like this. )

Izuku smiled, slow. “I’ll go get the nets.” And then he jumped up, excitedly, almost tripping.

Katsuki laughed at him. Clumsy, he thought fondly, and then let the fondness envelop him, instead of shoving it back down.

They walked down the street, Katsuki holding that old, plastic bucket; the color faded from years of being in the sun, starting to get ripped up on the bottom.

The stream also hadn’t changed a bit, over all the years that had passed since they played there. 

Izuku gasped, pointing ahead. “Look, Kacchan, fireflies.”

Little, glowing warm spots appeared all over the banks of the stream, tucked into the various plants growing alongside it. Wherever the two of them walked, little dots of light floated. 

Katsuki let himself stare, hidden by the cover of the night, at the way Izuku bounced along the path, eyes wide in wonder, as if it was his first time seeing everything. 

He looked so familiar, Katsuki ached.

We could have been like this all along.

They crouch at the edge, flipping over rocks and digging through the weeds, scooping at the crayfish in the water with their nets. Something wriggles near the shore, and Izuku goes, ha! And snatches it in his hand excitedly, clasping it under his palm.

“Oi,” Katsuki said, “What is it. Show me.”

Izuku fucking giggled, and opened his hands, turning his palms up. A small spotted salamander, clearly disoriented, wobbled around on its gummy feet, looking up at Katsuki.

“Isn’t it cute,” Izuku whisper-screamed. The salamander’s tongue darted out from its mouth briefly. 

“It looks like you,” Katsuki said, lip curling. “Look at those big, dumb, shiny eyes.”

Izuku rolled his eyes, and slipped the little salamander back into the water. “Mean, Kacchan.”

Maybe it was the night air, or the fireflies, but Katsuki felt a cool feeling settle against his stomach, soothing, as he looked at Izuku splashing about in his shorts and his dumb shirt that was labelled T-shirt in katakana.

“I’m gonna catch an even bigger salamander than you, just watch,” Katsuki said, grinning stupidly. 

“No, you’re not,” Izuku said, with an playful edge to his voice.

Katsuki splashed him with a handful of water. 

Izuku gasped in mock fury. “Kacchan!”

Salamanders and nets forgotten, they wandered deeper into the running water, pushing and tugging. They both got terribly wet by the end of their tussle, Izuku shivering slightly. Katsuki laughed, until his stomach hurt, until he couldn’t stand any more.

They sat on rocks, drying off, and Katsuki said, “I didn’t get you anything for your birthday.”

“You’re alive,” Izuku said. “I have everything I want.” He spoke like it was easy, so genuinely; and he smiled, his lips taking on a soft shape. 

How can he just say something like that?

Katsuki swallowed with difficulty, a lump forming in the back of his throat. He looked out at the fireflies, and said very quietly, “I’ll get you a real present, next year.”

Izuku poked him in his bicep, gentle. “You don’t have to, Kacchan. But I’ll look forwards to it anyway.”

Next summer, Katsuki remembers thinking. And the next.  

*

Katsuki goes in and out of himself.

It’s the grief, maybe, that he hadn’t really allowed himself to feel since the war ended. 

He thinks about in my dreams, it’s always raining, and he can almost feel the old blast wound in his chest.

Mostly, he looks at Izuku from afar, and feels like he’s going to shatter into a million tiny pieces at any moment. Izuku watches him back, and more than often, they hold each other’s gazes, and despite their misery, Izuku is still soft on him, careful, with these big mournful eyes.

They aren’t speaking. Katsuki isn’t even mean about it when other people ask what happened, just says nothing. He’s the most dejected he’s ever been in his entire life, probably.

Everyone notices, again. Izuku’s always had this pull on the people around him, and so the class’s mood becomes downtrodden as well, a big, black cloud of moodiness floating over their heads.

Kirishima doesn’t even try to ask him about what happened this time. He just pats Katsuki consolingly on the shoulder one day while they’re hanging out, and gives him this knowing look, and Katsuki momentarily thinks about bursting into tears, but then he doesn’t.

Kaminari stops calling him Kacchan as a joke. It’s a relief, but that means nobody is calling him that, and it’s strange, but he misses that name now.

( What , or who, he really misses, is– well. Everyone knows.)

He doesn’t let it stop him from training, or going to bed earlier than everyone else, or doing his work, but he feels like shit. 

It’s not until, one day, when Iida, being the class president he is, initiates an activity of watching a movie together to lift everybody’s spirits, that Katsuki finds himself in the same room as Izuku again, outside of class time.

Him and Izuku sit at opposite ends of the common room, their friends and other classmates filling the space between them. They make eye contact once, and then, pointedly look away after that. 

It’s awkwardly silent. Then, the introductory music swells to full volume, dramatic and foreboding, and Mina says, whoa, I think I’ve seen this one! Which prompts some of the others to chatter as well. The room isn’t so tense, after that.

Katsuki forces himself to glue his eyes to the screen, but it’s not really that exciting. The movie is about some fictional, American superhero, who doesn’t seem to care much for the damage to the infrastructure that he incurs with each battle. 

He would make an awful Hero, Katsuki thinks to himself. He’s so reckless.

It’s boring.

He’s bored.

His mind drifts to what it usually does these days. Izuku’s reckless, too, but only with himself. That was the difference. Izuku always put his safety beneath the safety of everyone else, and would do anything, even if it meant breaking his arm for the millionth time.

Katsuki wondered, what Izuku would say about him now, now that the war was over; if he was still the image of victory, even though he did nothing to Izuku but take endlessly, even though he had died, lost to All For One.

At some point, he gets up to take a bathroom break upstairs. When he turns the corner in the stairwell on the way back, he’s greeted by a pair of familiar green eyes looking up at him from the bottom of the stairs.

Izuku just stares at him, mouth slightly open, an unreadable emotion passing over his face.

Katsuki grits his teeth, and nods tightly to acknowledge the other. He keeps close to the railing, about to step back down into the common room, but then, Izuku’s coming up towards him, to meet him– and he finds his feet coming to a stop.

He ducks his head, as if that’ll get Izuku to walk past him and ignore him. 

That doesn’t happen. 

Izuku gets close to him, closer than they’ve been in days, and speaks his name in the same way he always does, tinged with the years of the thing between the two of them. 

“Kacchan.”

Katsuki kind of chokes upon hearing Izuku’s voice. He thinks about you finally said my name and I felt like I was forgiven for not being able to do everything on my own, and he gets it, now.

“Yeah,” he says with a finality, meeting Izuku’s eyes. They’re soft, steady.

The two of them are quiet, unmoving. He can feel Izuku even though they’re not touching. His arm hairs are standing up.

Izuku takes in a big breath, eyebrows furrowing, like he’s having trouble doing it, and his mouth trembles at the corner, before he says, “I– I missed, you.”

He has his arms folded up against his chest, wringing his hands, fidgeting.

Katsuki thinks, me too, and says, “I’m sorry for the other day. For making you fight me,” he adds. 

Izuku makes this breathy little sound. “No,” he says insistently, “I avoided you. It upset you. I’m sorry.”

“I made you cry.”

“You didn’t,” Izuku says softly, tilting his head. “It’s not your fault. I cry all the time anyway.” And he smiles, imploringly.

Katsuki exhales. “Still,” he says. He can’t help but feel like it’s his fault, the whole thing. He’s afraid that he’s failed at their friendship, again. He’s most afraid of being a ruiner of things, someone that only knows how to destroy.

He stands up, straighter, and tries to swallow that fear down. It’s easier, when he’s not alone.

He’s trying, really hard, to be good. To be gentle.

“I still feel scared all the time,” Izuku murmurs, “Even though I know the war is over. It’s stupid, but I–”

“No,” Katsuki cuts him off. “It’s not stupid. I also, know that feeling.”

Izuku trembles and bites his lip then, and he leans in, until his forehead is pressed into Katsuki’s shoulder, arms crossed. He’s allowing his entire body weight to sink in. 

It’s warm, heavy.

Katsuki closes his eyes, and tries to stay steady. “Do you,” he whispers, “Still dream of me?”

He clenches and unclenches his fists, and when Izuku nods against him, his legs feel weak.

“Yeah,” Izuku breathes. “I’m scared all the time that you’re gone. Even though I made sure that those people can’t– I– I don’t want, ” and he shudders, “Anyone to take you away from me again.”

At those words, Katsuki thinks his heart might be malfunctioning again. It twinges so hard in his chest, he can’t breathe properly for a good second.

“Nothing like that’s gonna happen, okay?” He says into Izuku’s ear. 

He tries to not let his voice shake. 

Izuku takes a step back, and fixes this tender look on him, tears in his eyes. “After the war ended, there was someone who thanked me for saving so many people, but a part of me didn’t care– isn’t that horrible?” And he grips at the fabric of Katsuki’s shirt. “Before you woke up, all I could think of was how, maybe, none of it mattered because I couldn’t save you . It was almost worse than the idea of losing. It was all I wanted. I’m so selfish,” he sobs, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

And Katsuki’s seized by a feeling so great, he stops breathing for a bit. The realization that he needed Izuku hit him like one of his own explosive shots, and he felt something delicate and precious in him unfold.

“Well,” Katsuki says shakily, “I’m even more selfish.” 

Izuku’s eyes widen at the implication, and he half-tackles, half-falls into Katsuki, throwing his arms around Katsuki’s middle, making a soft cry. He squeezes like he’s planning to stay like that for the rest of his life.

(Katsuki wouldn’t mind, if he did.)

Katsuki squeezes back. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t save me,” he continues, and Izuku opens his mouth to protest, but Katsuki doesn’t let him. “Because, you’re always going to be a hero to me. You won’t be able to get rid of me anyway, no matter how much you try.”

Izuku laughs wetly, but it’s genuine. “Thanks. I don’t want to get rid of you, ever.” And then he looks up, and even though there’s a little snot coming out of his nose, Katsuki doesn’t care. The way he watches Katsuki, patiently, speaks volumes.

“Crybaby,” Katsuki mumbles, smiling.

“Yeah,” Izuku agrees, and he smiles back. “Are we okay?” He asks tentatively, still holding on to Katsuki’s waist.

“We’re okay,” Katsuki affirms. He’s so relieved that they’re speaking again. He’d been afraid that he’d made a mistake and the friendship he’d been gifted with would be rescinded. But Izuku had never been that sort of person.

It was stupid of me to doubt.

Katsuki wants to say, you’re the person closest to me. Instead, he leans in, and says in a soft voice, “Call me my name.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku murmurs.

“My real name,” Katsuki repeats, and his heart jackhammers into his throat.

Izuku’s eyes soften in realization, in more than one way. “Katsuki,” he says almost instantly, without hesitation. 

Katsuki pays a great deal of attention to the intimate shape formed by Izuku’s mouth when he says it, and vows to hold on to the image for the rest of his life. It sends a rush through him, cutting clean through.

Katsuki buries his face in Izuku’s shoulder, and pretends he doesn’t tremble in response. Izuku whispers Katsuki Katsuki Katsuki and holds him in that stairwell, and finally, the feeling in his heart, that he’s been trying to learn the word for this whole time, unfurls itself fully, whispering its own name back.

It feels so good.

(Love.)

*

You blame your love, you know it’s harmless

We're both wise for falling

The summer arrives, the garden's alive

With the mud and mortar, we're going to save it

Save it, save it, save it, save it…

Window Bird– Stars