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It’s a little past three in the morning when they arrive at the dorms. All Might leaves them at the door with one last warning about how Aizawa will be at their throats in the morning, and then he’s gone. Katsuki doesn’t wait to fling the door open and march, with as much conviction as he can, down the main hall of the dormitory.
“Kacchan.”
Katsuki doesn’t stop, but his steps start slagging, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “What?”
Izuku trips to catch up to his side, just to be next to him, and he stares at the side of his face. Still walking, he clenches his fists, and rounds around Katsuki to stand in front of him. “I know you’re tired, but let me bandage your cuts.”
The man in front of him only scowls deeply at the words, neck craned to stare at his bare feet and avoid Izuku’s gaze. His eyebrows are furrowed between the pinch of each side of his face and his frown, but he’s stopped walking, so Izuku takes it as more of a win than a loss.
“I can do it myself, shitty Deku,” he tries to spit, but that conviction he had earlier is wearing away, and the only tone in his voice is exhaustion.
“Can you?”
Katsuki doesn’t respond. Izuku knows what he’s doing—it’s not like he’s done it before, but it feels only natural, this gut feeling. When he turns around and starts leading them through the pitch black dorms again, he doesn’t check that Katsuki is behind him. The bathroom is only a bit ways down, with the supplies closet next to it. It’s more of a room, and Izuku finally flicks on one of the lights when he enters, skimming the walls to grab one of the first aid kits.
Katsuki is already in the bathroom, the line of sinks opposite their showers and toilets, sitting on the edge of the counter. He won’t make eye contact, but when Izuku walks over to him and opens the box, he relaxes his arms and lifts his head up. His eyes are glossed over, and Izuku would say he was scared if he didn’t know any better.
“Oi, wait,” Katsuki interrupts, hopping off the counter and pushing past him. “Let me shower first, yeah? And,” he starts as he looks away once more, brushing his nose with his hand, “you too.”
Izuku slides the kit onto the counter and looks at himself in the mirror. “Yeah, we can do that...”
“Get my clothes from my room.”
“Huh?”
Katsuki pulls off his half-torn shirt, throwing it to the floor. “In the top drawer there’s a tanktop. Beneath it are some sweats. Get them for me. I’m getting us towels.”
Some part of Izuku is frantic, thinking about having to go into Katsuki’s room, thinking about how cold Katsuki’s voice is, thinking about how messed up his arms probably are, especially as Katsuki turns his back and the tension between his shoulders is clear as day. But then he’s sent back to the present, back to the fact that it’s close to four in the morning and they can worry about everything when they next wake up, and he can do this for Katsuki.
His legs ache as he walks up the stairs. He might’ve gotten hits in, but it doesn’t change the fact that he lost as horribly as he did. With Katsuki’s knee pressing into his lower back, the way he twisted his arm and completely immobilized him—there’s an unmatched strength there. It’s like All Might said. Level 1 power can’t progress at the same rate as level 50 power. He rounds to Katsuki’s floor and, as silently as possible, opens the door to his room. Kacchan has a decade of experience more than me... I can’t keep comparing myself. But right now, he’s the goal I’m working towards.
His thoughts go on—that power that he has, that Izuku has to work towards—and then when he’s in front of Katsuki’s drawers, he focuses on the task in front of him. He grabs the clothes quickly, but takes a moment to look around. It’s not much different than Katsuki’s room back at his house, just a bit smaller. Izuku’s been there too many times, so there’s a comfortable familiarity in it all: the poster or two, one of Katsuki’s tapestries pinned to his ceiling above his bed, some of his hygiene items on his nightstand. It smells of him, too, like the sweet sweat scent he always has going on. It’s the only place that feels right. Normal. It feels more like home than anyplace else in the dorms, even his own room.
Then the clothes in his hand once again remind him he has to return downstairs, making a pitstop at his room to fetch his own pyjamas.When he gets downstairs, Katsuki’s already started his shower, and he announces his arrival to the closed cubicle. “I’ve got your clothes.”
“Put them on the counter next to the dirty ones,” Katsuki calls, his voice rougher now, but softer in his attitude. “Don’t take too long,” he adds, and Izuku takes it as his sign to strip himself and jump into the shower. Next to the cubicle, adjacent Katsuki's, there’s already a towel hanging for him.
His worries, along with the dirt, wash away in the gentle stream of the shower. He doesn’t think for the majority of it, trying to enjoy the calmness and his body’s evident joy as it relaxes, and his muscles untense, and he can breathe. He finishes washing up, drying off with his towel and tucking it around his waist before he steps out. Katsuki has his sweats on, facing away, probably only half aware of Izuku’s presence even there from his evident exhaustion. He’s struggling into his tanktop, seething silently at the pain of stressing his arms so much.
“Kacchan, let me help.”
Katsuki’s teeth snarl, as if his face is winding up to reject help once more, but Izuku’s reaching up and grabbing his shirt already, and Katsuki can’t fight raising his hands to accommodate it. They’ve changed together plenty of times—in the changing room, and before that, in PE in junior high, and when they were kids and their moms bathed them together and Katsuki would bully Izuku’s shirt off until they were running around the house half naked and laughing.
It’s quieter, now, but it’s simple, and that’s what convinces Katsuki to let Izuku adjust it around his neck and waist, the way he likes it tucked in.
“Dress while I brush my teeth,” he demands, ducking down.
“I don’t get a ‘thank you?’”
“I’ll blast your head off.”
Katsuki turns around to brush his teeth while Izuku gets into clean, soft clothes, his white t-shirt and stretchy shorts. Then he brushes his teeth, and that’s said and done, and Katsuki sits back onto the counter. Izuku busies himself with the first aid kit, grabbing out what he needs.
“How are your arms feeling?” he offers into the silence when he starts applying disinfectant to a cotton swab. The skin on Katsuki’s arms burn red, some of his skin broken through from the impact of Izuku’s own kick. His hands are shaking.
“Th’r fine,” the boy murmurs, sparing a glance at his hands, the debris cleaned off, leaving them bare and raw in places, in part from the kickback of his own explosions. “Don’t worry ab’t them.”
“Alright,” Izuku says passively, but he still plans to wrap them up for him if he can. The rest of Katsuki’s injuries are only minor. He’s got some nasty cuts on his face, one on his cheek and one on his brow, but they’ll heal quickly. The rest are bruises that could do with some arnica oil and possibly more internal aches across his shoulders, backs, and legs.
He crowds into Katsuki’s space, between his knees, and the boy closes his eyes when Izuku gets close. He takes Katsuki’s face into his hand, tilting his chin sideways to start dabbing lightly at the wound near his mouth. Katsuki doesn’t flinch, but his brows twitch, and Izuku starts applying it a bit softer, holding it there to properly clean it out. “Did the shower help?”
“Yeah,” Katsuki tries to say without moving his mouth too much. Izuku pulls back to get more disinfectant, and he continues. “And you?”
“Yeah. Same.” He keeps carefully wiping over the spot, and then moves onto the next. “It made me realize how exhausted I am.”
Katsuki opens his eyes, staring into Izuku’s, half-lidded and silent and peaceful, with none of his usual aggression. “Then hurry so you can go to bed.”
“First aide isn’t something to rush, Kacchan,” Izuku lightly scolds, emphasizing his point by pressing a bit harder against Katsuki’s forehead. “And anyway... I’m not tired in that way. I don’t think I’ll get much sleep tonight.”
“Why?”
Izuku’s gaze softens at Katsuki’s genuine tone, the way he looks almost weak, with his face in Izuku’s hands, but he knows that’s far from the truth. But the vulnerability makes him ache and reminds him of when Katsuki showed up at his door when they were twelve, crying about a huge fight with his mom, and Izuku’s mom took him inside and calmed him down and Izuku held his hand while Katsuki sniffed his feelings out.
“Kac—” Katsuki’s eyes pierce through Izuku as he starts, deep and red and bloodshot, his skin soft from his shower. Blood dries against his scabbing wounds. “Katsuki.”
“Shitty Deku—”
“I hate seeing you beat yourself up. You’re your own worst enemy. Why do you think I tried not to fight? I couldn’t just sit there and watch you tear yourself apart.” He drops the cotton swab to the side, letting go of Katsuki’s face. “But I know you... the only way you could fix that pain within you was with blood and that pent-up anger—”
Katsuki hops off the counter in one fell swoop, swiping his arm through the air to scrunch the neck of Izuku’s shirt into his hands. “What the fuck are you going on about?”
Izuku almost defends himself, but Katsuki’s eyes are shiny and pained and tears are streaming down his cheeks.
“Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, and Katsuki’s hands unclench, sliding down his front, and he bends his head onto Izuku’s shoulder, gripping the hem of his shirt like a child. He sobs, once, just the jerk of his body and an intake of sharp breath, and Izuku’s hands fly to Katsuki’s hair, soft and dry, to hold him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to keep it together all the time.”
“Why does it have to be you... why can you see it...” he seethes, pressing his nose tighter onto the white cloth and darkening it with his tears. “I try so hard. I can never prove myself enough... I’m never worthy. I can’t be, not to All Might or the half-and-half bastard or weird hair or you.”
Izuku inhales quickly at his words, about to interrupt again before he goes on.
“Nobody takes me seriously. So what if I’m like this, damn it? So what if I can’t keep my shit together? My power is enough, isn’t it? Isn’t it... aren’t I enough?”
Izuku clutches tightly onto the back of Katsuki’s head, pulling him into a hug with his other hand wrapping around his waist and to his shoulders. “Of course you are. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. And... you’ve always been worthy to me. You’re all I’ve looked up to. You’re closer to me than anyone. I’ve never admired someone more.”
Katsuki sniffles, coming undone, stripping away those layers into the scared kid that he never lets anyone see. “But,” he croaks, hoarse, as he squeezes Izuku closer. “All Might, and Todoroki... all the pro heroes. You’ve always admired them so much.”
“They’re nothing in comparison to the person in front of me right now.” Izuku finally breaks their embrace, placing his hands flat on Katsuki’s shoulders and supporting his sagging frame. “More than half my notes are on you. More than half my thoughts are about you—how to be like you or how to have the strength and will that you have. And how you’re so strong to power through. Kacchan, the League wasn’t your fault. You came out of it alive. Do you think that would’ve been possible without you?”
“The only reason it happened was because of me.”
“There was a list of students they wanted. Nobody could have controlled what they got, but we could control what we stole back. And now you’re here, and you’re okay. Do you know how relieved I was to see you weren’t injured?”
“Hah,” he coughs out with a small smile, “as if those idiots could lay a finger on me.”
Izuku feels himself smile, so he starts brushing his thumb across Katsuki’s tear-stained cheeks that are sure to be stinging his tender skin. “Exactly. You’re so much more than what people see you as. You’re Bakugo Katsuki. Explosion-Lord-Murder-Guy.” With their proximity, it’s easy to see, to feel, how Katsuki relaxes, his smile growing wider. Izuku steps a bit closer until their foreheads are about touching. “No one is going to take that away from you.”
He might as well shove a big white flag into the ground right there, admitting such things to his supposed-rival—the man he just finished fighting, the man he got defeated by and promised he’d overcome—but it’s all he can think of that’s true. Katsuki’s potential is a rocket and Izuku is watching the beautiful fireworks it leaves behind.
“Don’t give up so easily, Shitty Deku.” With that, Katsuki steps away, unphased by the way Izuku’s hand falls off his cheek and into his hand. “You look exhausted.”
“Do I?” Izuku chuckles, pointing at his own face. “I’m sure you’re not very happy to be up past your usual bedtime.”
“I don’t have a bedtime!” Katsuki denies, “besides, I’m not tired, either.”
That does prove to be an issue on both of their ends. Even with the shower and the walk back, there’s the remnants of adrenaline in their veins. Katsuki can’t seem to sit still, feet shuffling every second, and Izuku feels his fingers still shaking even as he holds Katsuki’s hand. “Let’s go back upstairs at least.”
Katsuki agrees to that with an easy nod, and the walk up is silent. Their hands are still interlocked, if only because Izuku isn’t ready to let go again—the image of Katsuki being yanked back just out of his reach is still painful, and his hand tightens. Katsuki squeezes in return, and when Izuku spares a glance at his face, he’s met with red eyes looking right back at him.
Izuku’s floor is beneath Katsuki’s, but when they round up on it, Izuku keeps walking towards the next set of stairs. “Oi, your room—” Katsuki starts before cutting himself off and tsking. He shoves his free hand in his pocket and slows down a bit so that Izuku’s pulled to his side. It would be hard to climb the stairs in such a way if not for that extra bit of burn spurring them on, heavy steps and all.
By the time they get to the fourth floor, both of them are lethargic, steps silent but firm on the carpeted floor of the hallway. They follow the moonlight to Katsuki’s door, where their steps come to a halt and Katsuki starts to turn the nob. The door opens silently, if not with a bit of a creak, and there’s a small night light turned on by the side of the bed that illuminates their silhouettes in the frame.
They stand there, staring into the room, never stepping into it. Eventually, Katsuki looks back at Izuku’s face, his hair still slightly dampened but fluffing up as it dries. Izuku keeps his eyes locked on Katsuki’s bed, eyes skating over the way the sheets are tucked neatly, untouched and perfect, just how he left them.
“Well,” Izuku speaks—at least he thinks he does, or maybe Katsuki says it, or maybe it isn’t said at all. Katsuki doesn’t react enough for him to tell. In fact, the boy doesn’t move an inch. “Good night, Kacchan.”
Eventually, Izuku rips his eyes away from Katsuki’s room, and he lets go of the warm hand that holds him. He turns away and prepares to face his empty ceiling once more, but his wrist is caught, and he sighs loudly in relief.
“I thought you weren’t gonna—”
“Shut up,” Katsuki whispers, pulling them both into his room and shutting the door with no regard for his classmates sleeping on the other side of the walls. He crowds Izuku against it, until he’s got his back on the wall and Katsuki’s hands are placed just next to his head. “Izuku.”
Izuku feels his resolve weaken, and he half expects Katsuki to jump onto him, but instead, his gaze is soft and passive, breath heated as he exhales. He figures it’s his job, now, with Katsuki so hesitant, to lead his hands around his neck and pull him closer until their chests are flush against each other and they’re breathing into each other’s mouths.
He nods, once, and Katsuki’s lips meet his with a tired fervor, like he’s so desperate for it, like he was waiting years for it, but his limbs ache too much to express it. Izuku feels as if he’s melting, tugging half on Katsuki’s hair, sweeping against his nape, and half on the tanktop covering the wide expanse of Katsuki’s back. It’s dizzying, the way they stumble forward and backward simultaneously, and Katsuki twists them around so that Izuku can wobble backward into the room. He feels strong hands grab his waist and pull him closer, and sure, he doesn’t really need air to breathe.
Part of it feels so incredibly wrong. The way his arms still ache, the way Katsuki is almost shy with how he’s kissing but aggressive with how his fingertips dig into Izuku’s skin. They pull back for just a moment, and Izuku worries that they’re about to heavily regret this, but the feeling never comes. All that stands in front of him is Katsuki, his best friend, his worst enemy, looking at him with both determination and fear.
“I swear to god, if you tell anyone about this,” he grits out, eyes shy and staring at the floor. Izuku can’t help a little chuckle that escapes, all the pent-up energy they had seeping out of them as they hold each other. He leans in and places kisses along Katsuki’s cheeks that the boy huffs at.
“We need to stop fighting,” Izuku murmurs into his jaw, holding him close in turn. Katsuki sighs and nods, but his grip is still tight.
“That’s going to be really hard. Especially since Aizawa-sensei is going to fucking kill us.”
Izuku groans, anxiety light against his throat at the thought. “Don’t remind me...”
They shuffle onto the bed, too small for both of them to fit comfortably, but big enough for Izuku to lie sideways and rest his chin on Katsuki’s chest. Katsuki’s fingers find his hair and run through it like it’s second nature. Like they’re kids again. Izuku grunts out in question. “Don’t wanna talk about it. Just sleep, nerd.”
“We’re gonna have to face it in the morning.”
“It’s morning already. Save it for tomorrow, Deku. Goodnight.”
Izuku sighs and curls in on Katsuki, a hand wrapping around his waist. Everything still hurts. Katsuki’s breathing is still a little shallow. Izuku is still a little tense from where his friend’s fingers run over his scalp.
But he manages to relax, just enough, to will the aches away. “Goodnight, Kacchan...”