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"Yeah, I know."
Twitches of tension flare in De– Izuku's muscles as he continues to reject his exhaustion. A leg near-imperceptibly primes itself to flee. Narrow shoulders can't decide if they want to be raised or relaxed. His head jerks back up after his neck has tried to admit defeat twice over, now.
Katsuki just holds him.
Harsh pellets of unforgiving rain further coax Izuku into submission, massaging any remaining fight out of his battered body. Cloudy droplets fall from the tips of his unkempt hair, his scratched nose, his muddy and ruined costume. They collect in a puddle beneath the rivals, visible evidence of the last month—the last several months, really—rinsing away and allowing Izuku a morsel of relief. With an audible exhale that leans too close to a whimper, he finally succumbs, and Katsuki is left to fully support him.
They've slammed into and tossed each other around often enough that Katsuki automatically factors Izuku's weight into his fight style. Any new move and he starts calculating trajectories and start-stop physics with the same ease as he does for himself. His perfect accuracy has earned him bubbly, enthusiastic praise from the younger boy, embarrassing 'Kacchan sugoi!'s falling from habitually-bitten lips after every successful maneuver.
Even with his water-logged gear, Izuku is so light now. All of Katsuki's formulas—his infallible sureties—threaten to dissipate with the downpour.
Somewhere behind him, one of his classmates begins to speak. He thinks it might be Yaoyorozu, but between the rain and the roaring in his ears, Katsuki can't tell, and he can't bring himself to care enough to figure it out. Without disturbing the old friend in his arms too harshly, Katsuki removes his gauntlets and tosses them carelessly to either side. He then does the same to Izuku's filthy backpack, albeit a tad more carefully, and it lands with a wet plop onto the edge of the cloudy puddle. Grey water mists their already-soaked legs and feet.
As Katsuki begins pulling Izuku's unconscious body upright, heavy yet calm footsteps plap-plap-plap against the wet pavement. "Let me take him," Shouji's voice comes.
"I got him," Katsuki replies coolly.
"It's no trouble, I've done it bef–"
"I said I got him."
His words lack their usual sting. Instead, a quiet plea is extended to Shouji and the rest of the class: to not argue back for once, to refrain from teasing the limits of Katsuki Bakugou's explosive temper just to see how far they can get. He doesn't have it to give right now.
He slightly bends his knees for better leverage, folds his forearms underneath the swell of Izuku's rear, and hoists upward. Izuku lolls unhelpfully, but due to his lighter frame, Katsuki comfortably—concernedly—holds him up with one arm while the other continues to gently readjust. He positions Izuku's upper arms on top of his shoulders, and Izuku's head comes to rest on his own bicep, face grazing the backside of Katsuki's neck. The blonde then settles both forearms underneath Izuku and grabs his elbows, securing thighs at his hips.
Katsuki doesn't wait for anyone's agreement or permission. He turns around and starts stomping back to UA, crimson gaze set ahead as the sea of his classmates wordlessly parts for him.
The return trip vacillates between tense silence and quiet relief, murmured conversations sparking between friends for a volley or two before dissolving with the rain. At some point Katsuki loses his position as leader of the pack, and he instead finds himself in the middle of a wide berth, as though the others are a protective barrier for the precious cargo found at the center.
After several readjustments and a little more than a mile, if Katsuki had to guess, a pink and brown blob enters his periphery.
"Hi, Bakugou," Uraraka greets warmly, her hands folded politely behind her back.
"Cheeks," he responds, clipped but not completely unkind.
"Are you getting tired? Deku's all muscle, so he's pretty dense," she attempts to joke, but her tone is more akin to the overcast sky currently above them.
Though Izuku is significantly less dense than he was a month ago, even holding a toddler for miles would cause fatigue eventually. Between the overpowered cluster he fired off to get Iida across the finish line and the past twenty-ish minutes, Katsuki's arms are indeed weakening, and Izuku's added mass has made his feet drag.
He tightens his hold anyway.
"He's lost a lot of weight."
Uraraka hums sadly. "Yeah, I noticed, too. But you started to slow down a bit, so I–"
"I don't need to tag anyone else in," Katsuki argues.
"I know," she softly placates. "I was just wondering if I could make him a bit lighter for you."
Under the influence of Uraraka's Quirk, Izuku is able to merely be held in place instead of held up. Katsuki leaves one arm underneath, to keep Izuku's legs somewhat wrapped around, while the other is free to encircle his torso. Katsuki pulls him in firmly. As the burn of exertion in his arms and legs fades, Katsuki can focus on paying attention to the signs of life beating against his chest and puffing against his neck. Uraraka has long returned to the circle, but he'll make an effort to show her some gratitude once this is all over.
He hates how much of an open book he can be. He hates his classmates' eagerness to annotate in the margins even more.
He absolutely despises that the self-sacrificial idiot in his arms co-authored most of it in the first place.
-----
Their wide bullseye collapses like a dying star as they come upon the UA barrier. Thirteen waves in the distance. What Katsuki initially believed to be the rain coming down harder is actually a cacophony being spewed from inside the safe haven. He can't exactly make out what the civilians are hollering for, but it doesn't sound positive, and it can't be a coincidence that they're gathered by the gates Class 1A is set to return with Izuku through. Thirteen doesn't let any discontent show, though, as she ushers the teenagers forward and updates them on what's unfortunately transpiring inside.
Katsuki's gut can hardly decide between boiling rage and anxious cramping before Izuku's shallow breaths are traded for a deep, expansive inhale, further cooling rain-damp skin and sending a tremor down Katsuki's spine. The younger boy presses his heavy, sopping head into the crook of Katsuki's neck as he rouses and gains a little control over his own.
A small hum of confusion rumbles from Izuku. Katsuki doubts he would've caught it if they weren't pressed together like this.
"Easy," he quietly offers, barely moving his mouth.
"Kacch…?" Izuku slurs, the syllables warm as they ghost over Katsuki.
Following another lung-filling, goosebump-raising breath, Izuku gingerly lifts his head, ridding himself of the cloak of Katsuki's neck and aligning their gazes. Dreary, dried-out pools stare into Katsuki's fiery own for a brief beat, but soon, two obnoxious calls of Izuku's name turn to five, then eleven, and Katsuki is forced to halt as the gaggle of people around them all crowd further in.
Uraraka peeks around Tokoyami and starts to speak, but Thirteen snaps her visor open a few feet over, drawing everyone's attention that way.
"Hi there, Midoriya," she greets kindly. "It's good to have you back. Let me fill you in."
Katsuki begins shuffling to better angle Izuku toward the Pro Hero—catching sight of Todoroki with a gauntlet in each hand and a filthy backpack slung over Asui's shoulder—but Izuku gently pushes away from Katsuki's chest and tries lowering his legs. Pink-padded fingertips touch; Izuku is once more reliant on gravity. The sudden release of the Quirk startles him, and he instinctively searches for purchase on Katsuki's body before remembering he's trying to get down. Katsuki keeps a firm arm around Izuku as he settles. Izuku doesn't shy away from the continued contact—he leans heavily into Katsuki's side, prompting the older boy to notice how he's hardly putting any pressure on his right foot. He frowns deeply.
Thirteen's voice, the woes of the civilians, and the pouring rain all battle to be heard in a tumultuous dance of sound. Izuku gently nods along as she expands upon everything the class had said to get him to come with them, but Katsuki can feel his body tense again. Undoubtedly, he's more focused on the deplorable chants now cutting through the air than anything the Pro is saying. Katsuki clenches his jaw a few times to give his anger something to do.
Regardless, they all must reenter the stronghold. Katsuki's grip remains unyielding as Izuku attempts to pull away and follow the others, sharp red eyes honed in on the obviously injured limb.
"It's fine, just a small fracture or something," Izuku mumbles before Katsuki can even say anything, still trying to extricate himself from the arm around his waist.
Katsuki scowls hard and continues to assess the leg. "That's not fine. You can't walk on that."
"If I'm unable to even stand on my own, all of that–" he motions tiredly to the uproar coming from the barrier with a tattered glove, "–will just be worse. It's okay, Kacchan. I've been walking on it for a while."
"How long is a while?" Katsuki questions, but Izuku doesn't respond.
He weakly paws at Katsuki's fingers in protest and limps sideways. Sighing hard, Katsuki acquiesces, and he watches with pinched brows as Izuku closes his eyes, clenches his fists, and takes two staccato breaths before evenly distributing his weight. Weary features grow deeply pained, but it all goes just as quickly as it'd come, leaving only feigned neutrality in its wake. Izuku Midoriya then squares his shoulders and walks with a perfect gait toward UA.
-----
Fearful accusing meets desperate pleading—two sides of the same coin fighting to be the face called in the air.
Izuku hovers at the back of the group, and Katsuki hovers at his side.
He glares forge-hot daggers at a particularly nasty civilian in an All Might shirt he doesn't deserve to have on. Everybody's just scared, which they're well within their rights to be, and he knows better than anyone how fear replaces reason and character with bull and shit.
But this guy really needs to shut the fuck up.
In the meantime, Katsuki's waiting for it to happen again. The slight sway in Izuku's undoubtedly painful stance, the awkward gulps of air, the rapid blinking that has nothing to do with the flow of his tears (Katsuki would know). Katsuki is a compressed coil ready to be released in an instant, should Izuku even begin to tip toward the ground.
If it wasn't so overcast and rainy, and if Izuku wasn't covered in grime, Katsuki might have noticed the sickly pallor that blossomed across the younger boy's face, and he might have been able to at least pivot him away from the refugees before he lurched into a right angle and splattered the contents of his stomach onto the pavement.
There's a wail in the crowd. It can only belong to Izuku's mother.
"Shit."
Katsuki is on Izuku in a blink. Seizing an opportunity between retches, Katsuki grabs Izuku's shoulders and turns him around. Izuku falls into the movement, only narrowly avoiding crashing onto the pavement because of Katsuki's support. He still sinks to all fours and heaves, though, but Katsuki is right there, rubbing soothing circles up and down the length of his back. At least, he hopes they're soothing; there's no telling what ailment he could be accidentally aggravating.
It's mostly bile and spit, from what Katsuki can tell, with the occasional drop of snot or tears falling into the frothy mixture. Somewhere behind them there's fast footsteps, then a small commotion from the crowd, and suddenly Uraraka's voice is booming over everyone, crying and begging and full of anguish. It only makes Izuku cry harder, which makes him vomit again, and all Katsuki can do is continue to rub.
He can't imagine how embarrassed—how humiliated—Izuku must feel. How in pain he must be, even if he's used to operating with some modicum of a broken body. How exhausted—in all the ways one can be. How cold and how hungry. How ill and how raw. How so deeply unlike himself.
Yet here he must remain, in this place where he has no say in his fate. He must vomit in the pouring rain in front of an audience that only wants him off of the stage.
"M'sorry," Izuku croaks through a raw, rough throat. The fingertips of his gloves further fray as he squeezes his hands into fists against the pavement. "M'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry."
All Katsuki can do is continue to rub.
-----
The genkan comes alive with toes tipping off shoes and cumbersome costume elements getting removed. Katsuki leans against a wall to unzip his boots. A small distance away, Izuku sits on a bench. He twists a stout bottle of electrolyte-enhanced water Yaoyorozu had manifested for him in his hands while Kirishima crouches at his feet, carefully removing the deteriorated footwear. The left crumbles off easily enough, but the right takes a little extra care as, it would turn out, the foot's incredibly swollen. Izuku doesn't wince or hiss at the pain, though. He simply stares into a faraway corner and continues fiddling with his hardly-sipped water.
Though the class is ultimately successful in their mission—bringing Izuku back—the mood remains somber. Even if the loudmouthed civilians agreed in the end, they still only won at the cost of their friend's dignity. There's nothing absolute about a victory shrouded in that.
At least it's done. Izuku is here, where he's supposed to be.
Kirishima's gaze sweeps over the boy above him before searching for Katsuki's. Matching rubies meet between the rain-soaked bodies of their classmates, and the blonde's cheeks lightly color from the expression on his friend's face.
The only reason Kirishima is the one balancing on the balls of his feet and not Katsuki is because of the crowd rush that occurred after Kota and the kind Heteromorph woman broke the wall between civilian and hero. Katsuki and Izuku briefly separated, and Kirishima swiftly covered Izuku-duty, keeping an arm around his shoulders the entire trek back to the dorms. Katsuki tried to reclaim his station, but Kirishima waved him off and Izuku weakly nodded in agreement, staying plastered to the redhead to give Katsuki a break he never asked for.
Izuku doesn't belong to Katsuki. Izuku doesn't belong to anybody—if anything, though, every other member of Class 1A has more of a right to Izuku than Katsuki does. Not a single one of them has ever aimed their tongue or their Quirk at him with true malice.
But the pair have always been… weird about each other. Izuku's admission at Ground Beta plays on repeat in Katsuki's head. It appeared that the more Katsuki pushed Izuku away, the harder the boy clung; and unfortunately for Katsuki, the harder Izuku clung, the more he got used to it. Until there was no version of reality Katsuki could conceive in which he was without Izuku, even when he'd convinced himself his old friend was nothing more than a pest to swat away.
When he woke up after taking that hit from Shigaraki—which, as morbid as it may be, he certainly wasn't expecting—he found solace in his pain and in those wounds. They undeniably proved he'd chosen Izuku over himself for once. And he'd do it again, he'd do it a thousand times over, if it meant keeping Izuku safe.
Then Izuku disappeared into the city ruins while All Might delivered those pacifying, handwritten letters. He unilaterally decided to create that once-unfathomable reality.
To say that Katsuki… did not take kindly to having his agency taken from him would be putting it lightly.
It's probably why Kirishima's smile is so gentle and knowing. Izuku doesn't belong to any of them, but there is one person who took his absence the hardest.
He's your boy, the expression says. What's next?
Katsuki pushes off the wall, and Kirishima slinks out of the way. Izuku focuses his bleary attention up at the older blonde as he approaches.
"Hey," Katsuki says softly. "Wanna get cleaned up?"
Izuku sets the drink aside and extends a shaky hand for Katsuki to help him stand. Katsuki doesn't hesitate to accept it.
He announces that he's taking Izuku to the bathroom on the second floor and that there better be a hot, nutritious meal ready when they're done. Kaminari and Sero both salute and shout a militant Sir yes sir! that earns a few chuckles and snorts from the class. He thinks he might feel a soundless titter from Izuku, too, where he leans heavily into Katsuki's side.
Hands tightly clasp and bent elbows press together. Izuku curls his other hand around Katsuki's bicep for added balance. Their pace is glacial, but Katsuki doesn't mind—at least Izuku isn't continuing to pretend he's uninjured.
As the elevator doors shut, he rests his temple against Katsuki's unbandaged shoulder.
"Did you really carry me all the way back here?" Izuku asks into the quiet.
Katsuki sniffs. "Cheeks used her Quirk on you, s'not a big deal."
"You shouldn't have done that. You're still recovering."
"And you are the last person to be giving lectures right now."
It comes out much thornier than Katsuki had intended. For all his relief that Izuku's safe, he supposes the part of him that's still hurt the idiot left in the first place wants it's resolution, too.
Izuku positions himself upright. The elevator dings, and the cool metal slides open.
"Okay, Kacchan," he whispers.
Fearful of more biting words, Katsuki chooses not to say anything.
His self-inflicted silence continues as he shuts the bathroom door behind them and shoots a text to Todoroki. They hobble to Izuku's shower station, and Katsuki turns on the water to let it heat as they work on removing Izuku's tattered costume. Katsuki's much less concerned with how it reeks than with how he has to quite literally peel it off of the boy. He's seen with his own eyes how Izuku can shuck it on and off in seconds, even maneuvering the zipper at his back without trouble, but now, it's like the thing wants to fuse with his skin. This has nothing to do with the rain. This is just… time and neglect.
He pushes the dingy fabric away from Izuku's shoulders and down his arms, over the swell of his rear and down his thighs. Izuku is malleable to the movements, perhaps too embarrassed at his condition, or too tired and in pain, to visibly care about their proximity. Maybe he just knows all the boys see each other nude on a somewhat-regular basis so this isn't buzz worthy at all. Whatever it is, Katsuki doesn't give a shit either, laser-focused on assessing every inch of Izuku for marred skin.
There aren't many scrapes or cuts, Katsuki notices as he helps Izuku to sit on the stool. His body is mainly dappled in bruises—some large, like the ones on his outer thighs and ribs, and some small, like those littering his forearms and shins. Katsuki's careful as he rolls the last bit of the costume over Izuku's feet, taking his socks with it, and he's finally able to get a proper look at the fractured right foot. It's mere conjecture to tell where the injury originates, as an angry bruise covers the entire top of his foot. The swelling spreads from his ankle to the joints of his toes. Katsuki posits pressing on any of the flesh here would allow for a divot at least a centimeter deep.
Sorrowful crimson traces back up Izuku's body, taking in all of the marks on his pale skin. Everything is in varying stages of healing, independent of size or location. It's impossible for Katsuki's mind to work out a clear-cut story of what Izuku endured out there. He can't make sense of what he's seeing.
None of this makes any fucking sense.
But because he knows Izuku, he at least asks if he wants to talk about any of it. When Izuku stays quiet, piercing red finally meets its muted complement. Izuku's expression is so haggard as he numbly shakes his head. Katsuki just wants to get him fed and in bed already.
He nods, stands up, and motions for Izuku to face the other way.
Izuku hesitates, letting his eyes drop and rubbing at the hem of the boxer briefs he still has on. "You don't have to do this, Kacchan."
"Just turn around, Izuku."
Peeling lips press together, but Izuku does as he's been requested, carefully shimmying off his underwear and tossing them into the pile with his costume in the process.
Katsuki grabs the shower head and begins rinsing off his legs, his torso, his arms. Brown-grey runoff carries flecks of grime and mud down the drain. "Head back," he gently commands, and Izuku tips his dirty green curls until he taps Katsuki's belly. He slightly startles at what he must assume is unwelcome contact, but Katsuki lightly presses on his forehead, urging the boy to relax. It's okay, he hopes his fingertips say. You're free to lean on me whenever. So Izuku drenches Katsuki's front as he melts into him, and Katsuki sprays his hair, shielding his eyes and ears as best he can.
Once sufficiently hosed down, he hands the shower head to Izuku so he can keep himself warm while Katsuki begins shampooing. They pass the water back and forth a few times as Katsuki lathers and rinses and repeats.
He focuses on the ends until he can finally get shampoo to Izuku's scalp. Lithe fingers take their time massaging in the cleanser. Thumbs circle his nape and ring fingers ease tension at his temples, palms fully supporting and positioning the weight of his head. Amidst an artfully-blank expression, tears fall from Izuku's softly closed eyes. Katsuki doesn't feel the need to comment on it. He just massages a little while longer.
He makes messy parts in Izuku's hair to ensure it's getting thoroughly clean. Izuku lightly winces at some of the tangles Katsuki accidentally snags, but he full-body flinches at a particular spot Katsuki rubs on the left parietal side. Examining it further reveals a sizably inflamed gash. He grimaces instantly.
"How long has that been there?" Katsuki demands, yanking the water back to rinse the suds away.
"I dunno, I forgot about it."
"You forg–" He sucks a calming breath through his nose. Counts to three. "What happened, Izuku?"
"I dunno," Izuku repeats lowly.
"This is a head injury. I'm gonna need you to do better than 'I dunno'. Did you fall, did something fall on you? Did a villain slice you or knock you into something?"
"I don't remember, Kacchan. It might've been some falling debris or something, I don't know."
Katsuki just inhales and hums, because if he opens his mouth he will yell. It wouldn't be at Izuku, necessarily, but that's how Izuku would take it.
So Katsuki drops it for now. He remains mindful of the wound as he applies conditioner, and he's about to lather Izuku up with a washcloth when there's a soft knock at the door. Right, he'd texted Todoroki a while ago.
"Hey," he greets as he cracks the door.
"Bakugou," Todoroki says back. He extends a bundle wrapped in a towel toward the blonde. "I've got a clean change of clothes for Midoriya, like you asked."
"Thanks–"
"I also stopped by your room to grab you some clothes and a towel as well. I forgot about your soaps, but I figure you could use Midoriya's. Aoyama said he's fine with you using his stuff, too."
That's… thoughtful. Katsuki truly hadn't considered when he was going to get clean. "Thanks," he says again.
"We're making omurice, so that'll be ready whenever you guys are done. Oh, and All Might stopped by. He said he'd get Recovery Girl to check on Midoriya later tonight. She has a lot of new refugees left to screen, but he'll make sure she saves some strength for him."
"Okay. Make sure someone tells him to come back when the old lady does. And tell him to bring Izuku's mom, too."
Todoroki nods once, small smile on his lips. "Got it. How is he?"
"Quiet," Katsuki says, like that explains it all, but for anyone that knows Izuku, it sort of does.
Todoroki's expression turns solemn, understanding. "Mm," he hums. "Well, we're all downstairs waiting."
With another quirk of the mouth, Todoroki leaves, and Katsuki clicks the door shut.
Katsuki deposits the items inside one of the dry sinks and pads back to Izuku, who'd been patiently spraying himself warm. He grabs the sudsy washcloth and resumes bathing his old friend, relaying Todoroki's updates as he swipes over kaleidoscope skin. Izuku nods along and does his best to be helpful—twisting a leg or lifting an arm as Katsuki reaches it—but the latter lightly swats him with the washcloth every time he tries. "I got you," he says, over and over. As many times as it takes to get through Izuku's thick—potentially damaged, Christ—skull.
After scrubbing him down and rinsing the conditioner, Katsuki rubs more body wash into the wet rag. "Think you can manage your crotch, or will it be too much?"
Blood rushes to Izuku's newly grime-free cheeks. "I-I can do that part, Kacchan."
"Just making sure," he says sincerely, handing over the cloth. "I'm gonna take a quick shower at Aoyama's, then."
Following a promise that Izuku won't get up if he finishes before Katsuki, the older boy makes quick work of stripping down and cleaning his body. Aoyama's products are some French, super silky, incredibly fragrant line, and if it weren't for the tiny sub-labels written in english, Katsuki might've been washing his ass with a facial exfoliant. Todoroki also forgot to bring him a washcloth, but it's alright. He's not nearly as dirty as Izuku was; his hands adequately get the job done.
After what is arguably the fastest shower of his life, he rushes to towel himself off and dress in the soft heather tee and navy blue sweatpants Todoroki dug out of his closet. Two of the comfiest articles he owns. Not bad, Icy Hot.
He pat-dries Izuku about ninety-five percent on the stool, then wraps the towel around him like a cape to walk back to the sinks. Izuku does a quick swipe of his nether regions before allowing Katsuki to help him dress, as well. His offerings are a pair of well-worn pajama pants, and… Huh. Katsuki's been looking for this black crewneck for well over a month. He was genuinely starting to believe a gust of wind carried it off the clothespins.
Every time Katsuki wore it, Izuku would joke that he was going to steal it during the next laundry day because of how comfortable it looked. He must've actually done it right before all the crap in Jaku City, then. He just never got a chance to put it on.
Katsuki's chest feels tight. He ignores it in favor of helping Izuku fit his arms and head through, and neither of them vocalize the fact that Izuku is swimming in the top because the true owner of the garment is not the person putting it on.
Shitty Icy Hot.
Izuku leans on the wall by the door as Katsuki flits around, balling up all of their dirty costume pieces and towels to toss in a communal hamper. Izuku's costume honestly needs to go into the trash, but that's tomorrow's argument.
Tomorrow. He finally gets another tomorrow with Izuku.
-----
A few people have already showered, eaten, and gone to bed, wiped from the day. Uraraka is one of them, and though Katsuki's disappointed he has yet to properly thank her for all she's done today, he gets it. When his adrenaline finally wears off, he can tell he's going to crash hard.
The remaining stragglers engage Izuku in polite, easy conversation as they finally tuck into their meals alongside him. Izuku's portion is purposefully small, but it's a struggle for him to even eat that. Maybe his stomach has shrunk from how little he was undoubtedly eating out there; maybe he simply still feels a bit queasy. Now aware of a head injury, Katsuki wonders if the vomiting had anything to do with a possible concussion. The gash didn't look fresh, but these things tend to warrant being looked at on a case-by-case basis.
Or… shit, doesn't Uraraka's Quirk make her nauseated if she uses it on herself for too long? Izuku had to be Quirked for close to an hour, even if he was unconscious for nearly all of it. Did Katsuki inadvertently cause his humiliation in front of all those people? Did he cause Izuku's mother's wails, and Uraraka to overextend herself?
Even when well-intentioned, does Katsuki still detonate everything around him?
The blonde sighs around his final mouthful of food. There's no point in beating himself up before Recovery Girl's even had a chance to make an assessment. Uraraka likely assumed that could've been a side effect, too, and she also chose to let it go on that long. Hell, maybe Izuku threw up from anxiety and stress. Katsuki has got to stop jumping to the conclusions that always make himself out to be some kind of… lone-wolf, colossal fuck-up. He'll never grow past his mistakes if he keeps believing they're all he is.
'Aw, Kacchan sugoi!' a tiny, freckly voice in his head says. Katsuki just sniffs.
When it's clear taking another bite would be akin to torture for the tangible freckle face, Katsuki clears their places at the table and assumes his position as Izuku's cane. Izuku dons a weak smile as he bids the dining room goodnight and allows Katsuki to steer him toward the elevators. Iida and Yaoyorozu mention they're going to stay awake to see Recovery Girl to Izuku's room, so if the pair need anything let them know. Katsuki nods an affirmative.
Before they make it a meter away, Ashido materializes to wrap Izuku in a featherlight embrace. He lets go of Katsuki's bicep to kindly return it, and when she pulls away, they've got matching sets of swimming eyes. She then eagerly offers to detangle his hair with her good, good stuff as soon as he's feeling up to it.
Izuku doesn't let her do it often (she manages to turn it into an hours-long endeavor every time), and he'd always throw Katsuki a playfully exaggerated eye roll if he found them in the common room surrounded by combs, creams, and clips with trash reality TV on. But making people feel beautiful is how Ashido shows them love. It's why Hagakure has the best wardrobe out of everyone here, and it's why Katsuki hasn't had a bad breakout since she figured out the missing active in his skincare routine.
So Izuku agrees because, even like this—even broken, and bruised, and running on empty in more ways than one—he's still Izuku. And it's such a nothing moment, but Katsuki realizes he would do so, so much more than simply take a hit for this boy.
It should be a frightening thought, but it's been the truth for quite a while, now. Katsuki supposes it was only waiting for the right opportunity to be completely let through, instead of constantly getting reset to the back of his mental queue. It just… is what it is. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Izuku Midoriya is invaluable to him.
The sounds of cotton socks shuffling against low-pile carpet resonate in the silence of the empty hall. Even considering the circumstance, their hobbling is measured and unhurried. Izuku allows Katsuki the burden of nearly all of his weight, and Katsuki bears it willingly.
"You know," Katsuki's gravelly voice cuts through the quiet, "for what it's worth, I understand why you left without saying anything. They would've tried to stop you. But I would've gone with you. You didn't have to disappear on me."
Izuku takes a beat, then his soft timbre joins the hall. "I can't tell if you read my letter or not."
"I got to 'Dear Kacchan' and blew it up."
"Mm." He doesn't sound upset. Rather, knowingly resigned. Like he never expected anything different. "I worked really hard on it."
"I figured," Katsuki says. "It was way longer than everybody else's. But I already knew about One For All, so whatever you had to say to me could wait until you said it to my face."
The elevator doors seal them inside. Their quiet is agreeable. Exhaustion radiates off of Izuku, infecting Katsuki's auric field as well.
Izuku once more rests his temple on Katsuki's shoulder, and Katsuki allows his cheek to tip into semi-damp green curls.
"I said thank you."
Several responses bubble up Katsuki's throat.
Confusion. Thank me for what?
Discomfort. Shut up, stupid idiot nerd.
Reticence. You never have to thank me.
Bitterness. Well, you left before you could.
He swallows them all down and instead settles on, "Already knew that, too."
Honesty.
Gratitude is the one thing Izuku never has to verbalize, despite how often he does just that. It's always written all over him, pouring from his body language and his every expression. There's nothing he could've put down on paper that Katsuki hadn't gleaned from simply existing in the same space as him.
Katsuki feels Izuku ease even further into his side, and he thinks there might be the tiniest hint of a smile in that scratchy, tired voice when it whispers, "Okay, Kacchan."