#bkdk relationship study

[katsukeyss]

What would it take?

Pairing: Bkdk/Dkbk

Word Count: 21.9k

Genre: Dramedy

Tags: hurt/comfort, New Years Eve, Character/Relationship study

My oomf made an art piece to go along with this and its soooo beautiful so do check it out <3

New Year's Eve.

An important date for anyone, another trip around the sun, a time for promises and resolutions, a chance to make real, lasting change. To wipe the slate clean and start over. It’s a time that’s especially important for new couples. The first time sharing a New Year's kiss, the first time that many will introduce their partners to friends and family alike, and for Katsuki and Izuku, their first attempt at hosting for a group larger than five. 

It was Katsuki’s idea, which by itself was a jarring surprise to Izuku. Katsuki didn’t like parties, and he especially didn’t like them happening in his home. Parties meant mess, they always meant mess, and it didn’t matter whether they were careful, controlled dinner parties or ragers; they always ended up in a mess. Katsuki avoided them like the plague, and in every situation prior, he had made it abundantly clear that his home would not be used as a venue for any party. 

Ever. 

Then there was the fact that for the past two weeks, he had been pulling double shifts, taking on extra cases, just generally pushing himself extra hard at work so he didn’t have a moment to stop and think. Think about what you ask? What could The Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight possibly be so scared of that he was running himself ragged during the holiday season instead of, say, curling up in their new apartment with his boyfriend? 

Well, the answer to that lies in something that happened almost six months ago. The death of his mentor. All Might, or Toshinori as the boys had come to call him, had passed away in the early hours of a Tuesday in June. Old age was the official cause of death; it made enough sense. The man was seventy-two, and after a lifetime of health struggles and fighting the good fight, it was only right that he got the chance to leave this mortal coil wrapped up in the warmth of his bed, safely, happily in the comfort of his dreams. It was peaceful, the doctors had assured Izuku and Katsuki when they finally sobered up from their grief enough to listen. 

“He lived a good, long life,” the doctor told them, “he was a good man, and he passed in a way befitting someone who had devoted so much of his life to the happiness of others.”

Katsuki didn’t think so then; he was angry and wanted to tell the doctor to go to hell. As if this random man knew what was best for their teacher, their mentor, their hero. Their father. Izuku’s hand in his, squeezing so hard it went numb, was the only thing that kept him from lashing out at the white-coated man before them. 

The months after Toshinori’s passing were mostly a blur. Caught up in funeral planning, setting up his memorial and finally, perhaps most crucially, taking the plunge into something he had been suggesting they do for years now. 

Katsuki and Izuku moved in together. 

They found a nice two-bedroom, two-bath in Shiodome. Close enough to both their agencies and to UA, in a nice, modern neighbourhood. Neither of them wanted to deal with the issues that would inevitably come from moving into an old building. They were busy enough as it is, so the additional headaches of leaky faucets and broken hinges simply weren’t practical with their lifestyles. 

It had been difficult to adjust at first. Both of them had been living on their own for quite some time before the big move, so when they suddenly found themselves constantly in such close quarters with another person, there were lots of things to consider. 

Izuku woke up too early, and  Katsuki slept too late. Izuku liked to leave the dishes to soak; Katsuki needed to clean as he cooked. Izuku snored; Katsuki needed complete silence to sleep. Small problems, things that cropped up as they went along, but ultimately things that were solved with a conversation here or a sacrifice there. 

Izuku dealt with the bedroom lamp being on for a few hours longer at night, and Katsuki got used to the sound of the alarm blaring too early. They did the cooking together, splitting the work so Katsuki could have his clean kitchen and Izuku could have the time to relax after meals. Izuku started to wear a snoring guard, and on nights when he didn’t want to, Katsuki wore earplugs. Simple problems, simple solutions. All born out of over two decades of knowing each other and a wealth of affection that ran so deep it coloured everything they did. 

Even with their new apartment, though, they never hosted parties. Didn’t even throw a housewarming the way all their other friends had. Izuku would occasionally invite Ochako and Iida over, while Katsuki’s friends would drop by uninvited sometimes. Shoto became almost a permanent tenant in their guest room, but never more than five people at a time, and never for parties. 

So, when Katsuki turned to Izuku on the first Sunday of December, four months into living together, and suggested they host New Year's Eve at their apartment, he was shocked to say the least. Of course, he had readily agreed, not wanting to risk stifling a sign of growth(?) in Katsuki. He wasn’t really sure if this was the result of some kind of revelation brought on by Toshinori’s death or just a change Katsuki was going through. Either way, he didn’t stand in the way. 

Secretly, Izuku was beyond excited. He, unlike his boyfriend, loved parties. He loved the energy brought on by a room full of his favourite people. He loved the mess and the loud music, he loved the alcohol, the dance circles that would eventually form, the loud broken conversations. Izuku cherished the life he could feel thrumming through the floors and walls at parties, so the chance to infuse his own home, his home with his Kacchan, with that kind of life was something he wouldn’t give up. 

That was how the two heroes found themselves dressed in their best semi-casuals, blowing up novelty balloons and setting out an array of bottles of varying brands. December 31st, thirty minutes to eight pm, thirty minutes until their guests start to arrive. 

Izuku nodded, using the Blackwhip replacement in his glove to hang balloon after balloon in exactly the spots Katsuki was pointing out. He hadn’t expected party planning to be such a stressful task, but Katsuki approached it with the same meticulous intensity he approached everything else with. 

He had given Izuku a list of exactly what decorations they would need, the alcohol to buy, the snacks to get beforehand and the restaurant to order dinner from, all a week before the actual day. There was a carefully itemised list of tasks pinned to their shared group chat, used only for grocery lists, hospital reminders, and shift change announcements, dividing the party chores between the two. And, the invitations were put into every one of their guests' calendars with RSVP’s received over two weeks ago. 

Katsuki had planned everything down to the letter, and Izuku was more than happy to go along with it. He was pushing outside of his comfort zone, trying something new and taking the initiative to change something so central to his identity so far, and Izuku was nothing if not supportive. He loved Katsuki to bits, always had and always would, so if he had to put up with a little bossiness from the man he loved, he didn’t mind. In fact, most of his friends would say he quite enjoyed it. 

By the time the doorbell rang and the first guests, Mina and Eijirou, arrived, their apartment had been transformed. Silvery streamers lined the edges of the ceiling with balloons bearing the New Year's date stuck on all the corners, printed out snapshots of all of them from the last year clipped to hanging lights covered one of the walls, and the drinks cart was fully stocked with everyone's favourite brands and mixers. Everything was perfectly in place, from the pillows to the books on the shelves. 

Izuku could see the smile tugging on Katsuki’s lips when Mina exclaimed how gorgeous everything looked. He was proud. They were going to pull this off, and it would all be thanks to Katsuki’s profound ability to simply be good at everything (and maybe a little to do with his own willingness to listen and obey when it came to his boyfriend, but he didn’t say that out loud, didn’t even think it.)

Their guests arrived on time, all friends from their school days. Shoto and Iida showed up together and with an overnight bag, as Shoto often did. Kyoka and Yaomomo entered to the sound of hooting and whistling, their friends determined to embarrass the girls about their new relationship. Kaminari, Sero and Tsuyu had come together, much to the surprise of everyone there. It seemed working late-night shifts together had left Tsuyu and Sero suddenly thick as thieves, which had incidentally ignited some sort of competition within Kaminari to reclaim his best friend. Shinsou and Monoma arrived a little later, causing Katsuki to leave about ten missed calls on Monoma’s phone. 

The only person missing was Ochako Uraraka, much to the disappointment of both men, but she had already explained why. An office party, something she was in charge of, something she had already committed to and couldn’t get out of. 

“Maybe next time,” she had said, “definitely take pictures when Katsuki eventually has his hosting-induced meltdown, though.” This only resulted in Katsuki calling her a traitor and strengthening his resolve to be the perfect host. 

And, everything was perfect. An hour into the night, and no awkward groups were forming, no one was too drunk too fast, the music was just loud enough to be fun without being overpowering, and the snacks seemed to be lasting. Despite the tiny tingle of nerves at the base of his spine, Katsuki was happy with the state of things. Maybe this night would go as he planned. Maybe the irrational fear of losing control, of things slipping out from under his feet and through his fingers that had been bubbling to a tipping point over the last six months was just that, irrational. He had just begun to relax, even considering pouring himself a drink, when a sound he knew all too well cut through the noise of the party and landed in his ears. 

“Hello?” Izuku asked, answering his work phone and moving off to the side. 

Katsuki's eyes followed, nerves returning faster than lightning as he watched Izuku’s smile fade, and that familiar tightness returned between his eyebrows. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Katsuki’s internal monologue returned, replacing any sense of peace he had forced in, only getting louder when Izuku got off the phone and waved him over to the hall. 

“What happened?” Katsuki asked as soon as they were out of earshot from the rest. 

“There’s an emergency,” Izuku replied, his voice hushed, “they need me to come in.”

“What?” Katsuki demanded, clenching his fists and trying his best not to let his imagination run too far into the doom and gloom it seemed to always be resting at nowadays. “Today? Now? Isn’t there anyone else on standby?”

“No,” Izuku lied, “Kacchan, I’m the best they’ve got; they need me specifically.” 

“Fuck,” Katsuki cursed aloud this time, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before nodding. “Fine, I’m coming too. You go suit up, I’ll tell Kyo-”

“Wait, wait, Kacchan,” Izuku cut him off, stopping what was sure to be another perfect plan of action, “You don’t have to come for this, I can handle it myself. Besides, you’ve been planning and working on tonight all month; it’s not fair for you to miss it.”

A nerve in Katsuki’s jaw tightened at Izuku’s words, meant to be reassuring but only coming across as patronising. “I thought it was an emergency?”

“It is!” Izuku said, a little quickly for either of their tastes, “but it’s not so big that it needs both the top two heroes. You’ve been working so hard, not just for the party but at hero work too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the double shifts and long hours. Please, Kacchan, just trust me. I’ve got this handled. I’ll call you if I need help.” 

Katsuki’s frown only deepened at Izuku’s placating words, but he forced himself to breathe. Forced thoughts of insecurity and inferiority that threatened to ruin this perfect equilibrium, they had found and took a deep breath. “Fine,” he conceded finally, “but you’ll call me if anything comes up?”

“Of course, Kacchan,” Izuku assured. “You’re my partner.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Katsuki’s mouth at that, but he forced it down, not wanting to let Izuku off the hook completely yet. “And you’ll be back by twelve.” This one was more a command than a request, and they both knew it. 

Izuku nodded, taking Katsuki’s hands in his and bringing them up to his lips, “I promise.” He pressed a soft kiss to Katsuki’s knuckles, fleeting, chaste, a promise that he would return. 

Katsuki nodded again, rolling his eyes at the intimate gesture to avoid having to acknowledge the way it made his heart beat faster. “Go then,” he grumbled, “I’m serious, Izuku.” He warned as he watched Izuku retreat to their bedroom to gather his gear, “Be home by twelve.”

“I will, Kacchan.” 

-

The thing about death is that it affects different people in different ways, so while Toshinori’s passing left Katsuki feeling listless and adrift, with an almost neurotic need to control everything, Izuku was left with something much more personal. Toshinori’s death and the pathology it left him with were almost like an inheritance, like it was one last thing his mentor and idol passed down to him before leaving for good. 

Toshinori, or rather, All Might, had always been someone who put other people before himself. Though he had learned to prioritise himself towards his older years, he was still the pinnacle of selflessness and everything Izuku had held as his own standard of heroism. Izuku had thought that over the years, he had overcome this incessant need to be like his idol, to live up to the title of All Might's successor, but the floodgates had opened when he died. 

It was like everything Izuku thought he had overcome had actually just been buried under a pile of dirty laundry and pushed to the back of the wardrobe. 

Izuku got ready quickly. Stripping out of his party clothes and into comfortable, breathable sweats and a T-shirt. He had long since learned that the best thing to wear under the Mech-Suit was anything he could sweat in. The suit ran hot, even with the cooling features; it was still a metal armour wrapped around his body, so after a full day of using it for continuous strenuous activity, he was always left sweaty and smelly. 

Therefore, the sweatpants and T-shirt combo. Katsuki hated it; despite its practicality, he would always grumble about how it took away from the feeling of being a hero. If it were up to him, Izuku would be in a reinforced jumpsuit that could protect him from any low-level attacks in case he was thrown out of the suit. But Izuku didn’t want that. He didn’t want to engage in more of the spectacle; he wanted to be what All Might was under the tough, heroic exterior. Just a man, someone who would help you move your couch or give you directions. If he had to shed the suit for any reason, Izuku wanted those he protected and those he fought against equally to see that he, too, was a person, and whatever it is they’re feeling, maybe he could understand. 

Katsuki thought it was stupid, an excuse for Izuku to be a little messy, but he never pushed it too far. Despite their constantly ebbing and flowing dynamic and the general freedom to say and do anything without risking misunderstanding, Katsuki never pushed too far when it came to Izuku’s meaning of heroism. He knew, better than anyone, the things Izuku struggled with. He knew about the guilt and the feelings of failure that hung around his boyfriend like shadows, so when Izuku said he wanted to be approachable over reinforced, Katsuki conceded (after the appropriate amount of pushback, of course).

Izuku shook his head and rushed out of the bedroom, case in hand, waving goodbye to Katsuki, who just tapped on his watch in response. Home before midnight. Izuku nodded; he would keep the promise. He had to. He had worked too hard to get to this place with Katsuki, this place where trust was handed out like candy and control was given up willingly. He couldn’t risk losing that over a non-issue of a mission. 

Izuku cringed to himself as he got into his car and pulled out of the basement parking lot. He had told Kacchan that the mission was an emergency, that they absolutely needed Izuku to be present, otherwise it simply wouldn’t work out, but in reality? Well, reality is often less dramatic than the things we convince ourselves are true. 

In reality, a low-level villain had escaped from holding. One with a speed quirk that had robbed a bank a few days ago, and Izuku’s base of operations had simply called him to let him know. The girls who worked recon for him had called to tell him that a mishap had happened with the interrogations, and he had gotten free before anyone could lock him back in. They called to let him know that three of his sidekicks were on the case, and they were already tracking the speedster. 

Izuku hadn’t even told them that he was coming in. When he hung up the phone, he had done so with a clipped, “Keep me updated.” 

He gripped he steering wheel tight, trying to keep the self-flagellating thoughts at bay. Izuku knew he was wrong to leave the party, to lie to Kacchan, and come out here on his own when they had been planning for so long, but that’s the issue with his specific brand of pathology. When All Might died, it left a vacuum. Something that was promised by All For One so long ago. But unlike his promise, the vacuum wasn’t felt by society. No, it wasn’t something that caused heroes around he country to suddenly fight harder or villains to get worse; rather, it was a vacuum felt only in Izuku’s chest. 

Like it had caved under the sudden reminder that he was the most notable remainder of All Might's legacy. The successor, the one who defeated his mentor's villain, the one who was still walking in his footsteps. Izuku was the final holder of All Might's will, and he was terrified that he wouldn’t live up to it. That he couldn’t. 

But that’s not all, is it? 

Of course, there was always the elephant in every room he refused to address. Tomura Shigaraki. Whether he was a vestige, a ghost haunting him, or just proof of Izuku slowly losing his mind, he’s never been sure. Tomura had appeared to him first back in high school. A flickering projection of his conscience that constantly demanded he be truthful, at least to himself. A reminder of his greatest failure as not only a hero, but also as a person, and a constant thorn in his side. 

It had been terrifying the first time, the sight of the man he had failed to save, the man he believed he killed, appearing before him had shocked him to the point of tears. It had caused a severe bout of nightmares and even had him questioning his sanity for a long time. But that was then. Now, at 27, he was more of a nuisance than anything else. A pest that wouldn’t leave Izuku alone and would always, always, chime in with sarcastic questions that forced Izuku to confront whatever he was avoiding. 

Tomura wasn’t always there; if Izuku was being honest, he wasn’t there most of the time. Since Toshinori died, though, he’s been popping up more often. Izuku had tried to explain it away as stress, as his brain was trying to warn him that he was reaching his breaking point, but no matter how much he tried to rest or relax, the keyword being tried, Tomura wouldn’t leave for good. 

Is this you doing your best? 

Izuku grit his teeth and pressed down on the accelerator harder, determined to ignore the ghost and its piercing questions. It didn’t matter how tightly he pursed his lips together, though, since his mind had never needed his permission to run away on its own. 

“Do your best, hero.” 

Those were Tomura’s last words to Izuku before he faded to nothing, and those words hung around Izuku’s neck like chains. Was he doing his best? Had he ever been able to do his best if he had failed to save Tomura? What if everything he was doing wasn’t enough? What if he needed to do more? Be more. 

So you can see why Izuku ran out of there, or at least you can see what he convinced himself of so he could leave the party. 

Abandon the party.

“Right, abandon the party. Thank you for that ghost of the man I killed,” Izuku muttered bitterly as he finally pulled into the parking lot of his agency. 

He could see Tomura’s blurry, blue-tinted projection out of the corner of his eye. Sitting in the passenger seat, legs folded up to his chin and staring at Izuku like he knew absolutely everything about him, which Izuku figured was true after all this time the ghost had spent in his head. Izuku refused to turn and acknowledge him directly, though; that was too much for tonight. He could never make it out of conversations with Tomura without spending a minimum of half an hour rehashing his teenage angst. 

He didn’t have time for that tonight. The clock on his car display read [9:20]. He needed to be home by twelve, no matter what; he had promised Kacchan he would be home by then, and he couldn’t break that promise. He just couldn’t. 

You will, though.

Izuku slammed the door when he got out of the car, hoping the ghost would remain in his seat. It was just a low-level villain, and the thrusters in Izuku’s suit were fast enough to keep pace with Iida. He’s got this. Izuku convinced himself that he’s got this. There was no other way. 

He could be in and out of the agency in about ten minutes, and depending on the location his sidekicks had tracked the villain to, he could wrap this whole thing in an hour flat. Plenty of time to make it back home, plenty of time to keep his promise to Kacchan. 

He’s got this. 

-

“KATSUKIIIIIII, YOU’RE OUTTA CRANBERRY!” 

There was no such thing as a perfect party, was the first thing Katsuki Bakugo realised about fifteen minutes after Izuku left. Three balloons had popped in succession, seemingly for no reason at all, and frightened Tsuyu into tripping over Kaminari’s foot. Katsuki watched from across the room, where Monoma had taken him hostage, to relay some story about a weird quirk he had copied that day, as Tsuyu’s smiling face twisted into a scowl and she put her drink aside to get in Kaminari’s face. His reaction was immediate; vaulting over the sofa to get between the two and pull Tsuyu away to the other side of the room. Thankfully, Sero had taken Kaminari out onto the balcony to cool off and hopefully talk about whatever tension was brewing there. 

“Asui-”

“Tsu.”

“Right, sorry,” Katsuki apologised, his fists clenching at his sides. “Tsu, please don’t kill Denki tonight. You can kill him tomorrow or the day after, hell, you can even kill him on the drive back after the party, but please, don’t do it now. Don’t do it in my house.” 

Tsuyu had stared up at him, those big froggy eyes of hers blinking slowly before nodding and draining her cup, “Fine,” she conceded, “but I’m not apologising.”

“That’s your business,” Katsuki replied, “as long as no one's fighting in my living room, I don’t care how you guys handle it.”

Tsuyu had nodded again and walked off, making a beeline to where Iida and Shoto were looking at the pictures on the wall. 

That was half an hour ago, and Katsuki had foolishly thought it would be the last mishap. If the Tsuyu incident had screwed the tap open and allowed some drops of water to leak through, the cranberry incident had taken a rock and smashed the faucet to bits. Monoma’s loud and frankly grating cry had alerted Katsuki to the emergency that was the mixers running out. It seemed someone had been drinking the cranberry juice without mixing it with the vodka, and now Katsuki was left with what was possibly the worst situation he could be in. 

Too much alcohol and not enough juice to water it down with. He checked the other bottles of mixers, hoping and praying they would be enough to cover it, but to his dawning horror, he realised all the bottles were nearly empty… save for one. Only one was more than halfway full. Pineapple. Katsuki’s eyes snapped over to the only person he knew who stayed away from pineapple like it carried the plague; Iida Tenya. The man was deathly allergic to pineapple, and from the looks of it, he didn’t seem the least bit drunk. 

“Iida!” Katsuki shouted over the music as he stomped over to where he was sitting.

“Bakugo! Great party, man,” Iida exclaimed, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside their host. 

“You don’t seem drunk,” Katsuki pointed out, ignoring the compliment in favour of confirming his suspicions. 

“Ah, yeah,” Iida nodded, “designated driver and all that. Sticking to juice tonight.”

Katsuki’s left eye twitched as Iida held up the plastic glass with what he presumed was orange juice in it. An overwhelming need to grab the glass out of his bespectacled friend's hand and crush it over his head washed over him, but Katsuki was not a little kid anymore. He was a grown man, and he knew how to control his anger! So, he simply smiled, something forced and pained and turned around. Instead, he pictured snapping those damn glasses and pouring the juice into Iida’s nose as he walked away.

“Was he stupid? If he wasn’t going to drink, then why the hell didn’t he tell me beforehand so I could have prepared? I would have gotten more juice, goddammit!” A stream of increasingly colourful curses left Katsuki’s mouth as he stomped away from the offending party. 

He couldn’t leave now to get more mixers, and despite the only sensible option being to ask one of his friends, preferably Iida, to go and get more, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The thought of admitting he needed help with something as simple and inconsequential as a party twisted around his throat like barbed wire, choking him and refusing to let him speak. It wasn’t just the party, he realised, as he retreated to the kitchen to try and calm his racing nerves. 

The year had been difficult. Toshinori's death had just been the largest addition to what was already an overflowing cup. He and Izuku had finally gotten together last year, worked through all the things they had spent their lives refusing to talk about, confessed feelings they had been dancing around for as long as they could remember and finally, finally, signed on the dotted lines of their future. 

It was bliss. Katsuki had known Izuku was his soulmate since they were in school, and despite the time it took for them to reach it, the relationship itself was bliss. He knew Izuku like the back of his hand, and Izuku knew him like the blood in his veins. They complemented each other in every way that counted, and even in some ways that didn’t. They were perfect, Izuku was perfect. 

It was everything else that threatened their peace. Everything Katsuki couldn’t control. Trying to manage a new relationship with as much history as they had while also being at the peak of their careers, trying to maintain their competitive jobs without letting it affect their domestic life, jealousy, possessiveness, new boundaries, and new rules. All of it and more conspired from the outside to shatter everything they had worked so hard to build, and Katsuki had never been one to let things go easily. 

He would hold on until it ripped his arm off, and even then, he would bite down until his teeth broke. He wasn’t the kind of person to give up and move on, and he especially wasn’t the kind of person who was okay with the world just deciding what happens. He was a fighter, a warrior for all his life, and he’d be damned if he didn’t fight for their relationship.

And then Toshinori died. And all the ropes he had twisted around his hands suddenly snapped free. To say he felt listless would be an understatement. When the news about Toshinori reached them, Katsuki and Izuku were at his old place following their usual Tuesday, the one day they both had off, routine. Make breakfast together, go for a long run, get takeout for lunch on the walk home and veg out on the couch until it was time for Izuku to leave. It was a good routine, gave them both time to relax and exist without having to worry about being good or heroic, and it gave Katsuki a moment of calm in between the whirlwind that was their professional lives.

The all-important phone call had been a swinging saw. He couldn’t even remember how they had reacted or how they had got to the hospital. All Katsuki knew was that the entire time from when he hung up the phone to when they got back home, Izuku’s fingers were threaded through his.

Among all the chaos, all the terrifying changes that happened around them every day and everything Katsuki couldn’t control, Izuku had always been the constant. He was always there, always brave and always reliable. He would reach out and grab Katsuki every time he drifted too far, catch him when he crashed too hard, and throw him when he needed a jumping pad. Izuku had always been what he could rely on, and now… 

Katsuki peered out of the kitchen, his frown deepening; now he was nowhere to be seen. 

A clock on the kitchen wall made a small, almost imperceptible noise, drawing Katsuki’s attention. His eyes followed the small needle as it settled into place, and tightened the noose around his neck a little more, [10:00], two hours left.

-

It took longer than Izuku expected to get the location out of his recon team and get out of the agency. The girls seemed to be determined to send him back home, telling him that he worked too hard and that his sidekicks had it handled. It wasn’t until Izuku threatened to dock their pay for insubordination that they finally gave in and sent the coordinates to his suit. Of course, he would never actually punish his team that way, but they didn’t need to know that. He had to be at least a little intimidating; being the boss didn’t work otherwise. 

Izuku suited up and was out on the street in record time, trying to make up for what he had lost arguing with his team. He had sent word ahead to his sidekicks, letting the kids know that he was on his way, to keep tracking the speedster, not to wait for him. The streets were getting more and more crowded with each passing hour. What had been easy to manoeuvre through with some fancy driving had suddenly become an almost immovable foot traffic. 

He needed to get above them, get out of this civilian crowd and fulfil the duty he was entrusted with. Izuku used his Blackwhip substitute, as he always did. The mechanical recreation of his favourite quirk, meticulously designed and crafted by Kacchan. 

Just gonna ignore everyone else’s contribution, huh? Some hero.

Izuku grit his teeth as he swung up onto the first building. “Yes. Fine,” he thought. “Everyone helped to make the suit, but Kacchan had led the effort! He was the one who paid the most and spent the most hours testing and helping perfect it!” Izuku wasn’t being ungrateful; he was just prioritising his boyfriend. 

Big whoop, if you were prioritising him, you’d be at home with him. 

Izuku swung faster, eager to escape Tomura and his scathing commentary. The villain was heading south-west, thankfully away from the main concentration of the New Year's crowd, but that also meant he was moving further from Kacchan. Izuku frowned as he swung through the air with the skill and grace of an aerial acrobat. 

“Help!” 

Izuku was on the ground faster than the woman could finish screaming, grabbing the thief and slamming them up against the wall. 

“It’s okay,” He assured her gently before shaking his captive until they let go of the purse. Izuku pulled out a pair of slap-on cuffs, quirk-neutralising and impossible to take off unless you had his agency code. 

One of Hatsume’s genius inventions. It was beyond useful for stopping small-time thugs without having to deliver each one to the cops personally. He simply had to slap them onto the criminal's wrists and ankles and call in the location to his team back at the agency, and they would send someone to apprehend them. Concepted precisely to help heroes save time, to help them prioritise the important stuff and not get caught up in the nitty-gritty.

Quick and easy; he wrapped up the save and win in five minutes flat, and he should have been on his way. Izuku should have sent in the information, given the purse back to the lady and swung off to find the villain, to do his actual mission. 

Of course, that’s not what he did. 

“Where are you going? I’ll walk you.” 

He couldn’t, he told the ghost in his head as he helped the shaking woman out of the alley and walked beside her. Izuku was a hero, and it was part of his code to never let anyone be scared or alone if he could prevent it. He couldn’t just throw that out because he had a time crunch. 

You’re such a liar.

And right on cue, Tomura was there again, walking on Izuku’s other side, somehow with a lollipop between his teeth as he shook his head disappointedly. Izuku had to bite back his retort, offering the woman what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he delivered her to the main road. It wasn’t until he was back in the alley that he rounded on Tomura. 

“What is your problem tonight?!” Izuku snapped, his usually calm and almost shy demeanour sharpened. 

You know the deal, hero. Just tell the truth, and I’m gone. 

“I am telling the truth, asshole,” he hissed, stomping down the street in the direction of his villain. “I can’t just leave people in danger, it’s not part of the hero's code.”

You know just as well as I do that’s not what I’m talking about.

“Then what are you talking about? Just spit it out already.”

What’s your priority, Izuku?

Izuku’s feet faltered at the question as a sharp pain shot up his spine and lodged behind his eyes. His priorities had always been clear. Save people, be a hero, be the hero that saves everyone. But recently… well, recently Kacchan had thrown a wrench into all that. The promise he had made to the man he loved more than life itself hung above him like a ticking clock, reminding him of everything he was risking by continuing this unnecessary chase. 

Izuku took a deep breath and shook his head. He was not doing himself any favours by entertaining the ghost; he could still do this. He could do both. Izuku was determined to capture the villain, keep the streets safe, and return to Kacchan before midnight. He didn’t have to pick one; he didn’t have to sacrifice one priority for another.

“Mirai,” he said aloud, talking directly to the suit's AI Kacchan had lovingly named to mean new hope or looking to the future. “Set a timer, please.”

“Of course, Deku. To when are we counting down?” The AI’s pleasant, female voice rang through his earpiece. 

“Eleven thirty pm, add a reminder to the timer as well.”

“What would you like it to say?”

Izuku considered her question for a moment as he flung himself into the air, once again on the move towards his villain. “Just, ‘Kacchan’,” he finally instructed. 

“Timer set, Deku. You will receive a reminder at eleven thirty pm for ‘Kacchan’,” she relayed.

“Thank you, Mirai.”

The AI buzzed softly in his ear before returning to its base functions, keeping the suit running, watching his blind spots. It was a comfort. Izuku hadn’t been a fan of the system at first, having to rely on a computer to help him with a job he considered to be so purely human at its core. But she was a comfort now. Yet another piece of evidence of just how well Kacchan knew him, how much thought Kacchan had put into not only keeping him safe but making sure he had a companion if he was ever alone. 

“What’s the time, Mirai?” Izuku asked, guilt eating him up from the inside with every meter of distance he put between himself and Kacchan. 

“It is ten pm, Deku.” 

Izuku nodded, knocking on the breastplate above his heart twice as he picked up the pace. Ten o’clock. Two hours left. 

-

We all have a best friend, right? Someone who we tell all our secrets to, someone we rely on over everyone else, and call up first to complain about our partners? It gets a little complicated when it comes to Katsuki Bakugo. 

If you asked most people, they would say, “Well, obviously it’s Izuku Midoriya. They’re attached at the hip, obviously, they’re best friends,” and they’d be right, sort of. 

Some others would ask, “Isn’t it Kirishima Eijirou? He was the first person Katsuki ever trusted, and he complements Katsuki’s volatile nature so well. It’s gotta be him.” Another technically true answer.

If you asked Katsuki himself, though, he would always, without skipping a beat or looking up from his work, say, “Kyoka Jirou,” or, more accurately, “Kyo.” 

Kyoka and Katsuki had first become friends when she recruited(dragged) him into playing in the Class A band for their school festival. They didn’t really get along that well at first. She was a lot quieter and preferred to exist in the background of things, while Katsuki was all fists and loud noises. They were cordial enough, worked well enough together to be considered a good team; they were classmates, peers, something like colleagues. 

The war was what changed things. All around them, people started to twist and turn into new identities, and when Katsuki and Kyoka found themselves the only two people waiting for hearing aids, it was almost like they were being pushed together by forces outside of their control. It didn’t take long after that. Soon enough, when Katsuki woke up from nightmares, it was her room he would slip into, and when the psychosomatic pain in Kyoka’s ear sent her into yet another panic attack, it was Katsuki who would grab her and hold her until she calmed down. They had become each other's anchors in a time of trauma and eventually ports in the randomised chaos of their larger lives. 

She was like his sister, more than family, more than friends; she was a part of his heart, and there was no one he trusted more with his anxieties than Kyoka. All this to explain that what happened next was completely out of the norm for them. 

Kyoka could see Katsuki walking around the party, his eyebrows knotted together, running his hand through his hair repeatedly until it was a dishevelled mess and muttering under his breath as he repeatedly straightened the same cups and fluffed the same pillows. She was seated on one of the couches, safely nestled between Momo’s legs and fiddling with her fingers as she watched her friend get increasingly neurotic as the seconds ticked by. 

“Katsuki!” She finally called out, waving him over.

“What?” He snapped, his tone clipped in a way it never is with her. Not since their first year of high school, anyway. “What do you want, Kyoka? I’m busy.”

She felt Momo’s arms tighten around her waist protectively at Katsuki’s sharp words, but Kyoka simply patted her girlfriend's forearm and raised her eyebrows at him, “What’s got your panties in a twist? Sit.” She instructed, pointing to the armchair opposite her. 

Katsuki looked over his shoulder at the chair and turned back to scowl at her as though she had grown a second head. Was she really telling him to sit down? To relax? In a time like this? Had she lost her mind? 

“Sit, you control freak. Nothing's gonna light on fire if you sit for five minutes,” she repeated, trying to reassure him, and when that didn’t work, she resorted to the next best thing, “I’ll tie you to the chair, Katsuki. Sit down.” 

Katsuki grumbled, eyeing her ear jacks distastefully and sat down. He knew she would do it, extend that quirk of hers and tie him up in her ear jacks. Better to just humour her for now, so he could get out of whatever this was and get back to trying to get this runaway train under control. 

“So?” Kyoka asked, reaching out with her foot to nudge him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” 

“Don’t fucking lie.”

“I’m not lying, you freak.”

“I’M the freak??” Kyoka asked, her eyes wide as she pointed to the pillow in his lap he was compulsively smoothing out. 

Katsuki looked down, following her finger. He snorted when he realised what he was doing, “Fuck,” he muttered, putting the pillow aside and running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t even considered that he needed to smooth the pillow covers or fluff the pillow; it had just happened. Without his confirmation or even an active need, he had just begun to clean. Katsuki slumped into the chair with a loud sigh and closed his eyes. “Fuck, maybe I’m losing my mind.” 

“Talk to me, man,” Kyoka urged, her voice a little softer now. “You haven’t been like this since, well, since we debuted. What’s wrong?”

Katsuki peeked at her, opening his eyes just a sliver, just enough to see her worried face, “Tell me something first,” he haggled, pausing to see if she’d give in. When Kyoka tilted her head back to look up at Momo, Katsuki felt something tighten and boil in his chest. Almost like jealousy, but it couldn’t be that, could it? Only once both women nodded did Katsuki continue, “You two are together together right? Like officially a couple, committed to each other and no one else kind of together?”

Kyoka laughed at his question, caught off guard by his sudden interest in her love life, but nodded nonetheless, “Yeah, we’re together together,” she answered, copying his tone. “Why?”

“Just…” Katsuki chewed on his bottom. If he couldn’t ask her, then who could he ask? If he couldn’t be honest with his closest friend in the whole, entire world, then when was he ever going to be honest? He swallowed hard and pressed forward, “If you got called in for a mission on New Year's Eve, would you go? Would you ditch Momo and the party you guys planned together to go fight some villain? And would you tell her that you’ve got it handled and she doesn’t need to come and should just stay behind?” His questions got more pointed, tinged with bitterness as he went on, and he hated the way Momo’s face changed above Kyoka.

What had previously been an irritated expression she couldn’t quite hide behind the flush of alcohol had turned into a sympathetic frown. Katsuki hated being looked at like that; he hated it when people acted like he couldn’t handle his shit or figure things out. Like he needed pity or to be told the right answer. Katsuki considered lashing out, telling Momo where she could stick her pity and leave, but this wasn’t just anyone. It was his best friend's girlfriend, and Katsuki hated disappointing Kyoka, maybe even more than disappointing Izuku. So he swallowed the venom that had climbed up the back of his throat and turned his attention to Kyoka. 

“Maybe?” Was her reply, “What I mean is,” she clarified, “I’d go but only if it was like an unavoidable emergency, you know? Like if no one else was available and they needed me so desperately, but it’s like, at that point, why wouldn’t I take Yaomomo with me?”

“That’s my question!” Katsuki exclaimed, relieved that she understood. He turned to Momo for the second part of his question, “And you’d feel abandoned if she did go without you, wouldn’t you?”

“Definitely,” Momo confirmed, frowning at the thought and tightening her hold on Kyoka.

“See, but the thing is-” Kyoka started.

Of course, there was a ‘but’. There was always a ‘but’ with Kyoka; she would always agree with him and see his point of view, but never stop there. She was never satisfied with making sure Katsuki felt understood; she needed to make sure that he could see the other side, too. If Katsuki were better adjusted in that moment, he would say it’s a blessing that she does. Would tell you and me and everyone here that Kyoka’s ability to see all sides and rationalise everything by standing a level above it was imperative to Katsuki’s emotional regulation and had saved him more than once. 

“-I’m not Midoriya. What I do isn’t necessarily what he should do because we’re different people. You know that. Think about it,” she said, getting up from Momo’s lap and moving over to perch on the armrest of Katsuki’s chair. “What’s his behaviour been like up until now? Setting up for the party, even at the beginning, before he left. Did it seem like he was itching to leave and abandon you?”

Katsuki considered her questions, trying to sort through the way his irritation had swelled and blocked off his other thoughts. “I guess not,” he mumbled, remembering how Izuku had been all too ready, excited even, to do everything Katsuki wanted. How he had driven to the exact bakery Katsuki wanted to get pastries from, despite it being an hour away, and how he had agreed to every decorating opinion and guest list amendment, even though Katsuki himself knew how unreasonable he had been sometimes. Izuku had not only been supportive, but he had gone above and beyond to show Katsuki how much he was looking forward to this party. “No,” he corrected himself, “he was excited. He helped me with everything, wanted to be here but then… fuck Kyo, if that’s the case, why did he just run out?”

“Maybe it was a real emergency?”

“It’s not,” Katsuki said firmly, “I know his schedule better than I know my own and the sidekicks on duty tonight are the best he’s got. If the problem was big enough that those kids couldn’t handle it and they needed the number one hero to be called one we all would have gotten the alert too. A party full of heroes, and none of us got an alert for an emergency that needed the best of us? Not likely.” 

“He’s right,” Momo piped up, scrolling through the updates from her agency. “No alerts for anything on a large scale or even any big villains on the loose. Just the regular stuff.” 

“See!” Katsuki exclaimed, gesturing towards Momo with wide eyes. It’s a good thing I didn’t yell at her before, he thought to himself. 

“Okay, okay,” Kyoka conceded, her hands up defensively, “what other reason could be there? Think about Midoriya as the person you know, not whatever your worst fears are making him into. What reason could there possibly be for him to suddenly up and run from a party he was so excited to attend? For him to leave you here to fend for yourself when he knows what you’re like in these situations?”

Katsuki scowled at her little jab about his nerves, making Kyoka ruffle his head and poke his forehead, urging him to think. Why did Izuku leave? Why did Izuku, who was always there, who stayed like he was getting paid for, suddenly leave him alone? A memory flashed in his mind from the day they buried Toshinori. Something that was hidden deep among the cobwebs and dusty shelves in his mind. 

“Fuck me, of course,” he muttered to himself, holding back from literally smacking himself on the head. 

“What is it?”

“Toshinori,” Katsuki said, turning to look at Kyoka. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before, god, how could I be so stupid?”

“Stop beating yourself up and tell me what you realised,” Kyoka insisted, unwilling to let him off with just a realisation. 

“When we buried Toshinori,” He explained, reaching out to grab her hand as he spoke, grounding himself against the wave of grief that threatened to pull him under. “You remember the funeral, right?” She nodded, squeezing his hand in return, “There were lots of people. Lots of old heroes and new ones, and they all wanted to talk to us, to Izuku specifically. Most of them just wanted to offer their condolences, talking about what a wonderful person he was with someone who knew him better than most, but there was this one geezer,” Katsuki ground his teeth together as the memory became sharper and sharper in his mind, “he said something to Izuku that made him clamp up so hard.”

“What’d he say?” Momo asked, leaning forward now, fully invested in the conversation. Kyoka looked at her girlfriend, surprised, but nodded nonetheless. 

“I don’t think he meant it as anything malicious, but god, did it fuck with Izuku. He ran out of there like someone had lit a fire under his ass, and I only found him almost an hour later, sitting in one of the other naves. He was white as a sheet when I got there. That’s why we had to leave early,” Katsuki explained.

“What did he say?” Kyoka urged this time.

“Here comes another one,” Katsuki whispered, leaning over to Izuku’s ear. 

“Shh, Kacchan, be polite,” Izuku whispered back, but the small smile on his face proved that he was grateful for Katsuki’s attempts to make things lighter. 

“Midoriya-kun,” The old man greeted as he walked up to the couple. 

He was hunched over like he couldn’t stand up straight anymore, and Katsuki could see his scalp underneath the thinning grey hairs. He reached out and shook Izuku’s hand, gripping it tightly with both of his. He stood there for quite a bit of time, talking about Toshinori, sharing stories from before Izuku and Katsuki knew him. It was nice, both boys had gotten more than a little choked up at the fond memories, at the way this stranger spoke so lovingly of a man they held so near and dear. 

And then the bomb dropped, “Do your best, young man,” he had said, meeting Izuku’s eyes dead on for the first time, his hand trapped in a grip far too strong for such a weak old man to have, “you are the most notable reminder of All Might's legacy. We’re all watching, we know you’ll do great things.”

There was a palpable silence between the three of them once Katsuki revealed the words that had changed things so drastically for Izuku. 

“Fuck,” Momo was the one to finally break the pregnant pause, “that’s heavy. No wonder Midoriya’s been wound so tight the past few months.”

Kyoka nodded, “That makes sense, then doesn’t it?” she asked. “Why he ran out of here, why he took a mission he didn’t have to, this answers the question, doesn’t it?”

Katsuki nodded, suddenly overcome with a feeling of profound guilt. He had been so wrapped up in his own fears and worries brought on by Toshinori’s death, he had completely missed all the signs of Izuku’s spiral. God, he was a terrible boyfriend.

“Stop that,” Kyoka chided, smacking him behind the head, “stop blaming yourself for not noticing. You were struggling with his death, too. All Might was as much like your father as he was Midoriya’s. It’s okay if you were a little distracted by your own grief; you’re not anymore. That’s what matters.”

Katsuki blinked up at her, rubbing the back of his head. A few seconds of stunned silence later, he burst out laughing, shaking his head, wondering why he ever even bothered to try and hide things from her. He was about to speak, tell her off and gain some of the control back in the situation when a glass shattered elsewhere, drawing his attention. By the time he turned back to Kyoka, she was already up and moving back to Momo. 

“Go save the day,” she told him, waving the apology that she knew was sitting at the base of his tongue. “And I’m serious, Katsuki, if I see you moping around about being a bad boyfriend, I’ll beat you up.”

Katsuki chuckled again, getting up to go inspect the source of the noise, “I’d like to see you try Tiny.”

Kyoka flipped him off as he walked away, his heart significantly lighter than before. Even if the party was a mess, even if everything else in the world went wrong, at least he now knew that Izuku didn’t just abandon him because he wanted to. It wasn’t because he wanted to hurt Katsuki, or even because he didn’t want to be here with Katsuki. It was about their hero, about the weight he has carried since they were teenagers. 

Katsuki took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever he was about to walk into and entered the kitchen.

“Katsukiiiii~” Mina whined as soon as he came into view. “I’m sooooo sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to break it.”

His eyes flickered between the tears on Mina’s face, the shattered glass on the ground, and Eijirou helping her stand on one foot while Tsuyu tried to pull out the glass in the other one. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and shook his head, “It’s okay, Mimi,” he assured her, his need to take care of his friends overriding his anxiety. “You guys go back to the party,” Katsuki assured the other two as he wrapped an arm around Mina’s waist and urged her to lean on him. “I’ll get her foot bandaged.”

“Bro, but it’s your party,” Eijirou argued, concern etched on his face for his girlfriend's foot. 

“Yeah, we can do it,” Tsuyu agree.

“You’re both wasted,” Katsuki pointed out, “if you try to pull the glass out, you might just end up making it worse or hurting yourself. I’ve got this, don’t worry. It’s my party, my responsibility.”

Eijirou and Tsuyu shared an unsure look, lingering a moment longer, but they could both see the sense in Katsuki’s words, and if there was anything Katsuki could be relied on for, it was to take care of his girls. After what seemed like forever, they finally nodded and stepped aside to let Katsuki lead Mina out to the washroom. 

“Clean up the glass if you wanna help!” Katsuki called back over his shoulder, “And be careful of your hands.”

Mina sniffled as she hopped beside him to the washroom, “I’m sososo sorry, Kats’ki,” she slurred, leaning heavily on him. 

“It’s alright, dumbass. Stop apologising already and let me look at your foot.” He helped her sit up on the bathroom counter once they were in the bathroom, and opened one of the drawers to get out their emergency first aid kit. 

“You’re suuuch a good friend,” she drawled, watching Katsuki take out cotton, antiseptic, bandages and a pair of tweezers. “That’s gonna sting,” she observed wisely. 

“No shit,” he muttered, kneeling before her and inspecting the underside of her foot where three thick pieces of glass were lodged. “Fucking hell, how’d you even get this much glass in your foot, Mina?” 

Mina shrugged in response, leaning back on her arms and tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling light. “Ion know, I was showing Eiji and Tsu-chan how to balance a glass on your head while standing on one foot and- OW!”

Katsuki had pulled out one of the pieces while she was talking, “Keep going,” he told her when she glared at him, “then you tripped, I’m guessing.”

“Hell no!” Mina exclaimed indignantly, the pain momentarily forgotten in favour of defending her dignity. “I was balancing it so well, Katsu, you gotta believe me. It was like perfect in the middle of my head, and I didn’t even have my hands out or anything- HEY!” She yelled again, trying to pull her foot free when he plucked out another piece of glass. 

“Bullshit, you didn’t have your hands out,” He argued, refusing to acknowledge her reactions to his ministrations and tightening his grip on her ankle so she couldn’t get free. “You’re good, but you’re not that good.”

“I so am,” she refuted, “I can literally stand on my head, are you stupid?” Mina asked, her lips jutting out in a pout. “I’ll show you right now, just you wait- FUCK, KATSUKI!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologised finally, now that the pieces of glass were out. “Had to get the glass out, Mimi, I’m sorry. There, see,” he gestured towards the shards that lay on a tissue on the ground. “Now we can clean it and bandage it so you don’t get an infection.” 

Mina pouted for a moment longer, eyeing the glass suspiciously before nodding and biting down on her lip hard as Katsuki soaked the cotton in the disinfectant. “Fuuckkkk,” she whined, “that’s gonna sting.”

“Mhm,” Katsuki agreed, grabbing her foot again, “keep talking, it’ll hurt less if you’re distracted.” 

She hesitated, lips pursed as she watched him move the cotton to the base of her foot. She considered telling him to get Eijirou so they could just go to the hospital instead, so they could give her some painkillers or something, even considered lying about not needing the disinfectant, but one look in Katsuki’s eyes and she knew that wasn’t happening. 

She sighed and nodded, squeezing her eyes shut as she continued her story, “So I was standing there balancing the glass on my head, and my drink was in one hand, AND I was on one foot. Tsu-chan literally could not believe it, which is funny cause she’s super-fuccckkkk,” Mina hissed when the cotton made contact. She took a deep breath and kept going, “good at balance too, but there was a super loud noise outside. Like a crash or a bang, and it startled me so much, I totally lost balance, and the glass fell off my head, and I stepped on it, and then I screamed, and then you came in, and then you helped me here-”

“All done,” Katsuki announced, wiping the last cut down. “You did great, Mimi,” he assured her as he placed a fresh slab of cotton over the cuts and wrapped her foot up. 

Mina blinked down at him, surprised that it was over. When he stood back up, she beamed at him, throwing her arms around Katsuki’s neck and pulling him in for a hug, “Thank youuuu Katsu,” she murmured, kissing his cheek before straightening up again. “You’re such a good friend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, waving her off despite the blush colouring the tips of his ears. “Just be careful, dumbass. I’ll get Eiji to carry you back. He’s probably crying about his ‘princess’ already,” Katsuki said, gagging for dramatic effect and making Mina giggle. 

“Katsuki,” she called out just as he was about to leave to get Eijirou.

“What's up?”

“The party’s really great,” Mina said with a warm, bright smile, “one of the best we’ve ever had. You did a great job, babe. I’m super proud of you.”

Katsuki swallowed the lump forming in his throat at Mina’s heartfelt words and nodded, “Th-thanks Mimi,” he forced out, his lips pursed in a tight smile, and slipped out. He called Eijirou over and gave him the rundown, shaking his head fondly as he watched his friend rush off to take care of his girlfriend. They were both idiots, but he loved them more than life. 

Katsuki sighed and slumped back against the hallway wall, the noise from the party muffled behind the wall separating him from the living room. Fuck, he was tired. It had been such a long night already. Katsuki looked down at the watch strapped to his wrist. 

Black leather strap and a deep orange case. It was a fuck-all expensive piece, and Katsuki had scolded Izuku to hell and back for spending so much money on a watch of all things, but of course, Izuku had just laughed and kissed him hard. Told him to quit complaining and just let him spoil his boyfriend. Katsuki remembered rolling his eyes. 

[10:55] the face read, and Katsuki sighed again. One hour. 

He wondered if Izuku was proud of him, too.

-

You’re actually doing this?

“So you need to go down that road, actually, you’re not gonna find a cab here.”

Ignoring me is not going to change the fact that you’ve got a saviour complex you can’t control.

“No, I’m not sure if the app is working or not. Did you try booking one through it?”

No fucking way, don’t go with them, are you crazy?

“Yeah, sure. I can come with you to the cab stand. Wouldn’t want you guys getting lost.”

Izuku could feel Tomura’s judging eyes burn into the back of his head as he escorted three incredibly drunk young men out of the twisting alley roads they had gotten lost in. He knew that he should be tracking his villain, Izuku knew that better than anyone, but he was a hero. He needed to do this, just like he needed to walk that lady to the main road. Small acts of care for his community were part of what made him a hero; they looked to him for support and care because they trusted him to always be there. 

Tomura shook his head beside him, not buying a single word of Izuku’s internal monologue. He knew the real reason; the truth is, Izuku knew it too, it was just buried deep under the layers of denial. It didn’t matter anyway. He would just drop these kids off at the taxi stand, and he could get right back on course. It was only ten past ten; he had plenty of time to wrap up the chase and get back home to Kacchan. He had set the reminder on Mirai; she would make sure he got back in time. 

“Hey man, you a hero or something?” One of the boys, who had apparently just noticed the mechanical superhero suit wrapped around Izuku, asked. 

Izuku smiled, lips pursed together and his fist closing behind his back, “Yeah,” he forced out a laugh, “I’m Deku.” 

“Deku?” His blonde-haired friend asked, snorting, “That’s a really stupid name, dude.” 

He wanted to scream, wanted to demand how the hell they didn’t recognise him? He was the number one hero; his face was plastered all over Japan. Was he not doing enough? Everyone, and he means everyone, knew All Might, so was this just another piece of evidence of Izuku’s failure to live up to his idol? Izuku forced himself to remain polite, to laugh off the comment like it meant nothing. 

Beside him, Tomura was bent in half, laughing loud enough to alert people around them if only any of them could actually hear him. Unfortunately for Izuku, the only person who had to listen to his mocking laughter was himself, and he couldn’t even tell the ghost to fuck off without having these kids look at him like he was crazy. The last thing he needed was for the headlines the next day to read ‘Deku yells at the air, heroes lose their minds too!” 

He tried to make polite conversation, asked the men where they were coming from, and whether they were heading for a party or just going home, and got increasingly frustrated answers. Izuku figured that these were the most ill-mannered young men in the entire country. Here he was, going out of his way to help them when he had no reason to at all, and they couldn’t respond to a single question without some kind of sarcastic remark or insulting joke. He thought about what Kacchan would say. 

He’d tell Izuku to “blast the little fuckers off and go do his job”, and honestly, Izuku wanted to do exactly that. Their voices were starting to sound like nails on a chalkboard, and the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke on them was overwhelming. He wanted to tell them that they were unbearable, horrible people, and he wanted to leave. 

Then leave! 

“I want to!” Izuku exclaimed in his head, glaring at Tomura through the corner of his eye. 

It was a compulsion like nothing else; he physically couldn’t move his feet in the other direction, couldn’t open his mouth and speak the words that were pushing behind his teeth. No matter how desperately his mind was yelling at him to ditch these ungrateful assholes and go find his villain, his body wouldn’t respond. 

That old promise made to the very same ghost haunting him now, the expectations of his mentor's cohort, the weight of All Might's legacy, they were shackles locked around his ankles and wrists. Each promise held him down, threatening to drown him if he didn’t fulfil them.

After what seemed like a century of the slowest-moving conversations had passed, Izuku finally saw a cab and flagged it down. He all but shoved the three men inside and threw some cash at the driver, practically begging him to take them wherever they wanted to go. Did he feel a little bad for just abandoning civilians like that? A little bit, but the relief to be away from such dreadful people was much more potent. 

“Okay, let’s move,” he muttered to himself, cracking his neck and hooking a Blackwhip tendril around a lamp post, then a balcony railing and finally the leg of a water tanker before swinging up onto the roof of a building. Izuku didn’t check the time; he couldn’t bear to see how much had been wasted with those three. Instead, he ran. Moving as fast as his suit would take him, jumping from terrace to terrace, swinging between lamp posts, following the directions his suit spoke into his ear. He was getting closer to his sidekicks; he was actually going to pull this off. Izuku would prove tonight that he could be the hero everyone needs and keep his promise to his partner. 

“DEKU! DEKU!” 

A small voice, yelling too loudly for Izuku to ignore, echoed from beneath him. He should just keep going; he had been moving so fast, he was already three buildings past the voice, but his body. His damned body wouldn’t let him. So he turned around and swung down onto the street, the voice had called out. 

It was a little boy, shorts and a Best Jeanist novelty T-shirt, and his parents were nowhere to be found. Izuku could practically hear the ticking of the clock as he realised how much time this was going to take. 

“What’s wrong, buddy?” He asked, crouching down low to be eye level with the kid. 

“Deku!” He exclaimed, “My cat is stuck in that tree, will you please get him down?! He’s so scared, Deku, please!” 

Izuku closed his eyes and held back a sigh. When he opened them again, he did so with a big grin. Completely unnatural and forced, but it made no difference to the little boy. “Of course, little man. Which tree is it?” 

The boy pointed to one of the large, leafy ones lining the street, and Izuku nodded. He walked over to the tree and, for a solid five seconds, considered just pushing the whole thing to the ground so the cat would fall out. He didn’t do that, obviously. Izuku smiled at the boy again and stepped up to the base of the tree. 

“Here kitty kitty,” he called, clicking his tongue the way he’s seen Shinsou do. 

The little boy shook his head and knocked on Izuku’s thigh, “His name is Mylo.”

“Ah, yeah, of course, sorry about that,” he apologised and turned back to the tree, “Here, Mylo. Come here, buddy, your friend is worried about you. Let’s not scare him more.”

Much like he expected, the cat did not appear. Finally, not seeing any other way out of this, he used Blackwhip once more to lift himself onto one of the lower branches. 

The wood creaked under his weight, and he prayed it wouldn’t break. It didn’t take too long to find the cat once he was in the tree. The little orange thing was clinging to one of the branches for dear life, terrified beyond belief. Izuku felt a pang of pity at the pathetic state of the animal, which quickly turned to irritation when he tried to reach out, and the cat trilled and jumped right onto his face, making him lose his balance and fall out of the tree. He was sure that had it not been for Mirai constantly on guard for danger, he would have fallen and broken a bone. Thanks to the AI, Blackwhip shot out instinctively and dangled him just off the ground, the cat still clinging to him, its claws dug into the skin on his neck. 

As soon as he landed on his feet, the cat jumped off him and into the kid's arms, claws now retracted. “Are your parents nearby?” He asked, looking around for somewhere to drop the child off. 

“Yeah!” He exclaimed, turning around to point at the house opposite them, “They’re in there. Thanks for getting my cat, Deku!” He called out as he turned around and ran to the house.

Kid would’ve probably just asked his dad if you didn’t stop.

“I know.”

You wasted time, and you got scratched up.

“I know Tomura.”

You’re not making that deadline.

“Shut up!” Izuku snapped, flying off once more, trying his best not to regret stopping to help that kid. 

It was getting harder and harder to understand why he held on to this code; surely not every single person who needed help needed it from him, right? There had to be a line drawn somewhere. Surely they didn’t mean for him to stop and solve every problem, right? It hurt to ask himself these questions. Saving people, helping them, heroism itself had all been things he did without thinking. Something so ingrained in him, his body moved without thinking because it was all he wanted to do. He had never regretted a save, never tried to convince himself that he didn’t need to do this, or even ever had to question whether this was the right thing to do.

Now, it seemed like Izuku was questioning every second action. He didn’t regret stopping that mugger and making sure the woman was safe, but the drunk men? The boys cat? Were these things he wanted to do? Were they even things he had to? All Might had been his hero for his entire life, but the crucial turning point was when Izuku was forced to humanise him. When he learned about Toshinori’s suicidal tendencies, when he watched Toshinori almost die from overuse of his quirk trying to save Kacchan, when he admitted to Izuku that it was singularly hard being number one. 

Had Toshinori ever really left him with a legacy to protect?

And even if he did, what legacy was he really protecting? Was it the tireless hero who won every fight and hid his pain behind a smile and a life of loneliness? Or was it the old man who found peace and comfort among his peers, his students, within Izuku and Katsuki and smiled in the face of world-ending danger because he was having fun again? Wasn’t that All Mights' entire philosophy? To save with a smile, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. A memory played in his mind, a snippet of a conversation with the old man from when he was a teacher. 

“Somewhere along the way,” All Might had said, sitting opposite Izuku in his little office in UA, “it wasn’t fun anymore. Saving, I mean. I was forcing myself to smile, forcing myself to be this symbol of peace that everyone was looking for. Hero work didn’t feel like it was for me anymore, and I was worse because of it. A worse hero, a worse student than my own mentor. You’ve asked me before why I never married, why I didn’t really have anyone before you came into my life?” 

Izuku had nodded, twisting his fingers together, unsure of where this was going but already feeling the dread build up in his chest. “You said it was because AFO would target anyone you loved and try to kill them.

“Yeah,” All Might confirmed, “that’s true, but it wasn’t the only reason. There was… a lot of fear. About whether I could ever choose another person over the job, that I would become a worse hero if I shared the space my people took in my heart with a singular person.” Toshinori shook his head ruefully, “It’s not true, though. I’m a better hero now. Because I have you, and I love you. Loving you, knowing you love me, having a son to care for has made me better.” He had reached over and ruffled Izuku’s hair, “I’m just glad I realised it now instead of on my deathbed,” he laughed.

It had been a startling wake-up call then. A reminder that even his idol, his hero, was subject to the pressures of the society they inhabited. And now? As he was pushing himself harder than Toshinori ever had, trying to live up to that impossible standard, a voice whispered in his head that maybe the standard he was trying to reach was not one imposed by Toshinori himself, but rather by those who only saw him as a hero. A figurehead. The war hero, Japan's Golden Boy, The Number One Hero.

“Deku,” the voice of one of his sidekicks crackled in his earpiece. “The villains changed directions, sir. He’s heading your way.” 

Izuku lit up almost instantly. Finally, some good luck. A chance to finish this once and for all. It was definitely his reward for being so patient, so willing to help. The sudden burst of adrenaline pushed his introspective thoughts to the back. This was definitely the right thing to do. Izuku changed directions to cut the villain off. This was good, this was it, he was going to catch his villain and go home in time. He would prove Tomura wrong, he would prove he was the right choice to carry on All Might's legacy, he would prove that he didn’t have to pick one above the other. Everything could be special, everything could be important, and he would be able to do justice to all of it. 

Izuku crossed over to the street the speedster would have to go down and found a vantage point to hide near. The villain would be there in maybe fifteen minutes, and then Izuku could go home to Kacchan. Keep all three promises. 

You know you can’t.

“Can you just leave me alone?” He snapped, kicking a nearby garbage bin so hard the metal dented. “I get it. You hate me, you cursed me because you hate me. You don’t have to hang around like a reminder of that. I’m never going to forget… or forgive myself,” he added quietly. 

Hate you?

“Man, just screw off.”

It was quiet for a moment, so quiet that Izuku considered turning to look at where the ghost had appeared to check if he had left. Could Izuku have really gotten so lucky that his ghost actually listened to him for once?

You know, of course not, I’m not trying to hurt you.

Izuku snorted, “Yeah? Then what are you doing, encouraging me?”

I don’t know, sounding almost unsure. I thought tough love worked on you, I wasn’t… I was just trying to help…

Izuku did turn around this time, staring at the ghost with wide, surprised eyes. “Help?”

Yeah… he trailed off once more. When Tomura met Izuku’s eyes, he could see a sort of sadness swirling in them, almost as if he was telling the truth about wanting to help. Had Izuku really just misunderstood his ghostly companion this entire time? It wasn’t meant to be a curse, you know.

“What do you mean?” Izuku asked, even though he knew full well what Tomura was referring to.

What I said to you at the end. It wasn’t supposed to be a curse. You’ve forgotten a lot about that fight, haven’t you?

Izuku opened his mouth to respond, to demand exactly what Tomura meant by his words then. If it wasn’t a curse, it wasn’t a way to damn him to inadequacy forever, then what was the purpose? He almost got the words out before his tracker in his arms started beeping, alerting him to the villain arriving soon. He clamped his mouth shut, as he flipped he panel closed and looked up again, only to find Tomura wasn’t there anymore. 

Izuku’s fists closed tight, and he noisily stomped out of the alley. He hoped the villain was willing to fight, hoped that he would have an excuse to break something other than the garbage bin he dented earlier.

“Oh, young man, do you think you could help me carry these inside?”

No no no no no no no. Izuku’s internal monologue came to a screeching halt as a soft, elderly voice called out to him from behind. He turned slowly, his mind screaming at him to keep moving. Warning him that he wouldn’t make it if he didn’t leave right now. 

“Of course, Ma’am.” 

Izuku could practically see Tomura smacking himself on the forehead. 

It took five minutes to carry all of the ladies' shopping bags from inside the car to her home, and another two minutes while she expressed her gratitude. By the time he finally ran off in the direction of the villain, he knew he was too late. He had screwed it up. The advantage he had, the reward for being a good person, for solving all the problems and meeting every demand, had been squandered, and now he wouldn’t make it. 

Izuku looked down at the screen embedded in his forearm as he ran, and he nearly started crying when he realised the villain had changed directions again, his frustration peaking. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore. There was no way he could do both. The villain was winding and twisting through the streets, speeding up with every meter he covered. If Izuku continued the chase, he wouldn’t make it back home. He had to choose. Izuku had to pick between a promise that was quickly unravelling in his mind and the one made to the man he loved, and the options were closing in around him like a rapidly shrinking room. 

It was getting harder to breathe, and not just because he was running. It was a familiar pressure. The weight on his chest, the tingling in his fingers and the taste of iron in his mouth. A panic attack was coming; he knew it was coming. Izuku could feel it from a mile out, like a lifeguard tracking an incoming storm. His breathing picked up pace with every step until he felt like his throat had closed up completely.

He was forced to stop. Izuku couldn’t move anymore. He was gasping for air, hands tugging at the metal around his neck as though trying to rip it off with his bear hands. Izuku banged on the metal on his chest, trying to regulate his breathing. Mirai buzzed to life, kicking into protection mode and checking whether she should disengage. Izuku couldn’t answer; he couldn’t even think about it, and could barely hear her. 

All he could hear was the loud, incessant cheering of the crowd. He needed to fix it. He needed to solve this problem, needed to figure out how to do both, how to do it all. How to get the guys their cab, how to stop the mugger and get the cat from the tree, he needed to carry the groceries, and do his best, and prove he was worth the title of successor. He had to solve the problem. 

The problem, the fucking problem, he didn’t even know what the problem was anymore. 

I’ll tell you what the problem is, my friends. Izuku's problem, the great, big problem that Number One Hero Deku, Japan’s Golden Boy, The One For All Hero, and resident Nice Guy Next Door couldn’t seem to figure out was why that cup would never fill more than halfway. 

No matter how hard he worked, how many people he saved or how many hours he put into the job, the cup remained halfway empty. It didn’t seem to matter how polite or accommodating he was, it didn’t matter how good a fighter he was, or how willing he was to sacrifice his own happiness for the greater good; the cup wouldn’t fill, and it was driving Izuku mad trying to figure out what he was supposed to do.

All Might didn’t leave him with a set of instructions on how to fulfil this legacy; Tomura didn’t tell him what he had to do his best regarding. Both these earth-shattering expectations were placed on him with no guidebook or even a roadmap. 

When people talked to him about Shigaraki, they always expressed a sort of envy. Like they couldn’t believe that the man Izuku killed had left him with such a kind and supportive set of final words. Izuku had always wanted to laugh in their face every time they suggested it. At All Might's funeral, the guests had expressed a similar kind of sentiment. This legacy, this connection to a man so great, so beloved, was a gift. Everyone was convinced that two of the biggest influences on Izuku’s heroic identity left him with a strong base to rely on when things got tough. 

In reality, both Tomura’s last words and All Might's legacy felt like curses. The promises he was beholden to, to save and to honour, were pressure and nothing but.

They kept him trapped in this constant state of movement, a constant running clock that got faster with every year that passed, and Izuku was running out of time. He was running out of time to complete the mission Tomura gave him, and he was running out of time to validate his idol's legacy being left to him. Izuku was stuck in quicksand, and the hands everyone else thought were pulling him up were actually the ones pushing him deeper in.

And then the clock struck eleven. 

He hadn’t realised it yet, but where he had stopped to calm himself against his panic attack was in front of a giant shop window. A clock shop, to be specific. Izuku turned to look at where the noise came from and was greeted by a window littered with clocks. Big circular wall pieces, novelty cocks, alarm clocks, and even a grandfather clock off to the side. There were at least fifteen different timepieces in that window, and every single one showed him the same thing. 

[11:00]

One hour left. Thirty minutes to catch the villain, another thirty to get home. He could do it, couldn’t he? He had to do it. The cup could never be full if he backed out now; he couldn’t- Izuku’s eyes refocused, this time on his reflection in the mirror. 

On the suit he wore, on the exhaustion on his face, and a third promise echoed in his mind. With it came the thoughts he had been avoiding all night.

“I’m a better hero now. Because I have you, and I love you.”

It wasn’t meant to be a curse’

And finally, maybe most importantly, “Be home by twelve.”

Simple. Direct. Not a promise to keep moving, but rather, something that demanded nothing of him but to return. To come home. To rest. There was a third clock. One that was draped over him like a warm shawl in the winter or nestled in his palm like a hot drink. 

He needed to go home. 

What’s your priority, Izuku?

Tomura didn’t sound angry this time. He wasn’t making fun of or teasing Izuku. He sounded sad, like he had only just realised that Izuku wasn’t trying to be some great idol out of a need to be the best, but because he couldn’t remember what any of it meant anymore. It was almost as though seeing Izuku run himself into the ground was hurting him. 

Izuku’s thoughts drifted back to that conversation in Toshinori’s office. To the bento boxes he made for Izuku in school, to the hours spent in his office just catching up, to the evenings in the park, to the family dinners, and knitted scarves and a soft, warm hand ruffling his hair. 

It was never about catching a villain or satisfying everyone. None of it had ever been about being perfect. There was no inherited legacy or expectation to fulfil. There was love. There was a whole lot more love than Izuku had ever known what to do with, and in the constant noise of everyone’s eyes on him, he had forgotten about the central warmth of Toshinori’s arms wrapped around him, promising him that he was safe. That it was okay to just be alive, to just be happy. 

Izuku had focused so hard on Tomura’s last words that he had forgotten about everything that came before it. His final wish, the moments of humanity that had finally allowed Izuku to understand Tomura as more than a villain, more than a victim to save. Tomura had wished for his friend to know that he had stayed true to their mission to the very end. His deepest wish was to see the League of Villains once more, to be their hero. His smile at the end of everything, resigned and accepting. Like he knew that things would repeat as they always did, but he didn’t blame Izuku for it; he only wished for Izuku to keep trying. To keep doing his best. 

They were never curses. They were reminders for him to live. Reminders that without love, without the people we loved and those who love us, we’re nothing. Toshinori’s legacy wasn’t to be the next symbol of peace or the next number one; it was threaded between Kacchan’s fingers when he washed Izuku’s hair for him, in the eyes of his students when he paused classes to tell them a story and in the peace in his chest after saving someone. 

Tomura did not want him to run himself into the ground because that wasn’t his best. He wasn’t at his best right now, and neither was Tomura back then. Not when all he could focus on was becoming the symbol of fear. That critical moment of connection sprang to the forefront of Izuku’s mind as his breathing evened out. When they had seen each other as boys. Beyond the hero and villain, beyond the quirks and agendas. Just as two little boys who both wanted to play heroes with their friends, who wanted to help, and live and most importantly, to be loved.

It wasn’t a demand or a cup to be filled. It was trust, and trust could never be a curse. 

“I need to go home,” He said aloud, realising that Tomura was no longer there as he did.

Home to the person who trusted him, the person who loved Izuku as easily as he breathed, to the person who let him stand still and covered Izuku with his body when the rest of the world pushed too hard. He needed to go home to Kacchan. 

“Mist,” he spoke into his intercom. 

All three of his sidekicks came on the line immediately. “Yes, sir?” Mist, a boy with a distortion quirk, asked.

“I’m leaving the chase to you guys.”

“What?” 

“But sir-”

“No buts. It should have been your collar in the first place. You don’t need me for stuff like this. I’ve trained you, I know what you can do and how good you are. Believe in yourself. I do.” 

Izuku waited until he heard three sharp, strong voices echo their understanding, and the intercoms went quiet again. 

“Mirai,” Izuku called, smiling to himself when the AI buzzed to life. “Cancel the reminder for eleven thirty. Find me the fastest route home.”

-

One of the big things he had looked for when picking an apartment was whether the building had a good terrace or not. There was a practical reasoning for it, like there always is with Katsuki, easy for them to come and go when they were in their hero suits, made flying in and out easy, but the real reason. The thing that had really drawn him to this building, more than its location or facilities, was because of the view of the city that sprawled out in front of him when he was up on the terrace. 

Katsuki could fly; his quirk made it so that if he wanted to, he could blast off into the air, far away from everyone else and shoot across the sky like a star. It wasn’t about flight, it wasn’t even about being above other people like some of his friends suggested. For Katsuki, the terrace was about peace. The city was too far away for him to see anything go wrong. Up on that terrace, where he could just stand still and watch the lights of the city sparkling lazily against the night sky, he always felt a profound sense of peace. 

Of course, peace never lasts. He learned that after the war. Katsuki fished his phone out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear, “Hey.”

“Katsukiii!” Ochako exclaimed as soon as he picked up.

He could hear the chaos happening behind her, children screaming for each other, laughter, and small footsteps beating against the ground as they moved around. Katsuki shivered as he leaned forward against the railing, resting his forearms on the bar. He didn’t know how she did it. Dealing with kids every single day. It’s not like Katsuki hated kids or anything; they were cute, and he had a few cousins he liked enough. Kyoka’s younger sister was great too. 

But Ochako? That woman was surrounded by children of all ages constantly, from morning to night sometimes. Her quirk rehab program, the multiple internships she oversaw personally, and most recently, the shelter. It was a brilliant idea. Something so deeply empathetic and focused, it cut through all the bullshit and got right to the heart of what mattered. Protecting the vulnerable. 

It had started slowly; they weren’t really sure where to begin when the problem of children being exploited and abused for their quirks was so widespread. With time, though, she created a reliable, tightly knit network of enough counsellors, social service workers, active heroes and local non-profits that focused on children, and everyone came together with one purpose. To help. To carry out Ochako’s vision and cut the number of kids who were put in harm's way because of their dispositions in half. 

She was a bigger hero than any of them, constantly in trouble with the brass, facing down public scrutiny for “trying to break up families”, but she never backed down. Never moved away from her goal, even if it left her with little time for anything else. 

“You drunk already, Cheeks?” Katsuki asked with a slight chuckle. He could picture her in his head, her face flushed and puffy, those permanent blush spots on the apples of her cheeks burning red instead of their usual dusty pink and most damningly, her eyes would droop. Izuku and Ochako shared many similarities, especially when it came to their appearances, but Katsuki had always found it especially strange how similar they looked when they were drunk. 

“No, I am not.” She stated firmly, though she did devolve into a fit of giggles after, “Okay, maybe a little bit.”

“Figures,” he replied, though the fondness in his voice was clear. “Why didn’t you just come here if you were gonna get drunk anyway?”

“I tooold youuu,” Ochako drawled, “I already committed to a party here at the office, couldn’t just ditch it last minute, could I?”

Katsuki chewed on her words for a minute, thinking how much it would drive him up the wall if someone cancelled on his last minute and nodded, “Yeah, no, you gotta stick it out.”

“You always get it, Katsu.” 

“Hmm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

“I know that sigh, something's wrong. What is it?”

Katsuki sighed again. He needed to stop befriending such perceptive, intimidating women, or at least he needed to learn how to tell them to fuck off. “It’s just the party’s stressing me out,” he said. It wasn’t a total lie, just a half-truth. Something to tide her over until he was ready to talk more.

“Yeah?” She asked, and Katsuki could hear the background noise dulling until it disappeared entirely. “What about the party?”

Katsuki wished she had just stayed in the noise and chaos. This silence on both their ends felt too intimate, like she was cornering him and trying to dig the truth out. “The usual stuff, you know how it is. Not enough mixers, broken glass, drunken arguments. It’s been a long night.”

“Where’s Izuku?” Ochako asked, cutting through the bullshit, as she’s known to do, and getting right to the thing Katsuki was hiding in his casual revelations. “Thought he handled the mood making?” 

Katsuki bit down on his bottom lip as silence extended over the line. “He had to step out.” 

“Oh? How come?” 

Silence again. He knew she was fishing, and she knew that he knew. Still, Ochako’s policy was raw honesty, even if it was painful, especially then. 

“He got called in for a job,” Katsuki finally admitted, holding back a sigh he could feel building in his chest, not wanting to give her more ammo. 

“Hm.”

“Don’t ‘hm’ me,” Katsuki snapped back defensively, “you’re the worst workaholic I know. You’re literally calling me from a work party right now, so of all people-”

“I’m not a workaholic,” Ochako cut him off, sensing that the blame game would go in circles for as long as she indulged whatever insecurity Katsuki was dealing with just then. “I like my work. I care about my work, and it brings me joy, so I do my work. That’s not being a workaholic.”

“You prioritise work over literally everything, Ocha,” Katsuki argued back, “how is that anything but being a workaholic? You’re not here right now because you’re at a work thing.”

“I don’t prioritise work over everything,” she corrected, “I prioritise my dream over everything else. Love.” 

Katsuki scoffed, “You’re just making excuses.”

“Katsuki,” she began softly, “why do you think I spend so much time working?”

He shrugged, “'Cause you’re running from something. People who bury themselves in work are always running away and using it to bandage over things they’re not ready to deal with,” Katsuki stated, trying to ignore the irony of him saying that. 

“Usually, yeah,” she agreed, “but that’s not why I’m doing it.” When she heard him scoff again, she pushed back, “I’ve told you why I started the program, right?”

“To make sure kids struggling with their quirks don’t face the kind of isolation and hate from society that created the League,” he recited, “yeah, I know. You talk about it all the time. I was there at the pitch meeting.”

“That’s the pitch, yeah, do you know where it comes from though?” Ochako asked, “Have I told you about Himiko?”

The silence returned. Of course, Katsuki knew about Himiko Toga. The greatest love and most poignant failure of Ochako Uraraka’s life. The girl who gave up her life to save her, the girl who helped her realise who she really was, what love really meant and shaped her life for the past decade. There was no bigger shadow, except perhaps that of Shigaraki over Izuku. 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I remember.”

“I work so hard because it’s my way to honour her. It’s the only connection I have to her, so yeah, I work really hard. Spend a lot of my time here and prioritise it over most everything else, but…” Ochako trailed off, and Katsuki thought he heard her sniffle, “It’s not because I’m running, or even because I like being so busy all the time. I’m prioritising her. It makes me happy to see the program flourish. There’s a warmth in my chest when kids come up to me, healthy and well-fed, with bright smiles on their faces. I couldn’t save the girl I loved, so I’m prioritising my promise to her. Keeping her memory alive.” 

“Ocha…” Katsuki didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected her to get so honest with him, to call him out so explicitly without even saying anything about him. 

“It’s alright,” Ochako assured him. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Now, are you gonna tell me what’s got you upset and projecting onto me?”

Katsuki took a deep, shuddering breath as he considered her question. What was he truly upset about? It wasn’t about Izuku leaving, not mainly anyway. His conversation with Kyoka and the realisation that Izuku was struggling just as much as he was had deflated that irrational bout of anger. Now… well, now he just missed him. 

Katsuki missed Izuku, and he didn’t know what to do about it. 

“I miss him, ocha,” he confessed in a small, almost childish voice. 

“Why didn’t you go with him?” She asked, her tone non-judgmental, purely inquisitive. 

“He told me not to.”

“When has that ever stopped you before?”

Katsuki opened his mouth to retort, but found himself unable to argue with her. Instead, he thought about it again. What was it really that made him concede so easily? Was it really because he had believed Izuku about the emergency back then? Was he angry at him for leaving? 

“The party,” He whispered aloud, meant only for his own ears.

“The party?” Of course, she heard.

“I couldn’t- fuck, I couldn’t just leave.” 

Six months of neurosis came crashing down on his head as the admission crossed his lips. That really was it, wasn’t it? He couldn’t leave. Even if he wanted to. Even if every fibre of his being ached and yearned to be out there with Izuku. To be anywhere with Izuku, he just couldn’t abandon his party and leave. 

“Why?” Ochako probed when his pause stretched on. “Surely it would’ve gotten done faster if the two of you had gone together, and you could have come home to the party. Plus, Jirou is there, isn’t she? I know you trust her to handle things. Why couldn’t you leave?” 

Ochako’s questions were like knives slicing away at Katsuki’s skin, the serrated edge cutting pieces away until he stood stinging and exposed. 

“I just… I couldn’t,” he repeated, biting down on his lip until it bled.

“But why Katsuki?” 

“I- fuck, Ochako!” He exclaimed, eyes stinging with unshed tears, “What do you want me to say here, man? That I needed to make sure everything went perfectly? That I didn’t want to risk all my hard work going to waste?” Katsuki demanded.

He had begun to pace now, walking the length of his peaceful terrace, now turned into a warzone.

“Do you want to hear that I’m afraid it would all go to shit if I left? That my plan would be ruined and nothing would be okay again?”

“What are you scared of, Katsuki?” Ochako asked again, undeterred by his outburst. “Behind all of that, under the worry about there being enough drinks and missing out. What are you really, truly scared of?”

“FUCK- OF LOSING CONTROL!” 

The silence afterwards was deafening. Like a bomb had gone off, and the earth itself was reeling from the effect. Katsuki’s heart had sped up dramatically to a suffocating pace, and only now that he had said the thing he needed to, did he realise that the heart monitor on his wrist was seconds away from alerting emergency services. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath as he turned the monitor off, assuring it he was alive and didn’t need an ambulance. 

“So?” Ochako urged, clearly still not satisfied.

Katsuki groaned loudly, sitting down on the floor of the terrace and leaning back against the wall. “After Toshinori died,” He began, too exhausted now to fight back, to keep lying. 

“Everything felt like it was speeding up. Like, suddenly anything could happen, and anyone could go. He was my first death, ya know,” Katsuki said, sighing and running a hand through his hair. The phone had been put on speaker and placed on the floor between his feet. “I mean, someone who felt real. Whose absence I felt all around me. He’s the first to leave, and I keep waiting for him to come back.” 

Katsuki chuckled, memories of Toshinori on a loop in his mind. “Sometimes I’ll hear a knock on the front door on a Sunday and hope it’s him there with pastries, or when the girl at the reception at my agency tells me an old hero is there to see me…” he sighed, “but it’s never him. Obviously, it’s never him. We buried him. Gave long eulogies and talked to like three dozen people who loved him too, but still, fuck. It doesn’t feel like it’s over, Ochako.”

“That happens,” she finally spoke, “when someone you love dies, you don’t ever really stop looking for them. Waiting for them to come back by some miracle or other.”

Katsuki hummed in response, rubbing his eyes with the fleshy part of his palms. 

“Katsuki,” Ochako called hesitantly.

“Yeah?” 

“Can I suggest something? You can tell me to fuck off.” 

He squinted at the phone, already wary of whatever she was going to say, but curious to know. “Go on.”

Katsuki could hear her take a deep breath through the phone and steeled himself for whatever follow-up bomb she was about to drop. 

“Do you think, maybe, that All Mights' death is where this paralysing fear of losing control is coming from?” She asked tentatively. 

Katsuki’s eyebrows furrowed together as he considered her words, “How?” He asked at last. 

“Like when he died, he just passed in his sleep, right? No explosions or boss fights. Just a quiet, peaceful transition from our plane of existence into another. When that happened, do you think this fear you have, of death, of losing control, of never seeing a person you wanted there forever again, maybe all those fears crystallised into one big thing?” 

Katsuki listened in silence as Ochako unravelled the knotted web of fears and insecurities he had been carrying for the past six months. That was it. She had put it all out on the table for him and was guiding his hand, showing him exactly what to connect and where. She was teaching him. 

Katsuki shook his head, “What do I do when this happens again?” He asked, “Toshinori, he… he was the greatest. Is the greatest. And he just… left… He was here one day and gone the next, and I just- I don’t know how to deal with that. How do I prepare for that Ocha? What if Izuku just leaves? What if, like Toshinori, everything slips out of my hands and through the cracks? Everything is moving so fast, and I think— I figured that if I could just control the little things; make sure the chips were stocked and the pillows fluffed, I could do the rest too.”

“You know, sometimes Izuku says we're too similar?” She told him with a small laugh, “I’ve never really seen it, but this is too uncanny.” 

“What are you talking about, Cheeks?” Katsuki asked.

He and Ochako? Similar? He hadn’t ever once considered it. She was much brighter, more fun. Easy-going and easy to get along with. Ochako was everything Katsuki knew he should be but would never try to be. 

“When Himiko died,” she said instead of answering him directly, “back in school. I felt the same way. Completely lost and alone. Angry at the world for forcing me to go along with its plans. I was so angry for so long, god, I was angry with you too. For getting to live, to come back when Himiko couldn’t.” 

Katsuki chuckled; he knew about this. Izuku had told him once, while drunk and weepy, confessing that he had felt real hatred for his best friend when she expressed that distaste for Katsuki many moons ago. 

“It was like I needed to grab everything I could, people, feelings, control. I so desperately needed to control everything cause I felt like if I didn’t, everything else would fall apart too. When she died, when she gave me all her blood, I tried to stop her. I tried to convince her to stop, to keep it for herself, but she wouldn’t listen, and my limbs wouldn’t work. Nothing would work except my voice, and Himiko wouldn’t listen, no matter how loud I screamed or how hard I begged. I didn’t want to be that helpless again.” Ochako finished. 

“What did you do?” Katsuki asked in a hushed tone. 

“Honestly? I crashed and burned,” Ochako said, laughing. “I don’t know if you remember, but I got… really intense in second year. About grades, group projects, I think I nearly broke Kaminari’s arm in the wrestling contest during the Sports Festival, and to be honest, I didn’t really care about any of those things. I was so numb. For most of school after the war, I was just cold, and I couldn’t get warm no matter how hard I tried, so I tried to care about everything else. If everything else were perfect and I could control how everything went outside, then I could believe that one day, eventually, I’d be able to control myself and my emotions too.”

The tension between his eyebrows eased as he listened to her. For the first time, in maybe his entire life, he felt understood. Not in the way Izuku or Kyoka understood him, Ochako didn’t understand him because she loved him and wanted to. No, Ochako wasn’t trying to figure him out so she could love him better or support him. Ochako’s understanding of him came to him like a reflection. Like she understood herself, and through that, she was able to hold the mirror up for him. 

“What did you do?” He asked, more willing to listen to her than he had ever been to anyone else, “You’re not like that anymore- or at least, you don’t seem like you are so… how’d you fix it?”

“I didn’t really,” was Ochako’s response, “I mean, I’m not still like that. I don’t start hyperventilating if things go wrong, and I’m not basing my entire self-worth on plans working out perfectly, but that doesn’t mean I fixed anything. I don’t really think there was anything to be fixed. It wasn’t bad behaviour or something done with malicious intent, it was just– it was a coping mechanism.” 

Katsuki nodded as she spoke. Maybe she had a point. Maybe the first step to reach whatever equilibrium Ochako seems to have understood started with being a little easier on himself. A memory that hadn’t resurfaced for many years now pushed its way to the front, something he hadn’t thought about for so long that it was barely visible. Something Toshinori said to him.

“I concentrated too much on that strength; I let you bear too much. You’re a boy, too.”

It was the first time Toshinori had ever really talked to Katsuki, behind the armour of his hero persona and seeing Katsuki as someone more than just a powerful hero in training. The sentiment had pissed him off back then, coming right after a fight with Izuku that made him realise just how strong the other boy really was. That fight back on ground beta was the start of Izuku and Katsuki finally understanding each other properly, even though their walls were still up, everything had truly started to change after that night. And Toshinori had told him those words at the end of that very fight. 

Taking on responsibility, quietly dealing with insecurity and fear until it boiled over, accepting that his life was not meant to come easily, he had always just figured these were part of his birthright. Things that came along with being powerful, with wanting greatness. When Toshinori had called him just a boy back then, he validated that Katsuki was more than his strength. It had pissed him off, but… 

“I think I’ve always been like that,” Katsuki confessed, “I’ve always wanted to be the best, the strongest and somewhere along the way I figured that applies to my emotions too. Like allowing them to go out of control, to wreak havoc outside my mind, was weakness but being able to keep the lid on, no matter how much it wrecked me inside, was a strength. Toshinori tried to warn me against that back in school.” 

“He was always really perceptive,” Ochako replied, sighing wistfully. “You know, after the war, he had pulled me aside one day to ask me about Himiko?”

“He did?” Katsuki asked, surprised. 

She chuckled, “Yeah. He said he didn’t really know what it was that I was dealing with or what Himiko meant to me, but he said something that really helped me back then.”

“Well, spit it out, Cheeks,” Katsuki urged impatiently. 

“Oh my God, be calm,” she teased before sobering up once more, “He told me this story about his mentor, Nana Shimura, and how after losing her to AFO, he had started racing against time. Trying to control everything, be everything. He pushed everyone away, created a wall around himself so he would never be victimised by time or circumstance ever again.” Ochako paused, waiting for Katsuki to respond. When he didn’t, she pushed, “Remind you of anyone?”

“Shut up,” Katsuki grumbled, though a warmth had settled in his chest as the realisation sank in that what he was feeling. His fears, his insecurities, none of it was new or specific to him. Maybe if people like Toshinori and Ochako, people who were undoubtedly, intrinsically good, maybe if people like them felt these things too, then maybe he was more human than he realised. “Finish the story, what’d he say?

“Well, he was running and running, pushing himself so far that he was already on the absolute verge long before any of us even met him and then– then he met Izuku. He told me that Izuku allowed love back into his life, and with that, a sense of acceptance about time. I still remember the exact words, actually. I had started crying at some point, and he put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing in that reassuring way he used to do and said, ‘Trying so hard to control everything, to outrun the passage of time is the best way to lose it. All we really have in this life is each other, is love.” 

Katsuki laughed, his voice muffled with the tears that had filled up his throat and eyes. “Fucking sappy old man.” 

Ochako sniffled on the other end of the line, too, “He really was, wasn’t he?”

They were silent for a while, each one lost in their memories of this hero who had done so much for so many people, who had saved so many lives, but for them? For his students? His kids? The man, Toshinori, had done more for those kids than the hero, All Might, ever did. 

“Katsuki,” Ochako called one last time as the noise behind her ramped up once more. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re so lucky.” She said, “The person you’re sharing a life with is the same person you’ve spent your life wanting, don’t lose that because you’re scared. Time is the only thing we have, don’t waste it trying to control the things that don’t matter.” 

“Y-yeah,” Katsuki choked out, his face blushing at the directness of her advice. 

“Goodnight, Katsu, Happy New Year.”

His phone screen lit up when she hung up, the black lettering of his clock display drawing his attention immediately. 

[11:15]

-

As it turns out, the fastest route home was for Izuku to fly. It would enable him to avoid both the vehicular and foot traffic New Year's Eve always brought about, and there would be absolutely no risk of not making it home on time. Really, flying is his best bet. The problem, though, as Izuku had just realised, moments before we got here, actually, is that his thrusters aren’t working. 

I can hear you groaning and getting ready to throw your popcorn at me, but this isn’t my fault! See, what happened is that Izuku had damaged his feet thrusters, the ones that help him mimic Float, a few weeks ago during a mission with Shoto. Something about his ice getting stuck in them. Did Izuku know about the thrusters being damaged? Yes. Did Katsuki tell him to get them fixed? Also yes. Has he done it yet? That would be a resounding (and quite expected) no. 

So if you’re going to be throwing popcorn at anyone, it really should be at Izuku Midoriya. 

But fear not! Izuku has multiple options of transport in his suit. He’s a busy hero after all, he can’t possibly be bogged down by something as silly as malfunctioning thrusters, can he? 

“Mirai,” Izuku called, “recalculate the route based on Blackwhip.” 

The new way home was fed into his earpiece almost immediately, and Izuku wasted no more time. He only had about an hour left to reach their doorstep, and he was at least thirty minutes away. There really wasn’t any more time left for introspection or unnecessary saved. He needed to get a move on! And that’s what he did. As soon as the new route was clear to him, Izuku deployed Blackwhip, the end of the tendril wrapping around a lampost and propelling him into the air. 

He was moving fast. Faster than he would dare to usually, without the help of Float to stabilise him, but this was an emergency, dammit! Izuku had calculated that if he kept moving at the pace he was at, he would reach Shiodome by eleven thirty at the latest, and once he was there, he could apologise for all of it. Sweep Kacchan into his arms and kiss him until they both passed out or Kacchan knocked him out, whichever came first. All he had to do was get home.

Izuku had just made it out of Yotsuya, swinging, unfortunately, into Kabukicho when he heard the first call of his hero name. It rang through the crowded streets like a death knell. That first call for his attention was immediately followed by an entire cacophony of voices demanding pictures and autographs, asking him why he was here, asking him if they were safe, asking him where Kacchan was. Worst of all was that, accompanying the revelry, indignant yelling had begun. One look down into the crowd, and Izuku could immediately tell that the sight of him had brought people on the ground to a dead halt, causing people behind them to bang into them and stop the foot traffic. 

This was a disaster just waiting to happen. Shinjuku as a whole during New Year’s Eve was an impossible-to-control mess, but Kabukicho especially was always entirely populated by drunk young people, all itching to let out the pressures of the year and have fun. He realised in that moment that he needed to get out of the air. He couldn’t be drawing this much attention to himself, not when the entire city seemed to be out on the streets tonight. 

Izuku changed directions instantly, moving towards the subway station instead and ignoring the calls of fans that followed him. He needed to get out of the suit and then get out of the air. There was no way he was going to make it anywhere if he stopped or was stopped for anything. 

As he swung over, he found a building that was in the middle of construction, abandoned and dark, perfect for him, and dropped in. He had never changed out of his suit faster. He took off the smaller pieces before disengaging it and allowing it to turn back into the briefcase form it took while resting. A relieved sigh escaped his lips once the heavy metal armour was shed and he was left standing in sweatpants and a T-shirt. 

Thank God, I didn’t go with the underarmour, He thought to himself as he ran out of the abandoned building. A camera flashed by the entrance, no doubt catching him for trespassing, but he didn’t have time for that now. Izuku spilt out onto the busy street, looking around for a cab, only to quickly realise that it would be no use anyway. The streets were far too crowded for any vehicle to make it through with any kind of speed. He couldn’t run all the way there; he’d never make it through his mess, and he wasn’t too keen on equipping his speed boosters in Shinjuku. 

He turned towards the largest concentration of the crowd and swallowed hard. The subway. It was the only option left. Izuku pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time, [11:10]. It was a forty-minute train ride from Shinjuku to Shiodome. As long as nothing else got in his way, he could make it to the party at twelve on the dot. Izuku started running. 

He elbowed his way through the crowd, pushing people out of the way and yelling apologies as he raced towards the station. The concentration of drunk NYE celebrators got thicker with every step he took, but he couldn’t let it deter him. There was far too much on the line for a measly crowd to stop him. 

By the time Izuku had forced his way into the station, he was panting and sweaty, his heart beat in his ears like a battle drum, reminding him with every thud that time was running out, too. Izuku heard the train pulling in before he saw it, and he was moving again. The brief four seconds of breathing room were overshadowed by the desperation in his strides, as he yelled and begged people to get out of his way.

“MOVE GODDAMIT I NEED TO GET THROUGH!” Izuku screamed and barreled straight through a group of teen boys who were trying to count their money. “SORRY,” he yelled back, though between you and me, he neither sounded nor felt very apologetic. 

Reader, let’s rejoice because Izuku Midoriya has just slipped through the doors as they began to slide shut, falling against a much larger man who frowned at him and pushed him off. He could have cried from relief as the doors closed and the announcer called out the next station. Nothing could stop him now. He was on the train, and it would take 30 minutes to reach Shiodome. He would make it. He was going to keep his promise to Kacchan.

Izuku pushed his way to the back, slumping against the wall and running a hand through his wet, messy hair. He probably looked like an absolute wreck after spending the past few hours doing miscellaneous hero work, chasing a villain, having and getting over a panic attack and now fighting his way through the Shinjuku NYE crowd.

Kacchan wouldn’t mind, right?

Now that he was standing still, his brain had finally caught up with his body, and the needling thought that he had managed to keep at bay all this time flared up.

Is Kacchan going to be angry?

Izuku’s skin prickled with nerves immediately, sending his thoughts stampeding over each other worse than the world outside those sliding doors. He was so late, he was going to show up at their party messy and disgusting and so late. Izuku missed pretty much the entire party. He had left Kacchan alone to deal with everything, even though he knew that Kacchan didn’t like parties, and he hadn’t even caught the villain. Izuku hadn’t even completed his mission, which he left for after lying to Kacchan, and now he was going to go show up late, smelly, dirty, and a failure. 

Kacchan was going to kill him.

The train seemed to drag on forever. Every stop and start reinforced Izuku’s fear of being too late. That even though he had turned around and picked his priority, he was still going to ruin it all by realising too late. 

He considered jumping out, just making a mad dash, maybe he knew he wouldn’t get there faster. In the back of his mind, he even encouraged the idea of running away from Kacchan’s righteous anger. From his disappointment and the hurt in his eyes. 

By the time the unthinkable happened, Izuku was a pile of nerves coiled tighter than a den of snakes in the winter.

The subway came to a sudden, screeching halt, and Izuku jumped to his feet, ready to spring into action if necessary. Before he could move, though, the automated voice came through the speakers again, informing everyone that there were some people causing a ruckus on the tracks and the trains would be stopped indefinitely until they were removed. 

Izuku looked down at the briefcase holding his suit and frowned. He should help. That’s what he should do, that’s what he knows is expected of him, but…

His eyes drifted to the time stamp on the train's display. 

[11:20]

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, peering up at the display. They were at Kasumigaseki already. Izuku could still make it if he ran; his thrusters would give him enough of a boost, and now that they were out of Shinjuku, the crowd wouldn’t be so mad he couldn’t move anymore. He turned his gaze back to the anxious subway crowd and then at the suit again. 

He should stay. Should help. But fuck if he wanted to go. 

No. There was no other choice here. 

Izuku was gone before he could think himself back into a corner. He had hit the emergency button to open the doors and jumped out, equipping the boots of his super suit as he landed on the ground. 

“Kanuki,” Izuku called, tapping on his earpiece to call his recon team, “can you send any hero available near Kasumigeki to the station? There are some drunks on the track and holding up the train.”

“Already done, boss,” came the reply immediately. 

Izuku wasted no more time, and he shot off down the road in the direction of Shiodome. This was it. The final stretch. The last half hour before he reached home. Before he reached Kacchan. Izuku weaved through the streets, avoiding vehicles and pedestrians alike as he ran. It was much easier now that he didn’t have to push his way through the packed crowds like before, and being able to wear his hero boots meant he was moving faster, too.

He was going to make it home. He was going to see Kacchan. As his excitement peaked, Izuku threw the surprise to the wind and tapped on his earpiece again, asking Kanuki to patch him through to Kacchan’s phone. 

It rang a few times, more times than Kacchan had ever let it ring before going to voicemail. Izuku tried twice more, only to be met with the same result both times. Worried now, he asked Kanuki to dial the home phone. This time, he got through, though the receiving voice wasn’t Kacchans.

“Jirou?”

“Midoriya?” Kyoka asked, clearly intoxicated and surprised to hear his voice. “Why are you calling, man?”

“Can you give the phone to Kacchan, please? I have to tell him something.”

“Oh, Katsuki left.” 

Izuku ripped his earpiece out immediately and sped up, his heart thundering in his chest at Jirou’s words. Left? Where would Kacchan have gone at this time? It was so close to twelve, and the party must’ve been at its highest point. Where would he have gone? Kacchan was angry at him, wasn’t he? Fuck, fuck, fuck, Izuku had come back too late, and now Kacchan was gone. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

-

[11:15]

That was the display on his phone screen. Forty-five minutes left to midnight, and Izuku wasn’t here. Katsuki stood up, Ochako’s words ringing in his head.

“Time is the only thing we have, don’t waste it trying to control the things that don’t matter”

What the hell was he still doing here? 

-

Izuku sped up even more, pushing the jets in his boots harder than he should have in such a crowded space, but he didn’t care in that moment. Not when his life was hanging in the balance. There would be nothing if he didn’t make this up to Kacchan, if he didn’t fix it. Izuku was willing to do anything, he realised in that moment as he ran. Beg, scream, cry, fall to his knees and apologise if that’s what Kacchan wanted. 

All Izuku wanted was Kacchan. 

The top of the Hayao Miyazaki Ghibli Clock loomed overhead as Izuku entered that final stretch before he reached home. The Shiodome subway station was just coming into view, and Izuku could see the crowd gathered there to see the clock hit twelve. There was something almost magical about that spot. Even though it was just a clock, people would gather there to see the special animations all the time. One of his students had told him that people wished on the clock when it hit midnight sometimes. It was a beautiful piece, and as Izuku ran up to it, all he could think of was one thing.

Kacchan

“Deku?!” 

Izuku came to a skidding stop at the familiar name said in that familiar tone by that all too familiar voice. He searched the crowd until his eyes landed on blonde hair, dusted with snow and red blazing eyes below the, 

“Open your damn eyes, and try thinking more of yourself.” Why was his mind reminding him of this now? Kacchan had said this to him almost five years ago. Why was he- “Or else you’re gonna miss what’s staring you in the face.” 

Oh. 

“Asshole!” Katsuki yelled again, closing in on Izuku, his eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing here, Izuku? Did you catch the guy?” He demanded, now right up in Izuku’s space. 

“Huh?” Izuku asked, slightly dazed at Kacchan’s presence. He shook his head and focused on Kacchan’s eyes again. God, he was beautiful. “What are YOU doing here, Kacchan?” Izuku asked, his brain finally catching up to what was happening. 

Katsuki scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. “Was coming to find you shitnerd,” he muttered, almost like he was embarrassed. “Did you get the guy?”

Izuku shook his head, reaching out to grab the flaps of Kacchan’s jacket and pull him closer, “Why are you wearing your hero suit, Kacchan?” he asked when Kacchan’s jacket opened to reveal that telltale orange cross on his chest.

Katsuki stumbled a little at the sudden tug and scowled even deeper, “Why are you back, dumbass?” He asked, ignoring Izuku’s question. 

“Nuhuh, you answer my question now.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes again, the blush on his ears spreading to his cheeks. He didn’t know how much longer he could hide, just how overjoyed he was to see Izuku. “I told you, I was coming to find you.”

“But the party?”

“Fuck the party.”

Izuku giggled then, and the world around Katsuki faded to nothing but the sound of his laughter. The countdown to twelve, the crowds, the sounds of the cars and foot traffic all drowned out by the happy, slightly dazed giggles leaving Izuku’s lips. 

And then he was leaning in to kiss Katsuki on the nose. 

“A-answer my question, fuckhead!” Katsuki sputtered, his grip on Izuku’s wrists tightening. When had he grabbed onto Izuku? 

“What question, Kacchan?” Izuku asked, pulling him even closer. 

“Why are you here if you didn’t get the guy?”

“Oh,” Izuku tilted his head as though confused why Kacchan couldn’t figure it out. “Cause this is more important, obviously.”

Katsuki groaned. The crowd around them had gotten louder as the countdown reached the final ten seconds. They could feel the energy pulsing through the ground like a live wire. 

“What’s more important, asshole? Why are you being so god damn crypti-”

“2-1- HAPPY NEW YEAR!” 

The words had barely been uttered when Izuku pulled Kacchan in, wrapping his arms around the other's neck and holding him locked against him until they were both panting into each other's mouths. Izuku could feel Kacchan’s shock melt into joy as he smiled against Izuku’s lips. His hands encircled Izuku’s waist, pulling him flush so all the space between them was eliminated in its entirety. 

When they finally broke apart just enough to breathe, Izuku’s face was practically split in half with a smile that lit up far brighter than the fireworks going off above them. “That,” he answered, cheekily, leaning in to steal another kiss. 

“Corny fucking nerd,” Katsuki mumbled against Izuku’s lips.

“You love it”

“Yeah… hey,” Katsuki called, his voice much softer than before as his hands raised to cup Izuku’s face tenderly.

“Yeah, Kacchan?”

“I love you.”

Izuku’s eyes went wide open at the declaration. They had been together for a while now, but Kacchan had never said that to him first. And never so seriously. “I-I love you too, Kacchan.”

Katsuki smiled, his eyes watering ever so slightly as he closed the distance once more to press his forehead against Izuku’s. “You’re more than just All Might’s legacy. You’re everything, Izuku. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Izuku’s own eyes water at Kacchan’s reminder, and he nods without breaking contact, “I won’t kacchan, not as long as you’re there to remind me.”

“Guess you’re stuck with me forever then”

“Good. Don’t ever leave.”

fin.