Chapter Text
Graduation is solemn and silent.
After his three, turbulent years at UA, Izuku had been fooled into expecting greater fanfare. Instead, the ceremony is closed off to the public, with only immediate family in attendance, and closely-guarded by a number of pro-heroes.
Izuku swore not to cry, but the medal laid at his neck makes his eyes water anyway. He’s violently blinking them away when a photographer wanders up to him, snapping a photo before he can protest.
A snort. Izuku glances mid-sniffle, but Katsuki—because who else could it have been—is already looking straight ahead, a matching medal gleaming at his throat. It’s difficult to tell whether he’s happy to be here or not, because his expression is arranged into something begrudging, like a grumpy cat’s. It’s the first time Izuku has seen him wear a tie.
“Kacchan.” It would be more proper to use his hero name, but the childhood nickname ends up slipping out of his mouth anyway. “Let’s do our best out there!”
Katsuki scoffs. It’s a light sound. “As if I need you to tell me that. You’ll be struggling to even think about taking the number one spot with me there.”
“Then I’ll work even harder to keep you from it,” Izuku promises. Katsuki opens his mouth to respond, but whatever he has to say is forgotten in favor of growling at the photographer trying to sneak up on him.
Over their heads, the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. A petal comes loose, floating down to settle in Katsuki’s hair. Izuku fights down the urge to pluck it.
Inko is beside herself, all blotchy cheeks and crocodile tears as she throws herself onto Izuku. Yagi crouches low to console her, an uncertain hand flitting from her shoulders to her back. He looks up with a smile so reminiscent of the man Izuku once watched through a computer screen, and a prickle behind his eyelids is his only warning.
“I’m so proud of you, Izuku,” Inko bawls, and Yagi’s smile is warm and proud. Izuku has to hide his face into the collar of her dress to muffle his own hiccupy sobs.
A few meters away, the Bakugou’s reunite with their son, not close enough to overhear, but close enough Izuku can see the tired smile on Masaru’s face, contrasting against the glower on Katsuki’s as he quarrels with his mom. Mitsuki pays him no mind, snatching his head to shove him close to her chest.
The motion whisks the petal out of his hair, all the way to Izuku’s feet. Before he can think better of it, he crouches to shove it into his pocket.
After much reassurance, Yagi leads a weepy Inko into a cab. “I’ll take her home safely,” he promises, before squeezing Izuku’s shoulder. Although his grip has gotten lighter over the years, it holds the same power to Izuku. “I’m proud of you, Young Midoriya.”
Izuku’s smile wobbles. He might cry for a third time. “It’s all thanks to you, All Might.”
“I’m not so sure,” Yagi says, a twinkle in his eyes. Gently, he urges Izuku forward. “Go, now. You all deserve to celebrate this.”
The tinted windows of the car make it impossible to see Yagi once he climbs inside, but Izuku waves anyway, all the way until it swerves around the curb and disappears from view. A ping of his phone—no doubt one of his classmates—turns him on his heel, towards the dormitories.
3-A Alliance’s graduation party is in full swing when he ducks in. It’s crammed with all sorts of students, even those from other schools. Before he can look around, Ashido materializes to snag his sleeve and haul him in deeper. “Midoriya’s finally here!”
“Man of the hour!” someone shouts. It’s followed by a chorus of cheers. Izuku flushes.
“I’m really not-”
“Don’t be humble, man!” Kirishima locks an arm around Izuku’s shoulder, the sharp points of his teeth glinting as he grins. “It’s thanks to you we get to graduate!”
“It’s thanks to all of us.” Izuku glances over the crowd, searching before he knows what he’s looking for. “Where’s-?”
“‘Kacchan’ left right after the ceremony,” Kaminari says. His sense of balance is all off, and he stumbles over, clutching onto Kirishima’s arm to hold himself up. The plastic cup in his hand is full with dark liquid, and Izuku wonders if Aizawa approved tonight’s itinerary. “Said something about not wanting to spend even another minute with ‘all those extras.’ Typical, right?”
“He’s not coming.” The realization sinks into him like a heavy stone and he bites his cheek. It shouldn’t be a surprise, since Katsuki was never big on parties, but Izuku didn’t even get to say goodbye to him. “I’ll see him when I go back home. What’s in your drink?”
A shrug. “No clue. Mineta whipped up something, and it’s fire, but also, I feel-”
He goes rigid mid-sentence. Izuku and Kirishima exchange a look.
“Kaminari-kun-?” Izuku begins, only to be shoved aside by Kirishima, who shouts “take cover!” He splays apart his arms, hardening just in time for Kaminari to release at least a thousand voltages of electricity.
Onlookers pause to stare. Kirishima holds fast as Kaminari opens his mouth—and belches, releasing a tiny spark. It bounces over them harmlessly, disintegrating into nothing.
Someone pushes through the crowd, shoving past Kirishima’s hardened body—Jirou. She takes one look at the twitching lump on the floor, and sighs. “You idiot,” she says, before raising her voice. “Mineta spiked the punch!”
“I did not!” Is the immediate response, but Ashido has already begun to stalk towards the cowering boy.
Jirou ends up dragging Kaminari away by the collar, scolding him all the while. Kirishima melts back into softness, turning to smile at Izuku. “I’m sure Bakugou just forgot to let you know.”
“I wasn’t—I didn’t-” Izuku fumbles, but Kirishima is already patting him on the back.
“Cheer up, dude! I’ll get you some punch—the one which isn’t spiked.”
He disappears into the crowd, leaving Izuku to watch after him. Even with the knowledge Katsuki isn’t here, he searches once more for that head of blonde.
“I’ll see him when I go home,” he reminds himself.
“Deku-kun!” Uraraka, pink-faced, waves over to him, flanked by Iida and Todoroki, both of whom are comparatively-subdued. His own face splits into a grin.
Although Izuku allows himself to be carried away in the warmth of his friends and the buzz of spiked fruit punch, smoke and sugar never quite leave his mind, nor does the cherry blossom petal resting in his pocket, heavy like a rock.
Izuku doesn’t see Katsuki when he goes home.
He debates visiting and talks himself out of it multiple times. The perfect opportunity arises when Inko offhandedly mentions dropping things off at the Bakugou’s, and Izuku volunteers in an instant.
The plastic tupperware, heavy with Inko’s cooking, strains under his hands. As he knocks, he realizes he’s come without a plan. Before he can scramble together something to say, the door swings open.
Blonde hair and red eyes catch him off-guard, but it’s only Mitsuki, who looks delighted. “Is that you, Izuku?”
“Hi, Auntie,” Izuku says meekly. In an instant, she draws the door open wider, flitting over to fawn over how much he’s grown and how she barely recognizes him. It always amazes him how similar Katsuki’s features are to his mother’s, and he can’t help but blush as she reaches to ruffle his hair. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Don’t say such nonsense. I couldn’t believe my eyes at graduation—Inko’s boy, all grown up! I would’ve come over to say congratulations, but the brat kept pestering us to leave.” She shakes her head, and Izuku chuckles along.
“That’s okay. My mom wanted me to come over and-”
“Yes, yes. Come on in.”
She snags his arm, reeling him along before he can protest otherwise. The last time Izuku was here, he was in elementary school, and he can’t keep his eyes from wandering.
Glossy photographs line the walls, most, if not all, depicting Katsuki. There’s a picture of him from elementary school, grinning a gap-toothed smile—he was the first out of all the kids to lose a tooth, which he held over everyone for weeks. It’s the only photo where he’s smiling; in all others, his expression is either anger, annoyance, or a cross between both.
One has been hung up recently: Katsuki, crammed between his parents. He’s not smiling, but he isn’t exactly frowning, either, instead sporting a subdued expression. The cherry blossom petal in his hair is barely visible.
“Brat can’t even smile for his mom in one picture,” Mitsuki says, noticing him looking. “Not even for his graduation day. Can you believe it?”
“Is he…” Izuku begins, unsure. He’s been straining his ears all this while, but either Katsuki is very quiet while at home, or-
Mitsuki’s solemn expression makes his stomach lurch. “Sorry, kid,” she says. “I wasn’t sure if he told anyone, but of course, he didn’t.”
She fills him in. Eager to launch his career as soon as possible, Katsuki scoured Tokyo for an apartment. Although he didn’t decide on which agency to join yet, he received plenty of offers, and by the sound of it, narrowed it down to a few. While Izuku struggled to find the courage to visit, the other had packed his bags and moved out.
“I can give you his address,” Mitsuki, watching him carefully, offers. Izuku catches himself nodding and switches to shaking his head.
“I shouldn’t bother him,” he says. “Especially when he’s settling in and figuring out everything.”
Mitsuki doesn’t insist. She only looks at him, knowing, and says, “If that’s what you want.” Their small talk centers mostly around graduation and their classmates—an offhand mention of Kirishima takes him by surprise, and he isn’t sure how to feel, knowing the other had grown close enough to Katsuki to be familiar to his family—before he’s waved out with an even heavier container of curry.
“Tell Inko to drop by more often.” Standing at the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, Mitsuki looks like the mirror image of her son. If Izuku squints, he can almost fool himself into envisioning her hair a little shorter, her jaw a bit sharper… “Both of us will have empty nests soon.”
Izuku promises he will. As he drifts back home, he chews his cheek, deep in thought.
Most graduates wait until the end of the summer before transitioning into fully-fledged heroes, basking in the last taste of their youth. Katsuki had always been anxious to grow up and get ahead. Without hesitation, he left his childhood behind. Without a word, he left everyone else behind.
The first thing Izuku does when he gets home is search for apartments up for rent in Tokyo.
Today’s special feature is the hero who keeps saying things you just can’t on TV!
The massive LCD screen above Izuku’s head catches his eye even before it smashcuts to a recognizable silhouette, cut in shades of orange and black. Although he’s mid-patrol, his feet stutter to a stop as Dynamight’s most recent takedown plays across pixels.
Whether face-to-face, splayed on the cover of a magazine, or whirling across a screen, Katsuki never fails to snatch his attention. Izuku watches, captivated, as he thrusts his hands out, firing off a massive explosion. It’s loud enough to cut through the audio feed—or so the closed captions say.
The reporter’s frantic voice filters back in as she announces that once again, Dynamight had single-handedly crushed a villain. She hurries forward, eager to get the hero’s thoughts, only to receive a deadly scowl and a snap of get out of my way, lady.
Personally, Izuku thinks they caught Katsuki on one of his good days. The panel of talk show hosts the screen swaps over to think otherwise.
Certainly a hero with promise, the caption reads, but allowing a public figure to have such an attitude is dangerous for society. Youth who obsessively model themselves after heroes may believe it acceptable to act-
It’s here Izuku tunes out the subtitles, honing into where a clip of Katsuki mid-explosion plays on loop. These days, it feels like it’s been an eternity since he last witnessed those explosions. An eternity since he last saw Katsuki under the blossoming cherry trees.
Sometimes, he’s discovering, an eternity can be as small as six months.
True to expectations, Katsuki only has a singular, company-regulated social media profile, so any information about him either comes to Izuku through news outlets or bits and pieces shared by their friends.
The blurry footage of a takedown, posted onto an online forum. A passing remark from Todoroki about working with Katsuki at the Endeavor agency. The large, LCD screens plastered against towering city buildings.
It’s a jarring change. For years, Katsuki had always been at an arm’s distance. Even if he brushed Izuku off and cast him aside, all he had to do was stand up and he would still be there. Somehow, it never occurred to him that one day he and Katsuki might go their separate ways.
It might’ve been easier to live with if he caught sight of the other here and there, but there had been less opportunities to run into him in Tokyo than he expected. Furthermore, the few times Ashido arranged class gatherings, Katsuki was absent.
“I tried to get him to come,” Kirishima told him once. “But he’s obsessed with work—can’t even get him on the phone these days. Pretty sure he’s struggling with rent right now, but he also told me this is why I won’t break into the top ten, which, ouch. But that’s Bakugou for you, huh?”
Yeah. That sounds like him.
Bubble Girl’s tinny voice echoes through Izuku’s earpiece, repeating coordinates to an active robbery. He tears his eyes away and draws himself to his feet, kicking off from his perch. His skin crackles with energy as he sprints, reaching up to drag his respirator over his mouth.
His feet barely hit the ground at the given coordinates—a supermarket—before the double doors burst open, spilling forth a throng of thieves. Cans and fruits roll in their wake, their arms ladened with large pouches. The matching sneers on their faces falter when Izuku clears his throat and steps out, blocking their way.
“Fuck,” one says. “It’s a hero!”
“Good eyes,” Izuku says. The compliment isn’t received well.
“Run!” Another shouts. Clearly, this plan isn’t well thought-out, because they all turn in different directions and end up entangled, cursing and bellowing.
Izuku rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck, and gets to work.
A few minutes later, he pulls down his respirator to speak into his mic. “Capture confirmed.”
The thieves lay immobilized at his feet, bruised and battered. One tries to push themself up onto shaky arms, and cowers when Izuku crouches next to him.
“Copy,” Bubble Girl says. “Law enforcement will be on scene shortly.” Her tone morphs into something less formal. “You’re free to head back after this, Deku.”
Although she can’t see it, Izuku shakes his head. “I’ll go for a couple more hours.” He needs to pay rent this month, after all. Bubble Girl doesn’t insist otherwise.
A shout. “Hero Deku!”
Izuku drops his hand from his ear. In the time he’s been on call, a crowd has formed around him, filled with sparkling eyes and smiling faces. “Deku, that was awesome!” a young boy cheers, and he scratches the back of his neck.
“Just doing my job,” he says, and it's as if his response flips a switch. The crowd surges forward, cellphones, pens, and questions alike thrust at him.
“You’re so handsome, Deku!”
“Could I get a photo?”
“Sign my arm, please!”
“Are the rumors of you having multiple quirks true?”
He gets through the clamor robotically, gripping pens here and smiling in pictures there. Although he’s improved post-graduation—courtesy of the agency’s media training—he’s still prone to freezing up at attention, and he chuckles nervously when a woman leans too close, batting her lashes suggestively.
When dealing with the crowd, Mt. Lady always insists on both authentic and ambiguous answers. The general population can sniff out lies like a shark in water, she warns. Which is why, when a group of giggly teenagers ask him, “what’s your type, Deku?” he answers.
“Hardworking, I’d say. Strong—both physically and mentally.” The teenagers hang onto his every word, but Izuku himself doesn’t know where most of this is coming from. His eyes wander, searching for inspiration, and catch onto a magazine, knocked off its shelf by the commotion. Katsuki’s emblazoned across the front, mid-wiping sweat off his brow. “Sure of themself. Maybe a bit too much. And-”
Red, he thinks, but doesn’t say. Instead, he flushes, stepping back.
“I’ll have to go now,” he says. The crowd begins to murmur in disappointment, and Izuku has never been more relieved to spot law enforcement. “Thank you for your support!”
Civillains wave to him as he flits across streets, but he’s too distracted to return it. Initially, he’d convinced himself he’d be able to bear the separation. Months of glimpsing Katsuki everywhere but in the flesh, of obsessively watching Katsuki swap places with him on the hero rankings—as if they were forever doomed to never keep pace with one another—he isn’t sure anymore.
Working keeps him distracted for the most part; Uraraka tries setting him up on dates here and there, but any interest usually fizzles out a few weeks in. Something is always missing. Something big. Something important. Izuku keeps waiting for it, even if he isn’t sure what it is.
Something. A sign. A change. Someone, maybe.
“Deku.” Bubble Girl’s voice crackles through the earpiece. “Quirk awakening, three hundred meters. Quirk-suppressing heroes will be deployed in case of emergency. Over.”
Izuku exhales, blinking away the stinging of his eyes. Maybe he should grab a coffee after this—the exhaustion of the graveyard shift he pulled last night, coupled with his insistence on taking the shift right after, is beginning to creep up on him.
“Deku, come in.”
Dozens of people call his name each day, but it’s been six months since he’s heard it from the one person he really needs to.
“Copy,” Izuku says. “I’m heading to the scene. Out.”
“-Deku!”
A bone-deep pounding sprouts from his skull. Distantly, Izuku is aware that something isn’t quite-right, but he struggles to put his finger on it. Someone fumbles with his respirator, ripping it off his face and Izuku’s chest caves as he inhales. Every breath intensifies the pounding of his head.
Wait. Is he dying?
That particular thought is interrupted by a voice. “The hell are you talking about? Get up!”
Izuku opens his eyes. Colors are oddly too-bright, dark lines blurring across his vision. He has to really think, really squint for things to come back into focus. Blonde hair. Red eyes. Anger brimming in its purest form, spilled across scowling features.
“Kacchan,” Izuku croaks. “What’re you doing here?”
Logically, it doesn’t make any sense for Katsuki to be here. Izuku hasn’t seen him for months, after all. His last memory is of arriving at the scene of the quirk awakening, and there had been a young girl, her eyes glazed over with fear…
“What does it look like?” the vision snarls. He looks too real, and he sounds like it even more. Even the oppressive touch on Izuku’s arm is reminiscent of Katsuki.
“You look exactly like him,” he murmurs. He considers reaching out to touch, but real or not, it wouldn’t be right. Besides, his body isn’t responding correctly—he tries to move his arm and finds he can only wiggle his fingers. Huh. That’s not good.
Maybe-Real Katsuki shakes his shoulders, demanding something. Izuku stares at his face, fascinated by how his features contort around micro-expressions: anger, concern, disbelief, and right back to anger. The fleeting changes make him feel dizzy, even a little sleepy. Now that he thinks about it, he’s exhausted. He really needs coffee.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Maybe-Fake Katsuki says, but his voice goes watery, slipping away like liquid. Izuku’s eyelids begin dropping of their own accord, but wait, isn’t there something he needs to tell him?
“I wish,” he mumbles, in a rush of clarity, “we could’ve stayed together.”
The stricken look on Katsuki’s face is the last thing he sees.
Izuku dreams of cherry blossoms.
It’s fairly peaceful, at first. A blossom floats to the ground and Izuku stoops low to pocket it, and he’s hardly gotten back up when another lands at his feet. It’s so lovely he can’t help but collect this one, too, and then there’s another, and another, and his pockets are bursting and he can barely see past the whirlwind of petals-
He wakes up drawing breath, half-expecting to still be choking on flowers. Instead, he finds himself in a bed. Not his own, but almost just as familiar. The too-thin gown and the faint scent of chemicals gives away his location.
There’s a line of IV running along the length of his arm. It strains as he sits up, but before he can piece together how he got here, someone clears their throat. Izuku turns and freezes.
The memory returns in bits and pieces—Izuku, debating whether the other was a hallucination or not, before ultimately deciding on the former. Clearly, he’d been wrong because Katsuki is fleshy and real, and more importantly, standing at his bedside.
“Kacchan,” he says, before he realizes the other is outfitted in gear. “Or—Dynamight?”
The name is foreign on his lips. Although it’s rude to stare, he can’t help but take the other in: aside from a deepening of shadows under his eyes, he looks practically the same as six months ago. Izuku’s eyes sweep over a slim waist, strong arms, and finally meet that red gaze. A chill runs down his spine.
“All Might’s successor,” Katsuki says, and the sound of his voice only solidifies reality, “found bleeding out after a toddler’s quirk accident.”
He remembers now. Following the attempted robbery at the supermarket, he followed instructions to quell an out-of-control quirk. As it turned out, he’d grossly underestimated his exhaustion. One moment, he was on his feet, dodging lashing tentacles, and in the next, darkness.
“I was careless. I didn’t consider how the surroundings would have increased the scope of destruction, especially for a long-range quirk as-”
“What did you mean, stay together?”
Izuku’s voice shrivels in his mouth. Somehow, amidst all the scattered thoughts, he’d forgotten—Katsuki, gripping his shoulders, and Izuku, convinced this was it for him. “It’s kind of difficult to explain-”
“You fuck off for months,” Katsuki says, interrupting him, “and pop up again, half-dead because of your lifestyle—which is shit, by the way. And you have the audacity to bitch at me for not lugging around your-”
“You never reached out.”
“What?”
“After graduation.” It spills out before he can put a cap on it. “I waited for you,” at the party, in his neighborhood, across Tokyo, “but you never came.”
“How the fuck was I supposed to-” Katsuki stops. Draws breath. Starts again. “You never acted like you wanted me to. There was no reason you would’ve wanted me to.”
Izuku’s childhood had been wax crayons, slapping away mosquitos, and helplessly following after Katsuki. Even after those crayons turned into pencils, he continued to chase after the other’s glowing presence, like a ship seeking out a lighthouse.
“Since we were kids, we were always together. I guess—I guess I thought that would always be the case. But then, suddenly, you were gone.” He can’t look Katsuki in the eye, head bowed as he mutters. “I told myself it was just a part of growing up and I’d get used to it soon enough, but… I still ended up looking for you everywhere.”
“So we didn’t see each other every day. It’s got nothing to do with almost dropping dead because of a fucking concussion.”
“You don’t get it,” Izuku says. Katsuki had disappeared, taking away his guiding light, and left him scrambling in the darkness. “I can’t accept a life without you in it.”
Katsuki stares at him, stunned, and— shit. So caught up in his tangent, he’s ended up divulging way more than he ever wanted to—more than he ever thought he’d get the chance to. Squeaking, he slaps a hand to his mouth.
He expects harsh words, or maybe the pop of an explosion. Neither comes. “What did I expect.”
“I’m sorry-” His head snaps up. “Wait. You’re not-”
Katsuki doesn’t look angry. He hasn’t looked angry this entire time, Izuku realizes.
“You’re not angry?”
“I’m pissed.” Izuku flinches. Maybe not, then. “You want me to be a part of your life when you can barely wash your own ass?”
“Sorry-”
“Don’t want to hear it.” Katsuki’s shoulders slump. Resignation is written into the crease of his brow, diluted by a hint of curiosity. “You fucker. Why’d you show up, huh?”
Izuku shifts. He wants to apologize, but Katsuki most likely wouldn’t receive it well. Besides, it doesn’t seem like he’s waiting for a reply, muttering to himself.
“-Right when I was so close to finally getting rid of this bond. You always gotta ruin everything, huh, Deku?”
There it is. His name, the way he’s been waiting to hear it. Izuku’s eyes well before he can help it.
“What—why are you crying?”
His hands scramble to try and rub away the tears dripping down his cheek. “I-I just can’t believe you’re here. I wondered if I’d ever see you again, sometimes-”
“I wasn’t dead. Quit it, I’m right here.”
It doesn’t help. The tears only thicken and Katsuki curses. Izuku’s vision is too blurry to see him toss over a tissue, but he feels the softness between his fingers. Katsuki doesn’t look at him as he blows his nose.
“If you hated living without me so bad, you should’ve fucking called.”
“I thought about it,” Izuku admits. “But you were obviously busy and I didn’t want to bother you-”
“You’re bothering me plenty now,” Katsuki scoffs, tossing him the whole tissue box. “Clearly you don’t care about getting yourself together before poking your nose in others’ business.”
Izuku chews his lip. The tears subside, finally, and he feels more awake than he has in days. A part of him wants to tell Katsuki to forget about all of this. Another part of him wants to beg him to sit, to stay.
Katsuki ends up making the decision for him. When he takes a step towards the door, Izuku finds himself speaking up. “Are you leaving?”
“I’ve got work, Deku."
That explains why he’s still in gear. “I must’ve caused you trouble.”
“You always do,” Katsuki snorts. “The kid is going to want to see you.”
“The kid?” Izuku wonders before he jerks up. “The quirk awakening—how is she?”
“Fine. Better than you.”
He tugs the door open. Before he can step out, Izuku blurts, “Kacchan.”
A plea clings to the childhood nickname. Katsuki pauses, one gloved hand on the sliding door.
“I’ll be back,” he says, and maybe it’s a figment of Izuku’s imagination, but he sounds softer. “You better not move an inch off that bed.”
“I won’t.”
Katsuki doesn’t look back, leaving Izuku to stare at where he’d been standing. The pounding of his head seems to have migrated to his chest, and he squeezes his fists into the cotton sheets, unable to suppress a smile.
They’ve barely resolved anything. Katsuki barely expressed his own feelings. But he found him. He waited until Izuku woke up. He said he’ll be back. It’s not much, but to Izuku, it’s everything.
The door slides open, interrupting his thoughts. A young girl tumbles in, her auburn hair tied up into pigtails, followed by her mother, who is close to tears. She nearly knocks over the visitor’s chair in her haste to rush over and grab his hand, thanking him profusely.
Backing them is a familiar face: Aizawa, ever-tired and worn. Distantly, Izuku recalls a dispatch for quirk-suppressing heroes. “I imagine Bakugou has already given you a talking to,” his former teacher says.
A nervous chuckle. “He… definitely did.”
Aizawa’s appraising look makes him squirm and he’s thankful for the distraction the mother and her daughter brings. He manages to console the two and brush their apologies off, and the little girl leaves clutching her newly-signed baseball cap, waving at him all the way until she’s tugged out.
Meanwhile, Aizawa lingers a moment longer, resting a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “It’s common for rookies to want to save as many people as they can, but remember who needs to be in good shape first to do so.”
With one more pat and a nod, he departs, leaving Izuku alone for the second time of the day. And what a long day it’s been—the robbery at the supermarket seems like ages ago, now. Suddenly exhausted, he slumps against the pillows. His head throbs dully in response.
Aside from this, he feels fine. Good, even, and a part of him doesn’t quite understand Katsuki and Aizawa’s reactions. Suddenly curious, he reaches for his phone. Notifications pour in as he switches it on.
There’s a couple from Uraraka, a few from his mother, insisting on bringing him fruit, and one from Yagi, but he ignores those in favor of the camera, waiting patiently for the feed to load. It finally does, and Izuku stares dumbly.
Half of his skull is wrapped in bandages, all the way to his occipital. He’s almost afraid as he turns his head, slowly, and has his fears confirmed when he finds the back of it drenched in red.
Izuku sits up. Reaching over, he hits the call button.
“You’re back.”
From the doorway, mask pulled over his forehead, Katsuki scowls at him. His gear suggests he’s come straight from a shift, but what really confirms it is the fine layer of dust settled over his skin. There’s even a smudge on his cheek, the singular imperfection making this all the more real.
“I said I would be.” He sounds offended at the implication he lied. Izuku was hoping he'd come but he’d refused to get his hopes up; Katsuki’s appearance is a sight for sore eyes. “Did getting hit in the head mess with your memory too?”
“No, I remember! But I thought you’d be too busy, or-” He catches himself rambling and cuts it short. “Are you sure you want to—I mean, is it okay for you to be here right now?”
Katsuki kicks out a plastic chair to drop into it. “I’ve never done anything I don’t want to do. Besides, unlike you, I actually know how to balance my work and personal life.”
Izuku wonders which category this visit falls into—work, or personal? Sure, they were classmates at UA and knew each for much longer before that, but it’s been half a year since then, and this could just as well be Dynamight visiting the victim of an incident.
That doesn’t seem like a very Katsuki-thing to do, however, especially not after their last conversation. The reminder makes Izuku shiver. Yeah, that isn’t something he wants to unpack right now.
“Did you come from work?” he asks. The grunt he receives translates to yes . “Did you see the predictions for the upcoming hero rankings? Everyone’s saying you’ll jump into the top fifteen soon—even Todoroki-kun barely made it into the top twenty last month.”
“Don’t put me and Half’n’Half on the same level. Top fifteen is no big deal. I’ll be number one before you know it.”
“Still, it’s awesome!”
Katsuki doesn’t protest the praise. “Hmph. What about you, number seventeen?”
“You saw that?”
“Obviously—it's right under my name. You’re still sticking onto me, huh?”
“Right.” Izuku scratches his ear. “I didn’t mean to, but we were together for so long, I guess it just ended up becoming second nature for me to-”
“Relax, Nerd. I don’t fight patients.”
“So you would’ve if I wasn’t hospitalized-?”
“Everything you said yesterday. Did you mean it?”
The question comes out of left field. Izuku, unprepared, fumbles to respond. “I’m not exactly sure about everything I said, since I was a bit loopy from the meds. You can just forget about it all-”
“This.” Katsuki getting to his feet, pointing accusingly, interrupts his attempt at saving face. “This is what pisses me off about you most. You blabber a whole lot of shit, and then don’t own up to it. Did you mean any of it, or were you trying to mess with me, huh?”
Smoldering eyes pin him in place. Struck by the need to get the other’s attention off of him, he blurts whatever comes to mind first. “You have dirt on your face.”
It works. Katsuki scrubs at his face with a curse, and without the weight of his eyes, Izuku is able to think a bit more clearly, enough to string together something semi-coherent.
“I’ve never lied to you,” he says. “And I don’t ever plan on starting. I don’t want you to feel burdened, which is why I think it might be better if you just-”
He doesn’t have to check to know Katsuki is glaring. Quickly, he backtracks.
“I meant everything.” The admission comes out with surprising ease. He chances a glance—Katsuki is indeed frowning, if a little less. Although he’s brushed away most of the debris, a streak remains. “You’ve still got a little…”
“I swear to-”
“Here, let me,” Izuku begins, leaning forward. His hand is midway there when he realizes what he’s doing and he switches over to gesturing lamely. “It’s, uh, right there.”
Izuku tucks his traitorous hand back under the blankets and Katsuki resumes his crossed-arm position. “You’re a mess. You kept this shit bottled up since graduation?”
It isn’t very fair for Katsuki of all people to tell this to him, but he keeps the thought to himself. “It’s gross, so…”
“Yeah, it is.”
Izuku’s heart sinks. He has to bite his lip to keep it from wobbling—he’s known, of course, how Katsuki feels about him, but hearing it aloud doesn’t make it any better—and he waits for fading footsteps. At the scrape of a chair, he looks up.
Katsuki is still here. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave either, lounging back comfortably. His eyes are trained on Izuku’s bedside table, and he follows his line of sight to the bowl of fruit there. Inko had brought it earlier today, and he’d forgotten about it until now.
He plucks an apple, holding it out. It feels uncannily like bribing a wild animal. “Do you want one?”
A grunt. Katsuki snatches it from him, and then the plastic knife left over from Izuku’s meal tray. Izuku watches as slim fingers wrap around the knife, working the edge into the apple. “So?”
“Huh?”
“Isn’t this what you wanted? To babble about whatever you’ve been doing this whole time?”
“You’re staying?”
“Starting to regret it.”
When Izuku continues to gape at him, Katsuki cuts through the apple’s flesh furiously. Chop.
“Stare at me with that stupid look on your face any longer and I’m leaving.”
“Wait!” He lurches forward, although Katsuki doesn’t make any move to leave. “Don’t go. I’m trying to think about—oh! Did you hear about the villain terrorizing trains a month ago in Shibuya?”
Katsuki shakes his head. Izuku curls his hands under the blankets. There’s no telling when he’ll ever get this opportunity again, and he intends to make most of it. Stowing away worries of the future, he sinks against the pillows, and lets his mouth run free.
Either Katsuki is too focused on the task at hand or isn’t in the mood to talk, because he remains mostly quiet as Izuku recounts the variety of villains he’d come up against, save for the occasional scathing comment here or there. All the while, he slices through fruit, reaching for the next each time he finishes with one.
It’s while he’s talking animatedly about an upcoming All Might merchandise drop, that Izuku realizes he can’t remember the last time he’s done this—sat down and relaxed. At some point, his days became a cycle of work, sleep, rinse, repeat. He convinced himself it was for the greater good, to save the most lives he could, but where did that get him?
Strapped to an IV in a hospital bed, bleeding from the head.
“Deku.” Katsuki’s raised brow alerts him to his sudden silence. A knock steals his chance to reply and they both straighten as a nurse peeks in.
“Pardon me, Midoriya-san. I’ll be changing your bandages now,” she begins, before noticing Katsuki. “My apologies, I didn’t know you had visitors. Should I come back later?”
“Nah, I’m heading out,” Katsuki says. He sinks the knife into a peach slice, sliding off the chair. “I’ll see you, Deku.”
It’s a jarring farewell, but with the nurse there, Izuku doesn’t have the courage to ask the other to stay, or whether he’ll be back. Instead, he nods. “See you soon, Kacchan.”
Katsuki doesn’t comment on the soon . With a noncommittal sound, he brushes past the nurse, and disappears out the door. Izuku’s eyes are still trained on where he’d been when she rolls over her code cart.
“That was Dynamight, wasn’t it?” she asks conversationally as she unwraps his bandages. The smell of alcohol when she uncaps the bottle makes his nostrils tickle. He almost nods before remembering to hold his head still.
“Yes,” he says, a hint of wariness creeping into his tone. He’s had his fair share of getting his location leaked and getting swarmed with fans, after all. But the nurse only hums and continues replacing his bandages in professional silence.
“That’s quite a lot of fruit,” she remarks once she’s done, referring to where Katsuki left behind a whole assembly of sliced fruit. In the time he was sitting here, he cut through everything, and now, apples, pears, and peaches are arranged in neat slices. There’s no way Izuku will be able to eat all of it.
“If it wouldn’t be too much,” he says as she begins loading her cart, “could you distribute these among the staff?”
The nurse looks surprised. “Are you sure, Deku-san?”
Izuku nods. His lip twitches as he looks at the fruit again; Katsuki had even gone as far as to scrape the skin off of each one. “Tell them it’s a small gift from Deku and Dynamight.”
He gets discharged the following day. Over the phone, Uraraka insists on escorting him from the hospital, and it takes a few minutes to assure her that no, he isn’t sneaking out, and yes, he promises not to make any rash decisions if he stumbles across anything dangerous.
Initially, he thought to text Katsuki the news, but ultimately decided against it.
The only thing of note to happen is the cab driver recognizing him: “Aren’t you that bunny hero?” he asks, before proceeding to thank Izuku for protecting their country, and finishing off with a date offer from his daughter, who is apparently a big fan of his.
Izuku politely turns it down.
As if to spite him, the elevator is out of order and so he takes the stairs. Each step intensifies the pounding in his head a bit more, and he’s grateful to finally reach his front door.
“Home sweet home,” he sighs, flicking on the light. Immediately, he grimaces.
It may not be quite in the realm of dirty, but it is messy : energy drinks are strewn across the carpet, the sink is full of dishes, and something stinks like rot. An investigation leads him to the Chinese takeout abandoned on the counter: he’d forgotten to put it in the refrigerator.
All more evidence of his awful lifestyle.
He draws up a tentative plan to clean, starting with the floor. Before he can get to work, the bell rings— ding, ding. Izuku frowns. He isn’t expecting any packages. Did Uraraka change her mind and decide to come check up on him after all? It wouldn’t be the first time.
“I’m coming,” he calls out at the second chorus of ding, ding, this time followed by a knock. Her visit might be good for him; he needs updates on the agency. Without bothering to check through the eyehole, he opens the door. “Hey, Uraraka-san-”
Blonde hair and a perpetual-frown paralyzes him in place. Katsuki, out of costume and in a heart-pangingly distinct skull shirt, raises a brow. “Round Face supposed to come?”
Izuku slams the door shut.
“What the fuck.” The door knob jostles furiously and Izuku fumbles to lock it. For good measure, he presses his back against the door before looking, wide-eyed, at his disheveled apartment. “If you don’t open this door right now, Deku-”
“Hold on a minute,” Izuku says. All of the doctor’s warnings to avoid using his quirk disperses as he leaps into motion. Green lightning crackles across his skin as he scoops up cans with one hand, scattered laundry with the other. There isn’t any time to do the dishes, but he does dispose of the takeout and tie up the trash bag, before rushing over to the door.
“-when I get my hands on you, you’ll be wishing you were dead.” Katsuki’s palms are half-lit when he opens the door. When he spots Izuku, they glow even brighter. “You little-”
He holds his hands up nervously. “W-Wait, Kacchan, I’m still injured, remember? You don’t fight with patients.”
“I’ll make an exception,” Katsuki says, moving forward. Before he can act on his words, his eyes snap over Izuku’s shoulder. Whatever he sees makes his hands drop and Izuku stumbles as the other shoves past him. “Move.”
Biting his cheek, Izuku fastens the door shut. He’s almost too scared to follow after him, and mentally, he goes over anything he could’ve possibly left out which might spark an awkward discussion.
He turns to see Katsuki opening the refrigerator and his blood runs cold.
“Wait!” Five percent of One For All activates as he zips over, but it’s too late—the stark innards of his refrigerator are already exposed, and the blinking, fluorescent lights overhead only add to the gruesome scene. Save for a pack of energy drinks, a half-empty gallon of milk, and a carton of eggs, the shelves are empty. “It isn’t what it looks like.”
Katsuki ignores him and retrieves the gallon of milk. Izuku pales at the expiration date even before the cap is twisted off, and he doesn’t need to be close to smell the pungency of it. “I knew it.”
“I don’t usually live like this,” Izuku says. “Since I’ve been at the hospital, things have gotten old and stuff.”
“This expired two months ago.”
“I heard spoiled milk is good for baking and I thought I’d save it for that?”
Dropping the gallon onto the counter, Katsuki crosses his arms, appraising the rest of the apartment with a single sweep of his eyes. Izuku wipes his clammy palms on his pants.
Finally, Katsuki faces him. “Your living room looks like shit. Your fridge is empty. It smells like a dog died in here.” Izuku knew he should have dug out the air freshener. “What the hell have you been doing, Deku?”
“...Saving people?”
A scoff. “Yeah, sure. Hero, my ass.”
It should be demeaning, but the dip in his tone gives Izuku pause. “Did I worry you?” he asks. His suspicions are confirmed when Katsuki stiffens. “I’m planning to take better care of myself, I swear.”
Instead of replying to him, Katsuki jerks his chin. “Get out.”
“Suddenly? What-”
“Out.”
Katsuki isn’t the sort to budge and so Izuku stumbles out of the kitchen, finding a seat on the couch instead. His curiosity grows at the sounds of shuffling and clinking ceramic, all punctuated with the occasional mutter of “Shitty Nerd.” He perks up when he overhears the click of the stove.
Is Katsuki… cooking?
He peeks over his shoulder but with Katsuki’s back to him, it’s impossible to see what he’s up to. Izuku settles on staring out the window instead. There’s always the option of reaching for the television remote and checking what’s on the broadcast, but the sunlight warming his face leaves him lax and lethargic.
Somewhere along the way, his lashes grow heavy. It’s easy to pretend he’s home like this. The sizzle of oil is his mom at the stove, and he’s lying in his room, waiting for her to call him over for lunch…
“Deku.”
Izuku opens his eyes. Backed by the sun, Katsuki’s blonde hair glows, and for a second, he can only stare stupidly, struggling to figure out if this is some hyper-realistic dream or not.
“You gonna stare at me like an idiot or get up?”
Definitely reality. “Coming,” Izuku says. Katsuki doesn’t wait for him to pull himself up, shoving a bowl and spoon into his hands. The sting of heat against his palms unfogs his head.
It’s a neat, simple meal. A perfect, yellow yolk, nestled in a bed of steaming fried rice. Izuku didn’t even know he had rice at home. He stares at it, something warm blossoming in his stomach.
“Don’t you dare start crying over an egg.”
“I won’t,” Izuku promises, splitting the watery yolk. It spills forth, rich yellow bleeding into rice. “Thank you.”
Katsuki dismisses him with a “whatever,” but there’s an edge of embarrassment to it. Clearly, six months hadn’t improved his ability to accept gratitude.
The first bite of soft egg and savory rice makes it difficult to keep his promise. “Kacchan,” he says, mouth thick and full as he does his best to chew and not only swallow.
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t we become roommates?”
The spoon is halfway to his mouth for a second bite when he stiffens, registering what’s slipped from his mouth. He looks up, and finds stricken eyes already staring at him. So much for thinking before he speaks.
Slowly, he sets the spoon down. His stomach begins to churn for reasons outside of lunch, and he’s almost certain there’s a kernel of rice stuck to his cheek, but he’s too distracted to brush it off, mind running a meter a minute.
“Kirishima-kun mentioned you were having some problems with rent,” Izuku says. For once, he isn’t stammering, the words coming to him without preamble. “And that your current place is a bit far from the Endeavor Agency. I have an extra room. If you moved in, we could split the rent, and you’d be closer.”
The way Katsuki’s staring at him, it’s like he’s never seen him before. “You’ve thought about this.”
“I didn’t.” It’s true. The thought didn’t cross his mind until it came out, but as he thinks about it, it makes perfect sense. To cover the costs of an apartment in the heart of Tokyo, he’s been taking lengthier and lengthier shifts, resulting in little time for him to eat, sleep, or do much else at all. “But it’d help out the both of us; I’d get more time off, and you’d get to work more.”
It’s a win-win situation, and Katsuki always insists on coming out on top. Even now, when he looks like he wants to object, his mouth works furiously but nothing comes out. “It’d never work.”
He doesn’t have to spell it out for Izuku to understand. If Katsuki is the fire, then Izuku is the gasoline. If they don’t burn each other, they destroy everything else surrounding them, and that’s how it has always been. Izuku looks down at his bowl again, at the split yolk seeping into grains of rice.
“It might,” he says. “We’ve been together all our lives.”
Katsuki’s lips are pressed into a thin line. For Izuku, who’d expected nothing but vehement refusal, it’s a flicker of hope. “What makes you think I’d want to see your face everyday?” he asks.
Izuku searches for an appropriate answer and winds up empty-handed. With a huff, Katsuki’s arms drop to his sides.
“I’ll kill you if you let the food get cold.”
Hurriedly, Izuku snatches up his spoon again. Meanwhile, Katsuki returns to the kitchen to drop a plastic bag on the counter. “What’s that?”
“From Half’n’Half,” Katsuki says, clicking his tongue. “It’s what I came here for.”
Before he can make a move to leave, Izuku, mid-chew, springs forward. His fingers curl around Katsuki’s wrist. “Wait.”
An expectant, arched brow. Izuku swallows, swipes a hand across his mouth, and prays that he looks convincing.
“Will you think about it, at least?”
“I’m not lugging your ass back the next time a toddler gets you, Deku.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“I’m leaving.” Katsuki pulls his wrist free and Izuku lets him, watching as he heads for the door. It’s as metaphorical as it is literal: if Katsuki steps through without looking back, it is wholly possible he’ll be not only leaving Izuku’s apartment, but his life as a whole.
A beat.
“Hey.”
Izuku lifts his head. Paused at the open door, bathed in the bleeding light of the sunset, Katsuki looks a little like a dream once again. “Yes?”
“You’ve got my phone number for a reason.”
The door clicks shut, leaving Izuku blinking in his wake. Robotically, he twists around, taking in the half-full pot of fried rice, his half-empty bowl, and the plastic bag—filled with cup ramen?—from Todoroki, all evidence of Katsuki’s visit.
“I shouldn’t let the food get cold,” he echoes, almost hesitant as he reaches for the spoon. By the time he’s scraped the bowl clean, it’s dark outside, but the bright lights of Tokyo don’t feel nearly as isolating with the lingering taste of a fresh-cooked meal.
His phone lays on the counter. Izuku considers a moment before reaching for it. Familiar uncertainty wells up as he swipes into the chatroom, but this time, he buries it, beginning to type instead.
Kacchan
Don’t expect me to move into anywhere with those shitty kitchen utensils.
The owner of the red tuft of hair sticking up over a heap of boxes is unmistakable, made even more obvious when the boxes shift, revealing a toothy smile. “Kirishima-kun!”
“Midoriya! It’s been a while!”
Before Izuku can accept the hand Kirishima juts out, Katsuki appears at the stairhead, lugging along multiple boxes on his own. “I told you I got it handled, Shitty Hair! Get out of the way!”
“How did you convince him to let you help out?” Izuku asks as they scoot over. The other had been adamant on dealing with the move on his own, turning down both his offer of help and suggestion to enlist in Uraraka’s quirk.
Kirishima shrugs. “I just showed up.”
Typical. Kirishima’s capability of squirming into people’s lives, Katsuki included, is something Izuku had always been envious of. “I’ll help out, too.”
“Woah, is that okay? You haven’t been out of the hospital for long.”
“It was only a minor concussion,” Izuku says, waving off the concern in favor of taking the load off of Kirishima’s hands. “I’ve been fine for a while.”
It’s been a month since he was discharged from the hospital with a slap on the wrist and warnings to take care of his health. Although Katsuki didn’t show up at his apartment again, the chatroom between them had a constant, albeit slow, trickle of texts.
Most of what they sent between each other were links to new pieces of All Might merchandise, embarrassing interviews of their former classmates, and here and there, a question about the other’s day. Katsuki hadn’t brought up his offer—not until a week ago, when he called and demanded Izuku mail him the housing contract.
In between shifts and rearranging the contract, he hasn’t been able to do much in preparation for Katsuki’s move, let alone-
“What is all this shit, Deku?”
Izuku laughs nervously as Katsuki gawks into his spare room. Even after moving only the essentials over from his mother’s apartment, it is stuffed full with merchandise, from the walls, plastered with posters, to the windowsill, lined with packaged figurines.
Kirishima takes the opportunity to nudge him. “Hey, man, you’re sure about this, right?” he asks, and Izuku tilts his head in question. “Me and Bakugou tried rooming together for a while, and it didn’t work out.”
“You and Kacchan…” His brow furrows. “Lived together?”
“Barely. He kicked me out a month in. Point is, living with him isn’t easy. It’s Bakugou, you know?”
As far as he scrambles back, Izuku can’t recall overhearing anything about the two living together. It unsettles him, even panics him a little. What else did he miss out on regarding the other? How much was Katsuki involved in, and Izuku just didn’t know about it?
Kirishima would know. The two undoubtedly kept in contact, after all, and apparently even lived together at some point. Multiple questions stem on the tip of Izuku’s tongue, not quite born from good will, but looking into the other’s smiling face, he gulps them down.
“Nothing about Kacchan or our relationship has even been easy,” he says instead. “But we’ve figured it out all this time. We’ll just have to keep it up, right?”
They’re interrupted by the screech of ripping scotch tape. Izuku looks over his shoulder and shrieks , bolting over to where Katsuki has climbed onto a stool, halfway through peeling off one of many posters.
“Kacchan! That’s a Silver Age limited edition poster! I had to sit in queue for three hours to get it and— BE CAREFUL, YOU’RE GOING TO RIP IT-”
Throwing himself forward, he wraps his arms around the other’s torso. Katsuki growls, yanking himself out of his grasp. “I’m not ripping it, dumbass! Get your shit organized!”
Izuku looks over his shoulder, silently pleading for help. Kirishima only shoots him an encouraging thumbs-up. If he didn’t know better, he’d think this was revenge. “You’ve got this, Midoriya!”
He manages to keep Katsuki from setting fire to his posters. In exchange, he tearfully disposes of All Might dog toys (“You don’t even have a dog”), off-brand All Might shirts (“No one needs this many of the same fucking shirt”), and a pack of All Might-flavored soda (“This one is just creepy”).
“But Kacchan,” Izuku says unhappily. “All you wear is black shirts!”
Katsuki’s warning look shuts him up.
Once all the boxes are brought up and unloaded, Kirishima takes his leave. “You’re right, dude. None of us ever got it, but you guys always sorted stuff out, somehow. You’ll be fine!”
With half of his precious merchandise wadded up in a garbage bag, Izuku certainly hopes so. “Thanks, Kirishima-kun.”
Unlike Izuku, Katsuki packs light. Most of his things consist of parts of his costume and—exactly as Izuku predicted—multiple skull shirts. But what fascinates him most is the caddy filled to the brim with watery creams, sheer sheet masks, and luxurious hair products.
“Did you really think I’d use your twelve-in-one shit?”
“Not at all,” Izuku says. He’s always thought his bottle of three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash was ingenious for a hero with such little time, but he keeps that to himself.
Midway through sorting Katsuki’s numerous black shirts by style—sleeveless, half-sleeve, long-sleeve—something profound occurs to him. “Wait. Where’s all your furniture? Don’t you have a mattress?”
“Nope,” Katsuki says, too casually. “Blew it up a few weeks ago. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You blew it-” Izuku shakes his head. Now isn’t the time to worry about specifics. “You should have the bed.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Fuck you. I’m taking the couch.”
The part of Izuku raised by a guest-honoring mother quails at the idea. “That’s not right. Maybe we could-”
“You really want to finish that suggestion?”
“Nevermind. I’m going to buy a mattress, then.”
“Oh, yeah? With what money?”
Izuku has yet to pay off the bill from his latest hospital visit. “...I’ll save up.”
Katsuki snorts, a small, disbelieving sound. He unzips a pouch and scowls. “Fuck. I knew Shitty Hair would forget something.”
“What did he-?”
“My goddamn toothbrush.”
Distantly, Izuku recalls the sorry state of Katsuki’s bristles back in the UA dormitory. This loss was probably for the best. “I can drop by the convenience store and get another for you,” he suggests. Before Katsuki can reject the offer, he adds, “I’ve been needing to replace mine, too.”
He hasn’t, but Katsuki doesn’t need to know that.
Katsuki shrugs before unzipping another pouch of toiletries. It’s the closest to affirmation he’ll get.
As per its name, there’s a convenience store located adjacent to their apartment complex. Their. Standing amidst the oral hygiene aisle, Izuku tests the plural, enjoying how it rolls off his tongue.
The two of them spent years chasing after each other. Maybe now, they’ll finally be able to keep pace.
Toothbrushes representing almost every hero in the top fifty line the aisle. Katsuki didn’t mention any specific brand, and he eyes the two in Dynamight and Deku’s respective colors. The sudden thought of whether Kirishima, in the time the two had lived together, ever did this before creeps up on him.
Banishing the thought, he reaches for a distinct yellow one.
Katsuki is less than enthused in his choice of toothbrushes. “You’re such a nerd,” he groans. “Did you seriously waste a thousand yen on hero-themed toothbrushes? On Endeavor?”
“When you brush for long enough, it plays their theme!” Izuku argues. “I looked for another All Might, but they were all sold out.”
Meanwhile, Endeavor’s were priced to half of what they were originally. It had been a steal, really.
“Whatever. I get All Might.”
Izuku tamps down the urge to argue. It was only right the other got first pick with the toothbrushes, even if a part of him mourns the experience of hearing “I’ve come” every morning. The disappointment fades upon noticing the steaming pot on the stove. “Did you cook?”
“It’s just instant ramen,” Katsuki says. When he notices Izuku ogling, he scowls. “What?”
“Do you want to watch the extended edition of the Golden Age documentary with me?” The offer spills from him, an olive branch. He keeps his expectations low—Katsuki prefers to sleep early, and it’s already creeping close to that time.
“Sure.”
“Really?” Izuku says, unable to keep back his surprise. Quickly, he covers it up. “It’s my favorite one! They really managed to capture the progression of All Might’s growth through the film, and I actually took inspiration from-”
“Are you going to put it on or talk all night?” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes. Izuku hastily digs through his DVD collection, fishing out a meticulously-packaged disc. “The extended edition of Silver Age is way better.”
“You’ve already watched this?”
Katsuki doesn’t answer. Instead, he kicks his feet up, settling back. “Press play already.”
It’s usually impossible for Izuku’s attention to budge, but tonight seems to be an exception. Throughout the two-and-a-half-hour film, his eyes slip over and over to Katsuki, whose face is illuminated by the television screen. Over time, his expression shifts into something almost-calm, and as on-screen All Might turns to address the crowd, he mouths along to the dialogue.
A part of Izuku wants to forget about the documentary and watch Katsuki instead. It takes a great deal of willpower to wrench his eyes back to the screen, just in time to witness All Might slam the villain with a fist and a bellow of “DETROIT SMASH!”
From the back of his mind, he recalls two kids, standing side-to-side. Colors were brighter, the air was warmer, and their faces were pressed to glass as they watched, exactly as they are now, All Might’s powerful figure claim victory.
A part of him, which had been tense up until this moment, relaxes. Izuku drags a pillow over to his stomach, and allows himself to sink into the whisper of the memory.