FIC - “Aftermath”

BKDKBK | canonverse | canon-divergent| getting together | misunderstandings | angst with a happy ending

Feelings and promises made in the aftermath of a war don't always remain true once enough time has passed. Except for how much Izuku loves Katsuki. (And how much Katsuki loves him back, which takes Izuku a bit to figure out, but he'll get there.)

==

AFTERMATH

CHAPTER 1

Izuku was seventeen when he confessed to Katsuki. They’d defeated a great evil, survived a war, and begun a short second year at UA that consisted mainly of volunteer work as they helped to rebuild both the city and the people’s trust in heroes. No one cared about homework or reading assignments when they had rubble to clear and funerals to attend.

In all his fantasies, and they were admittedly many, he had never imagined how easy it was to tell Katsuki that he loved him. As easy as breathing. As easy as his heart beating in his chest, natural and vital to his existence. A thing he'd never had to think about but that had accompanied him all his life.

Katsuki’s pale skin flushed a pretty pink. It was possibly the first time Izuku had ever seen the boy blush. Katsuki didn't get flustered easily, but Izuku couldn't appreciate the view for long. Katsuki ran fingers through blonde spikes, eyes downcast, muscle ticking in his jaw. He didn’t sneer or toss careless insults or even raise his voice. That was how Izuku knew he would be rejected.

To be honest, he wasn't disappointed. All he’d wanted was to let Katsuki know how he felt, to put into words the feelings that had been wound so tightly within him for years. The feelings he'd finally embraced on the battlefield, when the quirks of all his predecessors had been shackles tightening around his neck. He'd forged the links himself to cage his love for Katsuki, but all that had done was lengthen the chain choking him.

“Izuku,” Katsuki said, seemingly having to force himself to meet Izuku’s gaze. Those red eyes were impossible to read. “It’s not that I don’t feel the same.”

Izuku had not expected that. His head tilted in confusion even as his pulse quickened. “But?”

With a broad gesture that encompassed a lot more than the empty hallway they were standing in, he said, “But everything! Look around, Deku. Everyone’s just trying to deal with their own shit right now. Half the class is in therapy, including you. Including me. I can’t—”

“Kacchan,” Izuku cut in. He reached out, hesitantly at first and then with more confidence. His hand touched Katsuki’s shoulder. The other boy was still taller than him but only by a few centimeters. “I understand. I don’t expect anything. I just wanted to let you know. That’s all.”

While it was true he hadn’t expected Katsuki to reciprocate, this response was almost worse. If he’d firmly rejected him, then at least Izuku could (try to) move on. He could leave his love for Katsuki behind with the war, another casualty to grieve but with the hope that, with time, the pain would lessen. (A lie, but not one Izuku would acknowledge.)

But knowing that Katsuki felt the same and still didn’t want him? That was a purgatory Izuku didn’t know how to escape from.

Pale eyebrows narrowed warily, but Katsuki said nothing.

With as bright a smile as he could manage, Izuku said, “Well, that’s all then. Catch you at training!”

Then he turned and fled before Katsuki could see the tears welling in his eyes

==

CHAPTER 2

Izuku was eighteen when Katsuki offered his own version of a confession. With the assistance of quirks, reconstruction had reached a point where high school students were no longer needed on the ground. Instead, UA courses resumed and Class A was forced to return to some semblance of normality. Along with Todoroki, Izuku and Katsuki had wound up their year’s Big Three, to the surprise of no one. It was nice to savor achievements that didn’t involve death and destruction.

After Izuku’s confession last year, and the discovery that Katsuki loved him as well (but not enough?), he’d worried that a rift would form between them. His requited but also unrequited feelings wedged into the cracks of their relationship that was so newly repaired (it figured that only Izuku could make a confession this complicated).

But while Izuku had attempted to give Katsuki space, the other boy would have none of it. To Izuku’s relief (and confusion and heartache), Katsuki had carried on as if nothing had changed. It was both a blessing and a curse. Even so, in the following year, the two had grown undeniably closer. They trained almost exclusively with each other, gravitated toward one another during most school activities, and could even be found some evenings doing their homework together in Katsuki’s room.

That was where they were when Katsuki set down his pencil and swiveled in his desk chair to look down at Izuku. Izuku, who was lying on his stomach, schoolwork spread across the carpet before him, had to roll onto his side to meet his gaze.

“Kacchan?” he asked, prompting the other boy when he hesitated.

With a sneer that wasn’t nearly as hostile as it’d once been, Katsuki said, “Denim Head offered me a job at his agency after we graduate.”

Izuku instantly popped upright, excitement singing in his veins. “That’s amazing! You’re so cool, Kacchan. You’re going to be the best sidekick! Although to be honest, I don’t think you should have to be a sidekick at all. None of our class should, not after we fought and won a war that had most pro heroes quitting. Not that I blame them for quitting because it was pretty overwhelm—” He cut himself off, shaking his head lightly. He was getting better at catching himself when he started rambling, and Katsuki was getting better at not snapping at him when he didn’t. “Anyway! I’m so happy for you!”

“Never said I accepted it.”

Eyes wide, he stared at Katsuki as if the words might make sense if he just waited long enough.

Katsuki took advantage of his silence by continuing with, “You haven’t told me which agency you’re going with.”

“O-oh, um, that’s because I haven’t decided yet. I was, uh…” His shoulders rose around his ears as he pressed his forefingers together nervously. “I was waiting for you to decide first?”

The awkward silence only lasted a beat before Katsuki released an exasperated sigh. “Fucking… Okay, listen. We agreed we would do the whole communication thing, right?”

Warily, Izuku nodded. They’d completed the prescribed six months of therapy, with their final appointment as a joint session, because their therapist had realized early on that a considerable number of their issues revolved around one another.

“Then fucking explain yourself.”

Izuku blinked. “But… you started this? Wait, what are we even talking about now?”

Because of how Katsuki’s eyes closed and his jaw tightened, Izuku could tell he was doing that thing where he counted to ten in his head because he didn’t want to explode. Normally, Izuku could follow Katsuki’s train of thought pretty well. Frightening well, according to some, when it came to hero work. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said when it came to Katsuki’s feelings for him.

“How many agencies have offered you a job after graduation?” Katsuki asked.

Izuku considered the thick stack of envelopes stuffed into a box beneath his bed. “Like, just in Japan?”

One blond eyebrow rose. “You thinking of leaving the country? Afraid you can’t cut it against me in the ranks?”

“There's nowhere else I'd rather be a hero than here. But you asked—”

“Did you get an offer from The Genius Office?”

Thoroughly confused, Izuku gave an exasperated, “Yes.”

“Then be my hero partner.”

Izuku’s brain short-circuited. He stared at Katsuki. Katsuki glared back. The silence grew stretched and awkward.

“Well?” Katsuki barked, face growing red with rising irritation.

Starting, Izuku managed to say, “Y-yes. Yes! Yes, of course.” He beamed, the reality of Katsuki’s words sinking in and spreading warmth through his limbs.

“Then afterwards… if you still… like me like that,” Katsuki muttered, the redness in his cheeks getting even deeper. Before Izuku’s heart could even skip a beat at the implication, the other boy quickly continued. “Like I said last year, there’s just a lot going on. I can’t commit to anything outside of being the best hero possible, and you should be doing the same, stupid Deku.”

Ignoring the familiar ache in his chest, Izuku nodded. “I know.”

“But after, if you still… It’s not something I wanna half-ass. If we’re gonna date, we’re doing it right. So just… wait. If you want.”

With how hard Katsuki was scowling, anyone else might have thought the boy was pissed. Izuku knew better, though, and could see through the bluster to the embarrassed sincerity beneath. A year ago, Katsuki had been frank and direct, too war-weary to soften his response. Now, with the benefit of a little time and distance, it was clear Katsuki had given this more thought.

“I would wait for you forever, Kacchan,” he said, even as his own face went hot. He wasn’t used to saying those kinds of things, but he meant it all the same.

And for the second time in as many years, Izuku was both breathtakingly happy and utterly heartbroken.

==

CHAPTER 3

Izuku was nineteen when he and Katsuki became hero (sidekick) partners. Almost immediately, they were making waves as the newest sidekicks at The Genius Office. Their names were well-known, recognizable from the historic war against All For One, and the media was all too happy to print every lofty expectation they had for the duo.

It was a lot of pressure right out the gate, but Katsuki had swiftly diffused Izuku’s mounting anxiety by proclaiming, “Fuck their expectations! We’re making it to the top our own way.”

Thanks to the perks of working at the No. 2 pro hero’s agency, they were offered their own set of rooms within a nearby agency-owned apartment complex. It was a bit like Heights Alliance at UA, except with the addition of a small living room, full bath, and kitchenette per unit. Yeah, there wasn’t a lot of space, but rent was a fraction of the cost of a regular apartment, all utilities were included, and it was located literally on the same block as the agency.

While living there wasn’t required, it was the obvious choice for two teenagers fresh out of high school. It helped that their units were next to each other as well, which meant most evenings when they were both free saw them either sharing dinner or a movie or training or gaming or—look, point being, people got used to referring to them as a set.

Izuku cherished those moments when Katsuki seemed to let his guard down, when the orange glow of sunset filtered through his balcony to soften all his hard edges. When that crease between his brows smoothed away in favor of an amused half-smile that never failed to take Izuku’s breath away. When his strong body slipped sleepily sideways on the sofa cushions, blonde hair prickling Izuku’s cheek as his head came to rest on Izuku’s shoulder. They’d fallen asleep that way more times than Izuku could count, Katsuki’s weight a searing line of warmth all down his side.

But as happy as Izuku was to begin his hero career alongside his best friend and longstanding crush (although ‘crush’ was too small a word to encompass how he felt), he also felt… anticipatory? Like he stood at the foot of a bridge, the sun-dappled forest at the other end within sight, simply waiting for when he could finally cross. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting…

It was selfish to feel that way, which was why he never mentioned it to Katsuki and never pressed him to make good on what he’d said in their third year. Right now, their careers had to come first.

It was just that… with every month that passed, every successful villain capture, every increasingly difficult mission they were assigned, Izuku couldn’t help wondering if dating was something Katsuki even wanted anymore. He’d existed within this purgatory for so long that all he wanted was to know, definitively, one way or the other.

“You should just ask him,” Ochako said one evening, as Izuku was accompanying her to find a gift for her parents’ upcoming anniversary. “Bakugo would probably appreciate a straightforward approach.”

“I can’t,” Izuku mumbled, hands shoved into his coat pockets. The weather had begun to turn, the temperature dropping once the sun set. “I don’t want him to feel pressured. He asked me to wait, and I told him I would.”

“Deku-kun, it’s been years. It’s not fair to you.”

He sighed, because he didn’t know what to say to that. Thanks to one evening before graduation when he’d been feeling particularly sorry for himself, he’d confided in Ochako, and it was the best decision he could have made. Being able to discuss this with someone was an outlet he’d dearly needed, especially as he didn’t want to go back into therapy just to whine about his unrequited requited love.

“He has priorities,” he said, realizing how that sounded the moment the words were out. Wincing, he had to take a deep breath to try and loosen the ache once again tightening in his ribs.

Ochako paused before the broad warm windows of a boutique, staring wistfully at displays of crystal figurines and candelabras that probably cost several months’ rent.

Neither of them could afford those kinds of things, and to be honest, even if they could, Ochako was still too frugal and Izuku preferred to display his hero merch.

“Deku-kun, maybe you should reassess your prio—”

At the way Ochako cut herself off, Izuku glanced away from the silver-veined goblet he’d been studying through the glass. Ochako was looking ahead, at the next shop over. It was a corner café, pendulum lights lined up in a row inside the wide windows.

“What is it?” Izuku asked before he spotted what had caught her attention, and his stomach dropped. The sounds of the street life seemed to fade around the dull, roaring sound in his ears.

Katsuki sat in the café, his unmistakable head of spiky blonde hair haloed by the light fixture hanging above his table. He was dressed casually, in a dark tee and black jeans, his jacket hanging over the back of his chair. Beside him, a woman with long purple hair sat far too closely, her head bent over something set on the table.

Izuku recognized her. It took him a moment, though, because he’d never seen her out of costume. Her hero name was Springheel Jane because her quirk allowed her to jump high enough to scale buildings. She was a couple years older than them and worked as a sidekick at another agency across the city.

Although Izuku could only see him in profile, even though Katsuki wore his usual glower, he still listened intently as she pointed to something on the menu and then looked at him through the flutter of her lashes. Katsuki’s lips moved as he responded before nodding faintly. Springheel Jane beamed, her cheeks flushing.

Head filled with white noise, Izuku took two staggering steps backward. His chest hurt, the pain so sharp that he actually looked down, expecting to see blood pouring from an open wound. But there was nothing, just his fist clenched tight around the worn cotton of his t-shirt, knuckles going white.

“Deku-kun, don’t jump to conclusions,” Ochako said, gripping his elbow. She guided him back the way they’d come, all but dragging him down the sidewalk. “Maybe she’s a friend. I mean, just look at you and me. We’re hanging out, shopping—anyone who doesn’t know us would assume we’re on a date.”

He shook his head, her words barely registering. He knew all of Katsuki’s friends, and even though it sounded a little arrogant, they were together far too often for him to not know if Katsuki had made a new one. But none of that mattered, because Katsuki didn’t belong to him. Katsuki didn’t owe him any explanations for what he chose to do with his time.

“Pretty sure I recognize her from a joint villain takedown a few weeks ago. It could be a work-related thing.”

Izuku was Katsuki’s partner. They weren’t often assigned to patrol with other sidekicks. If that had been work-related, Izuku would have known about it.

His vision went blurry as the backs of his eyes burned. Oh, no. Oh no oh no ohno ohno ohno. He could not have an emotional breakdown in front of Ochako in the middle of a busy Tokyo street. He was too recognizable. Just while strolling with Ochako, he’d noticed several people sneak photos of him as they passed.

But he could already feel the sob building in his chest, his shoulders trembling in his attempts to hold it back.

“Oh, Deku-kun,” Ochako whispered, and the fragile way she spoke his name broke the last of his control.

“Fuck,” he hissed, covering his mouth as the first sob broke free.

“Float, Deku-kun, float,” she urged, activating her own quirk as well. They weren’t technically allowed to use their quirks out in the open when they were off duty, but neither of them cared about that right now.

Following her lead, Deku activated Float and they both rose from the ground. Ignoring the gasps around them, he used Air Forces to propel them both into the evening sky, far away from the shards of his broken heart that lay strewn on the sidewalk.

+++

After a night spent curled up on Ochako’s sofa and crying into her shoulder, he took a shower, applied cold compresses to reduce the swelling around his eyes, and went to work.

They were assigned to patrol with Best Jeanist today, which Izuku had been so excited about when he saw the schedule. But now he was just grateful for the pro hero’s presence, because it meant Katsuki couldn’t just pull him aside to ask the questions Izuku could clearly see brewing behind those shrewd red eyes.

Besides a terse “You look like shit,” as a greeting this morning, Katsuki hadn’t been able to say much else with Best Jeanist taking lead on their patrol. He wasn’t just their boss—he was a mentor and comrade they’d fought alongside in the war and a pro hero they still had plenty to learn from. As relieved as Izuku was for the reprieve before having to face Katsuki, he also genuinely wanted to focus on every bit of advice Best Jeanist had to offer.

Unfortunately, the reprieve only lasted until after work, when Izuku failed to duck into his apartment before Katsuki could shove one large boot inside to keep Izuku from slamming the door shut.

“Nerd,” he said, and despite the harsh tone of voice, his pale brows were pinched with concern.

The sight made something wrench inside Izuku, because regardless of Izuku’s feelings, he knew that Katsuki did actually care about him. Just… not in the way he cared about Katsuki.

“What’s with you today?” Katsuki asked.

Unable to hide anything from those piercing eyes, Izuku averted his gaze and pasted on a sheepish smile. “Had a late night with Uraraka-san. I ended up crashing on her sofa, but I didn’t get much rest. I’m just going to, uh, catch up on some sleep. Good night, Kacchan.”

When Katsuki made no move to remove his boot from the doorway, Izuku huffed a breath.

“Kacchan, please. I’m really tired.” He sounded it, too, even to his own ears. Just not for the reasons he mentioned.

“Why are you lying to me?” Katsuki demanded in a low growl.

The question startled Izuku’s gaze back up to Katsuki’s. The man looked pissed. And so beautiful that Izuku wanted to both laugh and cry at how utterly fucked he was.

“We’re supposed to communicate, remember? And are you gonna let me in or do I have to rip your stupid door off its hinges?”

Izuku almost did laugh then, because Katsuki wanted to talk about communication? Who was it who’d left Izuku in limbo for years without a thought to what that would do—was doing—to him? Who had asked him to wait and then hadn’t mentioned that conversation or acknowledged Izuku’s feelings even once nearly a year later?

But he couldn’t say any of that. Because none of it was Katsuki’s fault. Not really. Izuku was the idiot who’d fallen in love with someone who couldn’t return that love—at least, not in the way Izuku wanted. Needed. He couldn’t blame Katsuki for his own emotional responses.

Katsuki had said he felt the same, but that simply wasn’t true. How could it be when every moment in the other man’s presence made him feel more present, more alive, more everything than all the moments without him?

Izuku had said he would wait, but Katsuki had made no such declarations himself. There was no way Izuku was going to remind him of something he’d said so long ago if it hadn’t meant enough to him to be remembered.

“I… I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he finally said, dropping his gaze again. “I just want to work through it on my own first.”

The ensuing silence was thick with tension and every protest Izuku wasn’t sure he wanted Katsuki to voice. But to Izuku’s surprise, the man only stepped back, removing his boot from the doorframe.

“Fine then,” he said roughly before turning away.

+++

For the first time since the war, Katsuki was avoiding him.

They still worked well together, but their conversations were limited to what was absolutely necessary for their hero work. Once they were out of uniform, each retired to their individual units, the awkwardness as palpable as it was painful.

Unable to bear the emptiness of his tiny apartment (nor the sounds of Katsuki banging around next door through the thin walls), he began taking long walks through the park. Sometimes he found a bench in front of the duck pond and watched the flow of pedestrians pass, ignorant to the brooding hero disguised in an oversized hoodie and a face mask. Other times, he wound up at Shoto’s or Ochako’s to watch a movie or play video games.

But most often, he returned to the agency and lingered on the rooftop to watch the sun set and transform glass skyscrapers into pillars of golden light. It was, objectively, a breathtaking view.

He sat on the edge of the roof, thoughts hazy and faraway. He tried to remember what it had felt like—the impossible happiness of learning Katsuki loved him back. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t. Maybe because that happiness had always been interwoven with heartache and the knowledge that whatever version of love Katsuki felt for him, it wasn’t enough. Izuku wasn’t enough.

This was the last time, he promised himself. This would be the last time he cried about this. Then, he would leave it alone and do what he should have done back in second year when he’d confessed and been rejected—tenderly wrap his love for Katsuki in soft linen and put it to rest alongside the ghosts of the war.

He would always love his childhood friend. He didn’t think he knew how to stop, considering he couldn’t even recall how or when it’d begun. But at least he would know where he stood. At least he could accept that the only person who’d been waiting was him.

So he let the grief rise again inside him one last time. It wasn’t the crushing waves of that first night at Ochako’s, when the storm of his surprise and sadness and anger had left him feeling empty and bruised. This time, he tipped his head back as the tears flowed silent and steady, beginning to ebb only as the last sliver of sun vanished beneath the Tokyo skyline.

Then he wiped his cheeks, sniffled pathetically, and nodded once. He was Midoriya Izuku, hero name Deku, successor to One For All, and he would become the number one hero alongside his hero partner and childhood friend. Goals firmly in place once again, he lifted his legs to swivel atop the roof parapet.

Only to come face to face with Katsuki. With a yelp, Izuku startled backward and off the ledge.

Red eyes widened as Katsuki surged forward. “Deku!”

The sensation of freefall swooped through him for only a second before his instincts had him activating Float. Then he was hovering just beyond the edge of the roof, sharing a bewildered and embarrassed look with the last person he’d expected to see.

Katsuki shook his head with a muttered curse. “Fucking hell. Denim Head said I could find you up here. The hell you even doing?”

“Nothing. You surprised me, that’s all,” he mumbled defensively. With the sun gone, his skin began to prickle with cold.

“You’re supposed to be a pro hero.”

“I was… lost in thought.” His nose wrinkled at the poor excuse. Katsuki was right—he really should have noticed someone coming up from behind him.

Katsuki’s gaze swept over Izuku’s face, taking in every detail. Izuku could only hope the fading light disguised the fact he’d been crying.

When he spoke, his voice was low and rough, a plaintive request for Izuku to talk to him. “Why do you look so devastated?”

Izuku swallowed tightly. He scrambled for a response as his feet touched the ledge, his balance restored as he settled firmly on the flat rooftop. “I’m not sure what that even—”

A callused thumb smoothed across his cheekbone, and then higher to brush his damp lashes. “Izuku,” Katsuki said softly. “Tell me why you’re crying.”

His gentleness only made Izuku want to cry again. But he’d made himself a promise, and he wasn’t going to break it after less than a minute. So he smiled, tremulous and small, and shook off Katsuki’s touch.

The corners of Katsuki’s lips tightened, but he didn’t step back, his large body crowding Izuku against the parapet. He smelled of smoke and cinders, honey and spice. Even in the cool night, dressed in civilian clothing, he emanated heat.

Izuku imagined explaining himself, how that might play out, but all he could think was how pathetic and needy he would sound. Maybe this would always be the pattern of their relationship. No matter how much Izuku loved him, the timing would never be quite right. In middle school, Katsuki had been a walking ball of insecure rage. In high school, All For One and the aftermath had consumed so much of their time and emotional energy, not to mention their pursuit of becoming heroes. Now, even though the war had seared their hero names into the history books, they still had so much more to achieve, so many goals yet to reach.

Izuku wanted to do those things with Katsuki. Not just as his hero partner but as his life partner. He’d always been ready to hold Katsuki in one hand and his hero dreams in the other.

But Katsuki hadn’t, and maybe that was because the timing had never been right, or maybe because Izuku had never been right for him.

“Look, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” Katsuki said, his expression saying the exact opposite. “But I don’t like when you think you can’t tell me something.”

Izuku dampened his lips before saying, “And what about you? Do you have things you feel you can’t say to me?”

How was it possible that they’d been more honest with each other during the war? What was it about more peaceful times that made all their reservations feel insurmountable? Would it always take strife and suffering for them to be able to just talk about their feelings? No wonder Katsuki had never given him a clear answer. Who could want something like that?

“I asked you first, nerd. Tell me what you’re thinking then. That shouldn’t be hard, right?”

It shouldn’t be, but it was. But Izuku was tired, and he’d made himself a promise, and if he was going to put this ghost to rest, then he needed to close off all possible escape routes.

Because he didn’t want to see how Katsuki reacted, he stared at the curve of Katsuki’s bicep and said simply, “I love you.” I’ve always loved you. I’ll probably always love you because I’ve never been good at that self-preservation thing. “But I don’t want that to be a shackle you think you have to wear. The last time we talked about this, you… you asked me to wait, but I want you to know that I wouldn’t hold you to that. You’re allowed to change your mind. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.”

He swallowed back the word vomit trying to escape and began slowly edging sideways to get around Katsuki. But the man’s hand slammed down on the parapet at Izuku’s back, blocking his attempt to flee. Unable to help himself, he lifted his gaze to Katsuki’s face.

The man looked furious. Not the loud, explosive, curse-filled kind of fury that had marked the majority of his teen years, but a quiet, cold sort of anger. It felt far more dangerous than any of his explosions.

“Kacchan?” Izuku wasn’t afraid—he hadn’t been afraid of the other man for a long time. But he was wary.

“Why would you think I changed my mind?” Katsuki asked flatly.

Izuku wasn’t about to admit he’d seen him on a date. He shrugged one shoulder. “We never made any promises. And… well, we’ve both had trauma response training, both as a victim and hero. The things we say in the aftermath of… of what we went through… they don’t always stay true once those feelings o-of urgency and fear are gone.”

“The fuck are you saying to me right now? You think I don’t know my own feelings? That I can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what’s fucking trauma?”

Izuku closed his eyes, head and heart hurting. He didn’t want to do this anymore. All he wanted was a cup of tea and his bed. “Kacchan, please. Just be honest with me. I won’t be upset. I told you that first time—I never expected anything. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki all but snarled. “You don’t just drop that kind of emotional baggage at someone’s feet and then fuck off. All that does is make yourself feel better, and you know how much I hate it when people act like that self-serving crap is supposed to be noble or some shit.”

“Fine,” Izuku snapped. He was done laying himself bare. “I confessed because I wanted you to reject me, so that I could stop pining after you like a lovesick moron. Are you happy now? It took two years, but I finally got the message.”

Katsuki’s nostrils flared on an angry inhale. “No, I’m not happy, you dumb fuck. And don’t act like you know anything about what I’m thinking or feeling.”

“Then tell me!” Izuku shouted. “I’m not a mind reader, Kacchan. You talk about communication but you never give me anything to work with!”

“I asked you to be my hero partner!”

“But you knew I was in love with you, and you acted like it didn’t even matter!”

“The fuck you mean ‘was’?!”

“Oh my god, can you focus? Just tell me how you feel!”

“Fine! I will!”

“So do it then!”

“Move in with me, you shitty frustrating nerd!”

Izuku’s next outburst died on his tongue, and his mouth snapped shut. His eyebrows crashed together in confusion. “I… what?”

“Uggghhh.” Katsuki finally stepped away, head falling back as he cursed loudly at the sky. At his sides, his hands sparked and smoked.

“Kacchan,” Izuku pressed. “W-what did you just—”

“Move in with me!” he shouted again, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Then, a few decibels quieter, he said, “I’ve been looking at apartments and talking to other heroes about the most secure residences in the city. I got a recommendation for a hero complex that’s not too far from the agency and booked a viewing for next week. You can go with me. Or whatever.”

Izuku looked at him like he was speaking an entirely different language. Where was this coming from? Move in with him? Apartment viewing? What??? “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“For fuck’s sake, Deku. I told you, didn’t I? If we’re gonna do this dating thing, I’m not half-assing it.”

A lump swelled in Izuku’s throat, painful and far too familiar. He whispered, “I need you to speak plainly. Are you really ready to start dating? Or are you just asking for a roommate?”

Katsuki took a deep, calming breath. Then he crowded back into Izuku’s personal space, large hands cupping his face. His palms were rough and warm, so much destruction contained within those elegant fingers. “Izuku… I know I fucked up. I’m—I’m sorry… that I made you wait or think I didn’t feel the same. I’m not any good at this, and if I’m being honest, I wasn’t… Fuck, I didn’t deserve you yet. Pretty sure I still don’t deserve you, but I can’t let you think I don’t want you either. Because I do.” He gently rested his forehead against Izuku’s. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“Kacchan…” Izuku managed to choke out before he threw his arms around the other man’s neck and burst into tears.

“The fuck you crying for now?!” Katsuki demanded, trying to extricate himself, but Izuku refused to loosen his grip.

He sobbed into Katsuki’s neck, well past being embarrassed by the snot and tears soaking the man’s collar. “K-Kacchaaaaan, you’re so s-stupid making me—hic—think I had to let you—hic—gooooooo—”

“Okay, okay, calm down, I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry,” Katsuki repeated, finally hugging him back. In any other situation, Izuku might have laughed at how flustered and out of his depths he sounded. But right now, all he wanted was Katsuki’s arms around him and his voice murmuring in his ear. “Is this what you’ve been brooding about? Geez. You said you wanted to work it out on your own so I figured I should give you some space, but I should’ve known better. You always make stupid decisions when left by yourself.”

“Hey,” Izuku said, sounding nasally and whiny. He couldn’t be bothered to care. “This is your fault. Take responsibility.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki grumbled as his fingers tangled in green curls.

For long minutes, they were content to linger beneath the awakening starlight, arms wrapped around one another. Izuku was overcome, the emotional whiplash leaving him drained but unerringly, irrevocably, and utterly… happy.

This was the emotion he’d been searching for earlier—the joy of loving someone and being loved in return, without reservations or time tables or whatever other conditions the universe wanted to impose.

“You didn’t answer me,” Katsuki mumbled after a long while.

Finally easing back so that he could look the man in the face, Izuku sniffled a little and gave him a crooked smile. “Are you asking me to move in with you before even asking to be my boyfriend?”

“I’m not asking you that. You can’t be trusted to make the right decision. You’re mine. I’m yours. Now move in with me.”

Well, Izuku did tell him to take responsibility so he only rested his temple against Katsuki’s cheek, his eyes fluttering shut. “Isn’t moving in with each other kind of a big step?”

Groaning, Katsuki said, “It’s supposed to be a gesture of commitment.”

“I appreciate that,” Izuku said sincerely. “And for the record, there’s no such thing as ‘deserve’ when it comes to us.”

“Easy for you to say when you’re fucking perfect,” Katsuki muttered.

If he didn’t stop saying things like that, Izuku was going to start bawling again. That, or he was going to throw Katsuki onto his back and straddle him.

“Yes, of course I’ll move in with you, Kacchan,” he said, before daring to press a chaste kiss to Katsuki’s jaw. The taller man’s entire body relaxed, as if there’d ever been a doubt that Izuku would say yes. Izuku couldn’t help letting out a small incredulous laugh.

“I should have made myself clear a long time ago,” Katsuki said. His hands slid from Izuku’s hair to cup his neck, thumbs gently easing Izuku’s head up to meet that red gaze. “With everything else going on, I thought I’d fuck it up with you if I didn’t give you a hundred percent of my attention.”

“I don’t need—”

“I wanted to. But instead, all I did was make you doubt and hurt and—”

Izuku kissed him. He couldn’t listen to Katsuki berate himself any longer. Izuku had done enough of that to last them a lifetime. Now he just wanted to feel Katsuki’s lips against his own.

Fortunately, Katsuki didn’t object. He kissed back, their tentative but earnest movements making plain their inexperience. Katsuki’s lips were gentle and surprisingly soft, sweet and slow and everything Izuku had never been sure Katsuki knew how to be. The tip of a warm tongue touched his bottom lip, sending a bolt of heat through Izuku, and he gasped lightly.

Taking that as an invitation, Katsuki slid his tongue more firmly into Izuku’s mouth. He moaned into the kiss, Katsuki’s taste making his head spin.

“Kacchan,” he whispered against damp lips. “Take me home.”

At the way Katsuki stiffened, Izuku drew back, immediately bashful. He realized how that sounded too late. Even in the dark, Izuku could tell by the look on the other man’s face that he was blushing. So cute.

“What was that about big steps, nerd?” he asked, voice rough.

“All I said was—I didn’t—Kacchan!”

But Katsuki had already swept Izuku up into his arms and leapt off the roof, the sound of an explosion muffling Izuku’s shouts as Katsuki guided them home.

~fin