Chapter Text
If you never bleed, you're never gonna grow
But it's alright now
Bakugou Katsuki was a weak, weak man.
Izuku had been unbelievably touchy all evening, draping himself over Katsuki’s shoulders and arms, laughing too loud and shrieking with delight every time Katsuki tried to peel him off, and Katsuki had fought him half-heartedly because it really was getting impossible to blast off like this and Izuku kept giggling as if this was the best game he had ever played, and somehow, despite all of that, Katsuki had still managed to get them to his apartment, which felt like a minor miracle in hindsight.
He had asked the nerd if he wanted him to be dropped at his apartment, to which Izuku had said something bizarre and soft like it wasn’t his place anymore.
Katsuki had taken them to his place instead but as soon as they entered the bedroom, Izuku immediately looked freaked out at the idea of sharing a bed with Katsuki, which was weird and also landed like a punch straight to Katsuki’s gut, so he’d suggested once again, that they go to Izuku’s place instead so he could sleep in his own bed, which turned out to be the worst possible thing to say because Izuku had wailed mournfully at the mention of his bed, then started crying, then promptly made himself sick all over his own shirt.
Which was how Katsuki ended up here: in his dimly lit bedroom, kneeling on the floor with a pile of clean clothes beside him, trying to coax a very drunk, very miserable Izuku out of his ruined shirt.
Izuku sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, tears still slipping quietly down his flushed cheeks. He’d stopped sobbing, at least, but every so often a hiccup shook him. Katsuki had wiped his face, stripped off the soiled hoodie, cleaned him up with gentle hands. Now the only question left was what to put him in, while Izuku kept making it increasingly difficult.
He held up an old black hoodie and turned around.
“This one,” Katsuki said, voice low. “You always liked this one.”
Izuku’s eyes lit up, watery but bright. He nodded, eager, reaching for it, only to bypass the hoodie entirely and tug weakly at the hem of the sweater Katsuki himself was wearing.
Katsuki exhaled through his nose. “Just pick one, nerd.”
“Nooo,” Izuku whined, soft and stubborn, fingers curling into the fabric over Katsuki’s stomach. “I only like it when Kacchan wears it.”
Katsuki felt like a school girl with a crush the way his face heated up so fast.
“I want to wear Kacchan,” Izuku mumbled, pressing closer, trying, absurdly, to burrow inside the sweater with him.
“How the fuck are you gonna wear me, you idiot?” he muttered.
Izuku just giggled to himself like he had a secret, like he was in on a joke Katsuki was never going to understand, the sound muffled against Katsuki’s heartbeat. His arms slid around Katsuki’s waist, holding on like he was afraid the world might tilt again and spill him off.
“I want to wear Kacchan,” Izuku whined again and that was finally when Katsuki understood.
“This one, huh?” Katsuki asked, voice so, so soft. He tugged at the hem of the gray hoodie he was wearing. “The one I’ve got on right now?”
Izuku lit up immediately, nodding so hard it was a miracle he didn’t throw up again.
Katsuki exhaled a short, disbelieving laugh and peeled the hoodie off in one motion. The cool air hit his bare skin, raising goosebumps along his arms and chest, but he barely felt it. He handed the warm bundle over.
Izuku took it like it was something sacred, fingers brushing the soft inner lining, pressing it to his cheek, inhaling deeply with a dreamy little sigh. “Thank you Kacchan,” he murmured, beaming.
Katsuki’s heart performed an undignified flip. “Gross,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck to hide the burn creeping up his ears. “I was wearing that, you know."
Izuku just nodded again, still smiling, utterly unbothered. “Yes. Smells like Kacchan.”
Katsuki was going to die. Right here, on his bedroom floor, shirtless and defenseless like a stupid idiot. He reached for the spare black hoodie he’d originally offered, ready to pull it on and pretend he still had any control over the situation.
Without warning, Izuku leaned forward and pressed his face straight into Katsuki’s bare stomach, cool nose first, lips brushing skin.
Katsuki jolted. “Ah—cold, you idiot!” He ruffled Izuku’s hair roughly, more to steady himself than anything else. “Your damn nose is freezing.”
And then—because the universe clearly hated him—Izuku kissed his stomach, soft and clumsy and unthinking, and Katsuki felt something in his chest rupture completely as he stood there frozen, absolutely convinced that Edgeshot had stitched his heart back together only for it to finally explode from love.
"Kacchan, Kacchan I looove you." Izuku mumbled and Katsuki froze.
Izuku’s voice broke all at once as he clutched at Katsuki’s hoodie.
“I love you,” Izuku said again, voice cracking immediately afterward like the words themselves hurt on the way out, “and I’m stupid, I’m so stupid, how did I mess it up this bad, how did I never realise you were right there, Kacchan, you were right there and I didn’t see it, I hurt Uraraka, I hurt you, I hurt you, I’m so stupid, I’m so—”
“Hey,” Katsuki said quickly, bending down, hands coming up to Izuku’s face, thumbs brushing clumsily at his cheeks, “no, no, you’re not stupid, stop that, don’t say that,” and Izuku was already crying properly now, shoulders shaking, words dissolving into sobs.
“Are you mad?” Izuku asked, barely audible, “are you mad it took me so long to figure it out?”
Katsuki didn't really know what Izuku was talking about. I mean, he could guess but there was no way that was true right? Unless...
Izuku’s breath hitched harder. Fresh tears welled up, spilling over Katsuki’s fingers. “You are mad...” he whispered, voice small and terrified. “That it took me this long to figure it out? Are you mad at me, Kacchan?”
Katsuki didn’t answer with words. He leaned in and wrapped his arms around Izuku’s shaking frame, pulling him close until Izuku’s legs instinctively curled around his waist, anchoring them together. Izuku’s forehead dropped to Katsuki’s shoulder, face buried in the crook of his neck, and the sobs came muffled and broken against bare skin.
Katsuki held him like that for a long time. Knees digging into the floor, arms locked tight, one hand rubbing slow circles over Izuku’s back. He didn’t shush him, didn’t tell him to stop crying. He just stayed, solid and warm, breathing steady until Izuku’s breathing tried to match it.
“It’s okay,” Katsuki murmured, over and over, steady and low, “it’s okay, I’ve got you, I'm not mad, I'm not mad.”
Slowly, the storm quieted. The hiccups softened. The tears slowed. Izuku’s grip loosened, but he didn’t let go.
“Kacchan,” Izuku said finally, voice hoarse, “I would have gone crazy if I were you.”
Katsuki pulled back just enough to see his face. He tucked a knuckle under Izuku’s face, lifting his chin so he had to look at him, and Izuku’s eyes were glassy and red but so full of love it almost hurt to meet them, shining even through the sadness.
Katsuki couldn't believe he had gotten to know someone like Izuku in his lifetime.
“What do you mean?” he asked quietly.
Izuku swallowed, another hiccup escaping. “Tonight… at the bar. I imagined you with someone else. Some girl laughing at your jokes, touching your arm. And I—” His voice fractured. “I couldn’t handle it, Kacchan. I couldn’t breathe. It hurt so much,” his fingers twisted into Katsuki’s shirt desperately, “how did you deal with it, Kacchan?”
Katsuki dared to dream again, which felt dangerous in and of itself, because he didn’t know if Izuku had meant it or if it was just another thing said in the soft, unguarded haze of drunken honesty.
The confusion sat heavy in his chest, made worse by the fact that Izuku fell asleep almost immediately after that, slumping forward against him like his body had finally run out of fight, and Katsuki eased him down onto the bed carefully, climbed in beside him, and watched him breathe for a long time, slow and even, wondering if this was finally happening or if he was about to wake up to another quiet disappointment dressed as normalcy.
He woke up later than usual, sunlight already creeping in through the curtains, and Izuku was still fast asleep, face relaxed in a way Katsuki didn’t get to see often, and Katsuki realised belatedly that he didn’t have aspirin because he hardly ever drank and when he did get a headache he almost always just pushed through it.
He pulled on clothes, slipped out, ran to the nearest store, and came back with water and tablets, leaving a note stuck to the glass on the bedside table.
out for a little bit,
take this if u wake up.
He left again for a run, because he had to move, he had to clear his head, he had to think. Legs pounding against the pavement, breath burning in his chest, thoughts looping uselessly, and that was when he spotted Uraraka ahead of him, also clearly dressed for a run.
Instinct made him slow to a stop just as she did, turning and smiling at him, and Katsuki wondered distantly how she managed that, how she always seemed to carry that gentleness with her, that ability she shared with Deku to think of others even when things hurt. The ability to smile.
He had always admired that about her.
“How’s Deku-kun?” she asked, easy and warm, and Katsuki nodded.
“Seems fine. I don’t know. He’s asleep.”
Something sad and tired flickered across her face, and Katsuki felt it like a punch.
“What happened?” he asked before he could stop himself.
She looked surprised. “What do you mean?”
Katsuki shook his head. “I’m in the dark here you know? I don't know why's he's with me.”
Uraraka frowned at him then, studying his face, and said slowly, “I didn’t think you were the type to lie, Bakugou-kun… unless Deku was the one who lied,” and Katsuki could only shrug, because what the hell was that even supposed to mean.
“We ended things. He made it seem like he cheated,” she continued quietly, “on me… with you,” and Katsuki stared at her like she’d just spoken another language entirely.
“Nothing happened,” he said immediately, rather incredelous.
"Your letter. He read it."
"What?"
She gave a tiny, humorless laugh. “Yeah. That’s… I don’t know. That’s what he told me. Said he did something, and I just assumed—” She gestured vaguely between them.
Katsuki shook his head again, harder this time. “I don’t know anything.”
She nodded slowly, lips pressed together, absorbing that, and after a moment she sighed and said, “Well… I guess you have a lot to talk about then,” before waving at him with a small, strained smile and jogging away.
Katsuki ran back home in a daze.
Ended... things?
He didn't dare to dream in the morning.
Katsuki paused in the doorway, shoulder against the frame, breathing still a little uneven from the run. Izuku was sitting up in bed, hair a wild green mess, eyes bleary and soft as they lifted to meet his.
“Hey, Kacchan,” he said, like it was nothing, like the night hadn’t cracked something open between them, Katsuki’s brain turned traitorous, filling with every possible version of a life he had never let himself want too badly, one where he came home to Izuku and complained about work and stole his food and slept knowing exactly where he stood.
Coming home to find Izuku in his bed, in his clothes, murmuring hey Kacchan like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Talked to Uraraka,” he said without preamble, dropping down beside Izuku.
Izuku startled, blanket clutched to his chest, eyes going wide. “You—what?”
“You snoopy motherfucker,” Katsuki muttered, but there was no heat in it. He watched Izuku’s face through the messy fall of his bangs, searching.
Izuku stared back, silent.
“She said you cheated,” Katsuki continued, “and now I know we didn’t do anything, so…” He trailed off because Izuku’s face shifted, just a fraction, but Katsuki knew the other man like he knew his own mind, knew that look instantly, and the understanding settled heavy and certain in his chest.
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a murmur near Izuku’s ear. “You know… if you touched yourself thinking about me, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” His lips brushed the shell of Izuku’s ear, barely.
He pulled back slowly.
Izuku’s eyes were huge, pupils blown wide, cheeks burning scarlet, and Katsuki added, almost casually,
“I’ve done far worse with a lot less to go on.”
He had no idea where the confidence had come from, only aware that Izuku was staring at him like the world had tilted and Katsuki suddenly felt a flicker of nerves he hadn’t expected.
For maybe the first time in his entire life, Midoriya Izuku was speechless.
Katsuki stood up before he could overthink it and went straight to the last drawer, and Izuku’s eyes widened immediately. Katsuki pulled the letter out and tossed it over without ceremony.
“Here,” he said. “I’m officially giving it to you. Heard you read it already, though.”
Izuku caught it with trembling fingers, staring at the cover like it might burn him. His gaze flicked up—something fierce and determined igniting behind the embarrassment.
Katsuki watched from the desk as Izuku stared down at it, swallowing hard, then slowly stood up, blankets pooling around his legs. There was a shine in Izuku’s eyes that hit Katsuki somewhere deep and old, something hopeful and terrified all at once, and then Izuku moved towards him on his knees, and Katsuki didn’t understand what was happening until there were arms around his neck, Izuku’s face suddenly right there, breath warm and uneven.
“Oh,” Katsuki thought dimly.
Izuku kissed him.
For one endless second he couldn’t move, couldn’t think. This was Izuku kissing him. Izuku’s hands in his hair, Izuku’s breath against his mouth.
Every sharp thought blown out by the simple, impossible fact of it, and he pulled back instinctively just to look at Izuku, who looked just as shocked by himself, eyes wide and shining, like he’d stepped off a cliff without meaning to.
And Katsuki didn’t give him time to hesitate, didn’t give fear a foothold, he took Izuku’s face in his hands and kissed him back, soft and aching and real, like a starving man finally allowed to eat, because this, this was all he had ever wanted, and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise now.
Katsuki kissed him like he was afraid the moment would vanish if he didn’t anchor it somehow, slow at first, a little hesitant, hands coming up to Izuku’s jaw as if asking permission even now, and Izuku made a soft, broken sound into the kiss and held onto him harder, fingers curling into Katsuki’s shirt like that was the only solid thing in the room, like letting go would send him drifting again, and the kiss deepened, with hunger, with need, with all the words they’d never said pressing into the space between their mouths, Katsuki’s thumb brushing along Izuku’s cheek, grounding and reak and Izuku breathed him in like relief, like coming up for air after being underwater too long.
“I thought I was imagining it,” Izuku whispered when they broke apart just long enough to breathe, forehead pressed to Katsuki’s, eyes shining and wrecked, “I thought I made it all up in my head.”
Katsuki swallowed, voice rough. “I was right here.”
“I know,” Izuku said, a sob-laugh caught in his throat, “that’s the worst part, I know that now.”
Katsuki pulled him in again holding him close, arms solid around his back, and Izuku melted into it like his body had been waiting for this exact shape, his exact weight, his exact warmth, and Katsuki felt something in him finally unclench, years of restraint easing just enough to breathe.
Katsuki’s hands roamed lower, tracing the line of Izuku’s spine, settling at his waist, thumbs brushing bare skin where the hoodie had ridden up. Izuku whimpered into his mouth, hips shifting involuntarily, and Katsuki felt the sound like an explosion in his bloodstream.
“You remember last night?” Katsuki asked, almost afraid of the answer.
Izuku nodded against his chest and reached for the letter again, unfolding it and reading it out loud this time, in the silence they shared, right there in front of Katsuki, his voice soft and uneven, and Katsuki was surprised to find his own vision blurring, tears gathering before he could stop them, because Izuku was crying too, silently, tears slipping down his cheeks and landing on the page, his left hand holding the letter while his arm stayed hooked around Katsuki’s neck like he was afraid distance might still exist if he loosened his grip, and Katsuki’s arms remained looped around Izuku’s waist, their bodies pressed together, breathing in sync.
“I didn’t want to make Kacchan cry,” Izuku said softly, when he was done reading the letter again.
Katsuki smiled, small and honest, and brushed his thumb under Izuku’s eye. “It’s okay,” he said simply.
Izuku pouted at that, bottom lip pushed out in a way that was completely unfair, and Katsuki leaned in automatically, trying to kiss the pout away. “It’s okay,” he repeated, quieter, “I get to do this now.”
Izuku’s pout melted into a smile.
“Did Uraraka look angry?” Izuku asked suddenly.
The change of topic caught Katsuki off guard for half a second, but then he recognised it for what it was—Izuku being Izuku, thinking of everyone else even now, and something warm and aching settled in his chest as he realised.
Loving Izuku meant understanding that painful selflessness was woven into him, bone-deep. And selfishly, fiercely, Katsuki knew he was the only one who’d ever truly learned how to love him without asking him to change it.
He shrugged. “She smiled at me. Can't have been that mad.”
Izuku visibly relaxed at that, shoulders loosening, breath evening out. “Oh. Okay.”
“Do you want to talk to her?” Katsuki asked, careful.
Izuku shook his head immediately. “No.”
Katsuki felt his own quiet rush of relief.
“I don’t…” Izuku started, then stopped. His expression brightened, sudden and sunlit. “It’s you, Kacchan.”
“Yeah,” Katsuki said, amused, “it’s me.”
“No—it’s youuu,” Izuku sang, drawn-out and playful, leaning in until their noses brushed. “It’s you. I can say anything infront of you.”
Katsuki’s smile widened, warm and helpless. “Yeah,” he said. “You can.”
Izuku had never had filters with him, not really. Not since they were kids. Every thought, every fear, every wild hope; Izuku had always handed them to Katsuki first.
Izuku beamed at him, sweet and open. “I don’t want to talk to Uraraka-san right now. We can clear things up later if she wants, but… I’ve had enough for a while.”
“Mhm,” Katsuki hummed, agreeing completely.
Izuku nodded, satisfied, and then suddenly he was giggling again, falling all over Katsuki with gleeful abandon, tipping right off the bed as his legs wrapped around Katsuki’s waist instinctively, and Katsuki cursed under his breath and shifted his hands to Izuku’s hips to support him properly.
“Idiot,” he muttered, fond and low.
Izuku just laughed, forehead pressed to Katsuki’s. “See?” he said happily. “It’s you.”
They kissed for a long time, slow and unhurried, like neither of them was willing to be the first to pull away, until Izuku’s stomach betrayed him with a loud, indignant growl that echoed between them, and Katsuki laughed softly, forehead pressed to Izuku’s.
“Come on,” he said fondly. “Let’s make you something to eat.”
He leaned away from the wall where they’d been pressed together, but Izuku immediately tightened his hold, refusing to unwrap himself, clinging with both arms and legs, so Katsuki sighed, adjusted his grip, and carried him to the kitchen.
He set him gently on the counter, right next the stove.
Izuku made a small, whiny sound the moment Katsuki stepped away.
“Drama queen,” Katsuki muttered fondly, opening the fridge. He grabbed the cold milk carton, twisted back, and planted a quick, firm kiss on Izuku’s pouting lips before pressing the icy carton to the side of his neck.
Izuku shrieked, high and startled, flailing to swat Katsuki’s hand away. “Kacchan! That’s cold!”
Katsuki grinned, unrepentant, and moved to the stove to warm the milk properly.
Izuku watched him with bright eyes, humming happily. “I was picturing this,” he said suddenly, almost dreamily.
Katsuki glanced over. “Hmm?”
“That night. When I came over.” Izuku’s cheeks pinked, but he didn’t look away.
Katsuki’s hands stilled on the pan. He remembered that night clearly now. The tension, the way Izuku's touch had lingered, eyes too bright, voice too careful. How Katsuki had pretended not to notice.
He stepped back in close, bracing his hands between Izuku’s legs on the counter, crowding his space deliberately. “Uh-huh,” he murmured. “And what else were you picturing?”
Izuku’s flush deepened, but his hands slid slowly down Katsuki’s bare back, tracing his skin lightly.
Katsuki shivered at the contact, stunned again by this version of him, this easy closeness he hadn’t even known he was missing, by the thought that he might never have gotten this if things had gone just a little differently.
“Oh,” Izuku said, smile turning sly and sweet at once, “do you want to find out if I touched myself thinking about you, Kacchan?”
Katsuki groaned as he smashed their mouths together again, kissing him breathless, trailing it down Izuku’s neck, only for Izuku to suddenly push him away, laughing delightedly, breathless and bright, and Katsuki grumbled dramatically, forehead dropping against Izuku’s shoulder.
Katsuki grumbled against his skin, nipping lightly in protest and complaining.“No. I waited so long.”
Izuku’s laughter bubbled up again, warm and teasing. “Oh yes, Kacchan, of course,” he said lightly, “but turn the stove off, babe.”
His heart slammed against his ribs. He hadn’t thought he’d be the type... had always rolled his eyes at couples with pet names, but coming from Izuku, soft and casual and real, it undid him completely.
He reached back blindly, flicking the burner off, then turned fully into Izuku’s arms again.
Izuku was already kissing him fervently behind the ear, along his neck, and Katsuki held him tighter, smiling into it, thinking distantly that maybe he was exactly that kind of person after all.
They ended up on the sofa tangled together, limbs everywhere, breath uneven, Katsuki hovering over him like he couldn’t quite pull himself away, and Izuku was flushed and breathless beneath him, a soft, wrecked sound caught in his throat every time Katsuki pressed closer, and Katsuki felt dazed by it, by the sight of Izuku like this, eyes half-lidded and trusting, skin warm under his hands.
When Katsuki’s hands slid lower, tracing the waistband of Izuku’s sweats, hand hovering over his length, Izuku’s spine bowed off the sofa, a low whine escaping him that went straight to Katsuki’s blood.
Izuku looked up at him with a dopey, content smile, hair mussed, lips swollen from kissing. “What happened, Kacchan?” he asked sweetly.
Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He just stared.
He took Izuku in like he needed to memorise him: the red blooming along his neck, the shine on his lips, his face flushed and open and so fucking real that Katsuki’s chest hurt, and the disbelief hit him all at once, sharp and overwhelming, because this was Izuku, under him, with him, choosing him, and suddenly his eyes burned and, what the hell, there were tears again.
Izuku noticed immediately.
He sat up, straddling Katsuki’s lap without even thinking about it, hands coming up to Katsuki’s shoulders, concern wiping the smile right off his face. “Kacchan, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice sweet and slurred with pleasure.
Katsuki shook his head, rough, rubbing at his eyes like he was mad at them. “I don’t know,” he muttered, voice tight. “I don’t—fuck, I don’t know why I’m like this.”
Izuku frowned, leaning closer.
Katsuki laughed, breathless and shaky. “Because you,” he said, like that explained everything, like it was obvious. He dragged a hand down his face and then said it, raw and unguarded, “I love you. So fucking much. I just— I can’t believe this is real. That you’re here. That you want—”
Izuku’s eyes softened instantly. He leaned in and wrapped his arms tight around Katsuki’s neck, pulling him into a hug that felt like coming home.
Katsuki’s arms came up automatically, locking around Izuku’s back, holding on like he might slip away.
“I’m here,” Izuku whispered against his ear, voice trembling with emotion.
He couldn’t believe it.
But he did.
Because Izuku was holding him just as tightly, whispering I love you, I love you, I love you like a promise against his skin.
And for the first time in years, Katsuki let himself believe he could have this.
That he already did.