Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There’s a lot of things about becoming an adult that Katsuki never exactly took the time to consider. Like the fact that his body is tired all the goddamn time. 

Being a teenager certainly gave him some false sense of security in that fucking department. Because he swears he can hear his bones creak every time he lifts them out of bed to get dressed in the morning. 

He hobbles about like an old man until he’s warmed up, and even then it can take nearly an hour for that to happen. Fucking life-altering injuries and their fucking life-lasting effects. No amount of ‘rehab’ is rehabilitating a crushed arm, but Katsuki will be damned if he doesn’t try.

The worst part is that Katsuki used to be a morning person. He used to enjoy waking with the birds, watching the sunrise, all that romantic shit.

But Jesus, it’s as if he’s been hit by a truck every damn time he enters the land of the living. No matter what time he goes to bed. 

And he’s tested out different sleeping patterns now, even forcing himself to stay awake long past tired. All to the same effect. It’s useless. He’d just better adapt to the chronic fatigue like he’s adapted to the chronic everything-fucking-else.

The other tiredness is deeper than bone, deeper than nerve and sinew and tissue. Katsuki could never have imagined (or let’s face it, have changed) a lot of things that happened. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t carry it. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the weight. 

Today he’s on patrol, which means there's no mission to impact his sleeping routine, but he’d still rather get up earlier so he has time to prepare, rather than drag his sorry ass into the office only to bite everyone’s head off and deal with the fallout. 

Not that he’s particularly apologetic about his grumpy-old-man type of personality: most times he’s just forced to pay for lunch, or do everyone’s paperwork, or clean the whole building from top to bottom, or some other crap as ‘retribution’. 

And most of the time that means Katsuki is run ragged after all the damn extras otherwise they refuse to work with him.

Still, the setup manages to suit everybody. 

Their office acts as a sort of base for any Pro Heroes who want to work freelance outside of an agency, for whatever reason that might be. No questions asked, only a simple signup and background check. They have all the best equipment available and free to use, all the best medics and all the best physiotherapists, the best gym space, the best sauna and spa (in his opinion at least, not that he has much frame of reference).

Mirko created the place (and came up with the idea), then Katsuki joined alongside Kirishima, Sero, Kaminari, Jiro and Mina. Mainly because they’re all still deciding what agency they want to attach themselves to and what kind of ‘brand image’ they want to move forward with into the real world.

Katsuki is there for a slightly different reason, though. 

He’ll be honest: none of the agencies that currently exist appeal to him. All that posing and interviews, all that useless garbage, just feels disingenuous to the damn name of ‘hero’.

It’s not because Katsuki keeps the desk beside his own free and available, and will snap someone’s fingers clean backwards if they so much as think about touching it (and he can tell when it crosses one of those extra’s minds). 

Not because looking at that empty desk, with its singular All Might figurine, fills Katsuki with more energy and determination and spirit than the damn stupid rankings and all the gossip rags. 

Not because he needs the physical emptiness to outwardly channel this inner emptiness into, because he’s not got a fucking clue what to do with it otherwise. 

No. None of those reasons. 

It’s a good place to store his paperwork, any spare bits of equipment he might tinker with if he feels like it, and any extra pieces of clothing he might need throughout the day. He can burn through a fucking lot. He needs his own desk to contain all his own shit. Like his laptop, and his bentos, and his entire goddamn body. 

So what if he requires two premium cherry wood desks to function? Fucking sue him. 

It’s a bitter autumn morning today, and the chill stings his exposed nose where it sits just outside the collar of his costume, lined with soft cotton and zipped up over his mouth so he can sweat as much as he pleases. He lets the rat tails hang free at the back, and stomps his way over to the office to collect some recent crime stats, check the footage around the local areas, and clock in. 

Some Pros who work at agencies and therefore receive a salary instead of just commission like to pretend they’re working the minute they step out the goddamn door, and take plenty of taxpayer’s money to collect a coffee and go a leisurely stroll, but Katsuki would be damned if he’d become like that. Even if it would mean more money. 

That isn’t how Izuku– 

Katsuki growls as he catches the stray train of thought. He shakes his head and derails it out his fucking ear. 

No. He’s not thinking about that shit this early. He almost wants to shake his whole body or slap the side of his head, but he resists. Barely. 

Before becoming Pro, he’d have had no qualms with regulating his emotions however he damn well pleased, but as his former mentor would say (and Katsuki can’t think of a better word for the denim-clad stick), appearances really are everything. He’s become more aware of that fact in recent times. 

As if he even needs the reminder from the idiots that he works with that his current popularity ranking is only falling further with every day. Seems like the only thing that makes a person No.1 is their ability to smile for the cameras. 

(Not that Half-and-Half even does, Katsuki will admit bitterly).

If he’s honest with himself, though, the anger that’s propelled him throughout his entire life – and he realises now the thing he’s come to rely on – is running on empty fumes. Sometimes Katsuki reaches for it like a comfort blanket. Like a damn baby.

This is also not something he’d considered about ageing. That fury takes up a lot of space, a lot of energy, a lot of physical and mental effort. 

It might only take a second to scream and shout, and yet while it feels good in the moment, it’s more draining than just muttering out a response or keeping his mouth sealed shut.

So Katsuki does his best to follow one of those two options and staunchly not think about what will happen when he reaches out to grip the last vestiges of his childhood coping mechanism and finds his well completely run dry. Who that makes him. What it means.

Katsuki shoulders his way through the doors of the office with relatively little fanfare and thankfully no photographers, and ignores all the hustle and buzz going on around him (since their office only seems to be growing in numbers, and they might have to seriously consider calling themselves The Agency for Those With Commitment Issues or something equally stupid). 

He gets to his desk and fires up his various screens, clicking through the CCTV and scanning for any targets/villains/criminals/whatever-they-want-to-be-called-nowadays. 

‘Yo.’ Kirishima drapes himself across Katsuki’s back as he comes to peer over his shoulder and check what he’s up to. 

Kirishima smells like the wind and sweat. He’s already been outside, clearly. How the fuck has Kirishima turned into an early riser? Katsuki can’t help the fact that it raises his hackles, even though the touch is comforting and also the first time he’s been touched all day. 

(This is also something Katsuki thinks about nowadays. What it would be like if he was touched before he left his empty, minimalist, one-floor one-bedroom apartment. The small space isn’t really the problem: it’s fucking expensive in Musutafu and anything bigger would echo at this point. 

But he wonders if he’d find it easier to wake up with an extra heat-source in bed with him to unwind his stiff joints. To wake up with gentle touches and soft skin and warmth trapped under the covers. That sing-song voice he grew up with calling playfully you’ll be late, using his childhood name that brings such a windrush of power and yet makes his legs go so weak all at the same time, and affection blooming everywhere, happily exchanged, not taken for granted, not stamped out, not hidden away, not scoffed at, so many things Katsuki would have done differently if he’d only been braver and stronger, as strong as –)

‘Wow, you’ve gone all tense. You good?’ Kirishima places both hands on Katsuki’s shoulders and starts kneading.

Katsuki can’t even pretend that it doesn't make him melt. 

‘Fine.’ He still growls, though it’s all for show as he tilts his head to the side and allows Kirishima better access. Kirishima is fluent in the translations. 

Kirishima keeps massaging and Katsuki forces his jaw to unclench.

Anyways, who is Katsuki kidding? It would be fucking impossible to get out of bed if he had all that.

‘I was thinking about knee pads.’ Katsuki states after a beat, clicking through the different cameras just for something to do.

‘Hmm?’ Hair-for-Brains asks.

‘For the suit.’ Katsuki clarifies, which is all he has to say at this point for anyone to understand. ‘He uses his legs as much as me. I think they’d be good for offence, too.’

Kirishima draws back a little. ‘Eh, but without One For All …’

‘He’s still got the fucking muscles, Shitty Hair.’ Katsuki barks. ‘Those don’t just disintegrate.’

‘Sure.’ Kirishima says, still warily. ‘But maybe … since it’s been a few years, he might not be … using them as much…’

It’s been eight. If eight can count as ‘a few’.

‘It was just an idea.’ Katsuki huffs, and finally shrugs Kirishima’s hands off him. 

‘Aw, don’t be like that!’ Kirishima tries, re-plastering himself. ‘I just think we should do some recon or something! Check out how he’s settled in–’

‘We’re not going to check up on him.’ Katsuki says very seriously, because he knows how much Izuku would hate that, and how much these damn blabbermouths would blow this covert operation up in seconds. ‘U.A’s security is strict enough without all of us falling through the door and causing a damn scene.’

‘Dude, we’re Pros now! They’d let us in. And anyway, we’ll wait outside for him after school finishes. Just to ask him how things are going, you know, if he ever misses the action, gauge his interest in–’

Katsuki realises he’s not getting out of this verbally, so physically lifts himself from his chair. It’s about time he puts in some hours anyways. He’s hardly earning anything like this.

‘Come on, Bakugo!’ Kirishima wails, attracting the attention of a few extras gathered around chatting instead of doing their damn job. Not that Katsuki can really talk. ‘I just think we should be sure!’

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Katsuki’s voice raises across the space, so he stomps over and leans close so he can lower it again. ‘I know him better than anyone. I’m sure.’

*

The day is pointless and boring. 

And he is sure, damnit.

‘Damn Shitty Hair.’ Katsuki hisses. In six hours he’s managed to glare at some middle schoolers who were picking on some kid, stop some graffiti artists who, in Katsuki’s humble opinion, were only improving the drab architecture, and apprehend somebody who was very clearly assaulting their partner in public, dragging the poor lady through the street. 

Conflict resolution is all about deescalation, though. Since Katsuki has only ever known how to escalate shit, he clearly landed like a misplaced bomb and caused a whole scene, with onlookers stopping just to make sure there was a hero involved somewhere. 

The day turns from boring to bad pretty quickly, though.

‘What d’ya mean, she’s not pressing charges?’

The officer down the line sounds meek. ‘Well, it’s a delicate situation, and we can’t always force–’

‘But then I don’t get the fucking commission, idiot!’ Katsuki officially loses the rag. One day he’ll be too old to scream, but today isn’t it. ‘I just spent an hour getting her to stop crying!’

‘Well, you did break the assailant’s nose, but he’s content not to press charges as long as the whole thing is dropped –’

‘HE’S not going to press charges?’ Katsuki booms. ‘What fucking world did I just step into?! I swear to God, get her to change her mind or I’ll come down there and break your nose.’

The admin yelps. ‘Well, Sir, we won’t tolerate threats –’

‘Okay, okay, my bad, I’ll give it a pinch, that make ya feel better?’ Katsuki grinds his teeth as he forces the words through his snarling smile. ‘Just make her sign wherever she’s gotta sign.’

‘Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, I don’t think heroes should be in this profession for monetary gain –’

‘Oh spare me the bleeding heart, Saint fucking Christopher!’ Katsuki cries, but sensing defeat he ends the call and kicks the pavement.

Fuck. Time is money and he’s just wasted an entire day’s worth. He’s not on night patrol because obviously all the agencies own the fucking optimal times crime is committed. Some fucking system.

He could join any old agency that would take him, because the list is long. He could pose in fucking wet t-shirts for half the day, throw out a few calendars every so often, sign some merch on the weekends, sell the rights to the face and his ass, and he’d have the funds in no time. Part of why this is taking so long is that he’s forcing everyone who wants to contribute to send it through their commission or nothing. 

Because it won’t mean anything to Izuku if they fund it through half-naked soft porn or interviews on some daytime channel. Izuku needs to see how much Katsuki earned it. Shit, how much they all earned it; how hard they all collectively worked to keep his spirit alive and how much they achieved by doing that. How much more they still could.

Katsuki knows the damn nerd like the lines of his own palm. He knows Izuku has probably been approached for a million and one media opportunities. He knows Izuku has kept all his notebooks since middle school, has more knowledge of quirk theory than any academic scholar alive today, and has probably thought about every conceivable option to remain a hero.

He knows Izuku is deservedly rich, ridiculously talented, frustratingly intelligent and terrifyingly capable.

He knows Izuku could make his suit himself.

He’s not going to be impressed by some fancy gadgets and glow-in-the-dark material. The suit will mean something because it will represent the years of hero work they all did for him. It will hold their blood, sweat, tears and any other fucking bodily fluid in every stitch and button. It will represent the countless lives saved. It will represent their call to arms. It will tell Izuku I need you, I thought about you every damn second, I kept you with me, I tried to live by your example, I tried to honour your life, I tried to think of the only way you would want it, the only way you couldn't say no.

That’s what’s going to make the difference. 

Katsuki will find the money. That’s not the problem. Everything else is.

*

He ends the day exhausted. He barely made scraps in commission and he knows he’ll be short for this month’s payment but he’ll make it back again. The girls know he’s good for it. He’s damn well leading the charge. 

He reheats some curry as soon as he steps through the door, too tired to even think about moving his arms to cook, and eats it at the sink so he can wash up immediately afterwards. 

The familiar motions of scrubbing and rinsing set him at ease and his mind drifts as he imagines how things might have been different today if Izuku had been with him.

The nerd was always good at resolving arguments with a kind word, a gentle laugh and a smile you couldn’t look at directly for too long. He knows Izuku would have found a way to handle the situation with the sensitivity it needed. 

He sighs as his eyes sting with pure fatigue more than anything, and he closes them.

He can’t help but take the fantasy further. He imagines what it would be like if Izuku were here with him right now.

He’d come up behind Katsuki. Wrap strong, scarred arms around his waist. Katsuki would lean backwards as Izuku supported his weight and told him softly, don’t beat yourself up. Who knows, maybe you were the first step in them leaving. 

Yeah, sure, Katsuki would huff. I probably made her think every guy is the fucking same. 

Regret pierces through him. He went in too hot. He was only thinking of the money. These are people’s lives. No doubt Izuku would scold him about that.

But Izuku would also press his nose to Katsuki’s nape and tighten his arms, bleeding heat from his body as his fingertips dug into the meat of Katsuki’s chest. It’s the hardest part of the job. You can’t save everyone. But you can try your best. That’s all you do, Kacchan.

Kacchan …

Katsuki jerks as he realises he’s left the water running and he’s leaning against the sink on one hand, the other stroking his side. Christ, he’s a loser. He slaps the tap off and quickly dries the rest of the cutlery. 

He knows he wants to shower and he wants to jerk off, but doing those two things at the same time just to conserve energy is the least arousing thing in the world. He hates the quick, perfunctory style or it: standing up straight, knees apart, ready for business. 

He especially hates the way he unconsciously point towards the fucking drainpipe like a trained mutt, a leftover from his days in dorms when he only had minutes and shared communal showers.

No, Katsuki likes to be wined and dined and fucking romanced, even if it’s only by himself. He sets the mood with scented candles, pristine sheets and comfortable pyjamas laid out.

He’s quick in the shower as he scrapes off a full day’s worth of grime from his skin until he feels clean enough to drag his soft flannels on and dive into bed, releasing a blissed out breath. 

Katsuki allows his hands to wander at a leisurely pace. He needs some stress relief, but when he touches himself he’s still soft — hardly the most stimulating day, in any sense of the fucking word. 

Still, he’s light and gentle and patient, just building up to it, his fingers teasing around his floppy length and allowing it to harden slowly with the familiar thought that always creeps in:

If this was Izuku …

More and more, these thoughts are harder to control. 

In the beginning (that being after Izuku lost One for All and left U.A), they were just whispers and images, nothing more. They had no story, no origin, but simply: if Izuku were here. 

He’d think about it in situations that made sense. Training, patrolling, rescue missions. Situations they had been in together. Situations that Katsuki expected them to be in for the rest of their lives. Side by side, partners in everything.

Izuku became a sort of All Might to Katsuki. At least that’s what he told himself. 

He’d ask himself what Izuku would do in any given situation, because Izuku’s never been wrong a day in his life and Katsuki certainly can’t say the same.

And so Izuku occupied his mind daily, until he became more of a comfort to return to rather than something Katsuki actively chose to think about. Izuku became a homing beacon, a pillar of support and warmth.

Then Izuku crept into situations that didn’t make sense. Like Katsuki’s house, Katsuki’s kitchen.

Katsuki’s bed.

Katsuki’s dreams. 

Katsuki wonders if, by spending all his time with Izuku growing up, he’s just never had to think about the nerd until now.

Izuku was always around. He was always a constant planet floating within orbit, always a musical voice just within earshot, always a shining sun in the sky, irritatingly close at all times and making the hairs on Katsuki’s arms bristle with what he understood to be rivalry and contempt.

Time really is a bitch, obviously. If Katsuki ever finds a quirk that can rewind it, he knows it’s on damn sight for his younger self. 

Because now, at twenty five years of age, Katsuki’s heart pounds at the mere thought of Izuku beside him in this context. 

His rough calloused palms and how they’d definitely stroke Katsuki’s thighs open: how they'd be slow and sweet and reverent regardless of his partner because that’s just Izuku. 

How Izuku would definitely know every single method to make Katsuki squirm and stiffen in seconds.

He would definitely take his time in making Katsuki lose his mind. Maybe Izuku would be leaning over Katsuki in bed, knees either side of Katsuki’s hips as Katsuki’s palms settled into the divots of his pelvis. Maybe Izuku would put a hand through Katsuki’s singed-crisp hair and take his mouth in a kiss, and Katsuki would pull him to fall down fully on top, to feel his whole solid warm weight, their chests thighs abdomens pressed together, their hands wildly roving, their arms wrapped tight and desperate around each other. 

Katsuki grips himself in a loose fight and strokes himself slowly, even though he’s dry as a bone and his own rough, overused hands chafe against his sensitive cock in a way that’s not entirely pleasant. He reaches for his massage oil and pours some over his fingers. 

When he returns to himself, though, he leaves his length flushed half-hard on his stomach and travels further down. He needs the endorphin hit that only lowering all his inhibitions and surrendering to pleasure can achieve. 

Katsuki slides a finger inside himself easily, already so used to this that he knows how to relax and push into the sensation.

He manages two quickly after that. He’s been doing this ever since he was in dorms at U.A, not really consciously assigning it to his sexuality and more to a form of yoga. People want to be uptight prudes about shit, that’s their choice. It feels fucking incredible and it leaves him in a boneless heap ready to pass out in seconds.

Now, though. Katsuki can admit it’s not just about yoga or self-pleasure. 

Now he imagines Izuku sliding in deep and easy, right to the hilt, the full pulsing feeling of him stuffing Katsuki to the brim. He imagines what sorts of noises Izuku would make, what his face would look like, what Katsuki could do to him to make him surrender that hard-won control. 

Katsuki refuses to try a dildo, because he’ll only ever settle for the best and if he can’t get that then he’s not about to accept some plastic knockoff. 

(He won’t even accept any flesh and blood knockoffs, either.)

But it’s also because he’s quietly terrified he’ll become addicted to the feeling, since even the thought of it is enough to have Katsuki switch from quietly interested to violently desperate in a fifth of a second. 

For some reason Katsuki’s got it into his head that it will make this whole situation worse – the situation that’s between Katsuki’s heart, his balls, and Izuku’s ownership of them. He’s sure that if he does know what it could feel like with Izuku, rather than just the fantasy in his head, he’ll only succumb even more to the depths of the abyss that he’s been scrambling to escape from these last eight years. 

Because then that would be him admitting this is something he wants. Izuku is something he wants. Not just by his side. Not just as a goalpost in order for Katsuki to reach new heights. Not just as a worthy rival. 

He wants Izuku’s eyes on him at all times. He wants Izuku’s attention and care. He wants Izuku’s affection and devotion. He wants to be Izuku’s one and only, the way that Izuku is for him.

‘Izuku, Izuku…’ 

The name falls from Katsuki’s lips like an incantation as he manages three, four fingers inside. It takes some time, gently massaging himself open, but he soon finds his prostate with practised ease. 

The sensation is like a bolt of lightning.

His toes flex and spread wildly, his heels dig into his mattress, his hips lift off the bed as his whole body goes rigid and his other hand flies to his neglected cock. Katsuki strips himself roughly as his orgasm washes over him, Izuku’s name collapsing into a long, drawn out groan from the very back of his throat. 

Once the afterglow dies to a gentle memory Katsuki glances down at himself.

‘Tch.’ He tuts at the warm mess on his stomach, hauls himself out of bed and cleans himself up in the bathroom. It turns out that jerking off in bed makes him feel no less like a dog when he’s forced to wipe himself down like a mucky pup in any scenario. 

Still, when he climbs back into bed he’s loose and unwound enough to melt into the mattress, to press his face into his pillow and pull his heavy, weighted blanket across his body and feel the sensation sink deep into his bones. 

Sometimes (only on the rough, long, and Katsuki can admit lonely nights), he’ll fold the blanket in such a specific way that he can roll onto his side, wrap both arms around it, throw a leg over it and squeeze it close to his chest. 

It’s the strongest painkiller in the world. The cuts and bruises accumulated throughout the day can do nothing to touch the serenity that overcomes him when he’s finally able to fill his empty arms.

Tonight, though, Katsuki wants nothing more than to be cocooned in its warm embrace. He falls asleep basically suffocating himself, hiding away from the world with only a tuft of his singed hair visible from the outside.

*

‘Kacchan! Wait, Kacchan!’ Izuku’s voice rings out high and loud behind Katsuki, peddling as hard as his tiny legs will go as Katsuki flies down the hill in front of him, roaring with laughter and sticking his feet out.

‘Kacchan!’ Izuku cries, almost lost to the wind.

‘Just watch, Zuku!’ Katsuki shouts back, turning his head to make sure. ‘Nobody can go as fast as me! Watch!’

Watch.

Keep watching.

His heart is a drumbeat. His blood feels fizzy and alive inside him. His whole body soars high. You’re the only one. The only one who makes me feel this invincible. 

The only one. 

And it’s the natural order. 

You behind me, racing to catch up, only able to witness just how amazing I am. 

Keep watching. Look how amazing I am.

Keep looking at how amazing I am.

Keep your eyes on me. 

The natural order.

Pride and happiness. Joy. Love. 

What an amazing quirk! I’m sure you’ll go on to do something amazing! 

A flashy quirk for a future hero!

Superiority. Arrogance. 

Fear.

Inadequacy and self-doubt.

Are you alright? Did you hit your head?

Don’t ask me that! I’m amazing! I’m meant to be amazing!

Don’t look at me like you know …

Like you know that I’m not. 

Don’t you dare look at me …

Deku!

Bitterness and pain. 

Idiot! I want to win and surpass you! 

One day … one day I’ll beat you with my own power.

Is that … that what you really thought?

There were things that I hated about you, sure.

But I could clearly see how amazing you were.

All Might was my hero, but … 

You were the one actually in my life!

Izuku … 

Can I still catch up to you?

*

When he wakes up, the morning sun beams through his thin, cheaply-made curtains and Katsuki has a missed call from Melissa Shield on his phone. 

He blearily opens his eyes and squints at it for several seconds. He can’t remember if they scheduled an update chat or not. But truthfully they haven’t had one in a while. And he’s keen to hear how things have been going. He sent all his requests in an email yesterday; he’s sure she’s got questions.

It only came in about an hour ago, so as Katsuki gets ready for the day he calls her back.

‘It’s been a slow month but I’ll be good for it in a couple weeks.’ Katsuki starts when the line clicks connected.

‘Bakugo-san.’ Melissa replies, a hint of fondness in her tone. ‘You surely don’t think I’m calling just to nag? When have I ever done that? No, I have wonderful news!’

Katsuki’s heart stops. Before she even continues, he knows – 

‘It’s finished!’ She shouts, her excitement pouring down the line. ‘The parts we were waiting on came through yesterday! Hatsume-san was up all night; I couldn’t persuade her to take a break.’ Now that’s definitely fondness Katsuki can hear. ‘Do you want to come see it?’

Katsuki’s mouth hangs open with nobody home for a prolonged beat before he manages a rough, ‘Mm. Yes. That’s brilliant. I’ll tell the others. Ah — thank you, Melissa-san.’

He ends the call and stands there in numb silence. 

‘Fuck.’ He mutters.

Fuck. It’s ready. But he’s not ready. 

He’s not good enough. He’s not popular enough. He’s not kind enough. He’s not nearly strong enough. He’s not nearly the hero he wanted to be by the time it was ready. It’s been eight years and shit what the fuck has he been doing the entire time? 

Katsuki paces about and cleans and delays going to the office because he knows as soon as he tells anybody — as soon as anyone looks at his face — it’s all over. 

He’ll have the face the music and hope against all hope that Izuku will accept this offering but shit he’s not ready, he wanted to be better, he wanted to be something that nobody could say no to, he wanted to prove to Izuku that he was worthy of standing by his side. 

Shit.

‘Shit, shit, shit.’ He scrubs at his hair and leaves it in a mess before he checks the time and realises he’s already late. Instinct makes him move more than anything: he makes it to the office just in time to realise he looks like a frantic maniac and his suit is half zipped up.

He’s so distracted that he runs into someone with a punched out oft like he’s in a damn movie.

‘Woah, where’s the fire?’ Kaminari asks, two hands on Katsuki’s chest to steady him, because of course it’s that idiot he charges into.

‘It’s ready.’ Katsuki blurts, with no real plan and no conscious thought inside his brain.

Kaminari knows instantly. 

‘Shit.’ He says. 

It’s the first time Katsuki thinks he’s ever agreed with Dunce Face.

*

They gather everyone. 

Todoroki, Tsuyu, Uraraka, and Iida were on missions overseas, but they come back to Japan just for this. They book an urgent flight in a matter of hours, and then they arrive at the office where Katsuki asked for the suit to be delivered, still in their Pro Hero costumes, dragging their luggage behind them.

Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, Jiro and Mina are already together. Aoyama arrives with Shoji, Kota, Sato and Ojiro. Tokoyami and Yaoyorozu are shortly afterwards. And then before he knows it, the entirety of Class A (or whatever they can be called, since they’ve all graduated now) is crammed into the relatively small space of one of the private office rooms, usually where they hold meetings for special missions.

Katsuki stands in front and inspects it with his chin in his hand and his eyes narrowed.

‘We won’t be able to see it in action until …’ Melissa tries gently, standing beside all the equipment she’s just spent several minutes unlocking.

‘Isn’t she glorious?’ Hatsume cuts in, excitement spilling over, her eyes sparkling as she peers at it from every angle.

Katsuki takes a subtle stock of the room as people filter through and soft voices start to chatter and catch up amidst the situation. 

Nothing has changed. Nobody has changed. Everyone looks exactly the same. Even after eight years.

He looks back at the suit. 

They added the knee pads. They added the cape. They added the gloves and the arm braces. All the tiny little touches and every little suggestion Katsuki gave. They added it. It’s perfect.

‘Hmm.’ He hums.

‘Woah, look at the gauntlets!’ Uraraka steps up to inspect them. 

Katsuki eyes her warily. He’d have thought by now her and Izuku would be an item, maybe married and about to pop out some babies. But nope. She remains free as a bird, if the media are to be trusted. 

But Katsuki personally knows she’d have trouble hiding Izuku from him. Especially since Katsuki watches her updates like a hawk. 

But true, they’ve all been distant with Izuku while they’ve been working hard to earn commission and keep this under wraps. 

He wonders if … once they give this to him, maybe she …

‘He’ll love them.’ She decides with a nod.

Katsuki already knows that. That’s why he designed them himself.

‘It’s pretty cool.’ Jiro adds, circling around too with her arms crossed.

‘It’s all exactly like the costume he had at U.A.’ Todoroki adds thoughtfully. ‘Did you make this from memory?’ He directs the question at Hatsume. 

Katsuki really wishes he could somehow disappear and it would go unnoticed.

‘Not at all! Bakugo-san sent in lots of drawings! Some of them were from Midoriya’s old notebooks. It was super useful to go off —’

‘Okay, okay, lemme get a real look.’ Katsuki barges through everyone and plants both hands on his hips as he steps so close his nose nearly brushes the fabric

Then he reaches out and finally touches it.

The material is lightweight but good quality. Sturdy. Stretchy. He tests it between his fingers. It has just enough give and support. The gloves are durable. Comfortable. The gauntlets are good. Similar to his, which is what he wanted, but made of a thinner metal for ease of movement. The cape will come in handy in bad weather. It’s soft, with enough elasticity to last. It’s ready. There’s nothing to tinker with.

‘What about … elbow pads?’ Katsuki asks.

Melissa blinks. ‘We can add those!’ She beams.

‘But dude, if he never had them before he might find it restrictive.’ Sero says, swivelling his arms as if to show off the range of movement needed. ‘Take it from someone who knows.’

‘It’s extra support, Soy Sauce!’ Katsuki barks. ‘We can make them removable.’

‘Removable elbow-pads?’ Kirishima asks incredulously. ‘Why?’

‘I’m not against it.’ Tsuyu tries, sensing a dispute. ‘We could always give Midoriya-kun the option.’

‘And then we can add sparkles, oui?’ Aoyama notes. ‘I sent across some glitter ideas I think he’d like.’

‘I’m not sure how practical that might be, but I do think removable elements could be a good idea.’ Yao-momo chimes in. ‘I have them in mine, and maybe if the sleeves–’

‘But also let’s make the cape longer, because otherwise it could blow into his face–’ Kaminari starts.

‘I think we should make it shorter , so it doesn’t catch –’ Ojiro cuts in.

‘But should the leggings be more for compression, so he doesn’t exert his muscles–’ Mina interrupts as she pulls at one of the trouser legs.

‘Compression is not a bad concept in theory, but it might get uncomfortable after a while –’ Tokoyami tells her gently.

‘He must have a full range of all his limbs in order to perform his duties – !’ Iida waves an arm.

‘Stop, stop, it’s perfect!’ Katsuki shouts, and everyone falls silent to stare at him. 

He realises defeat and heaves a heavy, long sigh. ‘We could keep fucking tinkering with it but it’s pointless. We’d be wasting time.’ He admits. ‘We’re giving him it as it is.’

Melissa beams at him. ‘Do you really mean it? You think it’s perfect?’

Katsuki scoffs. ‘Like I’d accept anything else. We worked our asses off for this.’

‘That’s why it means so much to hear.’ Melissa confirms, and gives the suit a gentle pat on the shoulder as though Izuku is already inside it.

Hatsume blinks, and for some reason looks disappointed. ‘Really? You don’t want to see the other designs? Because we went through so many, we left out a few–’

‘We’re happy with it.’ Everyone choruses to Hatsume, who pouts but seems to accept that answer.

*

And so there’s nothing more to be done. 

They unanimously agree. It truly is perfect. The moment that Katsuki has been waiting on for eight years arrives with very little fanfare and no warning. No trumpets or balloons. Nothing different in the mirror. Same old face, same old flaws, and nothing like how he wanted to be. 

It’s a cold morning when Katsuki is told that All Might will be bringing it to Izuku. 

He’s a nervous wreck all day. He can admit that shit to himself now. He’s jittery and irritable and explosive and plain sullen. 

Everybody knows. Everyone steers clear. And then it’s been hours and there’s been no news and Katsuki can’t take it any longer. 

He has to know. He has to be there. He has to be the one.

He arrives at U.A and goes to Izuku’s classroom – because of fucking course he knows what classroom Izuku teaches in. He walks in just in time to see Izuku gently touch the suit where it sits in its briefcase, All Might holding the case open, and then they both glance up. 

All Might looks relieved, as though he’s glad it’s Katsuki. As if it could be anyone else but Katsuki. 

Izuku looks …

It’s been too long. Why did Katsuki waste all this time until now? Maybe they shouldn’t have kept this from Izuku. Maybe they should have allowed him into the process, let him be involved, let him pick the colour scheme and the fucking elbow pads; let him be a part of their lives for the last eight years.

But they wanted to be sure it was possible before they offered Izuku any hope. They wanted to do it for him, for everything that Izuku did for them.

Katsuki knew that the only thing keeping Izuku from still calling himself a hero was his own mind, and that they needed to find a way to overcome that — to show Izuku how much his heroism had bled into everyone he’s ever known, and how much being a hero is a title bestowed by deeds, not by power.

Izuku looks exactly the same. And yet he’s so painfully beautiful that it strikes Katsuki deep in his chest. It’s like Izuku has plucked a hidden, unknown cord in his heart and it’s reverberating throughout his entire body. 

His bright, expressive eyes that hold a light that Katsuki’s been missing from his life. His gently parted lips, revealing wonder and shock. His freckled, pinkening cheeks. The mottled dark scars across his face, hands, and any other visible skin. His fluffy green hair, shaved on one side still; Katsuki imagines maybe it grew back in too unevenly around the burns and scars. His professional suit, with his tie all done and his shirt tucked in. 

Katsuki feels everything right itself in the world when he sets his eyes on Izuku. As though his eyes were meant for nowhere else. 

But Katsuki can tell, even from this distance, from the way Izuku’s fingers rest on the suit and his posture is stiff, that he’s wary, he’s doubtful. He’s not sure if he can accept this. 

Katsuki does the only thing he can think of. 

He flings out a hand. 

*

They all go out to celebrate that night. The entire graduated Class A hit the town, despite the double-takes and the photographers and the chatter that follows them everywhere they go, because a whole host of Pro Heroes gathered in one area must mean something’s happening. 

Normally it spells trouble for the streets, but this time the event is just the thing Katsuki has been waiting on for almost a decade.

Crybaby Hero has not stopped leaking tears for four consecutive hours, and is surrounded by his old entourage – that being Iida, Todoroki and Uraraka, who excitedly catch him up to speed with their lives while they pester him for every single detail about his own. 

Everyone is both crowding him and trying to give him space, like he’s the foreign transfer student or the celebrity guest who’s come to class. 

Katsuki watches from the sidelines as he nurses a whiskey and ignores the pokes and prods from Hair-for-Brains and Dunce Face, sitting at the other side of the booth they managed to secure and clearly deciding to make Katsuki’s life a living hell.

‘One word.’ He warns them, and they mime zipping their lips closed in tandem. 

Jiro falls into Kaminari’s side easily, and even she gives Katsuki a knowing look as Dunce Face nuzzles her temple in that sickeningly lovesick way. 

Damn Dunce Face and his inability to keep quiet about anything. 

Izuku’s voice is high and light and carefree, a musical laugh that sometimes floats across here and there. At first it sounded self conscious and unsure of its welcome, but now it releases easily and happily. 

He’s still in his teacher's shirt-and-tie with those sinful black slacks that quite literally hug his thighs. Katsuki has no idea who allowed him to buy those. 

There’s no question whether or not he’s been working out since they all left U.A. Clearly, the dream has been as alive for him as it has been for Katsuki. 

Only trouble is that Katsuki is finding it hard to drag his eyes away. It’s like he’s forgotten all forms of suppression or what the fuck he did before he realised his feelings for Izuku. He can’t keep this shit inside. He’s too old, too desperate, too needy, too fucking obsessed. 

They all migrated to a bar near the office after Izuku tried on the suit for everyone, showing it off to them all before quickly tucking it back in its briefcase so ‘it doesn’t get damaged.’ 

It looked better on him than Katsuki’s most feverish fantasies. He’s got the image imprinted in his mind despite the fact he’ll be seeing it every day now and will have to get damn well used to it.

But now Izuku comes back from the bar with his drink and his fanclub in tow, looking at the empty space beside Katsuki.

‘Can I sit, Kacchan?’ He asks, bold and direct.

There might be a subtle and uneager way to move, but Katsuki currently doesn’t know it. 

He moves so quickly he basically leaps into the air.

Izuku was too damn busy crying to take Katsuki’s hand back at U.A, because he needed both of his own to wipe the snot and downpour, and Katsuki knows when Izuku gets into that state there’s no helping it. 

So he dropped his arm quickly in favour of stomping over and spewing some tirade about how ‘he’d better accept it now because they’ve all spent a lot of time and money on it’ and started arguing with All Might when he said Izuku could take all the time he needs.

But eventually Izuku nodded that yes, he wanted it, and Katsuki had to stop himself from beaming with glee and pumping his fists into the air. He knew. Of course he knew. He knows the damn nerd better than he knows himself.

Katsuki then took Izuku to go see the others, who were all waiting at the office, and the rest is history.

They’ve not exactly had a moment alone.

‘Hi.’ Izuku murmurs gently. His voice is strong and clear and unwavering. He looks at Katsuki with such a heated focus. His posture is defined, his spine held straight, and his warmth and clean-linen-with-mint smell radiates across.

‘Nerd.’ Katsuki manages in return, gruff and awkward. He wants to blow up his own face.

Izuku instead gives Katsuki a glorious, impish smile. ‘Well —’

‘Midoriya-kun!’

‘Midoriya, did you —‘

‘Midoriya, we were—‘

Izuku turns away at the sound of his name from three different angles, and then all the extras are fighting over each other to talk to him first. 

Katsuki can understand it. And he’s honestly pretty content to just exist here. Beside Izuku, basking in his presence, close enough to touch, close enough to daydream about touching, close enough to memorise every inch of him, close enough to store all that information away, everything he’s been missing and all that he’s had to live without for eight years. He’s genuinely, and ridiculously, happier than he’s been in all that time. This is his place. This is his birthright. 

But then Round Cheeks puts her hand on the side of Izuku’s head and goes, ‘Ohhh, it really suits you, Deku-kun!’

Izuku laughs gently, allowing her to tilt his head this way and that, but Katsuki knows the insufferable idiot. He knows what Izuku’s blushing-face-and-rigid-body means. He knows what their thighs pressed under the table, thinking they’re being subtle, means.

Katsuki’s stomach sours. It’s so sudden and abrupt he’s worried he might actually throw up the mouthful of alcohol he’s just upended down his throat. Thankfully he manages it with a grimace and pointedly glances away from them. 

Why can’t Katsuki be happy? Izuku should have someone like Uraraka. She’s so gentle, so loving, so lovely, so sweet and funny and kind. She would make him so happy. She would give him everything he deserves, shower him with affection and be the support in his life that he needs and will never admit he does.

Izuku shouldn’t be alone. He shouldn’t be resigned to Katsuki’s current life, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be with Katsuki’s sorry-excuse-for-a-hero ass. Although Katsuki would still jump at the chance if Izuku was interested, there's plenty better and bigger fish in the sea for him. He should have somebody wonderful, as long as they adore him with everything they are, and Katsuki knows for certain that Round Cheeks fits the bill perfectly.

And yet …

Her hand on the side of his face.

Their thighs pressed.

Their noses close.

Their giggles quiet.

Katsuki knows with perfect clarity he cannot watch them get together. It’s like his chest cavity is collapsing again. 

He needs to get out of here. He needs to strip from his hero costume and crawl into bed and curl up and feel this pain. Stupid, irrational, delusional pain. He’s got no clue why he’s even feeling it when he never once thought Izuku felt the same, but it turns out the confirmation is too much to bear. 

Katsuki’s fantasy, of being pro heroes together, of opening their own agency and fighting side by side, somehow mingled into the fantasy of coming home to Izuku and falling on top of his warm weight on the sofa. He’s been racing towards that fantasy for the last eight years. He forgot that only half of the fantasy ever had hope of coming true.

Now that it finally has, he feels both bright anticipation for their future together and bleak loss for his make-believe dream that never had any possibility of becoming reality anyways.

Katsuki quietly shuffles from the booth. He holds up his empty glass in explanation when Kirishima and the others frown, confused. He doesn’t look at Izuku. He avoids him and goes out the other side, even though it’s a longer journey and means everyone has to vacate the booth and go back in. 

But he doesn’t want to have to talk to Izuku right now. Or make the happy couple move any closer than they currently are.

He’s intending to leave, but what’s one for the road? 

Katsuki orders a shot at the bar and sips it peacefully, the loud conversation over the thumping bass a strange comfort. He knows if he looks over to the table he’ll catch someone’s attention, so he sets his glass down and makes his way out. 

The air is a slap to the face. Shit, he got way drunker than planned. Katsuki staggers a little down the road.

Damn, he’s an idiot. 

That’s the love of your life back there, his brain tells him. He wants to snap, yeah I fucking know, but too little too late.

The love of your life, his brain screams, his heart screams, his fucking soul screams. You could spend time with him and you’re sulking like a fucking kid who got one piece of candy and now wants two. 

He’s right there. The love of your motherfucking sorry existence. 

Go back. 

His feet keep stubbornly on.

Go back.

‘Kacchan!’

Katsuki spins, heart in his throat, eyes wide in search of that voice.

Izuku is running towards him. How those short little legs can move so quick is beyond Katsuki. His tie has been pulled down to hang loose, his top button undone, and his suit jacket discarded. It gives a vision of Izuku’s lithe waist where his shirt is tucked into his trousers, his freckled throat and collarbones.

Katsuki blinks dumbly before Izuku arrives right in front of him, panting slightly. ‘You’re leaving?’ He accuses, a frown marring his smooth forehead. ‘You should have said!’ 

‘Didn’t wanna get in the way of the fan club.’ Katsuki explains, but it slurs out slow and heavy and he frowns at his own voice all syrupy and low.

‘Kacchan!’ Izuku scolds when he realises just how drunk Katsuki is, and his hands flutter about Katsuki’s person without landing. ‘Let me walk you home.’ He states, his arms snapping to his sides after a beat.

‘I’m fine, nerd.’ Katsuki tries, but he sways on the spot. Shit, is he about to faint like some fair maiden?

‘Well, just for my peace of mind.’ Izuku tries gently, using that voice he always does on little kids. ‘Please?’

He gives Katsuki those megawatt puppy eyes. Katsuki might be aiming to become the strongest hero to ever exist, but he’ll never be a match for that damn kryptonite. 

‘Tch.’ Katsuki scoffs, but he turns on his heel and starts slouching down the road, hands in pockets. ‘Better keep up then.’

‘Okay! I meant to ask, would you prefer I call you ‘Katsuki’ now?’ Izuku asks, his voice very deliberate when he pronounces Katsuki’s name.

Disgusting. Horrific. Wrong. So wrong.

Katsuki can’t stop the shiver that drops down his spine when he hears Izuku call him something other than the nickname only he’s got the permission to use. 

‘No, idiot! I’m too damn used to the other one!’ Katsuki realises he’s being a bit harsh, so he decides to risk it – it’s hardly different to what he used to do back at U.A anyways, hardly different to how anyone else shows platonic affection – and plants a hand on top of Izuku’s head.

Just because Round Cheeks did it doesn’t mean anything.

‘You’d better not change it now.’ Katsuki demands, pressing his fingertips down on Izuku’s skull and giving Izuku a glare to show how he feels about that. 

A truly gigantic grin breaks across Izuku’s face. It’s as if Katsuki has just handed the man the moon. Seriously, Katsuki hasn’t seen this smile all night. It’s pleased and proud and giddy and a little fucking insane. 

‘Mm! Got it!’ Izuku’s voice always comes out higher and lighter when he’s actually happy. Not just pretending, not just socialising or saving people. This is Happy Zuku.

It’s probably for that reason that Katsuki can’t resist. He’s just watched Round Cheeks do it all night. He’s just fantasised about how it would feel under his own fingers. Now, with the opportunity to find out, he can hardly pass it up.

Katsuki stops pressing his fingers down in favour of sliding them through Izuku’s hair, running through the soft strands to cup the nape of his neck and give it a little scritch. 

Izuku blinks, his mouth parting, his cheeks spilling colour. 

He stares at Katsuki in shock.

Katsuki rips his hand away roughly. It wasn’t any different to Round Cheeks. It wasn’t. Izuku can’t work it out just from that. There’s no way. No way.

‘Christ, patrol is gonna be a pain tomorrow.’ He blurts, just to change the subject, because the way Izuku is looking at him right now makes Katsuki feel seconds away from falling to his knees and just confessing the damn truth.

‘Oh?’ Izuku gives a breathy little laugh. Katsuki stores the sound away inside his heart. 

‘Yeah – what time will you be coming?’

Izuku frowns.

‘Into the office? I can meet you and show you around, if you want.’ Katsuki’s tongue feels weird as he speaks. Like he’s talking too fast and too slow at the same time.

‘Uh, Kacchan, I – I have to hand my notice into the school. It’ll be about a month before I can join everyone as a hero.’

‘EH?’ Katsuki barks. ‘But – that ain’t right! Surely there’s laws and shit that say you can leave whenever you want!’

‘Only if I was being mistreated.’ Izuku explains calmly. ‘And I want to work my notice. I want to give them time to find a replacement. And explain to my class where I’m going.’

‘Damn bleeding heart.’ Katsuki runs a hand down his face. ‘So you won’t —what, for a month?’ He groans.

Izuku chuckles, but this one is different. It’s dark and teasing and new to Katsuki’s finely-tuned ears. ‘Anyone would think you missed me, Kacchan.’

Unfortunately for Katsuki, the alcohol loosens him enough to mutter, ‘You have no goddamn idea.’

Izuku stops. He just stops in the middle of the street. 

Katsuki hears what just came out of his mouth and feels his whole face burn. 

‘I told ya to keep up, idiot.’ He grumbles, tucking his chin into the collar of his uniform and casting his eyes away. 

‘Kacchan.’ Izuku says softly. He takes a step towards Katsuki. ‘I missed you every single day.’ 

Katsuki feels his eyes sting at those words. Feels his throat closing up and his pulse thudding inside his ears. Regret and misery and happiness and longing are one fucking concoction when being drunk is added to the mix like a little cherry on top. A tear manages to escape and he hisses, scrubbing it away with one hand. 

Izuku’s arms are wrapped around him in a second.

It’s everything Katsuki has ever wanted. Everything Katsuki has been dreaming about for so long, everything he never even knew he needed and everything he’s been trying to bury deep and pretend he doesn’t. Everything he’s only ever allowed himself to have in dreams. Warmth and safety and love and Izuku. 

Pure light bursts open inside Katsuki’s core. It flows outwards and spills into every part of him, making him feel like he’s shining like that damn I-Can’t-Stop-Twinkling French twink. And he can’t control his arms when they throw around Izuku and clutch him tight. He can’t control anything — not the way that he shakes and trembles, not the way that more tears rush to freedom, not the way he inhales deep. None of it. 

Izuku is shorter, which means his face is pressed into Katsuki’s chest whilst Katsuki has to lean down a little to shove his nose into Izuku’s shoulder.

‘I’m sorry it took so long.’ Katsuki croaks.

‘Don’t speak.’ Izuku whispers softly, muffled against Katsuki’s body as he strokes a hand up Katsuki’s back, trailing both physical pleasure and emotional fulfilment in his wake, making Katsuki feel weak-kneed and hot-stomached and stronger than he’s ever felt before. 

But Izuku’s demand — as considerate for his drunken state it might be — falls on deaf ears.

Izuku is in his arms. It’s never felt more right than this. It seems to just strip away every single one of Katsuki’s defences until he’s utterly and blissfully bare.

‘Damn idiot, we knew you’d say no if we asked, everyone knows what you’re like: you wouldn’t want the fucking hassle and you’d stop us at every turn, but it was taking so damn long to get the funding – I didn’t want it through some stupid merch or some shit, that felt like the easy way out, no: it had to be real hero work we funded it with, but then we couldn’t fucking talk to you cause I knew one of those damn extras would spill the beans and it was game over before we even begun, but fuck Izuku I’ve missed you so fucking much —’

‘Shh, shh.’ Izuku gentles a hand through his hair while Katsuki trembles in his hold, his own hands gripping onto Izuku for dear life. 

‘Missed you so, so much.’ He mutters, his voice fierce and angry and rasping and guttural. 

The dam has cracked, the floodgates have opened, all that stupid cheesy shit Katsuki’s always heard people say and never actually believed can happen. He’s believing it now, since he can’t seem to shut his fucking motor mouth, keeps babbling out, ‘just missed you … been so long … missed you so much …’ 

‘Shh, I’m here.’ Izuku goes onto his tiptoes to put his mouth to Katsuki’s ear. ‘Kacchan. I’m here.’

There’s a soft pause before Izuku speaks again. ‘After the war, when you were all bandaged up, I wanted to —’ Izuku’s voice wavers, thick with tears, but he forces himself to continue: ‘So badly I wanted to do this, but I couldn’t. I was terrified I had lost you, but when I saw you I was too scared to come near, in case …’ 

Katsuki squeezes Izuku to the point of suffocation, tucking his nose into the bare skin of his soapy, soft throat and relishing in his realness, his Izuku-ness. The same laundry detergent he’s used since he was five. 

‘In case I … I hurt you, or — you didn’t want —’

Katsuki only shakes his head roughly, clutches Izuku to his whole body, and tries to demonstrate in every single way possible just how much he wants this.

Izuku sobs into Katsuki’s chest and holds him with more violence and urgency than before, digging his fingers in and tightening his arms painfully. If he still had OFA, Katsuki would be toast.

But yet he’s everything Katsuki pictures at the kitchen sink when he’s alone at night. He holds Katsuki with the same emotion that Katsuki holds Izuku with.

It’s several minutes before either of them can so much as loosen their hold.

‘Come on, idiot, your tear ducts are gonna be workin’ overtime at this rate.’ Katsuki croaks after he’s swallowed down his own sniffles and sobs.

Izuku hacks a wet laugh. ‘Maybe they’ll unionise and demand a day off.’

‘Bout damn time.’

They both laugh at their silliness, and then Izuku is the one to pull away and wipe at his face with both hands. It gives Katsuki the excuse to do the same without being watched. 

But Katsuki is finished sooner than Izuku, because Izuku is miraculously still crying, his hands rushing to mop up the flood.

Katsuki wishes he could do something: take Izuku’s face in his hands and stroke his cheeks, kiss away the wetness and give him tea-bags for his no-doubt inflamed eyes. But he’s not Izuku’s partner. He’s lucky if he’s Izuku’s friend. And so he does what he’d do for Shitty Hair and takes his shoulder.

‘Come on. You’ve had a long day. I’m not far from here.’ He still can’t help but press his thumbpad into Izuku’s collarbone before he releases him; his body still can’t help but reach out in these tiny, infinitesimal ways. More. More.

They trudge back to Katsuki’s flat and it’s only as they’re walking up the stairs that he starts feeling nervous. Shit, he’s not exactly cleaned anytime recently, and he’s not had guests over in ages: he’s got no idea what the space says about his lonely life, or what he’s accidentally left lying around. His head fills with images of dirty underwear and mouldy food, and he’s almost terrified to open the door once he turns his key, but of course that’s the only option, and he’d better just get it over with now –

Katsuki steps inside and finds his flat the exact same as it’s always been. Clean, orderly, spare. 

He exhales a breath of relief and opens the door wider for Izuku to step in behind.

Izuku’s eyes are moving greedily to take in every inch of the space. Katsuki can recognise that nerdy analytical expression anywhere. He’s always wanted to know every damn thing about someone. 

‘This is me.’ Katsuki gestures a hand as he makes his way to his kitchenette. ‘Pretty basic. Feel free to roam. I’m making tea. Want some?’

‘Oh – no, sorry.’ Izuku politely backtracks. 

Katsuki blinks in surprise and sinking disappointment. He was sure Izuku would stay at least a little while. He was sure Izuku would want a tour. Katsuki feels his own selfish greed reach out with clingy fingers to grasp at any part of Izuku they can reach. Come sit with me on the sofa. Come stand beside me in the kitchen. Closer, closer.

He knows he can’t have Izuku the way he wants, but he at least thought he could have a little fucking more of him.

‘I have work tomorrow morning, and I had better say goodbye to the others.’ Izuku explains, clearly able to read Katsuki’s face.

Oh. Of course. Katsuki is effectively cock-blocking Izuku. Of course Izuku should go back to his own damn party and continue what he started with Uraraka.

It would be a lie to say that Katsuki really doesn’t want that. The truth is more that he wants to want that. With every fibre of his being, he wants to wish selflessly for Izuku’s happiness. He wants to be the type of person that can do that.

Jealousy feels the same as his mean-spirited bitterness in middle school, and it frightens him. He knows he can’t give himself over to it and so he needs to find another avenue. The easiest route would be to change his perspective and come around to the idea of Izuku and Uraraka.

But Rome wasn’t built in a day. At least he’s aware of the problem enough to be able to work on it. He might find one of those therapists Kirishima keeps yapping on about for that express purpose. He’s not fucking up his second chance.

Slowly but surely, he knows he’ll be able to cheer from the sidelines eventually. The sidelines are still better than anything he fucking deserves.

‘No, of course, go.’ Katsuki nods, and walks into the kitchen so he doesn’t have to watch Izuku leave. ‘Just close the door after you; I don’t want frostbite.’ He puts both hands on his counter, leans over his sink and clenches his jaw.

‘Um, Kacchan …’ 

Izuku sounds closer than before.

Katsuki turns to find him in his kitchen doorway with his phone outstretched and his bottom lip being gnawed between his teeth.

‘Could I take your number?’ He asks, tilting his head. ‘Just so I can let you know when to expect me next month!’

Katsuki rips Izuku’s phone from him and punches in his new number, his heart lifting with the prospect of being able to talk to Izuku throughout this month of purgatory.

He can see, from the brief time that Izuku’s text history is visible, that it’s just a bunch of parents he’s been texting with updates of their kid’s day. 

Riku did great today! He sat for the full …

Itsuki was quiet, but once we started reading …

He always gives his everything. His entire life, he’s always devoted it to anything he does. Katsuki didn’t think it was possible to fall any deeper. It’s not a process that ends, apparently. Somehow, it can get fucking worse.

‘Here, nerd.’ Katsuki offers his phone out.

Izuku accepts happily. His thumbs fly over his screen, and then Katsuki’s trouser pocket buzzes.

‘Oi, are you testing me?’ Katsuki cocks an eyebrow.

Izuku, instead of yelping and going stiff as he did when they were at U.A, just laughs. It’s a rich, confident sound. ‘Sorry, Kacchan, force of habit. I’ve got trust issues since I became a teacher.’

‘What’s that like?’ Katsuki asks, curious.

‘Oh, it’s a different kind of hero work, that’s for sure.’ Izuku states. Katsuki finds himself grinning now. ‘I mean, the kids are great, but I can’t give them my full attention, which is frustrating because they all need different things from me, and I always feel like I’m letting one down.’

‘You can’t save everyone, Izuku.’ Katsuki murmurs. ‘Just the ones you can reach.’

Izuku looks at Katsuki. His eyes shine with such a true affection it’s almost difficult to look at directly. He looks at Katsuki with this soft, tender face, as though he could do it forever, and Katsuki can feel the sensation of it reshape his insides and very vitally redefine who he is. 

Under that gaze, Katsuki feels worthy, heroic, strong, but also vulnerable, exposed, sensitive. He’s everything at once. He feels godlike and human.

‘Should you be going?’ Katsuki asks, gruff, glancing away.

Izuku blinks, and it ends the spell of his gaze. ‘Oh! Yes! Well – I’ll be off.’ He bows slightly before he bolts for the door,

Katsuki doesn’t even have time to blink before Izuku is out of his life for the second time.

At least this wait is only a month.

*

It’s as he’s getting into bed that he actually checks the text Izuku sent. 

It’s only a smiling sun emoticon. 

Katsuki saves Izuku’s number and sends a blast of fire back before he falls asleep.

When he wakes in the morning, the inside of his skull feels as though it was opened and shut just for fun: just for someone to rummage around in there and reorganise the furniture. 

He groans, clutches his temples, and wonders how the fuck it’s always old men he sees in bars and clubs. He’s not yet thirty and he’s becoming fucking intolerant.

Once he’s washed and freshened up and feels a little more alive, he can actually take a look at his screen.

It’s only then that he sees Izuku’s message waiting for him, sent last night: get some rest. Then he sent a picture of a bear with a snooze-bubble.

Katsuki chuckles at it, shaking his head. 

Morning. He replies. He can’t think of a good emoji and he isn’t down enough with the kids to even bother learning.

His phone buzzes in his hand before he can even put it back in his pocket.

Morning, sleepy! Izuku replies with a smiley.

Not that late, asshole. Katsuki writes. Plus I’m hungover.

Oh no! I should have made sure you got enough water. Do your best today! Izuku writes in full sentences because of course. Then he sends a bomb emoji. Damn, he’s been keeping up with Katsuki’s brand image. It makes him feel ridiculously floaty and bubbly, like he could start giggling for no reason.

when did u get home? He asks, and then he remembers. 

Oh right. Izuku went back to the bar. Maybe he’s with Uraraka. 

Maybe he woke up with her in his bed and she’s kissing his freckled shoulder while he texts Katsuki with one hand, his mouth open –

Shit, why does it matter? Sex is sex. It’s nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. 

So maybe he can’t ever have sex with Izuku, does that mean he can’t be close to him? Does that mean their bond isn’t anything important? Does that stop Katsuki from supporting Izuku and remaining by his side for the rest of their lives? Of course not. 

Sex, even though Katsuki has never had it, is … weird. It makes him feel uncomfortable. It’s invasive, self-serving, just for instant gratification and Katsuki has never once wanted it before now. It’s something that people want from him , and Katsuki will be damned if he gives Izuku that same treatment. 

Maybe people have had sex with Izuku, but they’ll never know him. 

They’ll never have known him from the age of four. They’ll never understand his obsessive tendencies or his competitive drive or his unshakeable sense of honour, his goofy humour or his gentleness, his paternal instincts or his intelligence about useless facts, his ability to calm people, his incredible strength – nobody will ever know that shit because Izuku doesn’t even know that shit, the only person in the world who does is Katsuki, and he’s not intending to fucking shout about it.

But someone will know what Izuku looks like naked, his traitorous mind whispers. Someone will know how he sounds when he’s on the brink, and the way he moves, and the face he makes.

It’s less about pleasure and gratification for Katsuki, and more a deep-seated possessiveness that he’s the only person who should ever see Izuku in that state. 

His phone buzzes.

I went straight home after I said goodbye! I am currently grading creative writing papers! There are a lot of superhero vegetables.

Katsuki has no clue how Izuku can type that fast, but before he can ask Izuku sends through a picture.

Katsuki stops in his living room where he’s been shoving on his boots.

Izuku is smiling, doing a peace sign beside his head, his eyes crinkled and the sunlight slanted across one side of his face illuminating the green of his hair and his dusting of freckles.

Katsuki cradles his phone close as he stares, the warmth of love threatening to spill over in his eyes. He smiles down at the image, free to let his face betray every emotion he feels when looking at Izuku, but it’s when his vision truly goes blurry that he scoffs at himself and shoves his phone away.

He’s walking down the street when he realises he never replied. Izuku might take that as a sign to never send a picture again. 

Seeing as this might be the only way he can actually look at Izuku for the foreseeable future, Katsuki scrambles to yank his phone out. 

He points the camera at himself with his hood zipped over his chin and his eye-mask pulled down, only really his nose on show. He snaps a photo before he can talk himself out of it and sends it with the caption, u probably love those stories u nerd.

Izuku sends through a string of emojis: a pile of books, a pair of glasses, a salute, and a heart.

Katsuki is trying very hard not to fucking focus on one in particular.

The rest of the day is … in a word, long . But in a weird way, it’s not.

He chats to Izuku the entire time.

Katsuki assumed Izuku would just disappear after that initial conversation, and he’d already been planning conversation starters he could strike up for his daily dose of Izuku’s face, but it turns out he didn’t even need to bother. 

Izuku sends him updates throughout the day:

A true masterpiece! He sends for a blotchy drawing of a whale. 

A tragic fate! He sends for a teddy with paint matted into its fur.

Healthy diet starts now for hero training! He sends a picture of his home-made bento at lunch, all neatly arranged and painstakingly perfect. 

‘Dude, you are gone.’ Sero notes when he passes Katsuki’s desk and finds him grinning over his phone.

‘Fuck off Soy Sauce.’ Katsuki says, but there’s no real bite and he doesn’t care.

‘I’m sending him this.’ Kirishima threatens, pointing his phone at Katsuki’s face.

But Katsuki blinks at that. ‘Huh? You got his number?’

‘Yeah, man, he gave it to everyone!’ Kaminari cheers.

Katsuki flops into his seat, his mouth setting into an unwelcome, uncontrollable pout.

It’s stupid. Who even cares? Izuku should have all their phone numbers. It wouldn’t be fair for Katsuki to hoard him.

‘He’s not replied to any of my memes, though.’ Jiro muses, a fingertip to her chin where she’s perched on her desk, but her eyes are dancing as she looks at Kaminari.

Katsuki takes the bait. 

He texts Izuku a picture of his own lunch with the message, this is what the pros eat, idiot.

Are you eating processed food, Kacchan?? Izuku responds instantly. That’s not like you!

Katsuki huffs with an eye roll, but warmth is flooding through him at Izuku’s eagerness. It’s a sandwich, hardly gonna kill me.

I’ll make us bentos when I join! Izuku promises.

Katsuki’s heart flutters violently. I’ll hold u to that.