Work Text:
Izuku Midoriya has grown up with a fairly consistent schedule.
Wake up.
Get ready for school.
Hope to see a hero in action.
Take crisp, pristine notes in a well-worn book.
Deal with Katsuki Bakugou.
That last point throughout the years has been a bit... interesting — the nicest way that Izuku can put it. He remembers a time where it hadn’t been so complicated, back when quirks hadn’t been manifested and the two would walk together with bright, mutual dreams and a childish sense of adventure. Sometimes, Izuku wonders if Katsuki remembers those times. Back when the smiles hadn’t been so mean and the laughter had been genuine, not mocking. Sometimes, he thinks about asking, but pushes it aside in favor of doing his best at UA High. No time to ask about the past if you’re too focused on the heroic present.
Unless, of course, you get yourself sentenced to three days of house arrest.
Oops.
And Izuku should feel sore about the whole thing, the twisted stress relief that Katsuki had demanded out of him, but when he goes to bed that night he can’t keep the smile off his face. He can’t explain why, his thoughts jumbled — but overwhelmingly positive. Maybe he can get a handle on it in the next three days.
Assuming they can look each other in the eye.
Because when Izuku heads downstairs the next morning Katsuki’s already there, bandaged and vacuuming, and in the aftermath of their fight Izuku’s finding it hard to find words let alone speak them. It’d been so much easier when the adrenaline had been coursing through his veins. So Izuku shuffles over to grab a second vacuum cleaner, house shoes swishing across the floor as a sort of good morning to Katsuki. When the rest of the class heads down the reality of the situation sets in — they’re both missing class at the best hero academy in the country, their classmates flat out calling their scuffle stupid.
Izuku still doesn’t feel like it was, though, especially when Uraraka asks the million dollar question:
“Did you two make up?”
That. That’s why that fight felt like it was worth it, even if, technically, Izuku can’t answer her. Have they made up? Is this making up?
He actually doesn’t know.
He also doesn’t know how much time passes between them after everyone leaves for the day. What he does know is that he’s vacuumed the same spot into submission but he can’t make himself stop, not when Katsuki’s in the perfect line of sight. He spares a glance over to him and — whoa, their eyes meet, because apparently Katsuki’s been... watching him, too? Ah! Izuku ducks his head in an attempt to look like he hadn’t been staring, but the flush of pink that’s emphasizing his freckles say otherwise. Quick! Think of something to talk about!
Huh.
Talk.
That’s not something they’ve really, truly done since they collected All Might trading cards. That puts more pressure on Izuku, and he doubts Katsuki will be the one to break the silence. So he takes a deep breath, inhales it all in, and asks, “My shoot style... how was it?”
They say you can hear your heartbeat when you’re nervous. Izuku can tell you that it’s true to an absurd degree. His heart is so loud that it’s like the vacuum’s been running on silent, the pounding echoing through the empty dorm halls.
Katsuki doesn’t respond.
Izuku tries not to panic. It’s not like this... whatever this is... would start right away. Just because All Might spoke it doesn’t make it true.
“The motions when you’re preparing to do a move are too big.”
Wait.
Izuku turns to look at Katsuki. The other boy’s back is still to him but he’s talking. No. Not just talking. He’s giving advice.
“Even when you got faster, I was able to just barely react in time. It’s not good for a slugfest.”
He’s right. After all, Kacchan has remarkable reaction time. Izuku nods his head, mulling the words over. “I see.”
Another pause, then, “When you used it with your punch it made me mad.”
Ah. Because that’s when Izuku had managed to catch him off guard enough to land a hit. His movement, at that point, had been swift and solid. If he can keep up that momentum he can surely improve his style. “I see!”
“You spend a lot of time reading people’s movements. Don’t let them read yours.”
Izuku nods and turns to ask another question — so many questions — and is startled to see Katsuki standing so close to him now. When’d he get over here? His vacuum has been left abandoned in the corner and he’s standing so close that Izuku can see the mix of reds in his eyes. Crimson. Sapphire. The very tip of a fire. “K-Kacchan?”
“The point is to catch them off guard.”
Izuku swallows and nods again. This is some kind of test, isn’t it? Katsuki’s expecting him to do something, but what?
“You’re wasting time thinking,” then he shoves Izuku, not hard enough to send him toppling over but enough to get his point across. “You have to let your instincts do the work, too.”
“Kacchan is so good at this,” Izuku blurts out, not even trying to hide the smile of admiration.
“Quit complimenting me.”
Oh no, Izuku can’t stop doing that. Giving praise to Kacchan is easy. Talking to him is hard. “But you are! Even in the middle of our fight you had a solution to everything!”
Katsuki just rolls his eyes. He only had a solution because he managed to dodge Izuku's attacks. Izuku doesn't retain the information, though, because he's too busy looking at him with wide, green eyes that look like pools of crystal clear water on the perfect summer day. He doesn't say any of that out loud, though, and instead walks past Izuku to head to the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
“Breakfast,” then he adds, almost too softly to hear, “Eat something, nerd.”
“R-right!”
They should’ve known that the rest of the class would take advantage of the situation. All right, that may be an over-exaggeration. Izuku’s good-natured friends have the common decency to at least put their dishes in the sink that night. Meanwhile, Katsuki’s so-called squad leave them scattered about after dinner. They even persuade Iida to not wash a single dish, spinning some bullshit tale about how Midoriya and Bakugou gotta learn somehow.
It works, though, and Iida says something about the merit of discipline before heading to bed with everyone else.
Great.
Katsuki mutters a few choice words under his breath, even questions why he should even bother having acquaintances if this is gonna be how they act. Izuku tries not to laugh at how Katsuki makes a noise akin to a cat being sprayed by a water bottle and says, “I can grab the rest of the dishes if you wanna load the dishwasher.”
“Sure.”
They’re too tired to realize the ease of that exchange. Izuku had managed not to stammer over his words while Katsuki gave a clear, concise response.
Izuku gathers the dishes, eyebrows furrowed because there’s way too many of them. “... do you think they’re using extra dishes on purpose?”
“Of course they are,” Katsuki says. “Why else would that deep fried bastard grab a new glass for water when he could’ve reused his old one?”
Izuku blinks. “Deep fried?”
“You know. Kaminari,” he says, as if using anyone’s actual name is too difficult.
The quiet night is interrupted by Izuku’s laughter. He’s standing next to Katsuki now, handing him dishes to put in the washer, scraping food into the sink’s garbage disposal when there’s too many small leftover bits. “That’s a new one. I don’t think you’ve called him that before.”
Katsuki stays focused on the task at hand. He’s heard Izuku laugh before, of course, but it’s been a long while since he’s laughed over something he’s said. There’s something quite pleasant about the sound, a level of warmth that goes straight to Katsuki’s cheeks. “Yeah. Guess I’m coming up with new material during this punishment,” he mutters, voice softer, more relaxed, than he realizes.
“I’m sure everyone will be thrilled,” then Izuku hands Katsuki another glass, so absorbed in potential names that he misses the fact that Katsuki’s fingers linger on his for a couple extra seconds when he takes the glass from him.
“They all deserve it for creating extra work.”
“I guess... but that is what a punishment is, right? And it could’ve been much more severe.” It should’ve been, to be honest. Sneaking out at night. Fighting. Destroying parts of campus. “We should thank All Might.”
“For what?”
“For convincing Aizawa-sensei to lighten our sentence.”
Katsuki starts the dishwasher then grabs a dishrag, tossing it to Izuku. “He doesn’t want to be thanked, idiot. He was clearly watching us fight and felt that we had to.” What he doesn't say is that All Might feels responsible for all of this when, in reality, it'd only been the tipping point to something that's been brewing between them well before UA. He doesn't need to remind Izuku about that part, though, not when it makes his throat tighten to an unsettling degree.
Izuku catches the rag. He doesn’t want to admit that Katsuki’s right, not when it’s him saying that All Might wanted them to beat the crap out of each other. Instead, he starts scrubbing the counters while Katsuki grabs a broom.
“You know for someone who reads people all the time you sure are bad at it sometimes.”
Not that Izuku was expecting instant friendship or anything, but, “I’m sorry, I’m not the one who insisted that we fight.”
Katsuki scoffs, sweeping away a few lingering crumbs off the floor. “Wasn’t exactly a one-sided battle.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you wanted to fight, too.”
Izuku stops wiping the counter and turns to look at Katsuki. Do his eyes always have to look so intense? “I was telling you to stop.”
“Uh huh. Then you kicked me in the face.”
Really? Is he going to fault him for defending himself? “I wasn’t gonna just stand there!” He even had the courtesy to warn him, specifically stating that he wasn't gonna stand there and take it.
“Right. You were gonna practice your shoot style.”
“I-I was helping you! I was-”
Maybe it’s because it’s the middle of the night, the rest of the world sleeping as they clean. Maybe it’s because All Might’s words have resonated with him, or Deku’s efforts have broken through that damn wall he’s been building. “There’s nothing wrong with doing both, isn’t that the point? You did the same thing with Icy Hot, you know. You can go on your martyr kick and be a little cocky sometimes.”
“C-cocky?!”
Katsuki smirks, and honestly, it shouldn’t look as appealing as it does. “Yeah. Is that all you got?”
Ah. Izuku really feels the need to go back to cleaning, scrubs the same spot he’d been scrubbing but with much more enthusiasm. Eventually, they fall back into silence, the still of the night aiding in their cleaning until they finally head to bed. Katsuki doesn’t realize it, but he’s walking with Izuku, hands in his pockets as he unconsciously goes to the second floor instead of the fourth.
Izuku doesn’t realize it either, because when he gets to his door he looks surprised to see Katsuki walking toward the stairs to go to his own room. “Hey, um... Kacchan?”
Katsuki stops and looks back at him.
“It’s... not the same as Todoroki. Not even close.”
It has to be because it’s evening and they’re alone, because Katsuki’s lips quirk into another smirk — this one more gentle than the last. “See you tomorrow, nerd.”
“Yeah... you too.”
When Izuku goes downstairs the next morning he’s not surprised to see Katsuki already up. He is surprised to see breakfast on the table, or rather, in the skillet. “There’s leftovers,” he says from where he’s sitting and eating his toast. “Get rid of them.”
It’s not a direct statement of I made us breakfast but it’s kinda close. It makes Izuku’s heart flutter — something it’s been doing in regards to Katsuki Bakugou for most of his life, but that’s another complex thing to figure out.
So Izuku fixes himself a plate and sits across from Katsuki, the two eating together, the only sound between them being their utensils hitting their plates until, “This is really good, Kacchan.”
Katsuki should be used to the praises of Izuku Midoriya, but there’s something so genuine about this one. It has nothing to do with his skills as a fighter or heroic aspirations, instead, it’s just about his scrambled eggs. It’s so simple, and yet... “Whatever, nerd.”
“Would it kill you to accept praise?”
Katsuki shrugs. “I’ve been doing that all my life. Hasn’t gone too well.”
It’s such an honest admission, a quiet moment of realization that will probably never leave the table, a tinge of guilt somewhere deep in Katsuki’s voice. Izuku slumps down in his seat and says, “Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve any at all.”
“Tell you what. You admit your truths about our fight and I’ll admit that I can cook eggs.”
“That seems incredibly unbalanced.”
There it is again. The quirk of the lip, only this time Izuku swears he hears a hint of laughter. “I mean, to be fair, they’re damn good eggs.”
“Kacchan!”
The class almost catches them sharing a laugh but they’re careful to cut it short, keeping the secret between them. Kaminari — of course — is the first to comment on the smell of breakfast, goes so far as to ask if having food prepared for them all is part of the deal. Katsuki almost throws the skillet at his head but settles on unloading the dishwasher while Kirishima laughs at their antics.
Everyone leaves, creating more dishes from various forms of breakfast. Mina goes easy on them by just grabbing an apple while Sero eats Pop-Tarts on a plate. It doesn’t bother either of them — much. Cleaning that up is easy compared to what’s on the horizon for the day: laundry. The two are greeted with a heap of discarded towels in the bathrooms, and Katsuki finds new, creative ways to curse at his fellow students.
When they get to the laundry room Izuku starts reading the instructions on the detergent. Katsuki, on the other hand, is already separating everything based on color so he asks, “What are you doing?”
“Figuring out how much detergent to use.”
“Seriously? Do you not know how to do laundry?”
“I-I never said that!” But it’s true because he’s definitely got a mom who thrives on housework.
“Should’ve known. Your mom was definitely on top of shit like that.”
“You still remember that?” It’s been years since Katsuki’s been to his house. Izuku thought he was the only one still rockin’ those childhood memories.
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Right, of course,” but it kinda is. At least to Izuku. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you already know what to do. You’re always-”
“I swear to All Might if you slide in one more compliment-”
“I wanted to fight,” Izuku admits quietly, like he’s ashamed to admit it. “I wanted to see what I could do against you in a real fight. So... I can go back to complimenting you, right?”
Katsuki looks like he’s been completely taken off guard. He didn’t think Izuku would ever say it out loud. He decides to blame the mountain breeze smell of the fabric softener for what happens next. “Felt good, didn’t it? To let loose like that?”
“I... y-yeah, but... was there really a point?”
“Does there have to be?”
“It just... the pay off seems so selfish. We're supposed to be fighting to protect people, not-”
“Not every fight has to be a life or death situation,” then he goes about putting clothes in the washing machine, his back to Izuku as he speaks. “I had shit to work out and you had something to prove.”
“We could’ve talked...”
“No. We couldn’t. I couldn’t, and deep down, you know you couldn’t either.” Katsuki starts the machine but doesn’t want to face Izuku. Not yet. “You’d go on about how amazing I am and not actually say anything substantial.”
Izuku can’t decide if it’s hurtful because Katsuki’s still on this anti-praise kick, or hurtful because he’s right. He decides it would be best to leave, wash the windows upstairs — every single one. Whether he means to or not Katsuki follows after him, not lost on the irony of being the one watching Izuku’s retreating back.
It’s just like the first day — uncomfortable. Izuku’s at one end of the living room while Katsuki’s at the other, each one wiping away the streaks from each window. They don’t speak again until lunch, which Katsuki prepares, and he repeats the same statement he made before breakfast. “There’s leftovers. Get rid of them.”
So they eat together, this time on the couch, the TV playing something in the background. It shouldn’t be this difficult but it’s exceedingly challenging to be something other than awkward around each other. They’d developed a system over the years, one where Katsuki constantly pushed Deku away, but now they’re supposed to be what, proper rivals? Friends?
More?
Even if this is the endgame Izuku’s wanted, it’s so... odd. There’s been this space between them and now it’s just... instantly dissolved? Is it really that simple?
Can it be?
“... thank you for lunch,” Izuku says, hesitant, not sure how to end the sentence without some kind of Kacchan’s food is the best. But he’s right. He has to stop idolizing him and start treating him like something more than that guy on the pedestal.
“Sure,” and the response is oddly sincere.
“I should make something for us next time.”
“You know how to cook? You didn’t even know how to do laundry.”
Is Kacchan... being playful with his insults? His tone is much lighter — amused, even. “Um... well... I could look up tutorial videos online...”
“Oh my god.”
“What?! My mom did all the cooking! I can’t help if your mom is a-”
“Hardass?”
“That’s rude, Kacchan.”
Katsuki shrugs. “It’s true but it fits her... or something,” then, to his and Izuku’s surprise, he keeps talking. “I used to watch my dad cook. That’s how I learned.”
“Oh! He used to make you really good lunches for school, right?”
“Jeez, that was like ten years ago. How much do you remember about back then?”
Everything. All of it. Every second with him.
“Why me?” Katsuki asks.
“Hm?”
Katsuki keeps his focus on the television. Some news story about the wooden hero taking down a villain. “There were a lot of kids you could’ve admired. Why try so hard with me?”
Ah. Izuku’s heart’s fluttering again because yeah, this is more than mere admiration, isn’t it? So much for this being simple, huh All Might? “Ah, well... y-you were clearly the best one,” and that’s all he’s willing to say. Fortunately for him, Katsuki’s feeling generous and settles on standing up, taking their dishes, and heading to the kitchen. “Oh... I could’ve taken those.”
“Whatever. I got it.”
Izuku watches him put the dishes in the sink, quietly washing them. Before he can second guess himself he gets up and joins him at the sink. “I can dry them, at least.”
They fall into a silence again, standing next to each other as they clean up after lunch. Katsuki looks like he wants to say something, like he wants to ask Izuku the deeper meaning behind you were clearly the best one but he sticks with cleaning, going with the motions, letting it ease the tension.
They can try again tonight. While everyone is sleeping.
But the conversation never happens because their classmates double down on ruining their dinner plates. There’s crumbs and leftover food bits in the living room because yes, let’s throw popcorn at each other for no particular reason. By the time the two of them finish cleaning they walk back to their rooms, exhausted, and a little bit cranky — though Izuku will never admit it. Instead, he leans against his dorm room door and takes a breath, ready to fall into bed.
“Oi.”
Izuku nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears Katsuki. He’d been so out of it that he didn’t realize that Katsuki had followed him. Again. “Ah, um, y-yes?”
There’s things to say. Feelings to work through. But nothing’s coming to mind, the two having a showdown with their eyes and soft breaths of air. Finally, Katsuki runs a hand through his hair and says, “See you tomorrow, nerd.”
There’s weight to those words, making them more meaningful than they should be. Such a simple statement shouldn’t make Izuku smile like he’s making up for the lack of sunlight, but it is what it is, he guesses, and he says. “Yeah. Goodnight, Kacchan.”
Something’s burning.
That’s the first thing that greets Katsuki in the morning.
He steps into the kitchen and his mouth drops at the sight of the natural disaster that is Izuku Midoriya, skillet smoking on the stove, phone running some kind of video that’s supposed to make cooking easy. Izuku spots Katsuki staring at him and he stands in front of the stove as if trying to hide the chaos he’s created. “Um... morning Kacchan! There’s... leftovers?”
Maybe it’s because they’ve been cleaning for two days in a row. Maybe they’re going stir crazy from being in the dorms instead of in class. Or maybe it’s because things have been confusing for ten odd years, yet somehow, that’s easier to grasp onto than whatever this is that they’re trying to do. Whatever it is, it makes Katsuki laugh, and Izuku stares at him like he’s the most wondrous thing he’s ever seen. Izuku’s been accused of having infectious laughter, but Kacchan? It’s like a virus hits Izuku, spreading throughout his entire body as he laughs with him.
“Shit. Holy shit. You... shit, Deku! Turn off the stove!”
“R-right!”
Katsuki walks over, trying to make sense of what Izuku had been trying to cook. It’s a crispy brown, whatever it is, and is most definitely stuck to the pan. “Do I wanna know?”
“No.”
“Got it.”
When everyone comes downstairs they’re surprised to see all the windows open, trying to air out the lingering smell. When asked about it, Katsuki delivers his most intimidating glare, adding a low growl to scare everyone off. Once they’re gone the two end up laughing again, saying a silent prayer for the pan they had to throw away — no amount of dish soap could and scouring pads could save it.
“I’m surprised you didn’t make fun of me in front of them,” Izuku says.
“It’s none of their business.” Because that laugh was there’s and only there’s, and Katsuki can be quite the selfish guy when he puts his mind to it.
Izuku nods as he gathers up a collection of trash bags. With so many people in the dorms it doesn’t take much for it to pile up. “I should probably leave the cooking to you, huh?”
“If we wanna live through this, yes.”
“I mean this is the last day so I think we can make it.”
Katsuki frowns as he grabs two of the bags, heading for the front door with them. “It is for you. I still have tomorrow.”
“Oh...” and he should be happy about that, you know? You’re supposed to want to be done with punishment. The entire reason they’re both here is to train to be heroes, not clean the dorms for days on end. But there's something kind of sad about the punishment coming to an end. These last few days — even through the awkward points — have been... nice. The quiet meals. The attempts at proper conversations. Telling each other goodnight before heading to bed.
Will they lose those moments once they join the rest of the world?
“Hey. Don’t just stand there. Help me take this trash out.”
“Right! Sorry!”
If this really is their last peaceful moment together, they should try and make the most of it. Only Izuku’s too distracted throughout the day, standing in one spot with the vacuum running, almost forgetting to eat lunch until Katsuki tells him to. He even misses the jab at his failed breakfast attempt, letting out a weak laugh before he settles down and eats his rice.
It gets worse that night.
“You’ll have to make sure to catch up on your studies, Midoriya,” Iida says, nodding his head in that studious way of his. “We can assist you if you’d like.”
“Yeah!” Uraraka thrusts a fist into the air, enthusiastic as always. “We can get together this weekend if you’d like.”
“Ah... yeah... sounds good,” but his voice is somewhere else, distant and absent from the conversation. He’s focused on Katsuki, who’s surrounded by Kirishima and the rest of his friends — though Katsuki probably wouldn’t address them as such. They’re poking fun at the fact that he’s got one more day of house arrest, or rather, Kaminari and Sero are, Kirishima’s trying to convince them to tone it down just a touch. At some point Katsuki’s eyes meet his and Izuku looks away, caught with his hand in the cookie jar — metaphorically speaking.
“Are you ok, Deku?” Ah Uraraka. Perceptive as always. Izuku gives her what he hopes his a reassuring smile but he has his doubts.
“Yeah, just... excited about tomorrow! Now I can get back on track!”
Back on track. Back to the classroom where Katsuki barely speaks a word to him. Back to training exercises where Katsuki couldn’t be bothered to stand anywhere near him. Technically, none of that’s true, because Katsuki’s got remedial classes to take so there’s a chance they won’t see each other at all.
Great.
Though Katsuki did say things would be different, didn’t he? Tonight would be the perfect time to bring that up.
It’s the same routine as before: Izuku gathering the dishes and Katsuki loading the washer. There’s not as much cleaning tonight, perhaps because the novelty of giving them extra work is wearing thin. “Hey... Kacchan?”
“Hm?”
Now, Izuku. Ask him now. “Wanna stay up and watch a movie?” Or you can do that, that works too.
“Shouldn’t you be going to bed? You got class tomorrow.” There’s a bite in his voice, a tang of bitterness that Izuku can’t quite decipher. Normally, he’d assume that it was solely because he has one more day of punishment, but Katsuki’s eyes tell a different story. They’re too soft, too... disappointed? It’s not something Izuku’s used to seeing, not unless the explosive blond thinks he’s failed at something.
“It’s still early. Besides. There’s nothing left to clean, we should celebrate.” Izuku's reaching for excuses but he doesn't care.
Katsuki raises an eyebrow and says, “That seems like a trivial thing to celebrate.”
“Fine. We can celebrate you winning our fight.”
“Shouldn’t you be upset by that?”
Izuku grabs an armful of snacks from one of the cabinets — the spicy chips that only Katsuki will touch, cookies, gummy candies, and a second bag of chips for those who like to leave their tongues intact. “I dunno, I kinda won, in a way.”
“Do we really need that many-”
“Jeez, Kacchan, I thought I was the overthinker,” Izuku says as he walks over to the couch. Huh. It’s much easier to talk to Katsuki when he knows this is the last night they’ll have like this. He wishes he’d been this confident during the entirety of their punishment. “Come on.”
“Fine.” Katsuki grabs a couple of drinks then sits down on the other end of the couch, the snacks piled between them. They haven’t had a moment like this since they were kids who played in blanket forts and used flashlights to stay awake and read heroic stories. It’s... comfortable, the uncertainty gone in favor of eating unhealthy foods and watching an All Might movie marathon. Cable channels have been playing them more frequently in the wake of his retirement.
“Do you think it’s weird?”
Izuku looks over at Katsuki as the blond munches on his hot chips, not even breaking a sweat — ha ha. “What’s weird?”
Katsuki nods toward the TV screen at the actor playing All Might. He’s almost got the smile down but nothing compares to the real thing. “He’s our teacher now. Hell, you’re his successor.”
“Honestly? I think about it every day,” Izuku says before he takes a bite out of a cookie.
Katsuki nods, satisfied with the answer. He can’t begin to imagine what goes on in Izuku’s mind as the one who inherited All Might’s power. Now that he knows All Might's motives and the full story behind the power, he's not that cross about it. Not really. Having to figure out a quirk in your teens, let alone a quirk that can destroy you, is a lot to take on. Katsuki's not saying he couldn't handle it, but he's fine with sticking with explosives. “Hey. What did you mean when you said you kinda won?”
There’s two answers to that, one more embarrassing than the other. Izuku decides to give the less incriminating one. “Well... I got to test my skills and realize that I’ve improved, this time, in a non-life-threatening situation.”
“You know our lives aren’t at stake when we’re training, the closest to death we’ve come is with that All For One bastard or that attack on the school.”
Izuku hesitates, thoughtfully chewing on a gummy candy as he debates whether or not he should say what he's about to say. Finally, he decides to throw caution to the wind. It's their last night, after all. “That’s not... true for me...”
“Save it, I already figured out that Stain situation was a load of crap. You’re not the type to not do anything.”
Izuku nods a little, guilty as charged, but, “I meant... the training camp,” he whispers.
Katsuki doesn’t like thinking about it, but now that Izuku’s brought it up he realizes there’s something that never occurred to him. “You were pretty beat up out there. What happened?”
“Fought a villain on my own to protect Kouta,” Izuku says as he looks over the scars on his arms. “I was supposed to go back after that but you...”
“You gotta stop doing shit like that. You’re no good to anyone if you destroy yourself.”
“I know, but... it was you.” And there it is, out in the open. Izuku’s watching Katsuki for any sort of reaction but his face is impossibly blank, then suddenly he’s back to watching the movie, eating chips and not saying a word. Izuku starts to wonder if it’s humanly possible to die from a broken heart.
“Must suck, huh?”
Izuku blinks. Katsuki’s voice is so soft that he almost misses it. Almost. Because he’ll never miss any of his words. “What does?”
“Having to save the guy you admire, only to have him fuck up your feelings.”
It’s an apology without saying the actual words, words that Izuku never once needed to hear because he’s always thought the world of Kacchan and doesn’t need him to apologize for his ways. Kacchan’s ways are one of the things that Izuku holds dear — even the negatives have positives buried beneath the explosive edge.
So instead of giving some half-hearted speech about forgiveness, he slides closer to Katsuki, moving bags of snacks out of the way until they’re right next to each other. Years of miscommunication have led to this, yet this is somehow more difficult than the battle they had the other night. “It’s not just admiration, Kacchan.”
And maybe, just maybe, it’s the movie playing in the background, All Might’s actor doing his best impersonation of that iconic laugh. Maybe it’s the emptiness of the living room as the rest of the world sleeps, oblivious to the two boys staring at each other.
Maybe.
It’s because.
That fight wasn’t as meaningless as they thought, as their classmates thought and lectured them about.
Maybe it’s not punishment.
Maybe.
It’s a new start, them picking at the leftovers to create something better.
So Katsuki closes the space between them, Izuku meeting him somewhere in the middle. Their lips connect, unsure, just flat against one another but absorbing the feelings that linger between the cookie crumbs and potato chips. Izuku’s not sure if he’s always wanted this, if he’s been in love the whole time and masked it with Kacchan is so cool. He does know that Katsuki’s right — he could’ve admired anyone but he chose to chase after one particular boy for most of his life. And Katsuki? Katsuki’s fairly certain him pushing this Deku kid away was code for being a confused child who had no idea how to properly convey emotion.
But children grow, and he did say things would be different, didn’t he?
“Kacchan-mmph!” So the second kiss is more certain, more worthy of a fast beating heart and flushed faces. Katsuki’s fingers trace the freckles of Izuku’s cheeks, following them to his chin and the beautiful slope of his neck. Izuku has to grip on Katsuki’s shirt because he feels like he’s free falling, like that time he punched that robot only with more coordination and less fear, more anticipation. They stop to catch their breaths, foreheads pressed together, smiles present and accounted for. They try to come up with words but there’s nothing left to say, besides, they express themselves best when they let their actions speak a dialogue.
So they kiss their way through the movie, discovering new things about each other. Katsuki’s got a soft spot for the freckles while Izuku likes whispering Kacchan after every kiss, like he can’t believe this is happening, like he’s trying to confirm that he’s awake. Katsuki has to have his hands on him, somewhere, anywhere. The small of his back. Buried in his hair. Despite being a fairly private guy he doesn’t mind revealing these things to Izuku, doesn’t mind telling him how soft his hair is, or how good it feels to caress the inside of his mouth with his tongue.
Izuku giggles and says, “Quit complimenting me,” and it’s the second time in less than twenty-four hours that Katsuki Bakugou has lost it, his laughter echoing around them.
The movie ends. Katsuki gathers up the remaining snacks and puts them away. He says to Izuku, “Let me walk you back to your room,” and Izuku shakes his head, stubborn. “Deku...”
“I don’t wanna go back yet.”
“You have class tomorrow.”
“Let’s watch one more movie.”
Katsuki walks back over to the couch and stands in front of Izuku, looking very much like a disapproving parent. “We didn’t even watch the last one.”
Izuku can’t even begin to describe what it feels like to blush because you made out with a boy. “I... one more, please? Tomorrow I’m not...” here, with you, all day.
Katsuki sighs, sounding more put off than he actually is. “Fine,” then he sits back down.
In ten minutes they’re kissing again. Five minutes after that Katsuki’s laying on his back, one hand making its way into Izuku’s hair, his other arm keeping a comfortable hold around his waist. Izuku's touching Katsuki's lips with his fingers like he's studying them and Katsuki takes hold of his hand, kissing the scars, showering them with the respect they deserve. It’s calm, gentle, something the two of them will only have in these quiet moments when no one else is around. These sweet kisses like playgrounds and ice cream cones, the times before hero schools, villains, and fallen idols. Their lips are tender against one another, speaking the truths that they had to beat out of each other, nurturing them to a place all to themselves.
Izuku damn near cries from how it makes him feel, realizes that’s exactly what happens when he feels Katsuki’s lips pressed against the corner of his eye.
“Let me walk you back,” Katsuki whispers.
“No,” Izuku whispers back. “No Kacchan,” and ah, they kiss again until there’s nothing leftover.
After three days of waking up early to clean it’s ingrained in Izuku’s mind. He’s up and dressed before the rest of the class, feeling a bit out of place in his uniform. A lot happened during this time and he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss it.
He goes downstairs and stops dead in his tracks when he sees Katsuki making breakfast, only this time, there’s two plates of food instead of his normal excuse of cooking too much. Katsuki ignores how his ears are burning red and says, “There’s leftovers. Eat with me.”
It’s such a dumb thing to smile about but Izuku hurries over with an eager shout of, “OK!”