Archive of Our Own ^beta

Izuku isn’t sure how he found himself in this situation. 

Though it’s classic Izuku Style to be in the focal point of bullshit, sitting in Katsuki’s lap in the early morning hours of an ordinary Friday was not on his Yearly Bingo Card. Or in the next thirty years, for that matter. 

“Well, this is certainly interesting.” Principal Nedzu chatters leisurely, tiny paws crossed and resting on his desk. His black, beady eyes glint with amused chaos as the freckled boy sits stiffly in the unbothered man’s lap. 

It’s Katsuki… But it’s not Kacchan. 

No, this brute of a man wearing the face of their residential aggressor is nothing that Izuku recognizes. 

He has the same fiery red eyes and beautiful wheat hair that casts an explosive halo around his chiseled face. Even his powerful aura demands attention and respect. But his appearance is more… Barbaric. 

Literally. 

Aside from his rougher edges and canine-based sneer, his wardrobe choices make him stick out like a sore thumb. 

It seems strange that such a man doesn’t own shirts, but alas, he is choosing to display his very naked and very sculpted torso. Though his dense arms are covered in sleeves traced with an interesting script, his hands are large and calloused. 

His collarbones are decorated with various necklaces, some scarily resembling teeth. Draped across his shoulders is an intricate blood-red cape— How much real blood is that hiding? —with the softest-looking tufts crowning the top. 

Thankfully, he is wearing pants made of a foreign material and heavy boots laced up to his shins. 

“Look, I don’t know any more than you fucking wack jobs,” he sounds like Kacchan, “I was in the middle of handling my own shit, when next thing I know, I’m thrown into a damn dorm room.”

“Language, Kacchan.” Izuku habitually chastises. They might not be from the same world, but they’re still in front of their principal. 

A deep hum comes from the man behind him, a strong arm snaking around his waist and locking him in closer. The boy tenses, not used to receiving so much physical contact from the person he’s pretty sure scoffs at his existence. 

“Well,” Nedzu chimes in playfully, “Obviously, there has been a glitch somewhere,” Katsuki scoffs, “No matter whose timeline it’s connected to. We have to consider that it might not wear off on its own,” Izuku chokes, “We will attempt to look into it from our perspective.”

“What do you suggest for now?” Izuku asks timidly as he chews on his bottom lip. 

The small animal tightens his smile, paws flexing in his hold, “There’s not much action we can take yet. So, for now, just keep him under wraps.”

“Fucking rat,” the barbarian grumbles, “‘S’long as I get Deku.”

Izuku’s breath shudders, and his posture deflates. He hopes this doesn’t last too long, because he doesn’t know how long he's going to be able to handle it. 

The young student nervously twirls his pen between his fingers, keeping his shoulders tucked against his ears and his other hand clamped in his thick curls. All while being painfully self-aware of the eyes burning holes in his back. 

But it's not in familiarity to the loathing glances he receives; this one is softer, more quizzical.

After the emergency meeting, the mismatched pair made their way back to the dorms. Izuku had half a mind that they were going to split ways, the robotic routine of walking away from each other being ingrained in his mind.

But he was pleasantly surprised when the man continued to follow him to the second floor, instead of continuing without a word of argument. 

Izuku didn’t bother with a room tour, considering it’s the size of a shoe box. Instead, he awkwardly cleared his throat and made a vague gesture to the bed. 

The decorated man didn’t hesitate to drop down, tossing his cape off and leaning back against the wall like he was used to such an environment. 

Now, three hours later, the student is attempting to distract himself with homework. He doesn't know how to interact with the Kacchan-not-Kacchan. He's mainly planning to keep to himself and monitor the others’ actions rather than trying to play best buddies. 

“Why won’t you look at me?”

The question is blunt but not aggressive. Though it still manages to throw the teenager off, whirling around in his chair in confusion. 

“Um... I’m sorry?” he squeaks, finding himself desperately afraid of having a conversation with this man.

Forcible red eyes and a customary snarl narrow in on him. The barbarian silently and quickly analyzes the student before concluding.  

“You’re afraid of me.”

“N-no!” Izuku rolls back in his seat, hands waving frantically in front of his face, “It's not that! I just—“

He freezes. 

He just what?

He doesn’t even have an answer.

But Katsuki — because it’s not Kacchan — raises a thin brow, not wanting to accept speechlessness as a valid explanation. 

“I’ve just never had to deal with something like this before,” Izuku shrugs despondently.

“And ya think I have? But that’s not the point. You don’t like me.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“That’s a fuckin’ lie, and you know it.” Katsuki sits forward, “You’re not my Deku, but you’re still Deku, ain’tcha?”

‘My Deku.’

That makes his stomach twist exotically. 

“You don’t know—“

“I don’t know you? Strike two, nerd. Try again.”

Izuku gulps, rapidly losing his composure as sweat runs down the back of his neck. 

Katsuki takes this time to drop his knowledge, “I can tell that no matter the universe, you still take dorky notes.” He stands, nodding to his book-cluttered shelf. “I know that you mutter a million miles a minute without even realizing it.”

“That’s not—“

He steps closer. 

“I know that you twirl this curl,” a thick, rough finger loops around his ear, revealing a more distressed section of hair, “When you get stumped on a project. And I know that there’s a perfectly placed freckle at the corner of your left eye that my thumb aligns with when I hold your cheek.”

To prove his point, the blond brushes his cheekbone with his knuckles before caressing his face gently. His thumb falls comfortably on his temple. 

Izuku can’t help his eyes fall shut, the subtle way he buries himself into the warmth. Soaking in the little bit of Kacchan that he’s allowed to. 

But it doesn’t last long enough. 

The student snaps out of it, “Kac—Bakugou—“

The foreigner freezes, hand stiffening and expression going stale with frustration. His eyes sag in a pained manner, “I’ve hurt you.”

“You haven’t—“ but his arguments continue to fall on deaf ears. 

“The other version of me has hurt you.”

The smaller male doesn’t retaliate, opting to stare just over Katsuki’s shoulder at a thin crack leaking across his cinderblock wall. His fingers pick aggressively at his cuticles, and he can hear his own heartbeat throbbing in his ear.

The bulk of a man straightens with an indignant growl. No matter the universe, Katsuki knows Izuku like the back of his hand. 

And so far, he doesn’t like what he sees. 

The hero-in-training, still unable to navigate his emotions, forced both of them out of the small confines of his room. In particular hopes that putting distance between them will help sort his marbles, even if it is only a few more feet. 

He’s thankful that he at least got Katsuki to put a shirt on, get into real pants, and hang up his cape. A mediocre attempt to make him appear more modern, but the callosal height and the sharp canines work against it. 

Despite Izuku’s effort to create a manageable barrier between them, the guy follows him around like a large guard dog. No more than three steps behind him at all times, constantly shadowing him from the overhead lights. 

It makes the boy feel so small. Like he’s always meant to be in the shadows, in Bakugou Katsuki’s shadow across all dimensions. 

Izuku slumps further in the actualization. Even if he and the Kacchan from this timeline have been working on being more amicable with each other, this man is a prominent visual reminder that he’s always going to be beneath his childhood best friend. 

He roughly rubs his eyes with scarred hands, winding around the kitchen to make tea. All the while, being followed by a calculating gaze.

Izuku’s body falls into a sense of relief when Kacchan’s friends come down to huddle in the common area. 

If this Katsuki knows who he is, maybe he’ll know—

“Bakugou?” Kirishima calls in utter disbelief, stopping dead in his tracks, “What’s—“

“Oh great,” Katsuki rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his large chest, “Another Shitty Hair. Next, you’re gonna tell me there’s another Spark Plug.”

Izuku spots Kaminari ducking behind Sero.

“Uh,” the shark-tooth student's eyes flick over to the obviously frazzled boy, “Midoriya?”

“Well,” he sighs, holding out an empty hand as if attempting to showcase the new but not new resident. But he stalls, not knowing how to explain it, since he doesn’t even know what it is. 

After a moment, he settles for, “It’s Bakugou, but a different Bakugou?”

The name feels foreign on his tongue, but nothing else seems fitting. Everyone notices the name change, some with startling expressions. 

“A different…?” All gazes drift toward the massive man taking up the entire essence of the kitchen. 

“I can see that you’re all as incompetent as ever,” He grumbles, as if expecting this level of ignorance. “I am Katsuki, but not your Katsuki. I’m the Leader of the Dragon Tribe. I got spit into this timeline during a freak accident, and your Katsuki got sent to mine.”

“Dragon Tribe?” Kaminari completely blows his cover and pops out from his hiding spot, “Like real dragons?”

The barbarian snaps a look at Izuku in disbelief, “So you got weird-ass superpowers but no dragons?”

“I guess?” he responds with indecision, green eyes almost begging the group to help him. 

He’s running out of ideas. He’s running out of words. And that never happens to him; he always has words. 

“Well, you obviously know us, so we’re going to talk about this,” Ashido steps forward to snag the man’s wrist, “I wanna know if you’re a punk ass bitch in other universes too.”

“The fuck did you just call me?” Katsuki barks as the pink-haired woman drags him to the couches. All of them know that he could easily shake her off, but the fact that he doesn’t has them all smirking. 

Kirishima winks over his shoulder to Izuku as the group migrates toward the living room. Excited and overlapping voices and questions grow steadily louder even though they’re heading away from him. 

Even this Katsuki is more comfortable with his familiar friends than he is with Izuku. 

So the jade-eyed student stays rooted to the floor as he watches the acquainted sight of Bakugou’s back turn on him, like it has their whole life. 

--------

Twenty minutes later, and despite his freedom, Izuku can’t get himself to go back to his room. When all he really wants is nothing more than to crawl under his covers and disappear until this…situation gets fixed. Though, for an unknowingly frustrating reason, he stays. Stupidly sat at the bland kitchen table nursing a miserable, cold cup of tea. 

Why can’t he walk away?

But he’s never been able to walk away from Katsuki, not really. 

It’s not until he hears Kaminari loudly whine, ‘Oh come on Kacchannn,’ that he decides that, yup, it's time to go. 

He doesn’t bother putting his cup in the sink; someone else can deal with his mess. His top priority is to make a quick getaway to the stairs without being noticed, get to his room, lock the door, and disappear for a week. 

The noisy chatter in the common area is constant enough that it muffles his slipper-covered shuffles. Keeping his head down, he books it across the room to the stairwell, not wanting to chance waiting for the elevator. 

As soon as he pushes the heavy door open, there’s a pull in his gut as a large presence unexpectedly looms behind him. Carefully looking over his shoulder, he swallows roughly as Katsuki’s blazing eyes bore into his. 

“Um, hey.”

“Going somewhere?” The man raises a brow, and he can’t help but see Kacchan in his mannerisms. 

“Just… Back up to my room.” Izuku clears his throat, trying to force confidence into his words. 

“Does this usually work on your Katsuki?” It almost sounds sarcastic. 

He tilts his head, curls tickling his eyelids as they fall in his face, “I don’t— No?”

He has yet to say a complete sentence to this man. Let alone a statement that doesn’t end in a question. 

“This skittish avoiding tactic you have,” he snarls, waving his hand heedlessly at the puny teenager, “It’s really fucking annoying, y’know.” 

They stand in silence, Izuku trembling under the foreigner’s gaze and still not knowing what to say to him. 

“Alright,” faster than he can blink, he's instantly weightless and being thrown over Katsuki’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“You ain’t gettin’ away from me that easy.”

“Wait!” Izuku kicks his feet frantically. He immediately has to prop his hands on the man’s large back to prevent all of the blood from rushing to his head as he thrashes around. The trek up the stairs is dizzying and mortifying, his brain vibrating rhythmically with every step.  

He isn’t sure how Katsuki remembers where his room is, but the door gets kicked open, and Izuku is tossed unceremoniously onto his bed.  

“Now talk.” The different version of his rival plops into his desk chair and leans forward expectantly. Clearly, blocking all potential exits forces the confrontation. 

Izuku is uncomfortable with his blood-red eyes zoned in on him; he’s not used to Katsuki singling him out for so long. He brings his knees up, wrapping his arms around them to make himself smaller. 

And he waits. 

Normally, Kacchan would get agitated at his lack of communication and eventually storm out in frustration. Shouting and grumbling profanities as he stomps away, resulting in avoidance between them for several days. 

But this one…

“You’re not gonna wait me out, Deku. I know how you work.”

The young hero can’t help the whine bubbling in the back of his throat as he finally tries, “I just don’t understand.” 

He still can’t look at the gruff man across from him, unsure of what he's going to see. So he has his chin tucked, his knees in, eyes bouncing around the room. 

The blond growls loudly, “The only things you think you don’t understand are the shit sitting right in front of your goddamn face.”

Izuku shrivels up even more, voice getting softer, “Just… Kacchan is very different…”

For the first time in several hours of this nonsense, Katsuki relaxes. The childish nickname is the only thing that can universally ground the suspense between them. The man slumps back in the weak desk chair and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re very different too, y’know,” the student whimpers, eyes pricking with tears and immediately wanting to apologize for his personality, “But you’re the only thing familiar to me in this fuckass place. So I would appreciate some cooperation here.”

Katsuki’s…

Asking for help.

From him.

“You’ve…never—“ Izuku uncurls himself, momentarily forgetting his anxieties as he stares wide-eyed at the strangely gentle barbarian. “I mean. You don’t really…like me…very much here.”

Red eyes find him, a hand shifting to rake through his hair, and he lets out a tired sigh, “Trust me, that’s not possible.”

The freckled boy opens his mouth to retaliate, “Don’t you fucking dare argue with me. Because I know me, and I know that is not possible.”

But you aren’t the right you.

Izuku doesn’t have enough strength to continue going back and forth. Not used to putting so much effort into their usually civil discussions. He hasn’t been the center of Katsuki’s attention since middle school. And those were very different interactions. 

He falls back against the wall, arms going limp and head dropping in defeat, “I don’t know what you expect of me.”

“I don’t expect shit, but your cooperation would be fan-fuckin-tastic. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know for how long, and I don't know how to get back. So quit trying to pawn me off like a goddamn object, and just…give me a minute, alright?”

The boy peers at Katsuki through his hair, exhaustion fogging over his vision. He’s never been good at fighting the explosive blond, constantly allowing himself to fall back a few steps and take every action to the gut. He has scars covering his body to prove it. 

So, like every other moment in his life, he caves, “Okay Ka—Bakugou.”

Because it’s still not right.

He can play nicely for a little bit. 

The man will figure it out eventually. 

They don’t speak for several more hours. 

Izuku gave Katsuki his copy of All Might: Origins, the first of the comic series based on their shared idol. More with the incentive to see if every version of the irritable guy could appreciate the iconic hero. 

And he was right.

Katsuki had fallen quiet immediately, eyes scanning over the illustrations and shimmying deeper in bed to get comfortable. He’s not sure how much the foreigner will comprehend of the story, but as long as it’s enough to entertain him.  

He felt his heart pulse warmly in tenderness, a flickering image of Kacchan glows in his mind. A version of his Kacchan is sitting on his bed, reading his comics. Wearing his familiar skull shirt and grey sweatpants, probably still sporting his signature scowl. But it would be just that, simply basking in the company of the other. 

It would take a miracle for that to be real. 

Izuku shakes his head to clear his thoughts. 

He’s been preoccupying himself with homework. But the intensity of complex math is starting to melt his brain, and the words of his English essay are spinning and floating off the page. 

He drops his pencil and digs his palms into his eyes. Falling back in his chair, he feels it shift and creak under his weight. His only original concern for the next few days was supposed to be the pile of classwork that he’s been putting off recently. Favoring engaging in more training hours. 

But nothing could have prepared him for what he’s experiencing right now. 

“You’re overworking yourself.”

Izuku looks at Katsuki through his fingers, but the man’s gaze is still locked on the thin paper comic book. 

“Hm?” the exhausted student hums, almost hoping he hallucinated the statement. 

“You have a bad habit of that,” Katsuki finally meets his eyes, “Working past the point of brain comprehension.”

“Oh.”

He’s too emotionally drained and confused to offer a well-thought-out response. 

“Alright.” Katsuki firmly finalizes. He shifts, closing the book and dropping it on the nightstand, “Bedtime.”

“Oh, if you’re tired, I can take you up to— What’re you doing?” Izuku tilts his head as the buff man begins to lie down on the flimsy dorm mattress. Easily taking up over half of it. 

“Bedtime,” he simply says again, creating just enough space next to him. 

“—I can take you back to Kacchan’s room,” the younger one stutters, face turning scarlet at the insinuating proposal. 

“That might be better,” Katsuki slowly looks around the room, “All the smiles in here are kinda creepy.”

Izuku suddenly becomes hyper-aware of the plethora of All Might merchandise watching them. The heavy gaze of his mentor bore into him from every angle. 

“Let me take you back to Kacchan’s room.” He shakily pushes up to his feet, back and knees cracking with every movement. He sways momentarily, blinking slowly to fully concentrate on not collapsing. 

“Jesus, Deku,” thick hands are around his biceps in seconds, gripping him just enough to keep him upright.

How did he get over here so quickly?

“When’s the last time you ate?”

Izuku’s eyes suddenly go wide, and his spine goes straight, “Oh my god, you’re right! I’m so sorry!”

“Wha—“

“I didn’t even think about that.” It’s like he flipped the switch on his energy so he could concentrate on taking care of the other. “You must be starving. I’m not sure what you usually eat, but we could probably find something in the kitchen for you. A lot of the food we have is—“

“Deku.” The growl of his name interrupts him, but it lacks the usual malignancy that usually follows, “I asked when the last time you’ve eaten was.”

“Um.” Izuku’s brain immediately fogs again, like clouds passing over the sun but covering it more than not. He’s obviously less concerned about his own physical well-being. 

“You only get this pathetically loony when you haven’t eaten all day.”

There it is again. Another acknowledging note Katsuki has made about Izuku’s habits. 

He blinks, not trying to force coherence toward the lack of interest in his needs. “I think I had dinner last night.”

Katsuki grimaces, an expression that is bewildering on his face, “I don’t take care of you, do I?”

“I—“ Izuku bluescreens, nose scrunching in disgruntled confusion, “What do you mean? Why would you need to?”

The larger man regards the boy silently, this time masking more indifferently while his red eyes scan him up and down. With a click of his tongue and a disdainful scoff, Katsuki slowly releases Izuku’s surprisingly thick bicep.

“Alright, we’re going upstairs to the other room. And get Shitty Hair to bring up whatever food, I don’t care what it is.”

“But I should probably stay–”

“Look, Deku,” the man sighs uncharacteristically, “Today has been disorienting enough. And I haven’t had to go to be without you next to me in years… I don’t really want to start now.”

Izuku sways on his feet, letting autopilot take over, “Okay, Kacchan.”

Katsuki growls in frustration as he can’t get comfortable on this inferior excuse for a bed. It’s impossibly tiny, noisy, and rickety, making him feel like he’s going to fall straight through it. 

He shuffles down, further cramming his back into the chilled cinder brick wall. Lying in front of him is an overwhelmingly different, and slightly younger version of his lover.

Deku. 

Whereas the barbarian knows a confidently intelligent, unashamed, admiring Deku. This one is calculatingly reserved and frighteningly scarce. Characteristics and behaviors that hurt Katsuki to watch, having never wanted to see such reactions in his lifelong companion. 

Something happened between them; what specifically, he doesn’t know. But it was enough to create excessive strain between the pair. 

Katsuki slides his fingertips along the stiff sheets, bridging the gap the student created and hesitating just millimeters away from the back that is facing him.

This Danity Deku has himself curled up in a tight ball, teetering on the edge of the bed in a possible endeavor to take up the least amount of space. The man’s chest aches for his lover, and his resolve fades. He curves a thick hand around a firm waist and drags the younger closer to him. Katsuki’s internal disestablishment stabilizes in recognition of their universal connection. 

He noses into a warm, freckled neck; shoulders relaxing the longer he holds the sole reason for his existence. 

Even if the Halfwit Katsuki of this place hasn’t revealed that truth to Danity Deku, Dragon Tribe Leader Katsuki knows. He knows there is no way that any version of himself could hate Izuku in any dimension. 

That might be the only thing he can fully comprehend from this whole mess. Deku needs to be, deserves to be, taken care of not just by anyone, but by Katsuki and Katsuki alone. Deku should have no reason to seek attention from others. 

The barbarian decides that that is what he’s going to be focusing on while he’s stuck in this fucking place. 

Deku. Providing for, tending to, and proving to this Danity Deku that he’s the best. Not just the best for him, but the best for any version of Midoriya Izuku.

It’s the only real thing he knows how to do. 

As his eyes slip closed, he feels the scholar in his grasp relax ever so slightly with an exhausted sigh.

It’s early the next morning when Izuku’s brain finally begins to process the circumstances. 

He slept in Kacchan’s room. Not only that, he slept in Kacchan’s room with a different Katsuki. And he’s so confusingly and emotionally torn.

On one hand, that’s the soundest sleep he’s gotten in his entire life. He’s never known such peace in an unguarded state. The nightmares that usually swallow him whole only nipped at his heels. The restlessness of thrashing didn’t throw him out of bed with nausea. 

He felt warm. Blissful. He felt protected. 

On the other hand… It’s not Kacchan. Kacchan hardly lets him come within three feet for more than an hour. Even with the bit of progress they have made in their relationship, it only extends as far as Katsuki rolling his eyes instead of scoffing at Izuku every ten minutes. Nowhere near sleeping, let alone hanging out, in the same room together. 

He’s strung between the two emotions, one strangely comforting while the other is familiarly terrifying. He feels like he’s invading personal space; would Kacchan’s dorm room be considered this Katsuki’s room as well? Because they’re not the same person, but they are?

He feels like he’s going behind Kacchan’s back. How would he react if he found out that a version of him was nice to Izuku? Izuku doesn’t think that would go over well, but he kinda likes the precious attention he’s receiving from this Katsuki.  

“What is the relationship between us?”

The foreign Katsuki’s candid question startles Izuku. He bolts up from his hunched position at his desk (they came back to his room; it was too weird working in Kacchan’s room) and whirls around. He probably has a bewildered look on his face, just based on the fact that the other rolls his red eyes. It’s hard not to see Kacchan when looking at the barbarian. 

“Um, what do you mean?” He has an inkling of what Katsuki is trying to poke at. What he doesn’t understand is why.

Why is Katsuki so curious about him? After all, Izuku is treating this about the same as he would with regular Kacchan, if not more hesitantly. Isn’t that the safest way to get through this? As civilly as possible, disperse and never cross paths again. 

“You said that I don’t like you in this dimension,” Izuku drops his eyes to his lap and nods carefully, “Elaborate.”

Izuku blanks. How does he begin to elaborate on anything between him and this timeline’s Kacchan? He doesn’t even know how to validate their relationship to his friends. 

“Well,” he rearranges to pull both his legs into the chair, deciding to start with the basics, “We grew up together, been around each other since we were in diapers practically.”

“You grew up together?” The near shock (or maybe fascination?) in the barbarian’s voice confuses him more. 

“You…You didn’t…? In the other place, I mean?” He tilts his head curiously. It never really occurred to him that, even if they are connected universally (which comes across as the case), they’re brought together differently. 

Katsuki shakes his head slowly, crimson eyes locked on his face, “I met you in the middle of a town raid. I was seventeen.”

“Oh,” the student whispers, before consciously blinking, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Oh.” He’s almost frustrated that that seems to be his only coherent response.

“So, what else?”

“Huh?”

“What happened between then and now?”

Everything. Everything has happened between then and now. 

Izuku leaves them sitting in utter silence, frightened to admit the truth and digging for the right words. 

His mind is working faster than he can keep up, memories of their years together suddenly playing all at once. The laughs, no matter how mean they were. The adventures, no matter how hard he had to run to keep up. The jokes, even if he was a fool. The dreams, no matter how far-fetched. 

But it was the existence of their shared dream that severed their relationship. 

The one thing that mattered in life, Izuku didn’t get. 

“Izuku.”

The use of his given name makes his head snap up in shock. It’s been so long since he’s heard Kacchan properly address him. But it’s not Kacchan. 

“You don’t have to give me all the details, but…” the usually collected man swallows harshly, and his eyes are calculating desperately, “Just…what are we?”

What are we? We’re—

“Hardly friends,” the boy whispers, tucking his chin into his knees as tears sting his eyes. 

Why does that hurt so much to say aloud? Is it because Izuku has been denying the decaying status of their friendship? Or is it because he hates that he knows it's true?

He’s so pathetic. 

Stubbornly holding on to someone who has made a clear detachment years ago. He’s never really had to admit where the two of them stand. It’s been easier to ignore what’s happened and try to be as mannerly as possible. 

But it hurts. 

Why does it hurt so much? 

“I see…” Katsuki sounds as dejected as Izuku feels. 

The teen can only hum in response, allowing his eyes to unfocus and unconscious static to take over his mind. “What’s, um, your relationship look like? With the other me.”

He still can’t completely wrap logic around the dimensional connections. Katsuki is Kacchan, but also not. Izuku is still Deku, but is he really?

Katsuki huffs with a smirk, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest, “Well, you’re still a mumbling dork, I can guarantee that. But you wouldn’t believe the rest of the details.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes. Katsuki is still just as cocky, “Oh really? Do we live together and coparent a pet turtle or something?”

Katsuki’s deep cherry eyes bore into his viridian ones, but he says nothing. Holding an even stare, gently raising a sculpted brow. It’s almost teasing. Izuku’s chest begins to bubble with anticipation. 

There’s no way—

“Something like that,” the outsider rumbles pridefully, “To be plain and simple: you’re mine.” Izuku gasps, a strange warmth blooms in his stomach, and tingles up to his esophagus. “But I am also yours.”

Without any other reticence, Katsuki shifts and slides the tight shirt sleeve up his left tricep. There, in striking black patterns against his beautifully pale skin, is an intricate letter ‘I’ that fills out across his muscle. 

“Oh,” Izuku’s legs drop and dangle out of his chair as he leans forward in wonder, “Oh wow.”

“I got this right after our engagement.” 

“Engagement?”

Katsuki blinks sensually, tongue swiping his bottom lip as he rolls the sleeve back down, “You’re my partner. In every sense of the way.”

Something inside Izuku breaks. 

“But-” a frigid tear suddenly drips down his pudgy cheek, “Kacchan doesn’t like me.”

It feels so unfair. What did the other version of himself do to be worthy of such a life? Is he doing something wrong here? Is there something he isn’t doing? Is there something he should be doing?

“I’m only gonna say this one more time,” Katsuki leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees, “That is not possible.”

“How do you know that?” Tears continue flowing at a more rapid speed, tears he didn’t know he had toward this topic anymore. 

“Just keep your eyes on me, nerd. I’ll prove it.”

Izuku wants nothing more in the world than to believe that, to believe him, but he doesn’t know if he can. 

And so, he can only give an automatic response, “Okay, Kacchan.”

As it gets later in the day, Izuku is…Entrapped. Not quite in a jaw-dropping sense, more in a ‘choke on my next breath and hyperventilate like an old man for three minutes’ type of surprise.

Katsuki treats his friend group the same, calling them by similar demeaning nicknames, if not in a more vulgar manner. He’s still loud and brash, instinctively snapping his teeth at any invading questions. 

Though to Izuku, Katsuki is suspiciously gentle. Still snarky and aggressive, but also attentive and meticulous.

The large barbarian is a constant but respectful shadow to the petite boy and acts in almost familial ways, as he did when they were only kids. In ways that only Kacchan would know how. 

And right now, Katsuki is cradling Izuku’s aching and disfigured hands on his own after noticing the student struggling to unstick his fingers from holding a pen for so long. 

“How did it happen?” the blond asks, tracing the scars, as if he knows that Izuku struggles to control the muscles and tendons. Like he already knows the hero-in-training had a traumatic injury without actually knowing what created such a debilitating result. 

“Um,” Izuku shivers at the man’s usually warm hands, “I had trouble controlling my…superpower.”

Red eyes shoot up at him with an exasperated look, “Your quirk? That’s what you called it, right?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m fucking stupid, Deku. Just because I’m not from here doesn’t mean I can’t learn.” He runs his thumb over jagged knuckles, gaze dropping back down. “You had an alchemy accident; got caught in a nasty crossfire, and over-injured yourself.”

“So…my hands or the other me’s hands-”

“They’re your hands, Deku. There isn’t ’another you.’ Here or there, you’re still you. And you’re the same you, just formed differently.”

Izuku stalls. He’s having a strangely tough time wrapping his head around these tangled alternative universes, but that almost makes sense to him. 

“Heat helps, right?”

Katsuki’s question refocuses him; he nearly forgot what they’re talking about. “What?”

“For your hands. Heat helps.” Narrow eyes look to him again, in them holding a swirl of cognizant thoughts. 

“Y-Yeah, but—”

The blond stands to his full height, always needing to hunch over to speak to him. Which isn't too uncommon, Kacchan does have a handful of inches on him. But Katsuki is so big. 

“Where’s my stuff? The things I had on me when I got here.”

“Oh, I folded everything and stacked it in the closet.”

Katsuki continues not to elaborate on his thoughts and goes straight to yanking open the flimsy cupboard door, although gently sifting the items. 

“Damn, you still can’t fold for shit.”

“What?” Izuku squawks, his face blooming a light pink. 

Sure, he’s not the best at coordinating and organizing his laundry; his mom was always the one to do it. But he thought he was getting better at it!

Katsuki blatantly ignores him again, searching through the pockets of his strange pants before pulling out a medium-sized pouch. 

“Technically, this is your old backup set.” His voice is so much milder than how Kacchan typically speaks. “But I try to keep some on me.”

Out of the pouch comes a small pale orange vial and a pair of unmistakably hand-stitched white gloves, “I don’t know the exact alchemy behind it, so don’t ask. But I’ve seen how it works.”

Katsuki crouches back down and carefully takes Izuku’s hands once more. His touch is like a faint ghost, fluttering like he’s nervous to create more damage. The man uncorks the vial with a tiny pop, carefully tipping it over as a congealed substance drips out. He only allows a dollop to fall on Izuku’s hands before quickly retracking. 

More methodically than Izuku thought the man was capable of, Katsuki massages the creamy ointment into his sore appendages, leaving no spot untouched. 

The effect is almost instant; everywhere those slender fingers trace, they leave a trail of heat that settles deep into his bones. Izuku screws his eyes shut, whimpering pitifully in relief (a sensation that hasn't been felt in his damaged tendons in so long). There’s an itch in the back of his mind that compares the result of the strange substance to the warmth that Kacchan’s quirk emits. 

“Here.” The call for his attention is quiet but steady. Izuku opens his eyes lethargically, connecting with Katsuki’s confident gaze. He’s holding out the white gloves, offering them up encouragingly, “These will help hold in the heat longer.”

Even though Katsuki is insinuating that Izuku should put the gloves on himself, he doesn’t allow a moment for it to happen as he retakes the teen’s hands. He stays compliant, spreading his fingers as the blond slides the stitched fabric on. 

“There. That should help.” He leans away, smirking at his handiwork that’s left Izuku in a trance. 

“Thank you, Kacchan.”

This time, the name doesn’t feel forced. 

After 1-A moved into Heights Alliance, eating habits and meal plans became daily sources of debate among the students. Trying to take into account allergies, preferences, and dislikes among twenty teenagers, who are in no case grand chefs, is somewhat tricky. But it was a system necessary to navigate, considering how much they all train and have to keep up with their nutrients. 

There was a lot of trial and error in the first several weeks. There were nights when some couldn’t keep the food down, and on occasion, emergency trips to Recovery Girl for a sudden allergic reaction. Though over time, they have managed to meet the basic needs.

Izuku likes to think he isn’t a picky eater, especially when someone else is putting in time and effort to make a meal for him. He’s grown to be grateful for whatever is put in front of him and will eat the whole plate in stride. Every bite he takes is always followed by enthusiastic thanks and an exciting thrill. No matter how good or bad the cuisine sits on his tongue and settles in his stomach. 

He never wants to put anyone out with potentially strange food requests just because certain things give him the ick. So he never voiced any potential dislikes. 

And now it’s come to the early-evening time of disorderly quarreling over dinner. Which feels extra strenuous with Katsuki here. The back-and-forth possibilities of what could be made, and who is capable of making it, while tailoring to a literal barbarian, makes it feel like the anxiety of their first few weeks all over again.

It’s been well over an hour and a half, and the five people in the kitchen have felt they have finally come to an exhaustive conclusion. 

“What do you think, Deku?” Uraraka asks excitedly, turning to him with sparkling brown eyes, “Does shirako sound good for dinner?”

“Um,” Izuku’s gut ties itself into painful knots as his throat clogs with nausea. The only thing that will ever make him hesitate is the texture of the dish. But that’s also not something he’ll ever admit, “Y-yeah, tha–”

“I don’t think so, Cheeks.” 

The few in the kitchen – Uraraka, Kirishima, Sato, and even Izuku — startle at Katsuki’s clipped tone. Four sets of wide eyes are magnetized to the blond, who has his buff arms crossed over his puffed chest and a blank look on his face.

“What?” The female student is gobsmacked.

“I said no.” Katsuki reiterates with no sense of doubt, “Deku doesn’t like the texture of the cod in shirako.”

Izuku squeaks nervously, hunching into himself as he feels his blood flush to his ears. How did—

“But,” Kirishima turns to the supposed liar with slight horror, “We’ve made it a few times, and you always finish your serving!”

Katsuki jumps in flawlessly again before the student can frame an excuse, “You think the dumbass is going to tell you when he doesn’t like something, Shitty Hair?” He raises a brow in question, daring anyone to argue with him.

But no one does. The room stays silent, all their eyes cast down, knowing the answer about the people-pleasing idiot. 

“It’s really not that serious, guys,” Izuku finally finds his voice and laughs weakly to defuse the growing guilt he perceives from his classmates, “It doesn’t take that long to make, and-and Sato is good with the recipe!”

Izuku can tell that his pathetically attempted justification isn’t working when Uraraka sighs indignantly.

“Deku.” He hardly turns when a hard flick lands on his forehead.

“Kacchan!” He yelps, instinctively swatting Katsuki’s hand. “What was that for?”

The familiar nicknames alleviate tension in the room, each of them smiling tiredly at the common banter.

“For being a fucking moron.” Katsuki pops his teeth impatiently, “You guys have the stuff to make nitsuke?” 

“Uh,” Sato fumbles around in the cabinets, “Maybe? It’s not a dish some of us agree on, so we’ve only made it a handful of times.”

“I don’t give a fuck if the other extras like it or not,” Katsuki shoves his way forward as the sugar-loving boy places the needed ingredients on the counter, “My only concern here is Deku. And I know he likes it. Everyone else can fuck off and feed themselves.” 

Uraraka chokes on her glass of water, some liquid bursting out of her nose, which sends her into a coughing fit. Kirishima raises his hands in surrender and takes a small step back, a smirk showing off his sharp teeth. Sato stares wide-eyed, gaze bouncing between Katsuki and Izuku, almost in anticipation. 

Izuku is mortified. His arms come flying up to hide his face and the fact that he's the embodiment of a ripe strawberry right now.

“Kacchan!” He shrieks, unsure of what else to say. How could he know something so specific? He's pretty certain Kacchan doesn't know it either; the only one who might know is his mom. 

“What?” Katsuki snarls over his shoulder, laying eyes on the other classmates still lingering nearby, and bares his teeth, “The fuck are you idiots still here for?”

“Make yourself scarce,” Uraraka whispers urgently to Sato and Kirishima as she rushes them out of the kitchen. All three of them make a quick getaway to the living room, leaving Katsuki and Izuku alone. 

Their eyes lock, fiery crimson to glassy jade. One bearing long-lasting affliction and the other with obstinate declaration. 

“How?” Izuku’s voice is thick with watering pain, “How do you know that?”

“You lookin’ down on me, huh, Deku?” He sounds so much like Kacchan that he almost wishes it was, “Think I don't know what I'm doin’?”

“N-No! I just—” Izuku breaks their eye contact, favoring sharing his gaze with the tiled floor, “How do you know something so insignificant? That's not something Kacchan knows.”

Katsuki sighs, turning his head away and placing his large hands on the countertop. His shoulders tense as he drops his chin to his chest. The student feels a pulse of anxiety grip his throat, always a little afraid of setting off that explosive personality.

But what comes is a vulnerable softness that stirs passionate interest in the student. 

“You always make the same miserable face when anyone ever brings up making shirako. And I've watched you gag that shit down before.” The intimate admission hangs heavy in the air, “And you made that same face just now.”

Izuku tilts his head curiously, bewildered by that answer. This Katsuki is taking the whole ‘crashing into a different timeline’ better than him; the barbarian is so sure of everything. Katsuki is hellbent on the idea that he is still Kacchan. And he’s hellbent on proving it to Izuku.

But how can he be Kacchan?

He can see Kacchan’s mannerisms in the ordinary recklessness, the normally brash conversation skills, and snarly mood. But what isn’t his Kacchan, is the defenseless flow of their dynamic. 

He can’t be the same Katsuki for that exact reason.

“I must be a real punk here, huh?” Katsuki's cocky attitude comes back full force, spinning to prop gracefully against the counter to face the tiny student with a wicked smirk. “Don’t worry. My Deku will whip him into shape.”

Izuku smiles tiredly, a genuinely relaxed smile. He almost wishes for it to be true. 

"How much longer do you think you’ll be here?” Izuku asks timidly, cheek pressed against his knee as he sits balled up in the desk chair again.

The pair had eaten in tender silence, the dish nearly bringing the younger boy to tears at the reminder of Kacchan’s extraordinary cooking talents. Something he hasn’t selfishly gotten to experience in years. Sure, Izuku has had his phenomenal cuisine recently, but that's due to the rotating dinner shifts, not out of desire to feed him alone. While the meal Katsuki made was only enough for two. They cleaned the area in tranquility, and both made their way to Kacchan's room. 

“Why? Ya really that desperate to get rid of me?” Katsuki snickers from his position on the bed, but the crease in his brow gives away his apprehension. 

“No,” Izuku says through a breathy giggle, blinking lazily as he feels something loosen deep within his chest. “It’s… Interesting having you here.”

“Interesting how?” The man’s iconic stoic expression eases the gentle frown at the corners of his lips. 

After spending an entire day with the foreigner, things truthfully feel less foreign. Like something is untangling in Izuku’s heart with every inhale he takes, while things begin to feel so serene in his core. 

He can understand without a doubt that this person is Bakugou Katsuki; you’d have to be an idiot to fight that. But he can't be Kacchan because it's too right, too easy. And it gives Izuku the poisonous hope that he could reach such a place with his once best friend. 

“I-I think I’m going to miss you,” he confesses quietly. 

“Technically, I'm not going anywhere—”

Izuku interrupts Katsuki’s playful sarcasm, something he would never normally do, with a hard shake of his head, “No. Not like that.”

Katsuki seems to identify the intensity behind the admission. He drops his elbows to his knees and tilts his head apathetically, “Then how?”

“You…” The boy has no clear path in his thinking at the moment; he's just letting the words flow, “You know so much about me. Things that you would have to genuinely pay attention to notice,” He pauses, a customary sting in the back of his eyes, “Paying attention in ways that I wish Kacchan would.”

He just wants Kacchan to look at him.

“He does.” Izuku immediately picks up on the pronoun change. Using ‘he’ instead of ‘I.’ A final underlying acknowledgment that the two Katsukis are different.

But again, the student shakes his head, “Even if that's true. He would never admit to it. Kacchan would rather sell his kidney on the black market than be cordial with me.”

The two process the heartbreaking proclamation that dangles in the atmosphere. For Izuku, it feels like the painful truth of his reality, but for Katsuki, it’s a gutwrenching realization of how deep the insecurities go.

“Izuku.” The use of his given name activates a rush of tears as he looks at the barbarian. Red eyes are clouded with sincerity, something usually too vulnerable for Kacchan’s liking: “I love you.”

Izuku absolutely breaks, a sob rips the back of his throat, making him suffocate momentarily. His leg falls out of the chair as his arms wrap around his waist. 

“That’s not fair,” He can't breathe through the rattling hiccups, “Why can Kacchan love me in every other universe except this one?”

Katsuki falls off the bed, landing harshly on his knees, and submissively crawls to the distraught teen. He almost seems to be in the same amount of pain as the boy, eyebrows pulled so close together, and the corners of his lips wobble. 

“Zu…”

Izuku wails, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes, nearly shoving them into their sockets. 

“It’s—” his breath hitches, thrashing his head back and forth, “not fair.” 

“I know, Zu. I know.” He doesn't remember the last time the voice of Kacchan made an effort to comfort him, let alone use that childish nickname. Probably way before the blond’s quirk even manifested, and their conversations got hostile. 

“Just, please,” Izuku suddenly jerks his head up, gripping the collar of his shirt while his green eyes glow like pure emeralds, “Please don't let him hate me.”

Katsuki’s large hand reaches for him, halting just shy of his tear-stained cheek, like he’s unsure he’s allowed to come closer to the other. Izuku doesn't let him ponder physical contact for long, easily taking the initiative and launching into the touch. So desperate for this kind of comfort. 

“I promise, Zu,” his thumb caresses over chilled freckled skin, “I won't let that happen.”

Izuku doesn't remember falling asleep, but that's not an unusual result of his crying fits. He allows his emotions to wear him down at full force and only stops when he physically collapses (another thing Katsuki appeared prepared to deal with). He's also not completely surprised to wake up still in Kacchan’s room (maybe a little by the fact that he’s in the blond’s bed), but they had slept there the night before, so he tried not to freak out too hard. 

What did freak him out was the premature miniature tremor that shook the floors and the forceful formation of a deep purple tear between space and time in the center of the dorm, a portal, per se.

Izuku bolts upright, fascination dancing in his eyes as his lips part in astonishment, his curls gently fluttering in the sudden change of wind pressure. It’s utterly captivating, the edges twinkle in spurts of soft gold, shifting into deep swirling shades of violet, and in the middle, an image leisurely comes into focus. Beautiful rolling pastures, specks of flowers he’s never seen before, and an atmosphere that feels magical. It takes a second for Izuku’s brain to process the unimaginable phenomenon happening in the room, but he realizes: it’s not an image, it’s the other version of reality. 

Katsuki’s reality. 

Katsuki’s home.

“Well, shit.” Izuku startles at the barbarian’s rough voice, laced with drowsiness, “That’s my ride.”

He looks over his shoulder at the man who had been holding him from behind, chest deflating in resignation of what’s about to happen. His gaze drifts back to the portal that has gained more resolution, suddenly picking out two small silhouettes on the other side. 

“Oh. Right.” Izuku throws his legs over the edge of the bed, sliding out of the way for Katsuki’s final departure. His hand comes up to rub fretfully on his upper bicep, anxiety abruptly palpitating through him. 

Is he allowed to be upset about this? About losing this Katsuki forever? It feels dishonorable to favor an entirely different persona of Kacchan, wrongfully getting attached to something that’s not his to keep. He should be relieved, excited even, for things to officially go back to normal, and they can go their separate ways. It’s supposed to be a good thing for both of them to get back to their own lives, right?

If he had been told that this switch was only going to last one day, he originally would have been reassured. Sitting in Nedzu’s office, he would have felt better knowing that he would have to survive this weird twist of time for a little more than twenty-four hours. But now, standing in Kacchan’s room, it’s different.

“I-” is he permitted to admit this? “I’m going to miss you.”

Katsuki, who had gotten off the bed, stopped mid-stretch. His hands, which were high over his head, drop heavily to his sides as he gives Izuku a near pitiful look.

“I’m gonna miss you too, nerd.” He aggressively ruffles the student’s messy bedhead, “I bet he’ll come around soon. He’ll prove it to you.”

Izuku giggles at the tickling sensation, messily wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sleep shirt as he fights not to let his undignified emotions spill out of his eyes (again), “Okay, Kacchan.”

The next moment, probably more comical than necessary, Kacchan - his Kacchan - stumbles through the open portal.

“Fuck!” It takes him a split-second for him to regain his balance, his loafers snagging on the jagged wooden floorboards. As he adjusts, his young eyes widen when he catches a glimpse of his older self.

“Whoa.” Kacchan sounds prideful; he obviously likes what he sees and wants to be like that when he grows up.

Big Kacchan stares at Small Kacchan in a tense stalemate. 

Small Kacchan is gazing in awe, scanning and memorizing the mountain of the man that is his other self. Almost like he’s trying to picture the workout routine that made Big Kacchan so big, while simultaneously calculating how he could achieve that. 

In turn, Big Kacchan has an expressionless face of total disinterest. Raising a condescending brow, he pops his tongue and delivers a hard blow to the back of Small Kacchan’s head. 

Izuku yelps in surprise, hand flying up to cover his mouth in shock. 

“Oi!” The blond student staggers away, rubbing at the wounded spot, “The fuck was that for?!”

“Get your shit together.” Katsuki leans down, emphasizing their height difference and creating an extraordinarily intimidating aura. With a flash of his canines, he threatens, “Got that?”

Kacchan scoffs, but his face turns a soft shade of pink. A delicate shade that Izuku suddenly loves and would do anything to see again.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I already got my ass handed to me, okay?”

Katsuki sneers and stands tall, appearing to like that answer, “Knew you would. Punk.”

“Who’re you calling–?!”

Suddenly, another person pops their head out of the portal, one that makes Izuku’s mouth drop and his mind go blank. He’s looking at…

Himself. 

Well, clearly more aged than he is, but a spitting image otherwise. 

“Oh, Kacchan!” A voice identical to his and gracefully paired with the same wide, tearful eyes that he sees in the mirror every morning, “Thank goodness! Are you alright?”

“‘Course I am, Deku.” Katsuki fluffs coils of veridian hair, the same way he had done to Izuku just moments ago, “I found you.”

Three sets of eyes turn to Izuku synchronously, two pairs that make his heart beat painfully, and the other is a reflection of his own.

“Oh, um. Hi.” He gives a dorky wave and an uncertain smile. 

What the hell is he supposed to do in this situation?? He can barely talk to one Kacchan, let alone two! Although he does talk and mutter to himself pretty regularly, this is completely different.

“Oh, I’m so small!” Deku giggles, inclining further out of the portal to get a better look and tilting his head curiously.

“Nice to finally hear you admit it, nerd.” Katsuki banters back, crossing his arms over his chest, and poorly concealed adoration glinting in his eyes.  

Deku gasps in offense, snapping his head to look at the barbarian, “Mean, Kacchan!”

“True, Deku.” It’s mocked in the same transgressive tone. 

Izuku smiles covetingly, and a nasty zing of jealousy sparks through his veins at the ridiculous bickering duo. There’s no malice behind any of their words, while the corners of their lips are upturned in amusement. The flow of their relationship is effortless and comfortable. Something he feels he was able to experience for a small dose of time.

“Can you come home now, Kacchan?” Deku borderline whines, then shoots an aggravated glare at Small Kacchan and says, “He annoys me.”

Katsuki barks out a laugh while Kacchan grumpily sticks his hands in his pockets and kicks at the floor, much like a temperamental child. Izuku, on the other hand, continues staring at the ground, despising the inner turmoil tearing through his mind and disturbed by what is to become of it.

The atmosphere continues around him; the noises of Katsuki lumbering around the puny room to gather his belongings are muted to his ears.

How is Kacchan going to respond to all this? Is he going to want to speak with him after the two leave? Will Kacchan ever want to speak to him? What would he say? What could Izuku say? 

Though he does find himself wondering what happened to Kacchan in the parallel universe, is he going to have to explain everything he went through, too?

Is this going to change anything between them? 

A heavy hand falls on the student’s head, making him jolt while realizing how watery his vision has gotten. He raises his eyes to Katsuki, the Barbarian King and Leader of the Dragon Tribes, and blinks lethargically at the soothing smile directed at him.

“Bye, Zu.”

“Bye, Kacchan.”

Deku leers at Small Kacchan, “Brat.” Then swiftly ducks back into the portal, straightforwardly ignoring the blond student’s grumbling response.

Katsuki nods to Izuku one last time before stepping through the portal himself.

The teenagers linger awkwardly as the gate dwindles shut, much like a slow-draining sink. It disintegrates into a puff of lavender smoke, leaving the room in abrupt silence and overwhelming tension. He has yet to face the boy, afraid of the expression he’s going to see on the usual scowling visage and not knowing the expression he’s going to be sporting.

To both of their surprise, Izuku speaks first, “Sorry for being in your room, Kacchan.”

Feeling a loss of what to do, or anything else to say, Izuku turns to the door. Determining it would be best if he leaves.

“Deku. Wait.”

He freezes, hand mere inches from the doorknob, sensing a tremble travel down his spine as he swallows harshly. But he doesn’t turn around.

“I— You can stay.” The way Kacchan articulates the words is begrudgingly akin to the timbre Katsuki had.

Izuku turns his head laggardly, not quite to look over his shoulder, but enough to catch sight of the blond in his peripheral vision. He has to make sure he heard that correctly, otherwise–

“I… What?” It’s an agonizing whisper.

“You can—” a pause, then a deliberate change of vocabulary, “I want you to stay.”

He finally locks with blood ruby eyes.

“You want me to…”

He can’t take this. 

After all the kindness and devotion he had been shown that brought hope to his heart, he won’t be about to take their normally biting conversations. Not right now, maybe in a few days when his mind will be fully cleared. 

But not right now.

“I see you, y'know?" Kacchan’s tongue flicks over his lips nervously, that stunning hue of pink painting his cheeks once more, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

Izuku inhales sharply, carefully rotating back around. His eyes are amplified and pleading, desperate for attention and validation.

“But I want to be able to look at you.”

The floodgates blow open, and the smaller boy is a blubbering mess. A mess of what, he’s not sure, but he can’t even begin to pinpoint it as Kacchan takes methodical steps towards him. 

This is the most they’ve looked at each other in years, the most they’ve seen of each other in a decade. But maybe they were still watching each other, just in their own ways. From a distance, but laced with intention. 

Kacchan stands before Izuku, tilting his head down in sincerity while still having his hands tucked casually in his pockets.

“Will you stay?” In measured movements, he removes a hand from his pocket and glides his fingertips up damp, tear-stained cheeks to thumb at cold tears. “Please, Zu.”

Izuku sobs through an airy laugh, guiding his own hand to lay overtop, “Okay, Kacchan.”