Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Katsuki woke to what he was fairly certain to be his favorite sight—Shouto Todoroki, pro-hero Icy Hot, completely naked, sitting on the edge of the bed, and bent over in the early morning sunshine pouring in through the windows. Golden light spilled over Shouto, illuminating an endless terrain of the valleys and peaks of lithe muscles that moved smoothly just beneath the skin. The red of his hair looked like fire, his left eye catching the light so that it looked like a sapphire. The brightness of the light washed out his scar, nearly making it invisible, which made him look more…vulnerable, somehow.

Katsuki let out a tired mumble as he snuck his arms around Shouto’s bare waist and buried his face in the muscles of Shouto’s back. He could hear the amused huff of laughter that escaped the other’s mouth.

“Care to repeat that?” Shouto asked.

Katsuki turned his head to the side, cheek pressed to the skin right above Shouto’s spectacularly toned ass.

“Fuck off,” he said, closing his eyes against the blinding morning light. “I said: don’t go.”

He was being clingy, he knew. And sentimental, and cheesy, and every other adjective he’d probably die before admitting to, but this morning was different. He felt sleepy, and warm, and, honestly, who wouldn’t melt at the sight of Shouto Todoroki, naked and washed in sunlight on the edge of their bed like an honest-to-god-Adonis.

“I have work,” Shouto said with a roll of his eyes.

“Who fucking cares?” Katuski said, squeezing Shouto’s waist even tighter.

“How responsible,” Shouto said, but he still put up minimal resistance as Katsuki dragged him back into the bedsheets.

Katsuki let out a victorious cackle as he rolled the two of them until Katsuki was straddling Shouto across his hips. Katsuki rolled his hips and a small, pleased smirk found its way to Shouto’s mouth, hands wandering up to trace the lines and shapes of Katsuki’s own well-defines abs.

“You seem awake now,” Shouto said, letting amusement slip into his voice.

Katsuki grinned wolfishly as he leaned down to brush his lips against Shouto’s with a ghost of a touch. As he did so, the chain around his neck fell forward, the gold ring that was strung through sliding down to cling against the matching one that rested on Shouto’s chest.

Katsuki’s lips trailed along Shouto’s jaw until he could bite at his earlobe.

“Fuck me like our honeymoon, baby,” Katsuki growled into Shouto’s ear, grinding his hips down more for emphasis.

He could hear Shouto’s breath hitch, his hips rolling up to meet Katsuki’s, hands flying up to grip at Katsuki’s sharp hipbones. A satisfied grin claimed Katsuki’s face—it wasn’t easy to rile Shouto, so accomplishing it so soundly was a talent Katsuki was profoundly proud of. Katsuki was already half-hard, anticipation coiling in his gut, ready to continue to pull at Shouto’s strings until he came apart beneath him.

WHEE WHOO, WHEE WHOO

Shouto sat up so fast, Katsuki nearly fell off him. They both turned to look at both their phones on the bedside table, their screens lit up red and alarms screaming at them. An emergency call.

“FUCK,” Katsuki spat.

“Looks like we’re both working today, babe,” Shouto said, giving Katsuki a slap on the ass as he pushed the other off him.

***

It was a disaster emergency—a big one. Some sort of earthquake, or a collapsed office building. Either way, the local disaster heroes were all occupied or overwhelmed, because they’d very quickly called in all pros within the area, which was exactly why Katsuki was flying through the city alongside his husband right now instead of having amazing morning sex.

“Son of a bitch,” Katsuki hissed as the two of them arrived at the disaster scene.

Shouto didn’t say anything, but the grave look on his face agreed fully with Katsuki’s sentiment.

They’d been told about one collapsed building, and what they were now facing was at least two partially collapsed office buildings fringing a massive sink hole sunk into the center of the city. A pipe had burst somewhere, spewing a column of water into the air. The air was thick with dust, massive hunks of concrete littered the streets. Car alarms were screaming, on the same frequency of the emergency vehicles that were already shrieking towards the disaster zone. Emergency responders were already crawling over the scene, pulling people from wreckages and from beneath stone.

“Katsuki,” Shouto said, a stony tone to his voice.

“Yeah,” Katsuki said, heavily.

Disaster scenarios like this were far from Katsuki’s forte. His quirk was more suited for causing disaster rather than fixing it. He needed to keep his head level and remain cool. If he let his anger get the better of him on such a precarious field, he’d mostly like end up getting someone killed.

Katsuki reached out, letting his fingers brush Shouto’s, letting the brief contact ground him. Then he leapt forward, propelling towards the civilians Shouto had pointed out, trapped on a fifth-story landing that the responders hadn’t reached yet.

Things progressed without issue for most of the rescue operation, Katsuki shuttling civilians and responders to safety, Shouto providing structure to whatever crumbling pieces of building he could with his ice. They’d checked in with the responders in charge on the scene, offering their first aid training where it was needed. Shouto was particularly skilled in helping those in the middle of panic attacks come down, and Katsuki had grown to be fiercely protective of any civilians he’d rescued, baring his teeth at responders and EMs to keep them at bay if he saw his charge needed space to calm down more than they needed stitches.

They were very close to the disaster zone being declared clear of all civilians when someone came running into the first aid tent, a limp body cradled in their arms, a child that was unconscious and still breathing, but clearly in immediate need of serious medical attention. Katsuki took the child without hesitation. With all the rescue helicopters dispatched, he was clearly faster than any ambulance left available to get this kid to the hospital.

Katsuki spared one last glance towards Shouto, still in the field, calmly working with responders to pull people from the rubble, before blasting off towards the hospital.

It’d taken less than ten minutes for Katsuki to get to the hospital and made sure the kid was handed off to the right doctors. It’d taken nearly another twenty for Katsuki to be wrestled onto a bed in the ER, nurses and doctors insistent on treating the lacerations and burns he’d managed to acquire amongst the wreckage of the sink hole—something he’d only agreed to after making sure there were only one or two more civilians to be rescued at the disaster site. It’d taken another fifteen minutes before Shouto had finally showed up.

Katsuki had heard them before he saw them, the sounds of civilians outside shouting Shouto’s hero name.

Katsuki was on his feet before he even saw Shouto stumble through the hospital’s doors. He was practically dragging a nearly unconscious body behind him. The head of forest-green hair was unmistakable. Over the years Deku had grown, though not quite enough to outstrip Shouto in height, the constant training of his quirk meant that he was nearly twice as wide. Shouto was practically staggering under the weight of him. This didn’t make any sense—he didn’t remember seeing Deku at the sink hole, didn’t remember hearing that he’d been called to the scene.

At the sight of them, Katsuki threw off the nurses and doctors that had been smothering him and his bleeding injuries. There was a collapse of one of the remaining walls of the office buildings, he could hear Shouto telling a nearby doctor, Deku had shown up to the scene last minute and had been caught in the collapse, Shouto managing to drag him from the rubble.

Relief flooded Katsuki at seeing Shouto unharmed, ready to either hit or kiss him, but definitely ready to drag him back to their apartment to finished what they’d started that morning as way of celebration. But half-way to the two of them, Katsuki drew up short.

Shouto was hunched under the weight of Deku, who was very clearly just barely holding on to consciousness, his hero suit torn to shreds and blood covering half his face. His eyes seemed to be sliding in and out of focus, on the edge of passing out. But the shocking amount of blood Deku’s head wound was producing wasn’t what stopped him—no, that wasn’t what Katsuki was staring at. What he was staring at was the very obvious and very vibrantly green handprint on Deku’s exposed forearm and the matching silvery-mark on Shouto’s palm that definitely had not been there this morning.

It took Katsuki what felt like an eternity to realize what he was seeing, to put two and two together. And when it finally clicked, a white-hot fury flared up in him like nothing he’d ever felt before. It consumed his every thought, his palms already popping with tiny explosions and a ringing in his ears that drowned everything else out. Shouto saw the change on Katsuki’s face immediately and hurriedly passed the sagging Deku off to a nearby nurse.

Katsuki stormed towards Deku, only stopped by Shouto catching him in the chest and holding him back, muttering something to Katsuki that he was sure was meant to calm him, but Katsuki couldn’t hear him, couldn’t focus on anything other than the matching soulmarks burned into Deku’s arm and Shouto’s palm.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Deku!” Katsuki screamed as Shouto continued to hold him at bay as he watched doctors usher Deku away down the hall. And that was really all he could say, because his mind was still reeling from the fact that his husband shared a soulmark with Izuku-fucking-Midoriya.

Chapter Text

Shouto and Bakugou didn’t have soulmarks. It was something they’d come to terms with ages ago. It was something they’d come to terms with very easily ages ago, which is what had been surprising. Shouto had expected a fight, he’d expected shouting matches and cold shoulders and endless arguments like the countless ones they’d had before, but none of that had ever come.

Katsuki had been very adamant from day one that “he didn’t give a fuck about all that soulmark bullshit,” and Shouto, honestly, had never given much thought to soulmarks or thought them important in any way to begin with. So it was a conversation that had ended really before it’d even started. And it wasn’t as if marrying someone without soulmarks was uncommon. A majority of the population never even had soulmarks pronounce themselves—one in five people ever formed soulmarks, was the statistic Shouto vaguely remembered reading recently.

So neither of them had had a problem getting married without marks. Neither had had a problem addressing it in the media—well, maybe Katsuki did, but he always had a problem with the media so that didn’t mean much.

What neither of them had ever expected, however, was this.

Shouto watched as Katsuki screamed, hurling another chair to shatter against the wall. Explosions ripped from him so fast and so hot, Shouto was starting to worry that he would reach the limits of his quirk and overheat. Their apartment lay in shambles—the curtains singed, the bedsheets ripped, bits of furniture strewn across the floor.

Shouto had only seen Katsuki like this once before: when Deku had been officially named Number One Hero. Shouto was still paying off the debt those repairs had cost.

Katsuki flung another fragile thing to shatter against the wall. When Katsuki had broken nearly everything in the apartment that wasn’t bolted to the floor—and even some things that were—he finally whirled on Shouto.

Shouto was beyond used to Katsuki’s temper tantrums. He’d never tell Katsuki, but he knew that for the most part, they were harmless. He’d picked up quickly that Katsuki didn’t communicate in words, his emotions too big for human language to contain. Instead, he communicated in actions—actions that were loud and wild and often unpredictable but were very rarely turned on Shouto. And even when they were, Shouto knew it was never in intent to hurt him—not seriously, not permanently.

Knowing all this, Shouto didn’t even flinch when Katsuki shoved him hard in the chest. He did stumble back a few steps, the force of it catching him by surprise.

“How long have you known,” Katsuki spat, his face a mask of rage.

Shouto raised his eyebrows. “Known what?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Half-and-half!”

Something small and sharp stuck in Shouto’s heart at the old nickname. He’d heard it countless times before but it’d been years since Katsuki had used it with that tone—spitting the word like poison. The sharp feeling hardened, becoming something cold and inscrutable, burying Shouto’s emotions under a harsh layer of ice.

He shoved Katsuki back. “You’re being ridiculous,” Shouto snapped.

Something wild and manic sparked in Katsuki’s eyes as he stumbled back. A sadistic excitement lit his face at the thought that he’d managed to goad Shouto into a fight.

Shouto realized what was happening right before it hit, an explosion going off right in his face. Shouto put crossed his forearms in front of his face, sending up a wall of ice that disintegrated almost instantly, the force of the blast enough to cause him to skid backwards until he hit the wall.

“Did you know it was that shitty Deku?!” Katsuki shouted.

“This has nothing to do with him,” Shouto shouted back, a slide of ice erupting from the ground, slinging Shouto out of the way of another blast. As he sailed through the air, ice flew from his hand, crusting Katsuki’s feet to the floor.

“This has everything to do with him!” Katsuki roared, explosions shattering the ice bolting him to the floor.

“Why?” Shouto shouted back. Before he even realized what he was doing, ice shards were flying at Katsuki. “Why does it always end up being about Izuku?!”

Katsuki managed to throw himself out of the way of the deadly shards just in time, sending himself into the air with his own explosions. Had this been training, Katsuki would be cackling at the rush of a good fight, but instead Shouto saw as he twisted in the air, his face was nothing but a mask of rage.

Shouto felt a horribly unfamiliar feeling wrench at his chest. The hand he’d used to grab Izuku earlier that day felt like it was burning. He’d been just as horrified at the sight of the mark as Katsuki had been—just as confused and hurt. But instead of turning to Shouto first, instead of screaming at him and fisting his hands in his hero suit in a rage, he’d turned to Izuku. He always managed to make it about Izuku.

“Did you want his mark to be yours?” Shouto shouted, unable to stop his voice from cracking.

Katsuki slammed into him, propelled forward by his own explosions. Again, Shouto barely had time to raise his arms in a block before they collided. Shouto used Katsuki’s momentum, letting it spin them in a circle before he flung his husband towards the far wall.

Instead of hitting the wall, Katsuki managed to twist himself in the air, with the help of his quirk, so that he landed with his feet against plaster, like a horizontal gymnast.

“Fuck you.” Katsuki wasn’t screaming this time—his voice having dropped to a growl, low and deadly.

Shouto knew he should’ve regretted it, knew he should’ve never said it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Everything about Katsuki tore at him—his words, his tone, the utter look of destain on his face. It all ripping at his ice until he was exposed and raw underneath.

Shouto’s left side ignited in a blaze, flames shot directly at Katsuki that encompassed half of the entire apartment.

Katsuki blasted himself out of the way, swinging around the far end of the apartment, circling until he barreled right into Shouto for a second time. This time, Shouto wasn’t prepared for the impact. The two of them went tumbling over one another in a mess of flames and explosions. The only things that stopped their momentum were the broken end table that caught Shouto around the waist and sent him sprawling, the the far wall of the apartment that Katsuki slammed into with enough force to shake plaster dust from the ceiling.

There were a few strained moments of silence, the both of them struggling to gain their breath back. The searing pain in Shouto’s side told him he’d probably broken a rib, and the wheezing he could hear told him Katsuki had had the air knocked out of him.

Katsuki was the first one to speak, and when he did, his voice was low but still dripping with the same venom he’d used with Shouto’s old nickname.

“How long have you known it wouldn’t be me.”

Something in Shouto surged at the question. It was the way Katsuki had asked it, like it wasn’t even a question—like he knew Shouto had known about the mark all along, like it was a secret he’d been hiding from Katsuki all this time.

Shouto felt as something other than a rib shattered inside his chest. He said the worst thing he could possibly think of.

“We’ve both always known it wouldn’t be you.”

He was met with silence. It was a silence so heavy that it was suffocating. A silence so heavy that it would’ve swallowed any apology Shouto would’ve made, even if he’d wanted to make it.

“Get out,” Shouto finally said, his voice so horse it was barely there.

There came a noise from the other side of the room and Shouto couldn’t tell if it was a scoff or a sniffle. He heard Katsuki finally move, glass and wood splintering beneath his feet he got up. He heard as the front door opened before there was a pause.

“I don’t know why I expected anything else from Endeavor’s son.”

And the door closed. And Katsuki was gone.

***

It was nearly three in the morning when Shouto dragged himself to the front door. He’d gotten a call from security, something about a suspicious person in his hall.

His eyes felt raw from unshed tears. His ribs hurt and there was something horrible and aching stabbing inside his chest. He’d tied a bandana around his right hand, unable to stand the sight of the soulmark without feeling sick.

Shouto made his way through the dark, mostly destroyed apartment. He’d spent most of the day attempting to clean it, using the task to distract himself from the broken feeling that lurked just behind his eyes. It wasn’t until he’d cleared away all the burnt and broken furniture and replaced the bedsheets with new ones that he’d finally collapsed, half hanging off the bed with his head buried in the pillows.

He’d wanted to cry, wanted to let this broken feeling spill out of him so he wouldn’t have to keep it inside his chest anymore, but he couldn’t. He felt frozen, like he’d managed to give himself frostbite on the inside. So instead, he’d fisted his hands into the bedsheets, burying his face further into the pillows that smelled so much like Katsuki it hurt, letting his face crumple where no one could see until he fell into a fitful sleep.

The bright hall light that stabbed at his eyes when he opened the front door hurt almost as much as his broken rib. It took him a moment to let his eyes adjust, blinking down the hallway to find that it was empty.

It wasn’t until he’d tried to step outside the apartment that he realized there was a sack on his front mat. No, not a sack Shouto realized as his gaze focused.

Katsuki was curled to his side in front of Shouto’s door, having fallen over after falling asleep with his back propped against the door. Shouto could see he had his hand fisted around the necklace that hung from his neck.

Katsuki started when Shouto had opened the door. There was a moment of half-conscious swaying before Katsuki seemed to wake up completely and spun to look up at Shouto standing in the doorway. His hand still clenched around his ring on his chest.

Shouto took a step back as Katsuki stood hastily to his feet. He kept his head ducked, looking everywhere but at Shouto. His eyes were red, Shouto noticed, the skin around them pink and raw and painful-looking.

It took Katsuki a moment before he could say anything, working down a heavy lump him his throat as he still refused to look at Shouto.

“I’m…I didn’t,” Katsuki stumbled over his words, not sure how to arrange them without the help of shouting.

“You’re,” Katsuki said, finally lifting his face to look at Shouto.

Something in Shouto’s stomach dropped out from under him. Katsuki’s face looked like a china doll, so fragile, so exposed, his eyes so glassy yet unable to cry anymore than he already had.

“You’re…you’re not going to leave,” Katsuki said and his voice sounded impossibly small. “You’re not going to leave for him?”

Shouto stared at Katsuki as he felt as the tears finally start to trickle down his face, relieving the pressure of the broken feeling inside him just enough to be bearable.

Chapter Text

Izuku Midoriya had a concussion. As well as a few broken ribs. And leg.

All these things Izuku was used to, even after he’d learned to control One for All without causing himself bodily injury. Heroes were no strangers to emergency rooms, but that was all part of the job description. Izuku has been through those hospital doors with more broken bones, ruptured organs, and head injuries than he could count.

What he wasn’t used to, though, was the brilliant green handprint that now branded his left forearm. He’d spent most of the day in his hospital bed, inspecting it. It was a dark forest green, nearly the same color as his hair, each finger outlined clearly against his own pale skin. Izuku traced the outline with his finger.

It wasn’t uncommon for marks to show up after the first time soulmates touched. Sometimes it was sort of like an allergy you grew into, or a food you acquired the taste for with age. There’d been endless studies about the science of soulmarks, what caused them, why they showed up when they did, if they had any correlation to quirks. But for all that study and science, very little could be figured out about them. No one knew why childhood friends wouldn’t develop soulmarks for one another until well into their 20s or 30s. No one knew why some people had multiple soulmarks, or what caused one-sided marks, or how to differentiate between platonic and romantic marks. It was all about as much a mystery as quirks.

Endless thoughts and statistics tumbled through Izuku’s head as he continued to trace his mark. He remembered showing up to the scene of the disaster, remembered ushering civilians to the first aid stations, remembered as the unstable ground of the third floor gave way beneath him without warning. He remembered his head hurting like hell, remembered the ringing in his ears that told him he’d been concussed. He remembered rock and concrete shifting until sunlight finally poured over him, remembered Todoroki’s face coming into focus above him, eyes tight with worry. He remembered reaching up to be pulled from the rubble, remembered Todoroki grasping his forearm, remembered the white-hot spark that lit over his skin the moment they touched. He didn’t remember being hauled from the heap of concrete, or the entire trip to the hospital—all he could remember was staring at the mark on his arm in confusion, unable to understand what was happening as Todoroki half carried, half dragged him to safety.

He didn’t remember Todoroki saying anything to him, or passing out before a nurse could get him to a gurney. He did remember waking up the next morning alone.

Izuku tried to figure out what had happened—tried to figure out what had changed. He’d been friends with Todoroki for years, even after they’d all graduated from UA. There was no way they’d never touched skin before—not between the endless trainings and study sessions and accidental shoulder bumps. And in all that time, all those touches, there’d never been a mark.

So what had happened? What had changed? Why now?

A muscle in Izuku’s jaw twitched. His head was throbbing, the concussion making it difficult to keep his thread of thought.

The whole situation might’ve been better if it had happened years ago—before Todoroki had gotten married, before they’d all become top heroes, before they’d graduated UA, even.

 Izuku’s heart clenched at memories of UA. He’d be lying if he said he’d never had a crush on Todoroki. Well, maybe “crush” was a little strong. It had been more of an infatuation, really. A fantasy he might have indulged in every once in awhile, but nothing he’d ever taken seriously.

 And then Todoroki and Bakugou had started dating. Izuku had watched from a distance all the shared glances, the secret smiles, the brief touches that were obviously so much more, and he couldn’t help but feel the smallest twang in his heart. It wasn’t jealousy, but they had been his friends, and when they’d gotten together, he’d felt…left out. It would’ve been the same feeling if Ochako and Iida had started dating. The feeling of him being the third wheel, still included, technically, but not really a part of it anymore. He’d been happy for them, of course—Todoroki was the only one that could make Bakugou smile in a way that looked genuine instead of like he was ready to take a bite out of your face, and anything that could tame the hurricane that was Katuski Bakugou deserved a celebration in his book—but, at the same time he couldn’t help but feel like he had been losing something.

Izuku looked at his mark, trailing his fingers over it. It had hurt more than he thought it would. No one had ever said how it would hurt. They’d always talked about a “zing of electricity” or a “spark of excitement.” No one ever said anything about burning like a bitch. Not that Izuku was a stranger to pain, obviously, he just thought finding what was supposed to be his soulmate for life wouldn’t feel like pressing an iron to his skin. Or like a dagger to his heart.

A thought came to him. Izuku chewed on his lower lip, worrying over everything in his mind. There were platonic soulmates… And that could be a possibility. It certainly made sense. He’d been friends with Todoroki for years. Todoroki had told him once that he would’ve asked Izuku to be his best man had Bakugou not convinced him to elope instead of having a wedding. That had to mean something.

Izuku raised his arm in front of his face, the deep green mark swimming in front of his vision like a mirage. He leaned forward before pausing, anticipation holding him back like it was something solid. In his chest, his heart was pounding so hard he thought he’d break another rib.

We’re platonic soulmates. We’re platonic soulmates. We’re platonic soulmates, he tried to convince himself.

He took one last deep breath before pressing his lips to his mark. It felt like it had when Todoroki had first grabbed his arm in that rockslide of concrete, only this time it was less painful, and more exciting. Warmth filled Izuku’s chest, a thick, sticky-warm feeling trickling down into his stomach. A hurricane of feelings raced through him, but they weren’t anything he could find names for.

It was the feeling of home, the feeling of reading at a window while it rained, bumping knees with someone sat across from him. It was the feeling of morning sunlight spilling through a large window, fingers combing lazily through his hair. It was the feeling of sobbing into a chest as arms wrapped around him comfortingly. It was the feeling of when he’d kissed Ochako for the first time, except it was more, except it was bigger. It was the feeling of skin on skin, impossibly hot as he felt breath, wet and heavy, against his neck. It was the feeling of when he’d used One for All successfully for the first time, like the final piece sliding into place somewhere inside his broken chest.

Izuku pulled away with a gasp, his heart racing in a way that felt frantic and lost.

So, definitely not platonic.

Izuku heaved for air, overwhelmed by so many emotions, it was hard to tease them apart and examine them separately. He could feel the too-familiar heat of tears building up in his cheeks and he couldn’t be bothered to try to stop them. Izuku sobbed as he buried his mouth in the palm of his hand, as if he could rub out the feeling of kissing his soulmark. Like if he pressed hard enough, he could press out all those feelings forever.

Izuku couldn’t figure out if the pain in his chest was from his broken ribs or his broken heart, but he was sure it didn’t really matter. Because he was certain now that Todoroki was his soulmate. And he was certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he’d never, ever be able to have him in that way.

***

Izuku Midoriya would not be released until the doctors cleared his concussion. He’d smarted at this news. He wasn’t allowed any more healing via quirks. Thanks to his high school years, his body couldn’t handle any more rapid, intensive healing. He could take small pieces of it, but nothing that could fix all his bones and his concussion in a night. So, while they could cut his healing time in half, he was still on bed rest for at least a few days.

And it was driving him nuts.

Thanks to the concussion, he was banned from doing anything strenuous, so he’d taken to hiding his journals in his bedsheets and writing furiously when the nurses weren’t looking. He’d managed to compile an entire textbook worth of research on soulmarks within just a few days. He was furious to find anything and everything he could on them, to see if there was ever a case of them disappearing over time, to see what happened to unconventional situations involving soulmarks, like the one he was in now. To see if there was anything to give him hope in this hopeless situation.

He’d been researching when Ochako had visited during his second day in the hospital. The knock on the door had made him jump, so unlike how the nurses came into his room. He’d quickly shoved his journals under his bedsheets. As soon as he realized it was Ochako, he’d shoved his left arm under the sheets as well, hiding his soulmark.

He didn’t miss the way Ochako’s eyes caught on the movement and he prayed for the impossibility that she missed the obvious green on his arm. Her eyes snapped up to his face and a trademark Ochako smile lit her face a bit too quickly.

Relief filled Izuku at the sight of her, though it was tinted with a spark of anxiety. It was always good to see Ochako, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure what to do about the very green, very obvious handprint on his left forearm. He was still trying to process it himself, trying to figure out what to do about it—so he was miles away from breaking it to Ochako.

Ochako and Izuku had dated at UA. She’d been his first love, his first kiss, and his first everything else. They’d eventually decided to part ways to turn their focus solely to their own hero carriers. It’d been an easy decision, really. Their friendship had barely experienced a hiccup throughout the entire ordeal. And now, seeing her hear in this hospital room, was such a comforting sight. Heroes, not surprisingly, were frequent fliers in hospital rooms, so visiting a fellow hero every time they were hospitalized was simply something no one had time for. So, seeing Ochako’s bright sunny smile was a rare and welcome gift.

Talking with Ochako was as comfortable as sinking into his bed after a long day of hero work. They talked about everything, about how awful hospital food was, how long Izuku would have to stay, recent rescue assignments, Ochako and Tsuyu’s next date plans. It was nearly fifteen minutes before Ochako finally said the thing he was dreading.

“Deku,” she said, leaning forward with her forearms on her knees. “Can I see it?”

Izuku felt his stomach drop out of under him. He almost couldn’t hear his own voice when he said, “What?”

Ochako’s smile faltered, interrupted by an uncharacteristic concerned look. “Deku,” she said, and she hadn’t meant to be pitying and Izuku knew that, but he still couldn’t help but hear the smallest bit of it in her voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Izuku said, unconvincingly, as he pulled his sheets even further up his arm.

Ochako let out a sigh, and Izuku felt guilty about the hurt look that crossed her face. “Izuku,” she tried again, and this time he knew she was serious because she'd used his real name.

Izuku closed his eyes, feeling slightly nauseous. This was it. This wasn’t a conversation he wasn’t willing to have—wasn’t ready to have, but Ochako was going to make him have it anyways because she cared about him.

“Everyone knows.”

Izuku stopped. He just stopped—stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopped thinking. Everyone? What did that even mean?

At the sound of Ochako shifting in her seat, Izuku opened his eyes to see her taking her phone out and opening it to what looked like a news website. She passed him the phone, a news photo taking up a majority of the screen.

If Izuku had felt nauseous before, it was nothing like how he was feeling now.

“News stations were at the sink hole,” Ochako explained. “There were cameras. They saw you leaving…with Todoroki.”

Izuku could hear her, but it was hard to understand anything beyond the horribly loud buzzing in his ears. For a moment, he wondered If it was the concussion messing with his head again before he realized, no, this was just was shock felt like in its purest, more raw form. Izuku could feel his world tilting on its side as he read the news headline starkly addressing the matching soulmarks between Todoroki and Izuku that were so obvious on the front-page photo.

Ochako was right: Everyone knew.

Chapter Text

It hadn’t been make-up sex.

Make-up sex would mean that they would be “made-up” afterwards. But they weren’t “made-up.” They were far from it.

Make-up sex was a relief—a relief that was wild and spontaneous and wide smiles and laughter and it sometimes happened in showers or changing rooms or wherever they happened to be. They’d had it enough times for Katsuki to know. And this had not been it.

This had been vicious. This had been rough and poisonous and some twisted form of love Katsuki wasn’t familiar with. There’d been no restraint, no kissing, no looking each other in the eyes. This had been something shameful, something laden with guilt and desperation.

At one point, Katsuki had slapped Shouto’s right hand away from him with a snarl, “Keep that fucking thing away from me.”

Shouto had blinked at him before obliging, pressing his right palm flat to the bed, burying his soulmark into the bedsheets so neither of them could see it.

They’d bit and hissed at one another. They’d clawed and wrestled to pin one another down. They’d tasted the salt of sweat and the wetness of tears on one another. They’d whispered “I’m sorry” over and over again, trying to convince themselves more than the other that they hadn’t meant the things they’d said.

So no, it had not been make-up sex. It’d been something different—something with the same sting of break-up sex, but without the finality of it. Something that left a heavy weight in Katsuki’s chest and a bitter taste in his mouth.

The following morning was an inverse of the one before. There was no sunlight pouring in through the windows, instead the sky was overcast and depressingly grey, casting everything in monochromatic hues. The ring resting on his chest wasn’t warm or light, but instead felt painfully cold, like a shard of ice trying to bury its way towards his heart. Shouto was not seated on the side of the bed, ready for a day of hero work and turning to him with a smile. Instead, he was still sleeping—or pretending to—with his back turned purposefully towards Katsuki and looking for all the world like he would stay there for the entire day.

Katsuki could see bloody nail tracks raking down Shouto’s back, the red gouges so long and deep, they continued until they disappeared beneath the sheets at Shouto’s hips. Katsuki turned away from the sight, guilt rolling in his stomach. He ran a hand over his ribs and hissed. He looked down to find the skin there red and raw with burns in the shape of Shouto’s left hand.

Katsuki sneered at the sight. The outline was so clear and defined, it looked exactly like the mark he’d seen on Izuku’s arm. Except this wasn’t some sign from the universe they were meant to be together and fall in love forever and ever like some sickening fairytale. It was evidence of their attempts to tear each other apart the night before. Even after the fight, they’d tried to hurt each other. They’d still been hurting and had tried to take it out on one another in burns and nails and teeth. And they were far from being done hurting.

Katsuki stood and dressed and left without a second look towards the bed or its occupant.

***

The sky was an oyster grey, the overcast making the day chillier than normal. People parted before him as he walked down the street, thanks to his well-practiced scowl. The crowds faded away into a blur of colors as his mind churned like the clouds overhead.

Katsuki remembered the first time they’d become more than just classmates. They’d been fighting—or really, he’d been fighting and Shouto had still been training, not having realized that Katsuki had changed his intent partway through the training practice.

Katsuki couldn’t even remember what he’d been mad about, just that it was about something Shouto had said or done and he was certain he was justified in his fury. Aizawa had called the training practice over and everyone had filed out to the changing rooms and Katsuki had still been seething. He’d still wanted to fight and rage and hit something.

He’d caught Shouto in the locker rooms after everyone else had left to go home. He’d shoved the other against the wall, spitting insults and obscenities. Somehow the two had gotten switched, with Shouto suddenly pushing Katsuki against the wall, much closer and much harsher than Katsuki had. Katsuki remembered how those eyes had flashed, how serious Shouto’s face had looked, how warm he’d been when Katsuki had finally seized the back of his neck to drag him down into a ravenous kiss.

The kissing had turned into wandering hands and groping fingers. The groping had turned into heady breaths and gasping cries. That first time in the locker room had turned into a second and third and fourth time. The locker room had turned into their dorm rooms. And somewhere along the way, it had all turned into something more. It had turned into quick glances and shared smiles and fingers linked together beneath the classroom desks. It had turned into secret movie nights where Katsuki would fall asleep not even ten minutes into the movie with his head resting on Shouto’s shoulder. It turned into the two of them making dinner in the dorms, but not inviting anyone else. It turned into Katsuki begrudgingly holding Shouto’s hand in public because he knew it was something that would make Shouto happy. And eventually it had all cumulated into something bigger than either of them, and yet, just big enough for the both of them.

Katsuki wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Wasn’t sure what had caused that first kiss. He tried to remember the rest of that day all those years ago, but couldn’t see anything past the empty locker room that had felt impossibly small without anyone else but them in it. He couldn’t recall anything beyond the way Shouto’s eyes had burned in the dim light of the locker room as he’d waited for Katsuki to make his move. Katsuki couldn’t shake the feeling that something else important had happened that day, something other than Shouto. But for whatever reason, whether from subconscious intention or otherwise, he couldn’t remember the rest of that day any better than he could any other boring-as-fuck-day at UA.

He was coming to this realization as he finally looked up to see where he’d ended up. The front of a hero agency stood over him, the face a brick white that looked like a toothy grin and the glass door in front made it look like it was missing a tooth. He hadn’t really even been paying attention to where he’d been going, letting his feet carry him here by memory.

Katsuki sneered at the grinning building before shouldering his way through the door. The inside looked more like a boxing gym than a hero agency. It was dim and the air was heavy and damp. The concrete floor wasn’t anything special and laid the groundwork for a number of mix-matched desks and two boxing rings in the center that took up a majority of the office space. Weights were stacked somewhere in one corner, and a punching bag was hung in another. PSA posters about the attributes of a true heroes plastered the walls. Katsuki could smell food—a combination of fried chicken and seafood—mixed with sweat, and he nearly gagged on it.

When he’d come in, there’d been two people sparing in one of the boxing rings, their sharp quips at one another and their heavy grunts could barely be heard over the rock music coming from a beat-up radio on top of one of the desks. Katsuki sulked into the large room and leaned against one of the worn desks against the wall, watching the two battle it out in flashes of silver and red.

It’d taken nearly five minutes for them to even notice him. Kirishima had been the one to see him first, his eyes going wide and his face lighting up at the sight of him.

“Hey, Bakugou!” he said, waving ecstatically.

“Oi! Shitty Hair—!” Katsuki tried to warn, but it was too late.

At the sight of his best friend, Kirishima had dropped his guard and Tetsutetsu hadn’t. The next punch nailed Kirishima in the cheek. Thankfully, Kirishima still had his quirk up, a shield of rock up against the steely hit.

Katsuki grinned. Normally, he would’ve laughed and called Kirishima a dumbass, given that he was okay, but Katsuki couldn’t really bring himself to it. It was hard to feel anything light and positive with his tangle of feelings in his chest. He’d never admit to it out loud, but the sight of Kirishima helped.

Kirishima was like a puppy, stupidly happy, idiotically optimistic, and always there when he was needed—all things that made him such a good hero.

Katsuki stalked up to the boxing ring, hooking his arms over one of the lower ropes of the ring. Kirishima and Tetsutetsu laughed, roughhousing one another with noogies and slaps on the shoulder. Eventually, Kirishima shoved Tetsutetsu away and flung himself to sit on the edge of the ring next to Katsuki.

“Hey, dude,” Kirishima said, turning his wide grin on Katsuki. “Woah, what’s that face for?”

Katsuki scowled—it rather, his scowl deepened. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean? It’s just my face.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kirishima said waving a hand at him. “Lord Explodo Murder’s too cool and badass to be upset and his best friend would never be able to pick up on it even if he was. Come on, man, it’s me.”

Katsuki didn’t say anything in response, neither agreeing nor denying. He could feel Shouto’s burn on his side as it stung. He remembered how vividly green the mark on Deku’s arm had been.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Kirishima asked, leaning back as he held onto the ring’s rope.

“No,” Katsuki said. He leaned back and used the ropes to haul himself into the ring. “I wanna fight.”

***

Sparring with Kirishima was something else. He’d only grown in his hand-to-hand skills since UA, spending hours training with Fat Gum, Amajiki, and Tetsutetsu. If you wanted to learn close-range combat—truly learn it, you went to Kirishima.

But Katsuki wasn’t here to learn. Standing across from Kirishima in the ring, hands up in a loose block around his face, Katsuki felt something hot and terrible tearing itself into his stomach. His fury from the day before had simmered down, concentrating into something like a pit in his heart. He couldn’t explain this feeling, so different than all the other times he’d been angry and raging before.

He’d tried to tear Shouto apart last night, and he wasn’t finished. He still wanted to take his fury out on something, on someone. And Kirishima was the only one he could do that to, without holding back.

Katsuki moved first, exploding forward to swing a right hook. Kirishima easily deflected with an armored forearm, pulling Katsuki’s momentum upward and making him stumble. Katsuki spun, tuning just in time to let his back fall against the ropes that lined the ring, using them as a springboard to hurl himself back at Kirishima. Kirishima ducked, dropping to the floor and sticking his leg out and catching Katsuki around the ankle, tripping him. Katsuki’s momentum was too heavy and he fell forward, catching himself with twin blasts from his palms that sent him upwards into the air and flipping over Kirishima. He landed on the far side of the ring, twisting in mid-air to face Kirishima’s back. Before his feet even hit ground, he was letting loose explosions, but without even looking, Kirishima’s armor was up in an instant, creating an impenetrable wall with his back.

Katuski hauled his fist back for another punch, wreathed in fire, but Kirishima was already spinning. He caught Katsuki’s fist, at the peak of his swing in a sing armored hand. Using his weight and Katsuki’s own momentum, he changed Katuski’s trajectory, forcing him to fall, once again, but this time with his amr pulled across his own chest. This time, he wasn’t able to catch himself, and he hit the floor of the ring hard, his chin slamming into the mat and making his teeth rattle. Kirishima was on him in a second, straddling his hips, pinning his shoulder into the mat.

Katsuki tried to shrug him off, to buck his hips, to dislodge him somehow, but while Katsuki had been forced to keep himself lean over the years in order to be able to be light enough to fly with his quirk, Kirishima had only bulked up, growing and training until he’d basically become a brick shit-house. And trying to force all the weight off him when he had no leverage with his face being pressed into the floor, was no easy task.

“Call forfeit!” Kirishima called. He still had his hand around Katsuki’s wrist, his arm still pulled across his chest and trapped beneath him awkwardly.

“EAT SHIT!” Katuski screamed into the mat, still struggling to upset Kirishima from off his back.

“Come on, man!” Kirishima said, a grin in his voice. “You’re gonna dislocate your arm!”

Something clicked in Katsuki’s brain, a trigger pulled on a memory from years ago. The ring around him faded away to be replaced with a scene of a sunny afternoon in the middle of a grassy park. Dogs were barking, children screaming with laughter and the grass looked fresh and green.

“Come on, man!” Kirshima whined, his shoulders and arms flung backwards over the back of the park bench, face tilted up to the sun shining overhead. “You didn’t even invite me to your wedding?!”

Katsuki slapped Kirishima upside the head as he crossed around behind the bench. Kirishima jumped forward, clutching the back of his head.

“It wasn’t a wedding,” Katsuki said, falling back onto the bench beside his friend. He leaned forward on his elbows, flashing a devious grin. “We eloped.”

“How’d you manage to convince him to do that?” Kirishima asked, rubbing at the back of his head with a pout.

Katsuki shrugged, still grinning like a maniac. “Tricked him into loving me.”

“Guess he really is that gullible, then,” Kirishima said with a laugh.

Katsuki wanted to say something smart back, to fling a familiar insult or nickname, but he couldn’t bring himself to it. He could feel his wedding ring resting on his chest beneath his shirt, warm and new against his skin. There were times where we couldn’t focus on anything around him, because all he could think about was the feeling of his ring on his chest. He laughed. He grinned wide and couldn’t help it, he laughed with Kirishima.

He just felt so happy.

He’d managed to convince Shouto to elope, much to the dismay of all their friends, who felt that they had been shafted out of a wedding. Mina had practically broken down into tears as she had her arms linked around Katsuki’s neck. Iida had thought it was “improper,” whatever that meant. Denki whined that he hadn’t even been given the chance to be the ring-bearer. Sero slapped him upside the head, saying that if anything Denki would have been the flower-boy and Sero would have been the one to carry the rings. Rosy-cheeks hadn’t stopped grinning, her cheeks practically glowing.

But that’s exactly the reason why he’d wanted to elope, to avoid an entire scene with a wedding. He hated scenes, he hated the media that would’ve swarmed them, talking endlessly about two of Japan’s highest-ranking heroes getting married. He would’ve hated that his mother would’ve been there, screaming at him the whole time, or how crowded he would’ve been by friends and family. But, most of all, he hated that the day wouldn’t feel like there’s.

He’d wanted their wedding day to be just between them. Him and Shouto. Something that they’d shared with each other and no one else. And so that’s what Katsuki had made it. Just him and Shouto, in a courthouse with no one else but the priest, sunlight pouring in through the high windows lighting Shouto’s face with a beautiful glow as he grinned wider than Katsuki had ever seen him, and knowing with the warm, overwhelming certainty that he was going to spend the rest of his life with that smile. It was the happiest Katsuki could ever remember being.

“So you guys aren’t worried about soul marks, then?” Kirishima asked, watching as someone was playing fetch with their dog in the distance.

Katsuki scoffed—a feat, really, given that he was still grinning like an idiot. “That kind of shit doesn’t matter,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “You know it doesn’t.”

“I don’t know,” Kirishima said with a shrug. “I think it’d be nice to some kind of reassurance that this is the person, you know?”

Katsuki snorted. “I don’t have time to wait around for that shit. If it hasn’t happened now, it never will. Besides,” he added, looking down at this hand, remembering when Shotuo had slid the ring onto his finger—the same ring he could feel against his chest right now. He’d been grinning for so long, it’d started to hurt, but he didn’t care. “As if I’d listen to some bullshit sign from the universe or whatever. It’s something we made. We’ll never have a mark, and that’s exactly how I want it.”

The scene cracked, the sunlight shattering, Kirishima’s face falling away. He was back in his and Shouto’s dark apartment, recently destroyed by their fight, the curtains still smoking.

He saw Shouto’s face, streaked with soot, his face expressionless as he said the worst thing Katsuki had ever even dreamed to hear.

“We’ve both always known it wouldn’t be you.”

Katsuki gasped, his mind slamming back down into the present with the force of a freight train. He was back in Fat Gum’s hero agency, Kirishima on top of him, pinning him to the mat of the boxing ring, Shouto’s words still echoing in his head.

“We’ve both always known it wouldn’t be you.”

Kirishima twisted Katsuki’s wrist. “Are you ready to talk yet?”

“Fuck off,” Katsuki said, but it sounded weak. He’d tried to keep the sob from his voice, but he doubted it’d been successful.

“We’ve both always known it wouldn’t be you.”

He did want to talk about it. He wanted to scream and cry about it and tell Kirishima everything that had happened. He wanted to tell him how betrayed he felt seeing that mark on Shouto’s palm, how hurt he’d been. He wanted to let Kirishima know what Shouto had said, and how it’d hurt worse than any injury he’d ever felt. He wanted to scream about how terrified he was that Shouto was going to leave him for that shitty-faced Deku. He wanted to talk about how fucking stupid he felt, that he’d been wrong this entire time—about what an idiot he was for thinking he and Shouto could stay together without marks.  He wanted hit something, he wanted to be hit. He wanted to twist under Kirishima and kiss him and fuck like they had in high school because he knew it would hurt Shouto as much as he was hurting right now.

But he wouldn’t do any of that. He wouldn’t admit he was so weak. Wouldn’t admit he and Shouto were falling apart. Because saying it to someone else would make it real, and he wasn’t ready to face that yet. Maybe if he ignored it, maybe if he fought Kirishima enough times, if he hit the wall enough times, he’d be able to fight all these things out of his system and he’d never really have to deal with. Or maybe they’d just tear him apart from the inside.

Kirishima must have heard the flood of emotions Katsuki’s voice, because he loosened his grip.

“Hey, dude.”

Katsuki threw Kirishima off him before he could say anything else, roughly shoving the other away and turning his head so no one could see the red in his eyes. He could see Kirishima lurking in the edge of his vision, a moment of debate to determine whether he should press the matter or stop.

He was saved from the decision, however, as a “Hey! Kirishima!” came from across the room. Kirishima cast one last worried look at Katuski before getting to his feet and hefting himself out of the ring by the ropes, Katsuki still refusing to look at him. Katsuki was vaguely aware of Kirishima making his way across the floor of the agency to where Tetsutetsu was standing, Amajiki lurking behind him with a worried look on his face. Katuski struggled to shove his emotions down, force his tears back as the three muttered among one another.

He only looked up when he heard Tetsutetsu call his name.

“Hey, Bakugou—!”

“No—don’t!” Kirishima said quickly, pushing Tetsutetsu away.

“Why not? He needs to know!” Tetsutetsu said shoving Kirishima back.

“No he doesn’t,” Kirishima hissed, trying to grab something out of the other’s hands.

“I don’t need to know what?” Katsuki asked, his voice low as he approached them.

Kirishima foze, in the middle of trying to pull a tablet from Tetsutetsu’s hands. Amajiki shifted uncomfortably off to the side, his studying his toes. There were a few stretched seconds of awkward silence, full of the tension of everyone else knowing something they very obviously didn’t want him to know.

Finally, Tetsutetsu ripped the tablet back from Kirishima before handing it out for Katsuki to take. Katsuki took it, eyeing them all suspiciously, and not missing that each of them seemed to be avoiding meeting his eyes. He looked down at the tablet to find that a news website had been pulled up on the screen. A large, slightly blurry photo stared back at him, Katsuki immediately recognizing it as being taken at the sink hole. He looked at the frozen picture of Shouto carrying Deku to safety, the marks on either of them glowing brightly and painfully obvious.

Katsuki felt numb. He heard something crack, and for a moment, Katsuki thought it had been something inside his chest. It took him a moment to realize it had been the tablet in his hands—his grip on it had seized, tight enough to crack the screen.

“Hey, bro?” Kirishima said, his tone careful. “You okay?”

Katsuki’s heartbeat sounded impossibly loud in his own ears, his stomach in his throat like when he falls for a few stories before he can catch himself with is quirk. The fact that everyone so obviously knew what had happened now was devastating, sure, but not near as terribly as the other realization Katsuki had. He starred at the photo, thinking of Shouto, thinking again of that first night forever ago in the UA locker room. He thought back to that day, and staring at Deku slung loosly in Shouto’s arms, he could suddenly remember what else had happened that day. He remembered what he’d seen before plunging headfirst into that training, what had caused him to shatter the last of his resolve with Shouto in that empty locker room so long ago. 

Chapter Text

Shouto had been awake long before Katsuki had left. He’d felt Katsuki wake up, had waited for him to say something—anything. Shouto wasn’t even sure if he’d wanted Katsuki say anything, but he’d expected him to. To say something about the night before, to tell him to fuck off, to say something. But then Katsuki left without a word, the bed shifting under his weight as he moved to get up, leaving Shouto in a resounding silence.

Shouto closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

Fights with Katsuki were never easy—but this wasn’t a fight. This was worse than a fight.

If this had been anyone else, he might even wonder if this was something they’d be able to survive. But Katsuki was more stubborn than a brick wall with steel supports—and Shouto had refused to use half his quirk for nearly 15 years out of pure spite. If there was one couple with the sheer determination to make it through something like this, it was them.

Moving slowly, his own heart sounding impossibly loud in the silence of the apartment, Shouto shifted under the sheets, pulling his right hand out to look at it, palm up. He had to suppress the sob that had forced its way to his throat. The mark was a more subtle color, a silvery grey that almost faded away in the stormy light that filtered in from the clouds outside the window. It seemed to shift colors as Shouto tilted his hand, from grey to silver to white and back again.

He’d almost thought it’d all been a dream. He’d woken thinking in the sleepy dregs of consciousness that none of it had been real. It’d seemed so impossible, so insane and unthinkable, there was no way it could be anything other than a dream. It’d been a dream and Shouto would be able to get out of bed and see his husband and they could act like absolutely nothing was wrong. They could sit in the window seat, listening to the rain as Shouto read and Katsuki played some game on his phone he’d eventually grow frustrated with and toss aside and then Shouto would have to calm him down before he singed the seat cushions again, pulling him into his lap, letting him lay on his chest as Shouto read to him out loud until they’d both fallen asleep to the gentle patter of rain outside and it would feel so comfortable and warm and right.

But it hadn’t been a dream. Even without Shouto’s own mark glaring horribly at him, he could feel the long scratches that ran down his back sting with every movement. He felt his left palm prickle from using his quirk last night, from burning himself into Katsuki’s skin. The reality of it came crashing down on him. It had all happened—it was all real. And no amount of wishing or hoping or apologizing could take it away.

Shouto curled his right hand into a fist over his mark, curling in on himself and pressing his fist to his forehead.

He didn’t know what to do.

“We’ve both always known it wouldn’t be you.”

Had he really said that? He felt the same as whenever he was too late to save someone. The cold reality of it—the desperation he felt that he’d do anything to turn back time and fix it but knowing full well that he’d never be able to. He could say he was sorry a hundred times over but it wouldn’t pull those words back into his mouth, it wouldn’t erase them from existence. He’d said what he’d said—and there was no taking it back.

“I don’t know why I expected anything else from Endeavor’s son.”

Shouto winced at the memory like he’d been slapped. The words had been harsher and louder than the door slam that had followed them. Something in Shouto’s chest twisted.

His mother had had a soul mark—not with his father, obviously, but with someone else, and had still been forced into her marriage. She’d been forced to endure all of Enji’s abuse and insults and manipulations. She’d hidden her mark from him, terrified it would throw him into a rage. She lived in fear of him, lived in fear that he’d discover the mark and see it as cause to do something unspeakable. The fear had broken her. It had warped her mind, convinced her of terrible things, shattered her until she’d poured boiling water into her own son’s face.

“I don’t know why I expected anything else from Endeavor’s son.”

Is that…what Katsuki thought of him? He’d seen his mother fall apart over a marriage with someone she didn’t share her mark with. Was he going to see the same thing happen to this marriage? Did Katsuki expect to see the same to happen because of Shouto?

Shouto had spent so long severing every tie to his father, distancing himself has far as possible. He refused to be related to the same man that had broken his mother, that had mutilated his older brother, that had nearly destroyed Shouto with his murderous training and obsessions. And yet…that was how Katsuki saw him, apparently.

Shouto heaved in a shuddering breath, trying to gulp down air, but finding it next to impossible with the tears in his throat.

He remembered the first time he’d told Katsuki about his scar. It’d been late in the dorm rooms, with everyone already asleep and Shouto honestly surprised that Katsuki had managed to stay awake this long—early bird that he was. They’d been in Shouto’s room, Katsuki straddling Shouto at his waist as Shouto lay on his back on top of the covers. It had been intimately quiet, the kind of quiet you got only after everyone else had gone to sleep—no conversations or shouting drifting up from the common room, no music pounding through the walls from Jirou’s room, or the sounds of a violent video game from Denki’s room. The kind of quiet that told them that it was only them.

Katsuki bent over Shouto, a fiercely focused look on his face as he carefully traced the outlines of Shouto’s scar with his fingers, his touch feather-light. His touch was so gentle, his gaze so focused, Shouto never would’ve thought he was capable of being so soft. It was Katsuki that was stradling him, Katsuki the one touching Shouto in a place he’d never allowed anyone near before, but still, Shouto felt like he was the one seeing something secret, a side to Katsuki that very few people had ever seen, so open and vulnerable.

“It was my mother,” he’d said, his voice so soft, yet so loud in the stillness of the room.

Katsuki frowned, his gaze flicking to Shouto’s right eye and then the left before going back to watching his own fingers trace the outline of Shouto’s scar. Katsuki hadn’t asked, had never asked, and Shouto had no reason to believe he even cared. The only other classmate he’d even told this to had been Midoriya, but something told him to keep talking. Something in him needed him to share this with Katsuki, now, in this intensely intimate moment.

“She was forced into a Quirk marriage with my father,” he said, barely able to hear his own voice. “My father, he’s…terrible. In my memories, my mother is always crying.”

Shouto had to swallow before he could continue. It’d been so easy to tell Midoriya this, but it was different for Katsuki for some reason. He hadn’t cared what Midoriya had thought, had only told him to prove a point. But for Katsuki…he was nervous, like Katsuki might judge him for it somehow.

He had to force his next words out. “’You’re left side is unsightly,’ she said as she poured boiling water on me.”

Katsuki froze, his fingers stilling in the middle of their tracing. Shouto could see his jaw clench, muscles moving beneath the skin. His eyes were distant, staring at a spot above Shouto’s head.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Shouto said softly, his hands coming up to rest at Katsuki’s waist. “She was…broken. Driven out of her right mind by my father. I’d been too young at the time to know everything, but I can only imagine what he did to her.”

Katsuki let out a breath Shouto hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, letting it hiss between his teeth. He pulled his back from Shouto’s face, fingers curling into fists. Shouto saw the muscle in his jaw working, no doubt grinding his teeth in that awful habit of his. His expression was still unreadable.

“Katsuki—?”

“You?” Katsuki said abruptly, still refusing to meet Shouto’s eyes. “Did he ever hurt you?”

Shouto swallowed. He could still feel the sting of his father’s backhand across his face for not training hard enough, the wrenching in his stomach of vomiting from overheating while using his quirk, the bruises he’d had to hide at school.

Shouto couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he gave a silent nod, careful not to let anything show on his face. He watched a muscle twitch in Katsuki’s neck, a decision finally clicking into place.

Thoughts tumbled through Shouto’s head, thoughts he hadn’t had in years. Would Katsuki think him weak? Weak for not blaming his mother? For not being able to protect her or himself? For not leaving his father as soon as he was old enough? For not reaching out to the police or anyone else for help? Would he think the very same things Shouto had thought about himself for years?

Katsuki flung his leg from over Shouto’s hips before shoving himself off the bed without a word. Shouto’s heart sank into his stomach. He hurried to sit up. Katsuki had his back to him, the lines of his shoulders rigid, the muscles of his back straining. He was pacing away from Shouto, purposefully turned to hide his face.

Shouto slid off the bed and reached out towards Katsuki, hesitating for just a moment before placing his hand on his shoulder.

“Katsuki—?”

Katsuki let out a roar, slamming an explosion into the far wall of the room, making the ceiling shake. When he turned and Shouto could finally see his face, it was twisted in fury, his teeth bared, his eyes shining, but still unable to meet Shouto.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” he’d hissed, his voice so low, so furious, Shouto could only just hear him. “I don’t care if he’s a fucking hero, I’m going to tear that bastard to pieces.”

Realization poured into Shouto, his heart surging up from his stomach back to where it belonged. He brought his hands up to Katsuki’s face and forced it up, their eyes finally meeting. Katsuki’s face was still a mask of fury, still twisted and angry, but his eyes were brimming with tears. Tears…for Shouto. The same tears he’d shed years ago, grieving for his mother, for himself. The same tears he swore never to shed again, and yet here they were, pouring from Katsuki like a river.

“Hey,” Shouto said softly, moving a thumb to brush away the wetness on Katsuki’s face. “It’s okay.”

“It’s fucking not, Shouto,” Katsuki bit out, his hands fisting in Shouto’s shirt. “He’s not going to hurt you again—no one will ever—I’m not gonna let—”

Shouto could help the bark of a laugh that escaped him. He raised an eyebrow.

“What? You’re going to be my personal hero from now on?”

“You think I can’t?” Katsuki snapped, viciously—challengingly.

Shouto couldn’t help another bubble of laughter that came up from him, pulling Katsuki toward him, wrapping him in his arms and letting him cry into his chest.

Had this been anyone else, Shouto might have expected a few “I’m sorry”s—he’d certainly heard them before. But this was Katsuki, and Shouto was almost positive he’d sooner keel over and die before he ever said those words, no matter the reason for them. Instead, he kept muttering the same thing over and over into Shouto’s chest.

“I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him. That bastard.”

Shouto hummed in a non-committal tone, rubbing at Katsuki’s back, pressing his lips to the top of Katsuki’s head.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he muttered into Katsuki’s hair.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Katsuki spat. His hands were fisted so hard in Shouto’s shirt he was close to tearing it but Shouto didn’t care.

He brought his hands up to cup at the back to Katsuki’s head, to press another kiss to his crown. He felt the uncertainty and nervousness from a few minutes ago melt away, replaced with something warm and solid.

“Because you’re here,” Shouto muttered as he held on to Katsuki in the quietness of the UA dorm rooms.

Shouto blinked and he was back in their bed, the memory seeming hundreds of years old instead of just a decade. Had Katsuki been lying? The same old questions surged up in Shouto—that he was weak, that he was pathetic and pitiful, that he was just like his father. And Katsuki knew it.

“I don’t know why I expected anything else from Endeavor’s son.”

Shouto knew he’d deserved it. Knew he’d been playing with fire when he’d said what he’d said and that he deserved the burns that had come after—but still, it’d hurt.

Shouto forced himself into a sitting position, his muscles creaking in protest, and opened his eyes, the room coming into a blurry focus. It was a mess. Shouto had managed to clean up the worst part of the damage the night before, but still, there would have to replace nearly all their furniture, repaint the walls, replace the carpet, the curtains. Shouto groaned internally at the thought—wouldn’t it just be easier to move into a new apartment? One far away from here? Far away from Japan, even? From Midoriya?

Shouto closed his eyes at the thought, letting out a hiss as he leaned his head back against the wall. Midoriya. Of all people, why on Earth did it have to be Midoriya? Why did it always have to be Midoriya?

The fights they’d had over Midoriya over the years had been all been long and painful. Anyone that had ever known Katsuki and Midoriya could see the near insane obsession the two had with each other—Midoriya striving to surpass Katsuki, Katsuki struggling to beat him back. It had begun in their childhood and continued well into their adult years, and obsession like that very rarely came without some sort of deeper meaning to it.

Shouto was not an insecure person—he’d never had the luxury to be one. But it was difficult to ignore when your husband seemed to have a constant fixation with his childhood friend. It only made things worse that Katsuki flew into a frenzy every time the topic was brought up. Had he scoffed at the Midoriya’s name or acted indifferent, Shouto would know it didn’t mean anything, but instead he always responded with so much so much fury, so much emotion and passion, and it always left Shouto feeling raw and hurt afterwards. Why else would he get so upset over Midoriya?

“Did you want his mark to be yours?”

Shouto had meant the question—the question he’d always wanted to ask, but had been too scared to. Katsuki hadn’t even answered. And somehow, that was worse. It was worse because it meant that Shouto knew the answer, even if Katsuki himself didn’t. It confirmed every doubt and question he’d had.

Shouto looked down at his right hand, flexing his fingers, curling them over his palm in and out again, watching as the mark shifted through its colors and he wondered if it would be possible to remove it—to burn or freeze it away and forget it ever existed. Except it wasn’t as easy as that, even if the mark vanished the next day, the carnage it had wrought would be a lot harder to heal. Shouto let out a sigh and looked out the window at the oncoming storm clouds.

Why did it always have to be Midoriya?

Chapter Text

Izuku was about to break the law—or really, hospital rules. And technically speaking, he wasn’t really breaking anything since he had every right to self discharge himself. But still, it felt like he was breaking the law since all of the doctors and nurses were telling him that he really should stay in bed until he was better healed. And if his mother knew he was defying doctors’ orders, she’d be furious and probably start crying and calling him reckless—which was probably worse than breaking the law, if he was being honest.

But despite all that, he couldn’t stay in bed another minute—he just couldn’t. He’d never had a knack for sitting still on a good day—and squandering so much of his high school days in hospital rooms had left him with even less of an affinity for it. It’d barely been two days but he was already stir-crazy.

Since Uraraka had been to visit the day before, his mom and Iida had already been by as well—his mother blubbering over him, praising Todoroki for pulling him to safety, while Iida had done little more than check in to see he was okay and make idle small talk, Izuku relieved that he avoided all topic around the sink hole and around Todoroki. But even with the visits and his continued fevered research on soulmarks, Izuku was one more hospital meal away from bouncing off the walls, Grand Torino-style.

Izuku was already dressed in his civilian clothes this his mother had brought for him and ready to argue his way past a dozen nurses pushing him back to bed when he heard a knock on the door of his hospital room. He closed his eyes, preparing himself for a conversation of “Yes, he was checking himself out.” And “No, I don’t want to stay.” And “Yes, I will be coming back for checkups.” But his well-prepared arguments died in his throat as soon as he finally turned to face his new visitor.

Shouto Todoroki stood in the doorway to Izuku’s room.

Todoroki was in civilian clothes, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket and his posture lax, though his gaze refused to land anywhere near Izuku. Izuku felt like his heart was stuck in his throat, finding it increasingly difficult to swallow, the weight on his chest making it even more difficult to breathe. He felt like he was back at the sink hole, buried beneath endless concrete rubble, the open air a million miles away. The soulmark on his left arm prickled uncomfortably and Izuku quickly tugged at the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt to make sure that it was covered.

Todoroki’s gaze caught on the movement, looking at Izuku for the first time. His eyes then flicked up to Izuku’s face, their gazes meeting. No, no, no, no, no. This was the very last thing he wanted, to see Todoroki here, to see him now.

Izuku saw Todoroki’s mis-matched eyes, the cold blue of his left, the beautiful hazy grey of his right, and he thought of the first time he’d realized how beautiful they were during a study session that felt an eternity ago at UA. Izuku thought of the feelings that had assaulted him when he’d kissed his own soulmark, of all the impossible things he’d never get to experience for himself, and he quickly forced them all back down, refusing to acknowledge them.

Todoroki blinked at him. “Are you leaving?”

It took Izuku a moment too long to process what Todoroki had said, and when he finally did, he opened his mouth to answer, found he couldn’t speak past the lump still in his throat, closed his mouth, and settled for a short nod of his head.

Todoroki blinked, his eyes flicking away again. “The nurse said you were scheduled to be here a few more days.”

Izuku felt his own heart beating in his chest at a frightening speed. He couldn’t help but wonder if Todoroki was experiencing something similar, if he could feel the same prickle on his palm Izuku was feeling on his arm, if he’d touched his soulmark and had felt the same things Izuku had when he’d kissed his. But Todoroki didn’t look how Izuku felt. For all the effort he was putting into looking disinterested, Izuku noticed that he was standing so stiffly in the doorway, it looked painful. He could see Todoroki’s hands moving in the pockets of his jacket, clenching and un-clenching.

It was obvious in every line of his body that this was the very last place he wanted to be. And quite honestly, this was the very last place Izuku wanted him to be, too.

It took twice as long as it should have for Izuku to realize that what Todoroki had said had been a question. When he did, it seemed a little to late to answer, so the two of them stood in a awkward and strained silence, Todoroki looking like he was about to flee, Izuku feeling like he was suffocating.

Somehow, it reminded Izuku of running into an ex after a very bad breakup. There was the awful pain of seeing someone he was supposed to and wanted to love but couldn’t. Of seeing someone he wanted to hold and kiss but didn’t want anything more to do with him. The same feeling of holding something broken inside his chest—except it was somehow worse, in a way. Because he wasn’t mourning something that had been lost, because it had never happened—it would never happen. He wasn’t mourning something that was broken, but rather something that was never made to be whole to begin with. He was mourning all the nights together that wouldn’t come, all the small moments that would never happen, all the whispered things he’d never get a chance to say.

Todoroki cleared his throat. “I can’t stay long—I don’t what Katsuki to find out I was here.”

Izuku blinked. Bakugou? Izuku felt as something inside him crumbled—giving way to a horrible, sour guilt. Of course. He’d been an idiot. Todoroki and Bakugou had been Todoroki and Bakugou for so long, it was difficult to think of them as anything else, as having any real issues, but of course that’d been so short-sighted. Izuku had—insensitively—assumed they’d been fine while he’d had a pity party for himself.

“Midoriya,” Todoroki started, his face pinched. “I can’t—”

“We can’t see each other again,” Izuku blurted out. “Ever.”

Todoroki blinked, his mask of controlled emotions falling away to surprise.

Izuku swallowed. “What you and Kacchan have,” he hastily explained, “I don’t want to get in the way of that. So, I think it would be best if we just never saw each other again.”

Izuku had to stop himself from wincing at his own words. Severing this friendship with Todoroki felt like severing his own heartstring. They’d been friends for years, they’d saved each other’s lives on more than a few occasions, had spent countless lunches together while on patrol, had shared the same work study, had shared their secrets with one another. He was one of Izuku’s closest friends and he was being forced to say good-bye forever, but it couldn’t be helped. Izuku knew this was the only way—for now at least. They couldn’t be friends, not with soulmarks. It wouldn’t be fair to Bakugou. The media would talk. Their friends and family would talk. It would be impossible. So this was the solution. And Izuku had said it so Todoroki wouldn’t have to.

Izuku watched as Todoroki’s jaw clenched, his eyes unreadable as he gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”

He turned to leave before pausing in the doorway and Izuku felt like screaming. God, wasn’t this hard enough? Why couldn’t he just leave?

Todoroki turned over his shoulder, his eyes clear as he looked back at Izuku. He was wearing gloves, even though it wasn’t cold enough for them.

“Midoriya,” he said, his voice so sincere it stung. “I’m sorry.”

And then he was gone.

Izuku was left standing in the middle of the hospital room and it felt horribly like the aftermath of a storm. He’d done enough natural disaster rescues to know what it felt like. It was deceptively calm—hideously, terribly calm. Clear skies overhead and a calm breeze, but beneath it all was nothing but carnage. A city that’d been leveled. Losses that couldn’t be recovered.

Izuku fell through so many emotions, he couldn’t catalogue them. Loss, despair, guilt, shame, until they all fell away and were replaced with something he didn’t have that much experience with—anger. Izuku was not an angry person—not unless it came to villains, or Kacchan when he was being particularly insufferable. It wasn’t an emotion he was familiar with, but it was boiling over in him now.

Izuku screamed. He took the small table in the hospital room with a vase of flowers Uraraka had sent him and flung it against the wall. He picked up the chair beside the bed and threw it against another wall. Was this how Kacchan felt all the time?

He was furious, he was pissed. He’d never asked for any of this. He didn’t want any of this. He hadn’t even ever wanted a soulmate, period. And of all the people in this entire, stupid, world it had to be Shouto Todoroki—it had to be someone already married—to his friend he’d just had to cut ties with because of some meaningless colored mark on his arm. He hated this. He hated that it was happening—that it was happening to him—that it was happening and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

He could deal with villains. He knew how to handle a disaster scene or a kidnapping. He knew how to save people, how to research the answer to any question he’d ever had, how to use his quirk—but he had no idea how to deal with this. This was a disaster he couldn’t figure out, a villain he couldn’t beat, a person he couldn’t save. He was frustrated, he was pathetic and self-pitying and just wrathful. It wasn’t even his fault. He felt childish for thinking it, but damn it, it just wasn’t fair.

After Izuku had thrown everything that wouldn’t cause irreparable damage, he fell to the floor, face already wet. He didn’t know when he’d started crying, but tears were rolling down his face, burning his cheeks. He felt hot, burning up, and shoved his shirt over his head. Through his blurred vision, he could see the brilliant green mark on his arm, no longer hidden by his sleeve, and did the first thing that came to his head. He dug his own fingernails into his skin and raked them over the mark. He tried to pull it off, to scratch it away, to get rid of it so he wouldn’t have to see it.

When the nurses finally ran into his room, they found him, covered in blood and tears and on the floor of a destroyed hospital room. He couldn’t hear what they were trying to say to him as they pulled him from the floor. Couldn’t focus on any of their faces or figure out what they were doing. He realized he was still probably concussed and his temper tantrum had most likely made it worse, but he didn’t care.

“I want to discharge,” he muttered as nurses pulled him onto the bed and poked and prodded him. The room spun around him. He didn't want to be here anymore, didn't want these feelings anymore, didn't want to deal with any of this anymore.

"Please, just let me go home.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki was in the kitchen when he heard Shouto come home, the front door to the apartment slamming closed with a bang a bit louder than normal—probably to make sure Katsuki got the warning that he was back. Or maybe he slammed it because he realized Katsuki was already home and was mad because he didn’t want to deal with him. Or was that overthinking it?

Shit. Katsuki didn’t overthink things. That’s not what he fucking did, especially when it came to Shouto. He didn’t have to overthink with Shouto—they knew each other, he never had to guess or worry what Shouto was thinking—he just knew. And even when he didn’t, Shouto never hid anything from him; they were an open book with each other. But now…now Katsuki was overthinking things, and he fucking hated it.

The cup that he’d been washing slipped from his soapy fingers and shattered in the sink.

“Fuck!” he spat before he started picking glass shards out of the sink. This was exactly why he never did the dishes—he always managed to break more glasses than he cleaned.

“Kat?” Shouto’s voice drifted to the kitchen from the entryway. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking fine,” Katsuki spat before grabbing another shard and hissing as it bit into his palm. Blood poured from the cut and he threw the glass back into the sink. Fuck it. He couldn’t deal with this now, he’d clean it up later.

He was on his way out of the kitchen, hand towel wrapped around his bleeding in palm, when Shouto appeared in the entryway to the kitchen.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m going out,” Katsuki snapped back as he shouldered his way by. He’d only gotten back from training with Kirishima an hour ago, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t sit still with these emotions tumbling around inside him like a brick in a dryer.

He could hear Shouto follow him to the entryway to their apartment.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

“We already talked about it,” Katsuki bit out as he struggled to get his bulging, towel-wrapped hand through his jacket arm.

“No,” Shouto said with a sudden sternness that took Katsuki aback. He grabbed Katsuki by the upper arm and spun him around, forcing him to finally look at him. “We fought about it—we have not talked about it.”

Katsuki yanked his arm away. “I don’t want to talk about it!”

“You’re acting like a child!” Shouto said, exasperated.

“Insult me again, Half and Half,” Katsuki growled in a challenge. “I tend to respond well to that.”

Shouto threw his hands up and Katsuki felt a stab of satisfaction at seeing that mask of calm Shouto always wore break. “We can’t just ignore this and hope it goes away!”

“I FUCKING KNOW THAT!”

The words had been louder than an explosion, their echoes bouncing around the entryway in the after math. Shouto was stunned, his face blank.

Without preamble, Katsuki seized hold of Shouto’s wrist and yanked off the glove he was wearing. The sight of the mark felt like a stab to his sternum and Katsuki had to fight not to choke on it. Instead he raised Shouto’s hand between them like an accusation.

“This is never going away, Shouto,” he said before dropping Shouto’s wrist, unable to stare at it any longer. “And there’s no amount of talking that will make it go away.”

“This doesn’t mean anything—”

“It means everything!” Katsuki roared. He could hear his own voice crack and he hated it. God, he hated this whole conversation, this entire situation. He wanted to just blast it all away.

“No, it doesn’t,” Shouto said, the sternness in his voice again. “You think I’m just going to uproot everything and leave you for Midoriya? Because of some stupid mark?”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t.” And this time when Katsuki spoke, it was softer, his voice barely perceptible. And this was the conversation he didn’t want to have. These were the things he was trying to avoid saying—avoid admitting out loud.

When he finally looked up, he saw Shouto, the look on his face like he’d just been slapped.

“Fuck,” Katsuki spat, “I get it, Shouto. You don’t think I do? I’m a brat—I’m impulsive and say whatever shit comes to my head and I’m insensitive and I don’t know how to talk about important shit.”

He found he couldn’t look Shouto in the eye. Couldn’t bring himself to see the truths that would be there—the affirmations that everything he’d said was right.

“Deku…isn’t,” he practically choked on the last word. “He isn’t any of that. He’s a fucking idiot but he knows how to be a hero. He cares about people and he makes it look so fucking easy to do it. He’d probably be a great fucking husband,” Katsuki finished, his voice barely louder than a husk. He couldn’t bring himself to say the next words: Better than me. But they seemed to hang in the air anyways, like smoke, invading his lungs and making it impossible to breathe.

The silence that dangled between them after Katsuki’s words felt heavy. Katsuki still only had one arm through his coat, his other hand fisted around a bloodied towel. He could feel the muscles in his jaw jump and twitch, his teeth clenched so hard together that they hurt. The world had turned blurry with the unshed tears that had collected in his eyes. But when the silence was finally broken, it was by Shouto, his voice unexpectedly calm and gentle.

“Katsuki, come here.”

Katsuki didn’t move, didn’t trust himself to do anything without falling to pieces right there. He felt as Shouto stepped forward and gently tugged his coat the rest of the way off. He didn’t put up any protests as he was then guided to an armchair that had managed to escape the carnage of their fight the day before. Shouto sat down, pulling Katsuki with him so he was forced to sit in Shouto’s lap, knees straddling his waist, his weight resting on impossibly strong thighs.

“Katsuki,” Shouto said, his voice so gentle it was barely even a whisper. “Please look at me.”

Katsuki didn’t move, his head bowed, his eyes trained on the blurry image of Shouto’s chest. A finger came up under his chin, forcing his head up until he finally met Shouto’s gaze. He nearly choked. Shouto was looking at him not with the pity or shame or guilt that would’ve said he agreed with everything Katsuki had just said, but he was looking at him the same way he had at their wedding. Like Katsuki held the world in his face, like he couldn’t believe how easy it was to hold that world in his hands and call it his.

Shouto snaked his arms around Katsuki’s waist, linking his fingers together at the small of his back and pulling him closer. A small, mischievous smile flitted to the corner of Shouto’s mouth as he looked up at Katsuki.

“You know, everything you said was true.”

“Fuck off,” Katsuki bit back automatically, but without any real fire. Shouto was still looking at him like he might stop breathing if he looked away.

Shouto smiled wider. “You are impulsive,” he agreed. “And you don’t know how to have important conversations.”

Katsuki snorted and made to push away from Shouto, but Shouto simply held him closer.

“But you’re impulsive because you rely on your emotions. You’re not analytical like Midoriya, because you’re more concerned about doing what you feel is right. And when you do have those hard conversations, that makes it all the more impressive. You’re a genius and fiercely compassionate and you never back down, even with the odds against you.”

His hands came up to cup Katsuki’s face, Katsuki forgetting to cringe from the silver mark of his right palm. The skin of Shouto’s palms were scared and callused and warm and so familiar, Katsuki couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

“And yeah, Midoriya probably would be a great husband—but I don’t want him. I want you, Katsuki.”

And then Shouto kissed him. It was their first real kiss since their fight, the first time they weren’t trying to hurt or tear each other apart. Shouto dragged him down, slotting their lips together, desperately, definitively, and it was wet and salty from Katsuki’s tears and warm and earnest from Shouto. Katsuki’s hands moved on their own, practiced and familiar, linking together behind Shouto’s neck dragging him even closer, his tongue licking into the seam of Shouto’s lips. Shouto parted them easily, letting him in, letting him fill him.

Katsuki had to force himself to stop, to pull away. It’d been difficult, having to stop. It’d been so good, so right, and natural, like everything was back to normal and they didn’t have to worry anymore and he ached for it and wanted so badly for it to be true, but it wasn’t. Shouto tilted his head, chasing after Katsuki’s lips but Katsuki’s angled away and instead let his forehead rest against Shouto’s, the both of them breathing heavily. Katsuki swallowed, fisting his hands in the collar of Shouto’s shirt. He had to collect himself before he could ask it, before he could ask the question that had settled at the bottom of his chest like a rock.

“Did you mean it?” he said, closing his eyes, unable to focus on so many things at once.

“What?” Shouto asked, his voice husky.

Katsuki opened his eyes, letting them lock onto Shouto’s. “When you said you always knew it wouldn’t be me?”

Shouto took in a deep breath. He blinked once, his thick eyelashes fluttering over those beautifully sharp cheekbones.

“I knew it wouldn’t be you.”

Katsuki swallowed the hurt that tried to force its way up his throat. Instead, he faked a scoff, moving to get up and turning his face so Shouto couldn’t see. He didn’t make it very far before Shouto reaffirmed his hold on Katsuki’s hips, forcing the other securely back into his lap.

“I knew it wouldn’t be you, Katsuki,” he repeated, ducking his head to look at Katsuki’s face. “Because I chose you—not some mark.” He took away one of his hands to fumble at his collar, eventually pulling free his ring on its chain. It dangled between them, an identical match to the one around Katsuki’s own neck. “This was something we built,” Shouto said. “Something we chose. That’s why I knew I’d never have a mark with you, because what we have is better and means so much more than a mark.”

Katsuki couldn’t help the small bark of a laugh that bubbled up out of him, the joy that leapt in his chest like a fish jerking to life on land. God, this was so ridiculous. It was all so stupid and cheesy and sentimental and the only person he’d ever let see him like this was Shouto and, fuck all, did that mean the world to him. He was crying again, but he didn’t care as he covered Shouto’s face with kisses and traced the line of his jaw with his mouth. Shouto’s hands came up to follow the lines of his sides and the dips of his hipbones.

“I’m sorry,” Katsuki muttered as he pressed a kiss to the edge of Shouto’s scar. “I’m sorry I said…that.”

“It’s okay,” Shouto said, quiet as anything. “I deserved it—”

“NO,” Katsuki said, so suddenly, so violently, Shouto jerked back, staring at him, wide-eyed. Katsuki glared at him with an unrelenting fire. He could feel the burning of guilt on his stomach—the fury at himself for having said something so terrible, at Shouto for having believed it. “You didn’t deserve it,” he said. “I was being an ass. You are nothing like Endeavor.”

Shouto gave a small smile that said that he didn’t quite believe him, though he continued to look at him like Katuski held stars beneath his skin. He slid his hand up the back of Katsuki’s shirt, spreading his palm flat against the expanse of his back. He shifted himself, moving Katsuki even further into his lap, their pelvises practically flush.

“And you are nothing like Midoriya,” Shouto said, a smirk on his lips. “Which is exactly why I love you.”

What followed still wasn’t make-up sex.

They still weren’t “made-up,” not really. But they were a lot closer to it.

This wasn’t make-up sex, but something smaller. This wasn’t the wild freedom of full forgiveness or the giddiness of everything settling back into place. But this also wasn’t the viciousness of the night before. They were past the poison, past the desire to hurt one another because they didn’t know how else to deal with something this big.

That left them with something in between. They’d taken the big bad problem and had whittled it down to something more manageable. Shouto had said sorry and Katsuki believed him. Katsuki had said sorry and Shouto might not believe him yet, but Katsuki would say it again and again until he did. They didn’t have to worry about Deku—not now, at least. That was part of the equation they could worry about later, after they’d factored out everything else.

So it hadn’t quite been make-up sex. It’d been kissing every bare inch of skin like they were trying to devour each other, like they would starve without the taste of one another on their tongues. It’d been soft touches and whispered murmurs. It’d been awkward stop-and-goes and long pauses because they didn’t know what was okay yet. It was Shouto being self-conscious of his mark and Katsuki trying his best to ignore it without growling like a dog. It’d been the same familiarity, the rightness, of holding one another, but with something new and unfamiliar between them that they didn’t know how to work around yet. It had been something that had left them both exhausted and deep asleep before it was properly late, the dishes left unwashed in the sink, the entryway light still on.

When Katsuki had woke later that night, it was to a warm bed and the healing burns on his side a faint memory. He could see Shouto’s face, calm and peaceful and dimly lit by the distant entryway light sunk half-way into the pillow. His mouth was slightly lax, his brow absent of the tautness Katsuki usually saw there.

Katsuki shifted his hand quietly under the bedsheets, bringing it up to trace lightly along the sharp curve of his husband’s cheekbone. The only sign that Shouto had felt him was a small flutter of his eyelashes, thick and full against his cheeks. God, he was beautiful, Katsuki thought, watching the faint golden light spill over his features, rimming the black lashes of his left eye in gold and making the white lashes of his right practically glow. Rivers of light poured through the ridges and curves of his scar, looking like a valley under a sunrise. Like the break of day, itself.

Katsuki blinked the sleep out of his eyes, forcing himself to look away from Shouto and sit up, the bedsheets falling into a puddle at his waist. He ran a hand over his face, trying to quell the racing thoughts that had woke him.

“Everything you said was true.”

He knew everything he’d said was right. He’d been watching stupid Deku for years, he knew exactly how nice he was, how compassionate and caring he was without even having to try. How he could understand people so fucking easily like it was a second quirk. Meanwhile, it’d taken Katsuki over a week to figure out the reason Shouto had been pouting during their first month of marriage was because Katsuki refused to kiss him in public. Deku was smart and could outthink him in a minute. Yeah, Katsuki was a fucking genius, thank you very much, but Deku was a strategist. He could outthink Katsuki in every fucking fight, could observe and learn and change tactics on a dime—and while smiling the entire fucking time. He’d been chosen by All Might as a successor for Christ’s sake.

Katsuki would never admit it out loud, but he was better than Katsuki. Even the charts all said so.

It pissed him off to no end. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know why. What the fuck did he care if shitty Deku was nicer than him? Was a better “person” than him? Was funny and caring and looked like the sun whenever he smiled? He just knew that it drove him up the fucking wall. Katsuki let out a growl and fisted his fingers in his own hair. Why did he fucking care?

Katsuki glanced back at Shouto, still sleeping soundly, the steady rise and fall of his chest visible under the blankets. Katsuki thought back to earlier that day, back to when he held the tablet in his hands, a photo of Shouto and Deku staring up at him through the cracked screen. He remembered the revelation he’d had. He remembered the first time he’d ever kissed Shouto, full of fury and desperation and an all-consuming need. He remembered what he’d seen earlier that day, what had made him feel that way.

Earlier that day, he’d been running laps around the UA campus. Half way through, he’d rounded a corner of one of the dorms and had nearly ran directly into shitty Deku and Round Face, sucking face behind the 1-A dorms.

He’d nearly gagged, his stomach dropping out from under him. He couldn’t remember what insults he’d screamed or if he’d remembered to look disgusted or not, just that he’d blasted off as fast as possible, desperate to put as much distance between himself and them as he could manage.

Katsuki looked down as his hands, which were shaking in his lap. His hands hadn’t shook all night—they’d never shook with Shouto, because Shouto was something stable and calm and sure. But they shook whenever he thought of Deku. Katsuki fisted his hands, willing them to stop.

He’d never seen Deku kiss anyone before that day. He hadn’t even known him and Round Face had been a thing. And, again, he wasn’t even sure why he cared. He couldn’t give two fucking shits who Deku was dating or slobbering over. But still, he’d felt unsettled the rest of the day, irritated more than usual, his anger easier to rile like an itch crawling under his skin until he’d seized hold of Shouto and kissed him for all he was worth.

“Did you want his mark to be yours?”

Katsuki closed his eyes against the memory. Fuck. He’d never even answered Shouto. He remembered all the fights they’d had over Deku, all the arguments and shouting matches. All the times Katsuki had insisted that Deku didn’t fucking mean anything.

Katsuki felt nausea rising up in him, a terrible disgust with himself invading his throat. Because he knew if Shouto were to ask him the same question again, he still wouldn’t have an answer.

Chapter Text

Shouto knew he was playing a dangerous game. The risks were high, his chances of escaping unscathed were near non-existent. He crept forward, hands readily raised in front of him, the tingle of his quirk already in the tips of his fingers. His heart raced in anticipation as he darted forward at the last moment, sliding his freezing right hand directly up the back of Katsuki’s shirt.

Katsuki, who had been unsuspecting while hanging a new, un-burnt, set of curtains over their windows, let out a yelp.

“Shouto!” Katsuki screamed and Shouto had to duck as an explosion was aimed directly at his head. Katsuki didn’t managed to hit Shouto’s head, but did manage to singe the brand-new curtains. Shouto shot a blast of cold at the smoldering drapes before darting forward and dropping a peck to his husband’s cheek. He had to leap out of the way again as another blast was thrown at him and he laughed as he made his escape from their apartment, the front door slamming shut on Katsuki’s continued shouting.

Shouto pulled his coat tighter around himself as he continued out of their apartment building and into the noticeably chilly air, a grin on his face the entire way. It’d been just over two weeks since Shouto’s soulmark and their terrible fight and the subsequent apologies. They still weren’t completely back to normal, but they were better. It was like an injury in the field: the first impact of a bone breaking or the skin slicing open might hurt like hell, and the bone-setting or stitches that followed could hurt almost just as bad, but in the end it all healed in time. It took care and time and it was more tedious than anything, but eventually, the bone would heal, the skin would knit back together, and everything would be back to normal.

Also, with Katsuki’s help, the apartment was close to looking back to normal as well. Well, “with Katsuki’s help,” really meant Katsuki attempting to do everything himself as his way of apologizing without ever actually saying so and screaming at Shouto that he was “doing fine on my own!” And “you don’t think I can handle myself, half and half?” Which meant Shouto was usually fixing Katsuki’s well-intended work while the other was away at work or sleeping. With some help from Jirou and Mina, they’d managed to build on the smoldering wreckage of their apartment to make it a bit more avant- guard. Jirou had painted murals on the walls, leaving parts of the charred pieces showing through that helped lend themselves to the artwork. Mina had enrolled the help of her girlfriend, Mei Hatsume, to build new furniture, which meant that they’d ended up with a lot of furniture with unnecessary capabilities such as a couch with an ejector button and a kitchen table that could grow extra legs. But she’d also helped rebuild their half-demolished bed so that it looked like part of a modernist sculpture.

When Shouto finally decided that they’d had enough of Mei messing with their furniture, Kirishima and Tetsutetsu came to help carry boxes of new furniture and sheets and curtains up to the apartment. Katsuki convinced Kirishima to sit on the new couch before immediately ejecting him into the ceiling to a cacophony of laughter from Tetsutetsu, cackling from Katsuki, and exasperated eye rolls from Shouto.

“You sure they’re not dating?” Shouto had asked, leaning against the doorjamb to their apartment, watching Kirishima and Tetsutetsu leave, roughhousing each other all the way down the hallway.

“Wha?” Katsuki asked, a sneer on his face. “No way, they’re just bros.”

He came up to stand next to Shouto just in time to see Tetsutetsu nip Kirishima in the ear and Kirishima wince away with a high-pitched giggle. Kirishima then went to slap the other in the ass, only to then be caught around the waist and hoisted over Tetsutetsu’s shoulder.

Shouto raised an eyebrow and Katsuki made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

“Okay, so they’re really close bros,” he said dismissively before turning back into the apartment.

Before he could make it very far though, Shouto caught him around the waist and spun him, pushing him back against the wall of the cramped entryway by the hips.

“Shouto,” Katsuki snarled. “What’re you—?”

“Do you want to be ‘really close bros’ with me?” Shouto asked, ducking his head to mutter into the space where Katsuki’s jaw met his neck.

“Shout—” Katsuki choked off the end and Shouto grinned in victory as he bit at Katsuki’s neck. Katsuki fisted his hands in Shouto’s shirt, caught between shoving him away and pulling him closer.

“Hng,” Katsuki whined. “The fuck you think—Need to unpack—”

“Hmm,” Shouto hummed, slipping his hands under the hem of Katsuki’s shirt, fingers playing over the dips and ridges he found there. “Unpacking can wait.”

Shouto sucked a bruise into the crook of Katsuki’s neck and the other practically melted beneath him.

“The door’s still open,” Katsuki hissed.

Shouto raised his head, pressing his lips to Katsuki’s ear, his voice rough and low as he asked, “Worried someone will see? How cute.”

“Fuck you,” Katsuki snarled.

The next moment, Katsuki’s arm shot out, slamming the front door shut before turning back to Shouto, fisting his hands in his husband’s shirt and spinning them to slam Shouto’s back into the wall. Shouto dove down to kiss Katsuki and he was met with snarls and teeth. He grinned against his husband’s lips. It was so easy to rile Katsuki, Shouto never had to push very hard, he could practically do it whenever he liked. And he absolutely reveled in it.

So, yes, Shouto thought as he turned down another street in the crisp autumn air, they were mending. Not quite healed yet, but close.

They’d spent so much time focusing on fixing the apartment, they’d forgotten the groceries and while Katsuki was fine with take-out and convenience store food, Shouto was about to lose his mind if he didn’t get any soba noodles soon. Shouto liked where they lived, with the grocery store just a few blocks further than the convenience store. The route to get there was scenic and if Shouto took the right turns he could pass by the park that had families and children playing in it. It was close enough to Fat Gum’s agency that Katsuki could swing by to see Kirishima whenever he liked and far enough from the Todoroki house that Shouto didn’t have to worry about bumping into his father unexpectedly.

There was another reason he’d like the area their apartment was located, but he hadn’t remembered it until he’d already done his shopping and was heading home. It wasn’t until he was still five blocks from home that he turned a corner and looked up that he saw Midoriya, standing outside a café in a pea coat and warming his hands around a disposable coffee cup. And that’s when he remembered the other reason was that his best friend lived ten minutes away. His best friend that he couldn’t see anymore. His best friend he shared a soulmark with.

Midoriya looked up from his coffee and caught sight of Shouto, his green eyes going wide in an instant, his face flushing red in the next instant. Shouto’s stomach dropped out beneath him, like he’d missed the last step in a stairway. He could feel the mark on his palm prickled and he fisted his hand against it, willing it to stop. The moment seemed to last a lifetime.

Shouto forced the lump in his throat down. Midoriya looked like he was about to say something, but before he could, Shouto spun on his heal and made to go back the way he’d come. He’d barely taken two steps however when a brilliant flash suddenly blinded him. He stumbled back, blinking against the pain that made his eyes water. The first flash was followed by another, then another, and then a jumble of voices he didn’t recognize, and everything was chaos. He dropped his grocery bag to shield his eyes, the eggs inside exploding on his shoes.

He was saved from the frenzy by a gentle but firm hand on his arm that pulled him away. Something was pulled over his head and a hand forced him to duck his head as he was pulled along. The flashes disappeared behind whatever thick fabric had been pulled over his head and the world narrowed to his feet shuffling over the pavement. The voices receded and he could breathe again, a fresh and familiar scent surrounding him from the thing that covered him.

Eventually, the hand on his arm forced him to slow before finally letting go. Shouto immediately yanked off whatever had been pulled over his head and he gasped for air. The world sprung back into focus and he saw that he’d been brought to an alley, brightly lit by the midday and surprisingly clean. Shouto slumped back against the alley wall leaning his head back as he gulped down air. As his heart slowed, he looked down to find that what he’d pulled off his head had been a green pea coat—Midoriya’s coat. When he looked up, he found Midoriya himself across from him, hands in his pockets in just his t-shirt. The characters on the front spelled out sweater. Shouto couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth—some things never changed at least. His coffee was gone, most likely dropped when he ran to help save Shouto. He had to stop himself from offering to buy Midoriya a new one.

“Um,” Shouto said, glancing down at the coat in his hands. “Thank you.”

Midoriya gave him a curious look. “Have you never had to hide from paparazzi before?” he asked.

Shouto frowned. “Not really.”

“Son of a previous number one hero, currently in the top five yourself, married to another in the top five, and brother to a previous-villain-turned-hero who’s also married to a previous number one hero and you’ve never had problems with the paparazzi?” Midoriya asked, slightly gaping.

Shoutos brow furrowed. How could anyone possibly keep any of that straight? But now that he’d thought about it, he really hadn’t had any problems with any paparazzi before. His father had been very adamant about keeping them at bay when he’d been younger (or else the fact that the number two hero was actually an abusive asshole would’ve been front page news) and after he’d married Katsuki, reporters tended to keep at least a twenty feet perimeter around him. The story of Katsuki literally biting one reporter’s fingers because she got too close to Shouto was still making its rounds on the internet.

“They seemed particularly aggressive today,” Shouto finally said, looking down at his remaining groceries. Damn, he thought. The soba noodles had been in the other bag.

“I guess it’s because we’re the biggest pro hero scandal to happen in a while,” Midoriya said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “They’re probably crawling all over the place now looking for us. We should probably stay put for the moment.”

Shouto couldn’t really find a reason to argue with this so he set down his remaining bag of groceries.

Shouto couldn’t really find a reason to argue with this so he set down his remaining bag of groceries and leaned back against the alley wall. He didn’t really want to be here, if he was honest: trapped in a cramped alleyway with his soulmate that he absolutely wanted nothing to do with. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny that it felt nice, being able to see Midoriya again. The two of them had a long history of study sessions, lunches, dinners, and everything else. Shouto had grown so used to seeing Midoriya two to three times a week, that it felt…empty, having not seen him for over a month now, like there was a part of his life that was missing.

But it was a false sense of reprieve. Shouto didn’t want to feel comfortable with Midoriya, didn’t want to miss him as a friend. He was terrified of talking to him at all, worried that one sentence, one slip of word choice or unintended smile would suddenly make the mark on his palm more than just a mark. He was scared of falling in love with Izuku Midoriya, partly because of their soulmarks, partly because nearly a decade ago, well before Katsuki, it had almost happened.

To be fair, Shouto was fairly certain everyone in their class had been in love with Izuku Midoriya at one point or another, it was fairy difficult not to. Especially after their first year, after he’d gained his confidence, after he’d learned to smile as easily as breathing and that smile looked like the sun after a storm, after he could hold his own in an interview without getting so flustered. So yes, it had been difficult not to fall in love with Izuku Midoriya.

But that had been before Katsuki. Before Shouto had learned to see Katsuki’s recklessness as bravery, his arrogance as a shield he wore to protect his fragile heart, his sharp smile that could soften with the right words.

Shouto wasn’t sure when he’d started watching Katsuki, when he’d starting paying attention to him more than usual, or what had started it. But he knew he’d noticed Katsuki long before Katsuki had noticed him. And he knew that when Katsuki had finally made the first move in that locker room an eternity ago, when he’d fisted his fingers in that brilliant blond hair, when he’d finally tasted that sharp tongue in his mouth, that Katsuki would be his and he’d be damned if he’d ever let him go.

And now it seemed the universe had marked Midoriya and Shouto to be together and the last thing he wanted was to prove the universe right.

So Shouto didn’t say anything. He stood in a strained silence, hoping Midoriya wouldn’t say anything, hoping they could move past this moment and forget it happened.

But Midoriya had never had a proclivity for keeping quiet.

“Do you remember your first interview?” he asked. “With Kacchan?”

Shouto looked up at that, curious. Midoriya was grinning, laughing at the memory.

“You guys were terrible.”

Shouto tried to remember the interview—there’d been so many over the years he tried to pick them apart. He frowned slightly.

“Was it…funny?” he asked, not sure why Midoriya was laughing.

“I’ve seen your recent interviews,” Midoriya said. “I think you’re just as oblivious now as you were then.”

Shouto quirked an eyebrow in response. “If I remember correctly, you sounded like a robot in your first interview.”

The laugh Midoriya let out this time was loud and full and Shouto couldn’t help but relax a little at the sound of it, despite his better judgement.

“All Might talked to me after,” Midoriya said with a grin. “‘You must relax, Young Midoriya!!’”

A laugh escaped Shouto; he’d forgotten how good Midoriya’s All Might impression was. He could even do a pretty good impression of retired All Might now, face elongating and eyes sinking in.

“Or the time reporters found us when we were having lunch with Kaminari?” Shouto said, unsure why the memory had come to him.

Midoriya snorted. “He dangled his ramen from his nose and pretended it was boogers. It was all over the blogs.”

Shouto rolled his eyes at the memory but he was still grinning.

They continued like that, talking about terrible interviews, remembering ridiculous things their classmates had done, until before they knew it, half an hour had passed. Clouds had started to collect overhead and Midoriya said that they were probably safe to leave now. Shouto realized he was still holding Midoriya’s coat for some reason and handed it over.

Midoriya took it back, and Shouto didn’t miss how he intentionally avoided brushing fingers with Shouto.

Shouto stooped to pick up his groceries and looked up to see as Midoriya pulled his coat back on. He glimpsed a large, shiny bandage taped over Midoriya’s left forearm—right over his soulmark. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before now.  Midoriya caught him staring and looked down to where his arm was crossed over his chest, pulling his other arm through his coat.

“Oh, um,” he said, suddenly uncomfortable—but then again, when was Midoriya ever not uncomfortable?

Midoriya hastily pulled his coat the rest of the way on, the silver bandage disappearing beneath a green wool sleeve.

“There’s a, uh, company I sometimes help with developing support items,” he explained quickly. “The patch is a prototype of theirs meant to permanently remove soulmarks. They’re letting me test it in return for all the times I’ve helped them out I guess.” Midoriya rubbed at his soulmark absentmindedly. “Hatsume designed it,” he added as an afterthought. He looked back at Shouto. “I could ask her—”

Shouto cut him off with a shake of his head. “They affect the ability to feel to a minor degree, but even a small change in my palm, for my quirk…” Shouto trailed off.

“It’d be devastating,” Midoriya finished, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Shouto said automatically. “It’s not your fault.”

Shouto and Katsuki had researched ways to remove soulmarks almost immediately. It’d taken only a handful of hours that the only safe ways to remove marks usually resulted in loss of feeling in the area the mark had been—damage to the nerve endings. Shouto relied heavily on being able to feel the heat and cold of his quirk in order to control it. If he couldn’t feel how cold his ice was, he’d be likely to give himself frostbite without realizing and end up loosing a finger or two. The news had made Katsuki…angry, to say the least. He’d screamed and raged and stormed out of the apartment to make sure that Shouto knew he wasn’t mad at him, but at the situation itself.

Shouto clenched and unclenched his right hand. It felt like his heart had sunk straight into his stomach. For a few, brilliant minutes, he’d completely forgotten about his mark—about his mark with Midoriya. He’d forgotten they weren’t supposed to be friends anymore and that he wasn’t supposed to feel so comfortable and easy to talk to.

And then, Shouto was angry, he was angry at Midoriya for making him forget, angry at how easy it was for Midoriya to say the right things and make anyone feel comfortable. Angry that they weren’t supposed to be friends to begin with. Angry at himself for forgetting and letting his guard down so easily. He tried to force the anger down, tried to square it away, but it forced itself up until it came spilling out of his mouth.

“I mean, I know it’s not your fault,” Shouto said, unable to meet Midoriya’s gaze. “But I can’t help but blame you.” He crossed his arms over his chest, burying his right palm and his mark in his shirt. “And I know that’s not fair, but I can’t help it. Katsuki, he was so hurt and I—” Shouto choked on a lump in his throat he hadn’t been aware of. “I felt so guilty even though I know it wasn’t my fault either but I can’t help but blame myself, too.”

He didn’t know where this had come from, where the words or feelings or tears had been hiding and why they’d chosen now of all times to reveal themselves. He just knew he’d been holding them in for so long and he couldn’t say these things to Katsuki because he was still trying to hold Katsuki together and he hadn’t had anyone else to talk to and standing across from Midoriya after not seeing him for so long, his one friend he could’ve told anything to, had felt so comfortable and familiar, he couldn’t help but let everything spill over.

He remembered once, years ago, when Katsuki had been hurt so badly by a villain, the doctors weren’t sure if he’d make it through the night. Shouto had called Midoriya because he didn’t know who else to call and Midoriya had shown up twenty minutes later and had hugged Shouto so tightly as Shouto had sobbed into his chest like a child. He felt guilty for thinking it, but he wanted Midoriya to hold him like that now, to help keep him standing because Shouto didn’t know how to hold the weight of this on his own. But he knew he couldn’t.

Shouto let out a watery huff of a laugh as he leaned his head back against the alley wall and looked up at the sky because he couldn’t bring himself to look at Midoriya.

“And I know we said we shouldn’t see each other, but I miss having you as a friend,” Shouto said, looking up at a sky so bright, he had to close his eyes against it.

His chest felt a hundred times lighter. Saying these things hadn’t fixed anything. If anything, it’d probably made things worse with Midoriya, but still, just saying them, to let it all out, felt like he’d taken off just a small bit of the weight he hadn’t realized been carrying for the past month.

“I’m moving.”

Shouto opened his eyes and finally looked at Midoriya. Midoriya wasn’t looking at him, his gaze turned towards the ground as he chewed his lip.

“Oh,” Shouto said.

“Away from Japan,” Midoriya said and when he looked up at Shouto his face was closed off, any laughter or smile from before evaporated. His eyes were distant. He looked like a doll. “There’s a big case being run by the Commission I’ve been asked to be a part of, but once that’s over, I’m leaving.”

Shouto blinked. He didn’t know how to feel about this, didn’t know if he could feel anything about it—all he felt in his chest at the moment was a horrible blank feeling, like someone had switched his emotions off until further notice.

“For how long?” Shouto asked.

Midoriya shrugged, looking away again.

“I don’t know, I just know I can’t stay…here.”

Shouto could almost hear the words Midoriya had been about to say: I can’t stay near you.

Shouto swallowed and nodded. “Okay,” he said because he didn’t know what else to say.

“If you haven’t yet,” Midoriya said suddenly, still not looking at him, “please delete my number.”

And then, without so much as a goodbye, he was gone. Shouto stood alone in the alleyway, staring at the spot Midoriya had been, feeling like someone had reached inside his chest without his permission and had scraped it raw. He was halfway home when it started to rain.

***

It was three days later when Shouto woke with a start in the middle of the night to the sound of his phone ringing. He scrambled for it, barely glancing at the number before answering.

“Todoroki,” he answered, still only half-awake.

Katsuki gave a grumble of complaint from the other side of the bed and Shouto swatted half-heartedly at him.

“Pro Hero IcyHot,” came a clipped tone from the other end.

“Commissioner?” Shouto asked. He’d worked with the Commissioner General of Japan’s police force a number of times before—enough to recognize his abrupt tone at least.

“The police are working with the Hero Public Safety Commission on an assignment and something has come up,” the Commissioner said without preamble. “We need to enlist your help as a Pro Hero.”

Shouto was properly awake now, moving to sit at the edge of the bed.

“What happened?” Shouto asked, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach.

“We have a hero that’s gone missing while on a case,” the Commissioner said. “We’ll need backup if we want to recover him.”

Shouto felt like his heart was beating outside his chest—still alive but so distant it was barely recognizable. When half your family and all your friends were heroes, these were the kind of calls you dreaded getting. His only consolation was that he knew Katsuki was only a few inches away from him.

“Who was it?”

Shouto could tell by the silence from the other end that the Commissioner didn’t want to say, but the longer Shouto went without an answer, the more he needed to know.

“Your brother-in-law,” the Commissioner finally said. “Pro Hero Hawks.”

The ringing in Shouto’s ears didn’t stop until he made it to the police station, he hadn’t even heard Katsuki call after him as he left. The trip there an entire blur, like the world had been muffled, smothered beneath a blanket. It didn’t stop until the police station doors opened up, the ringing overridden by the noise and chaos that swallowed him. He recognized the Commissioner and about a dozen police officers he’d worked with before. A few other top ranked heroes were there as well, all ones he knew or knew about.

He saw Touya first, not that he made it difficult. He was screaming something at the Commissioner, being held back by a handful of officers and heroes before he could hurt anyone. Touya’s hero suit helped to regulate his temperature and protect him from his own quirk, but his scars were still visible, still purple and raw beneath his t-shirt. Doctors had stitched him up properly, so the metal stitches from when he’d been Dabi were gone, but the skin at the seams was still fragile and it had torn around his mouth from the shouting.

“You can’t take me off this case!” he screamed over the shoulder of an officer that had him round the chest. “I need to find him!”

The Commissioner looked unfazed, his face as stony as ever, his voice calm as a riverbed when he spoke.

“Your connections to this case prove you to have a conflict of interest—”

“That’s my family!” Touya screamed. Blue flames were already twisting through his fingers in a threat. “You try to keep me away and I’ll fucking kill you!”

A muscle twitched in the Commissioner’s jaw. “Touya Todoroki,” the Commissioner said, his voice a tone sharper. “I’ll remind you that you are a hero now and such threats are not—”

“A hero,” Touya spat with contempt. When he looked at the Commissioner, his eyes were burning. “And how many bodies do I have to burn before that title’s revoked?”

Shouto rushed forward, ducking between officers to shove his forearm into Touya’s chest, pushing him back.

“Touya,” Shout said, his voice low. “Touya, please stop.”

Touya had to look at Shouto three times before he finally seemed to see him, his eyes focusing, his flames sputtering out.

“What are you doing here,” he asked in way of greeting, a sneer still on his face. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth where his skin had split.

“They called me in to help with Hawks,” Shouto said. Touya was still angry—Shouto could feel the heat pouring off him, but he let Shouto push him back and guide him to a chair, the rest of the officers and heroes scattering.

Touya scoffed. “So, I’m not allowed to find Hawks, but you aren’t a conflict of interest?”

“Pro Hero Hawks is not a direct relation to Pro Hero IcyHot,” the Commissioner explained smoothly, following behind Shouto. “And in previous cases, Pro Hero IcyHot has proven quite apt at keeping a level head.”

“Fuck off,” Touya bit, snapping his teeth at the Commissioner.

“Touya,” Shouto said, trying to refocus his brother’s attention.

“Shouto,” Touya hissed, grabbing at Shouto’s shirt. “Please,” he said, his teeth gritted, his eyes wild and desperate. “Please, Shouto, you have to find him, you have to find Takami—”

“Touya, I will,” Shouto said, grabbing at his brother’s hand. “I promise I will.”

Touya grimaced and Shouto could see tears gathering in his eyes, threatening to spill over. Touya’s head fell forward onto Shouto’s shoulder and Shouto wrapped an arm around him.

“Pro Hero IcyHot,” the Commissioner said and Shouto nearly felt like punching him himself. Couldn't he see he was trying to console his brother?

"What?" he snapped.

“I’m sorry, but time is critical, and you need to confer with the other hero that was on Hawks’s case.”

Shouto looked back over his shoulder at the Commissioner. “What other hero—?”

But the question died in Shouto’s throat as soon as he saw who came up behind the commissioner, his hero suit torn and scorched, soot and dirt smudging his face, and his wild green hair even more of a tangle than normal.

“There’s a big case being run by the Commission I’ve been asked to be a part of…”

The words rang in Shuoto’s ears as Izuku Midiyoria came up behind the Commissioner, looking like he’d dragged himself through hell. He looked embarrassed, awkwardly holding Hawks’s burnt and ripped coat in his hands like he didn’t know what to do with it. Shouto’s palm burned, but he didn’t know if it was from his mark, or from the heat still pouring off his brother's back.

Shouto didn’t know where it had come from, but he said the most “Katsuki” thing he could think of: “Shit.”

Chapter Text

Izuku Midoriya had not once, ever in his entire life, caught a break. And it seemed the universe was adamant about keeping that record going.

First, he’d been born with no quirk. Then, when he had finally found a way to get a quirk, that said quirk broke all of his bones. Then, every villain in existence apparently had it out for him his entire high school career. Then, his two best friends got married—which as all very nice and he was very happy for them, but Ochako had broken up with him two days beforehand so it was all a bittersweet affair. And then, he’d gotten a soulmark with one of the said best friends which then caused him to break that said friendship and make plans to move out of the country. And then, he’d managed to lose his partner while in the field on a mission, left with nothing but a scorched coat and a cancerous guilt brewing in his stomach. And then, that said partner ended up being the brother-in-law of the said friend who he’d gotten a soulmark with and had broken off their friendship and was now forced to work within a professional capacity. AND THEN, said ex-friend and cursed soulmate had insisted on including his very jealous and very explosive husband on said case which meant that Izuku had been forced to suffer through two very long hours of incessant death stares and sharp kicks under the table while they all briefed the new heroes on the case at hand.

On top of which, the husband of the partner he’d managed to lose while in the field on a mission and had left him with nothing but a scorched coat and a cancerous guilt brewing in his stomach seemed to blame him for letting his husband go missing in the field, which to be honest, Izuku blamed himself, too, but it didn’t make another set of accusing eyes staring daggers at him any easier to deal with. Oh, and said husband of the partner who’d gone missing and who now hated him for said disappearance also happened to be the ex-villain of the notorious League of Villains known as Dabi and was known for still being critically emotionally unhinged and could potentially incinerate Izuku on the spot at any moment.

So no, it did not look like the universe was going to give him a break anytime soon.

“Could you walk us through it again?”

“With respect, Commissioner,” Izuku said as he rubbed at his eyes. “It is late, I haven’t slept in over thirty hours, and we’ve been over this already—”

“No I think we need to hear it again,” Kacchan said, a smug look on his face as he looked at Izuku and leaned back in his chair. “Just to make sure we get all the details.”

“Kat,” Todoroki warned, his voice low and tired.

Todoroki had called Kacchan soon after he’d arrived at the station and Kacchan had shown up less than twenty minutes later. After Todoroki had managed to calm his brother, all of them and the other officers on the case had settled around a table in the station to gather the updates on the case and Izuku's report on the events of the night.

“No one is leaving until we figure out exactly what happened to Takami,” Todoroki said—the older one. Actually, it was easier to just call him Dabi, if Izuku was being honest. His hero name was Heat Strike, but Izuku had known him as Dabi for so long, it was difficult to remember it'd changed, so Izuku kept calling him Dabi secretly in his own head.

“Are you even allowed to be here?” Kacchan asked, turning over the back of his chair to look at Dabi, who was standing in the corner, arms crossed and his jaw set.

“I don’t remember you being invited, Ground Zero,” Dabi sneered. “I wasn’t aware your quirk was suited for covert missions.”

“I’m here because the police need heroes to help find your husband,” Kacchan snapped back.

“I am a hero!” Dabi snarled and Izuku could feel a wave of heat wash over him. “So I suggest you listen to what I—”

“I don’t have to listen to anything a murderer and a kidnapper could have to say!” Kacchan roared, his chair flinging back as he leaped to his feet.

Oh, and that was the other thing. The emotionally unstable ex-villain husband of the partner Izuku had lost in the field had previously helped kidnap the very jealous and very explosive husband of Izuku’s ex-friend and cursed soulmate that was now helping with said case. So suffice it to say, tensions were a little high.

The reason Kacchan was here—“officially”—was because they needed extra backup. Izuku, however, knew that the real reason was that Todoroki had insisted on including Kacchan. And Izuku could understand. Cases like this, especially covert ones, involved spending hours together with any other heroes or officers on the case for stakeouts, research, investigations, and everything in between. Kacchan was a chaperone. Or maybe Todoroki knew Kacchan would blow his lid if he knew Izuku and Todoroki were working the same case together. Or both. Probably both. So Izuku could understand, but Izuku also couldn’t deny that including Kacchan was another factor of stress added to an already stressful case.

Izuku had been given a change of clothes to replace his ragged hero suit—the second one destroyed in only a handful of weeks, he’d need to make upgrades. The sweatshirt he'd been given was oversized and warm and he was so tired, he felt like laying his head down on the table and going to sleep right there. It didn't help that his arm itched like crazy, a side effect of the soulmark patch. He’d been wearing it nonstop for nearly three weeks now and there’d been no noticeable change yet. He really only continued to wear it so he wouldn’t have to look at the mark. If he didn’t think about it for long enough, he could almost forget it existed. But then he’d peel back the patch to replace it with a fresh one or take a shower and there the mark was, as bright and as green as the day he’d gotten it. Just another thing he didn’t want to think about in a long list he’d collected over the course of a long month.

It’d taken nearly ten minutes of Todoroki calming Kacchan and three officers restraining Dabi for the confrontation to sizzle out. Dabi was finally escorted from the station and forced to go home under the threat that if he didn’t, he’d be barred from all updates to the case moving forward. Izuku had then been forced to rouse himself to recap the night’s events for the third time.

“Hawks was tailing me,” Izuku explained. “He was supposed to be back-up, while I trailed our lead in the case. He was simply supposed to be a…security measure.” Izuku rubbed a hand over his face. It was difficult to focus with Kacchan now pacing the room like a caged lion, but he tried his best. “Nothing was supposed to happen, we were just supposed to be collecting information. Hawks, after the whole thing with Touya Todoroki, can’t go undercover anymore, but he’s a silent tail so he could keep watch.” Izuku paused. He rubbed at his temple, a headache throbbing just behind his eyes. The night came to him in confusing flashes and broken segments.

Izuku often went undercover. Despite being the number one hero on the charts, he still had a pretty plain face (something Ochako still teased him about), so he easily blended into crowds or could lurk in alleyways without being noticed or recognized.

“I don’t,” Izuku took a shaky breath. “I don’t know what happened. They knew we were trailing them—I don’t know how, but they knew. I was listening in to a rendezvous and the next thing I knew, the enemy had snuck up behind me, cornering me in the alley. Hawks was forced to reveal himself, officially blowing our cover. I don’t—”

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, the station was so bright, the lights were painful. He tried to make sense of the images in his head, tried to remember what had happened, but it’d all been such a mess, and he’d been so tired, he wasn’t sure what had happened. When he opened his eyes again, the station was blurry. He had to blink a few times before it came into focus. He saw Todoroki sitting across from him, looking every bit the amount of awake and alert that Izuku wasn’t. He forced himself to focus, to ground himself in those eyes.

“There were more of them than we’d originally thought,” Izuku said. “We were hopelessly outnumbered. There were so many of them. I was barely able to get out of there in one piece, and I swear Hawks was right behind me.”

Izuku could hear the desperation in his own voice and he realized he was pleading. He needed the Commissioner and the officers and the other heroes to know that he hadn’t abandoned Hawks—not intentionally. But more than any of them, he needed to convince Todoroki, he needed Todoroki to know more than anyone that he hadn’t left Hawks to the wolves.

“He was next to me one moment, flying beside me but then I took a turn and when I looked back, he was gone.” Izuku sucked in a shaky breath. He’d never lost anyone on a mission before—never seen a colleague go down or disappear like that. He could still remember Hawks’s crimson feathers brushing his fingertips as Izuku flung himself from rooftop to rooftop in their escape. He’d been there, he’d been right next to him. And then he’d disappeared. Izuku still couldn’t make heads or tail of it. He’d been there one moment and gone the next.

“You had Hawks’s jacket.” Todoroki’s voice was quiet and calm. From anyone else, it might have been an accusation, but from him, it was a question.

“Um, yeah,” Izuku said. He bent his head and pressed his fingers into his eyes, trying to remember. “I’d grabbed him by the back of his jacket, trying to drag him out of there. He must have slipped out of it, I didn’t even realize I was still holding it until I got to the station.”

He opened his eyes to see nearly a dozen faces turned towards him, silent as the grave. A few people shared looks.

“Look, I know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s what happened,” Izuku said. God, he was so tired, he just wanted this to be over.

“Were you able to see any of their faces?” the Commissioner asked. “Were you able to identify any of the villains?”

“It was dark,” Izuku said. “I couldn’t see anyone’s face, no. But—” Izuku stopped himself, unsure if he should say what was coming next. He’d been exhausted and by the concerned looks he was getting, his reliability was already being doubted. What he was about to say was impossible, which was why he hadn’t mentioned it before now.

“Commissioner,” Izuku said, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I know how it sounds, but I could’ve sworn I saw Stain.”

The Commissioner frowned—a lot of emotion to show for him. “Stain,” he said. “He’s still in custody. Are you sure?”

“I was nearly killed by Stain,” Izuku said. “The face of your attempted murderer isn’t easy to mistake.”

The Commissioner’s frown deepened. “I see.”

Izuku kept his gaze trained on the table. He couldn’t bear the thought of looking up to find a dozen judging or disbelieving faces looking back at him. He could feel Kacchan’s gaze boring into the side of his temple. He knew better than anyone how crazy he sounded, and maybe he’d been hallucinating from lack of sleep and too much stress, but he’d seen what he saw.

After a long, painful silence, the Commissioner finally let out a heavy sigh.

“Right,” he said. “Pro Hero Deku, we thank you for your hard work on this case. I think it’s about time all of us went home and got some sleep. We’ll check in on Stain to ensure he’s still in custody and check his family history to make sure we’re not dealing with a relative with a similar quirk. You will all receive an update tomorrow morning. The case still takes priority, the locating of Pro Hero Hawks comes second. I ask you all to focus your attention appropriately. Good night.”

Izuku had to stop himself from crawling under the table and going to sleep right there on the station floor. Instead, he forced himself to his feet. His suit and Hawks’s jacket were both taken as evidence so he had nothing to take home. He was on his way out of the station when he passed Todoroki and Kacchan, talking to each other in low voices. Todoroki had his arms folded and kept nodding his head, no doubt ensuring Kacchan that he was okay. There was a brief moment as Izuku passed when Kacchan broke his gaze with Todoroki, turning it instead on Izuku.

The world seemed to slow around him. It was the first he’d seen Kacchan since the sinkhole over a month ago. He could feel Kacchan’s glare in the pit of his stomach, like lava scorching him from the inside out. It was a glare he’d seen before. He’d seen it in class, on the news, in the field. It was the same glare Kacchan had when the news broke about Endeavor’s domestic violence accusations, the same glare he’d given Shigaraki after his kidnapping. It was a look of unfiltered hatred, one that said he was going to rip you limb from limb and wouldn’t even feel sorry about it.

Izuku’s heart clenched at the sight of it and he looked away first, ducking his head as he continued to make his way out of the station. He wanted to go home and sleep for a million years. He wanted to never see Kacchan or Todoroki again. He wanted to peel off his soulmark patch and have a warm bowl of katsudon. He wanted to find Hawks. He just wanted this day to be over.

He’d been so close it, too. He’d been at the station front doors when he heard his name called. When he turned, he found the last person in the world he wanted to talk to at the moment.

Shouto Todoroki stood in front of him, alone. He looked worried, which wasn’t a surprise, his brother-in-law was missing and his brother seemed to be teetering on the edge of villainy in desperation to get him back. Izuku wasn’t sure where Kacchan had gone, but the last thing he wanted was for him to stumble on Izuku and Todoroki talking in private. A police station going up in an explosion would be the perfect way to end the night if that were the case.

Izuku wasn’t sure why he’d spoken to Todoroki the way he had in that alleyway. He’d been the one to say they shouldn’t see each other, and yet he’d been the one to start a conversation. He’d run the scene over and over and still couldn’t justify it, apart from the fact that he’d never been good with silence. And, if he was truly honest, he felt the same as Todoroki—he missed talking to his best friend.

But if there was one thing that whole debacle had proven, it was that talking to Todoroki was the worst idea. Leaving that day had been worse than that day in the hospital. That one brief conversation, that one sliver of the friendship they'd had was like a shard of glass to the heart. It was a glimpse of what they could never have again and it hurt worse than anything. And it was certainly something he didn’t want to experience again right now in the police station after he’d already had one of the worst days of his life.

“Hey, Todoroki,” Izuku sighed, doing his best to sound polite, but certain he sounded more tired than anything. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m all right,” Todoroki said, but Izuku could see how tense his shoulders were, how worried his brow was.

“Your brother?” Izuku asked. “Will he—?”

“Touya will be okay,” Todoroki said with a shrug. “He just needs time.”

“And for us to find Hawks,” Izuku said.

Todoroki only sighed in response, his gaze drifting off to somewhere to the right for a moment before refocusing on Izuku.

“You must be exhausted,” he said. “Do you want me to walk you home?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Izuku said automatically. “Thanks, though. Good night, Todoroki.”

Izuku had turned and had his hand on the station’s front door when he heard:

“Midoriya.”

Izuku for all the world knew he should have ignored it, knew he should have kept walking, but he couldn’t. He froze. When Izuku didn’t say anything, Todoroki continued on very quickly.  

“What I said before is true, I miss you as a friend.” There was a space of hesitation, and then, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Izuku let out a sigh, leaning forward until his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the station door. Just one break. Just one small break was all he wanted. He’d already done the hard thing—twice. He didn’t want to have to do it again.

“You can’t say things like that,” Izuku muttered, his breath fogging up the glass of the door.

"After the other day," Todoroki said. "I thought that's something you'd want, too."

"What I want has nothing to do with it."

“If we just stay friends, I don’t understand why—”

“Because I can’t!” Izuku exploded, rounding on Todoroki. “I can’t keep being your friend, because I’m not like you.”

Maybe if he’d had some sleep in the last thirty hours, or he hadn’t just lost Hawks, or he didn’t feel ready to collapse, he’d be able to handle the situation better, but he was tired and he was stressed and his arm itched like mad, and he was sick of having to deal with this soulmark bullshit. And now that he’d started, it was like a dam that had crumbled, everything he’d had bottled up because he was supposed to be the better person and the number one hero and brave and reliable and everything else he was tired of being came rushing out at once

“Amazing Todoroki, inhuman Todoroki,” he said, tasting the bitterness in his own voice. “Able to control all his emotions, to keep them all in check and box them away like a robot. I can’t do that,” Izuku said and he heard his voice crack. He wasn’t sure when Todoroki’s face had gone blurry, but for some reason that made it easier. “You have Kacchan, you already have someone to love you and rely on. I don’t. And I’m sorry, but I can’t guarantee that I won’t,” Izuku choked on the words and he could feel the tears already pouring down his face before he could stop them. “I can’t promise I won’t fall in love with you if we stay friends and quite frankly, that’s not fair to me.”

Izuku heaved in a breath. His face felt hot and embarrassed and Izuku used the sleeve of his borrowed sweater to wipe at his wet face. His throat was thick with tears that made it difficult to breathe and he realized he was tired of crying. He was tired of saying goodbye to Todoroki again and again. He was tired of feeling guilty, and of feeling like he'd betrayed Kacchan and of his arm itching. He was tired of all of it.

Todoroki hadn’t said anything and Izuku could only guess what he was thinking because Izuku couldn’t bring himself to look at him.

“Todoroki, I’m sorry,” Izuku said to the floor, “and I’ll do everything I can to help find Hawks and work with you as a professional, but I told you that I was leaving after this case. That’s not changing.”

He didn’t give Todoroki the chance say anything else that would shove another shard into Izuku’s chest. He turned and left. Todoroki did not follow.

Izuku pulled the hood of his grey hoodie up against the autumn chill. He was aware that in a set of police sweatpants and sweatshirt on the streets late at night he looked vaguely like a criminal, but he didn’t care. He took the turns from the station that he knew by heart at this point.

A familiar apartment building looked over him and he quickly climbed the stairs until he found the right floor and door. He reached forward but instead of offering his own keys to the door handle, he knocked. It took him two more tries before he finally heard the sound of footsteps on the other side.

When the door swung open, he found a round, kind face blinking sleepily into the light of the hallway.

“Deku?” Ochako asked with a yawn. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

Izuku could see Tsuyu, rubbing her eyes as she shuffled into the dark entry hallway behind Ochako.

Izuku rubbed at his running nose. “Yeah I’m okay,” he said quickly.

Seeing Ochako was like coming up for air after being suffocated. She was so familiar and warm, even only half-awake and clad in a disheveled sleeping gown, she looked like home. Izuku wasn’t sure why he’d come here, he just knew he couldn’t go home to an empty apartment and Iida was usually on late-night patrols this time of year. He didn’t know where else to go.

Ochako blinked a few more times, her eyes finally focusing on Izuku.

“Izuku,” she said, her voice suddenly a lot more awake. “You sure?”

Izuku was the number one hero. Even though he’d asked them multiple times not to, the media had started calling him the new All Might. He was supposed to be a pillar. He wasn’t supposed to be weak or cry or break or fall apart.

Heroes also have times when they cry…Maybe.

It was something that Todoroki, of all people, had told him forever ago and the thought of those words overwhelmed him. It overwhelmed him just like everything else from the last few weeks and he felt it all come up like a wave to come crashing down on him.

“No,” Izuku whispered and he could already feel the tears coming. “No, I’m not.”

The next thing he knew, surprisingly strong arms were wrapped around him, crushing him in a hug that was painful but felt good and sturdy. He wrapped his arms around Ochako’s shoulders. Years after UA had given Izuku a significant height difference over her and he buried his nose in her hair and let himself fall apart. A few moments later, he felt a second set of arms around him and knew it was Tsuyu. He gasped out a laugh and grinned into the top of Ochako’s head. He spared an arm from Ochako to wrap it around Tsuyu as well.

The three of them held on to one another as Izuku continued to sob in the middle of the hallway and Izuku realized how very grateful he was for his friends.

Chapter Text

This was the shittiest situation Katuski had ever experienced in his entire life. He supposed it could be worse—it could be Shouto missing instead of Hawks, so he supposed that was something to be grateful for. He could be the one screaming his head off at the station instead of Touya Todoroki.

And that was the other thing wasn’t it? It wasn’t enough that he had to deal with shitty fucking Deku again, but he also had to deal with that asshole, Touya Todoroki, as well?

Touya might be his brother-in-law, but Katsuki didn’t trust the bastard as far as he could throw him. Marrying Shouto had meant diving headfirst into the mess that was the Todoroki family, and for the most part, coming from an entire childhood raised by his bat of a mother, it was something Katsuki could handle easily. But it didn’t matter how prepared he was, he doubted anyone would be able to sit calmly through a family dinner that included a father-in-law that had abused and terrorized the love of your life, a mother-in-law that had scarred the love of your life because of the abusive father, and a brother-in-law that had turned villain and kidnapped you because of, again, the abusive shitty fucking excuse for a father.

The entire abridged version of the story surrounding Touya Todoroki was that at some point a few years ago, a soulmark had developed between the villain known as Dabi and the number two hero, Hawks. Through some fantastic magic of love or some shit, Dabi subsequently turned traitor to the League of Villains and fed the police vital information as a double agent that had eventually led to the devastating end of the League. Dabi, for his help, had received massively reduced sentences for his crimes and had emerged from a relatively short incarceration as the missing Todoroki son, Touya Todoroki, before immediately starting to work towards becoming the qualified pro hero known as Heat Strike. The wedding—or really the trip to the courthouse to sign the marriage certificates with as few as witnesses as possible—between Touya and Hawks had come not long after.

The Todoroki brothers reunion had gone well apparently, because Shouto now trusted his brother with his life. Shouto’s trust was the only reason Katsuki even tolerated the bastard, but privately, Katsuki wouldn’t trust Touya to cook dinner, much less trust him with his life—“reformed” villain or not.

It wasn’t that Katsuki hated Touya—he actually truly hated very few people, despite popular belief. He simply had a long list of people that made him mad easier than others, but there were only a handful of select people that he actually hated. Katsuki hated Endeavor. He hated villains. He hated that one reporter that had made a rude comment about Shouto’s scar. He might hate Deku. He wasn’t sure about that one yet.

Every time he saw Deku, his stomach twisted and his blood grew hot. He couldn’t think of anything other than Shouto’s soulmark and that time he’d seen Deku kiss Round Face, over and over until he thought he thought his head would split and all he wanted to do was scream. He was pretty sure that qualified as hate.

He hadn’t even realized he (probably) hated Deku until he saw him at the police station earlier that night. The reaction had been immediate and physical, and he’d felt ready to either vomit or explode. He had thought he’d be fine. He’d had his fight with Shouto and then they’d moved on. They weren’t 100% back to normal but they were close. If he didn’t focus on it, he could almost forget about Shouto’s soulmark and Deku and the entire shitty situation.

So, he didn’t think he’d have a problem with seeing Deku. He’d rushed to the station as soon as he’d gotten Shouto’s call. He wasn’t sure if the call was because of Deku or because he was shaken over Touya, but he hadn’t cared either way, he just knew Shouto needed him.

And then he’d seen Deku. He saw the bruises and blood and the circles under his eyes, and it made him…angry for some reason. What kind of shitty number one hero let himself get beat to high hell like that? Who had let him get beat to high hell like that? It made Katsuki furious to see Deku hurt like that, because he wasn’t supposed to get hurt like that and he hated him for it. Probably hated. It was difficult to sort his emotions at the moment.

But he wasn’t mad because he cared about Deku—cared that he got hurt. That was stupid. Because he didn’t. Probably didn’t.

And then he’d remembered the soulmarks and that made him mad all over again. Though it wasn’t the same, visceral anger he’d had when he’d first seen Shouto’s mark, it was a sour sort of anger, one he didn’t really understand, which was stupid because wasn’t all anger supposed to be the same? But he wasn’t mad because he wanted Midoriya’s mark like Shouto had said before, that was insane.

Probably insane.  

Ugh, all these thoughts were messy and confusing and annoying and honestly it was just easier to hate Deku than try to figure it out. He’d already (probably) hated Deku since childhood, so he didn’t see why he couldn’t just keep doing it.

 Shouto had told Katsuki to go home ahead of him, and he had because he listened to Shouto. He trusted Shouto. And that was exactly why Katsuki was laying on their bed in the dark and staring up at the ceiling not thinking about how Shouto was probably talking to Deku. And why he was definitely not thinking about what they could be talking about or about Shouto laughing at something stupid that Deku had said. And he definitely wasn’t thinking about their soulmarks and growing more and more jealous by the minute. He wasn’t. Because he trusted Shouto not to do any of that. Probably.

Katsuki tried to think of something else, of something other than his husband talking to Izuku-fucking-Midoriya, alone. He tired to think of high school, tried to think of that first time with Shouto in the locker room because if he was being honest, he treasured that memory like nothing else. That proved to be a mistake, however, because he’d forgotten why he’d kissed Shouto that first time. The image of Deku kissing Round Face surged up to meet him and he felt sick. And then he sat there thinking about why it made him feel sick, which then led him to thinking about a dozen other things he (probably) didn’t want to think about.

Like that time Katsuki had gone to grab Deku out of a rockslide he'd been caught in while they'd been in natural disaster training and he’d been ready to gloat about it up until the point he’d looked down and had seen Deku’s face. He’d turned it towards the sun and was grinning so wide, it was hard to tell what was sunlight and what was him. Katsuki had nearly dropped him because his entire body had gone numb at the sight of it.

Or that time villains had broken into the dorms, and they had been forced to hide behind one of the couches wedged into a corner and Deku had had to drag him there because he’d wanted to fight instead of hiding like a coward but the next thing he knew, he was on the ground and it was dark and cramped and Deku was on top of him, much closer than he should ever be and Katsuki could feel his breath on his cheek and he was so close and Katsuki couldn’t tell if his own racing heart was because of the villains or because of…something else.

Or the time in their second sports festival when Deku finally had proper control over his quirk and had fought his way to the top to face off against Katsuki and that had been the best fight Katsuki had ever had. He could feel the adrenaline like battery acid in his veins, his heart racing with the thrill of letting loose everything he had, and the grin on his face so wide, he thought his face would split in two. He’d wanted to feel that way forever, to just keep fighting Deku until the end of the world because it was the best feeling he’d ever had.

And then he’d seen Deku kiss Round Face and he’d felt sick and he didn’t know why, and then everything with Shouto had happened: their shared nights and the smiles Katsuki only let Shouto see, and gentle brush of lips on skin when it was late and they’d been lying in bed for hours doing nothing but talk, and the times Katsuki had dragged Shouto to the restrooms against his protests in the middle of the day to do things Iida would call “improper.”

And then there’d been all the times that had come after Shouto. The times with Deku that confused him and made his stomach twist because he didn’t understand them.

Like that time Shouto had invited Deku to one of their study sessions and Katsuki had been mad at first, mostly because he and Shouto usually didn’t actually end up studying at their study sessions, but then he’d grown bored and frustrated halfway through and couldn’t focus on schoolwork anymore so he then spent ten minutes staring at Deku’s stupidly fluffy hair, wondering what it would feel like if he touched it. Then Deku had looked up and caught him and Katsuki couldn’t even deny that he’d been staring. Deku had grinned and Katsuki swore it made the room a little bit brighter.

“See something you like, Kacchan?” Deku had asked with that stupid grin and Katsuki could feel his face flush an embarrassing shade of red.

Katsuki looked away quickly and he could hear Shouto chuckling.

“Don’t tease him,” Shouto had said, grinning as he gave Deku a sharp poke in the shoulder with the end of his pencil. “You’ll confuse his tiny brain.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki had snapped. “Both of you.”

Or all the times Deku had come over to their apartment to see Shouto and he’d sometimes spend the night on the couch and Katsuki would always find him the next morning, hair tousled and eyes squinty with sleep as he slumped over his coffee cup and in those moments he wasn’t the number one hero or All Might’s successor or the “most powerful hero of their age”, but he was simply…Deku, tired and ruffled with his stupid face looking unaware and vulnerable at their kitchen table. Katsuki would always tweak Deku’s nose, or steal his coffee, or yank at his hair and Deku would always grumble something in protest and Katsuki would laugh and Shouto would smack Katsuki upside the head.

Katsuki’s heart suddenly sunk at the memories as he realized they wouldn’t have mornings like that anymore. He hadn’t seen Shouto with Deku since the soulmarks and he suspected that was intentional. Katsuki suddenly had the horrible realization that he’d miss those mornings. Which didn’t make any sense because he fucking hated stupid Deku. Probably hated.

“Did you want his mark to be yours?”

Katsuki let out a strangled noise and brought his hands up to press his fingers into his eyes. No. He did hate Deku, he had to hate Deku, because he didn’t have any other way to explain what he was feeling. It was easier to hate Deku than to try and figure out this tumble of thoughts and memories in his head.

“Did you want his mark to be yours?”

No, he didn’t.

Probably didn’t.

Katsuki jumped at the sound of the front door swinging open. He leapt to his feet, grateful for a distraction from his frustrating thoughts.

“Shou,” he said, moving towards the front entryway. “Are you okay? You’re brother—”

Katsuki froze, caught off guard. He hadn’t turned any lights on and Shouto was in the entryway, backlit by the hallway light as he pulled off his shoes and tried to wrestle his way out of his coat. The light shadowed his features but Katsuki could see he was…upset, his brow furrowed, his mouth pulled in a frown.

“Shouto?” Katsuki asked, moving to reach out to him. “What happened—?”

“Can you stop?” Shouto said without prefix, finally looking at Katsuki and Katsuki suddenly realized he was upset with him.

Katsuki froze. Something hot and angry flared in Katsuki’s stomach. He felt…indignant. What had he done wrong? Out of everything in this entire shitty awful night, what could he possibly be blamed for?

“The fuck?” he spat, stepping back. “What did I do?”

Shouto let out a frustrated huff, which did nothing to help with Katsuki’s anger. He knew that huff. It was the huff Shouto gave whenever Katsuki was being “intentionally obtuse,” when he didn't get how stupid or oblivious he was being and Shouto was done with trying to explain it to him.

Shouto shouldered past him in the hallway and Katsuki followed because they were apparently arguing now, though Katsuki didn’t know why they were arguing, but he never walked away from an argument and he wasn't about to now. He followed Shouto into the kitchen, where Shouto had started opening and slamming cabinets and jabbing at the coffee maker without it actually turning on.

“I saw how you were glaring at Midoriya,” Shouto said as he opened the fridge before slamming it closed and spinning back towards Katsuki. “You were being a prick to him the entire night.”

Katsuki gaped. “This is about Deku?”

Shouto rolled his eyes, turning back to open drawers and slam them closed without taking anything out of them. “Why do you always make it about Midoriya?” Katsuki could hear Shouto's teeth bared in frustration. 

“Who the fuck else would this be about—?”

“You, Katsuki,” Shouto said, and this time when he turned on Katsuki, he looked furious.

Shouto didn't get furious, not really. He was every bit of calm and collected that Katsuki wasn't, and that's why they worked so well. But Shouto rarely got properly angry, especially not at him. Katsuki could rage and scream and Shouto would simply level that cool glare at him and that's what they would do because that's who they were. But now Shouto was furious, his brow furrowed into sharp lines and his eyes burning with it. And Katsuki couldn't understand why.

“This isn’t about Midoriya," Shouto continued, "or me for that matter. This is about you and how you take in offense in every small thing.”

Katsuki stared, at a loss of words for probably the first time in his life. He couldn’t comprehend what they were arguing about, couldn’t understand how this was all his fault. And it pissed him off.

“He has a soulmark with you, Shouto!” Katsuki exploded. “What, I’m not allowed to—?”

“No, you’re not!” Shouto shouted back. “You’re not allowed to be mad or hateful or cast blame on anyone!”

“You’re my husband!”

“And do you blame me?”

Katsuki stopped, his anger stuttering in a moment of confusion. “What?”

Shouto shoved his hand forward, palm up, the silver of his mark catching the faint light. “Do you blame me for this, Katsuki?” he asked, the accusation in his voice like a knife.

Katsuki blinked at the mark, trying to ignore the revulsion he usually got when forced to look at it. Then he blinked back up at Shouto. “Shouto, no. You know I—”

“Then you can’t blame Midoriya for it either,” Shouto said and he curled his fingers over the mark, making a fist before pulling his hand back. Katsuki could see his eyes flash in the dark, bright and burning. “You’re not allowed to be mad at him, so you can stop being a fucking ass about it.”

Katsuki stared, and he kept staring as Shouto shoved by him and towards their bedroom before slamming the door shut and leaving Katsuki alone in the dark kitchen with nothing but the smoldering embers of his anger. He wanted to keep fighting. He was good at fighting, he was used to fighting, and it was easier than talking. But he was tired, and he still didn't really understand why Shouto was mad or what he'd done wrong, and if there was one thing he'd learned over the years was that getting into an argument with Shouto without all your cards in order usually left you with a losing hand. And that wasn't something he wanted to deal with at the moment.

Katsuki leaned against the wall of the kitchen, gritting his teeth as he tilted his head back.

Katsuki hated Deku. Probably.

He hated Deku because his stomach flipped whenever he saw him. He hated Deku because he made his thoughts spin and his chest twist. He hated Deku because he didn’t know how else to explain these emotions.

“Did you want his mark to be yours?”

If he wasn’t allowed to hate Deku, then how the hell was he supposed to feel about him?

Chapter Text

Katsuki was brooding, though to be fair, Katsuki was usually brooding about one thing or another. “Brooding.” Shouto scoffed at the word, it was more like pouting, really. He’d been pouting like a puppy that had been kicked ever since their last fight about Midoriya, sulking at the kitchen table, or giving Shouto the cold shoulder with his back turned towards him in their bed.

It’d been three days since the night Hawks had gone missing. Shouto had spent that time getting caught up on the case while Katsuki had spent it brooding from afar, arms crossed as he sulked in a chair a few feet off as he watched Shouto work. Touya had been right that first night, of course. Katsuki’s quirk wasn’t exactly suited for a case like this, a case that depended on discretion and on stealth, which meant that in a case like this, there wasn’t much for him to do. If Shouto had to, he could dispatch with henchmen or small-league villains silently and quickly. He’d seen Midoriya do the same. Kirishima and Tetsutetsu also had similar skills and had been brought in on the case early on, though they’d been on patrol the night Hawks had gone missing. After her internship with Gunhead, Uraraka had continued her hand-to-hand training and could hold her own against even Kirishima (she was insanely ripped, if Shouto was in the rights to say. Like…really. Wow.). After Midoriya’s referral, she’d also been brought onto the case and assigned to help retrieve Hawks.

If he was honest, between Katsuki’s brooding and Kirishima’s constant attempts to lift Katsuki’s spirits and Midoriya now actively avoiding him and Uraraka’s constant stink eye she was throwing in his direction—whatever that was about—and Touya’s constant pestering for updates on Hawks, Shouto had definitely not been looking for a case that would prove to be so stressful.

And then, there was the case itself. Midoriya had been helping the police investigate a string of robberies, committed succinctly and soundly. The eyewitnesses did not see any faces, no evidence was left behind, and the items that were stolen ranged widely. Some thefts included gems, other were of priceless works of art, yet more were of large sums of money. All of the robberies had been carried out in the same methodical way, teams of no more than four men, all heavily armed and masked. The guns were a surprise. Most robberies nowadays were carried out by threat of quirks, not firearms. But if there was one thing the guns did it made the robberies quick and clean. Quirks could demolish safes or disintegrate walls, but they were usually loud and messy and called heroes to the scene within a matter of minutes. Guns, though. You wouldn’t need to demolish a few walls if the victims willingly handed over their treasures under threat of gunpoint.

The robberies had all also taken place during precise opportune times. Any emergency lines to the police or hero agencies had been cut before the robberies had taken place, and the timing always had the robberies take place at the exact moment that all the heroes on patrol in the district were too far away to respond. It was genius, really. In a day and age when everyone relied on quirks for everything, whoever this gang was seemed to have formulated the perfect heist for just about anything.

“They’re quirkless,” the lead detective in charge of the case explained to everyone gathered in one of the police officer’s desks. The detective went by the name Hashimoto, one Shouto hadn’t worked with before, but knew the name of due to impressive work on multiple high-profile cases. She spoke succinctly and held herself with a very official demeaner, straight backed with close cropped hair and a perpetually stony look on her face. She’d been working on the case from the beginning and had been in charge of bringing everyone up to speed on the case.

A majority of the station had been taken up as a base of operations for the case Midoriya and Hawks had been working. Officers working other cases moved back and forth in the background, the station a buzz with detectives, officers, and heroes.

“None of the witnesses or security cameras show any signs of quirks being used,” Hashimoto finished.

Shouto was sitting at a nearby desk, a mess of papers and documents in front of him, a whiteboard in front of them with suspects and leads and witnesses and patterns written all over it. Katsuki sat two desks away, feet propped up on the desktop, arms cross and his face stormy. Uraraka was standing near Shouto, her perfectly postured back turned towards him. Midioriya was on the other end of the whites board, as far from Shouto as he could possibly be, which had become a standard recently. If Shouto wanted to know where Midoriya was, he just had to look where the farthest place to be physically from him was, and there was Midoriya, intentionally avoiding eye contact with him. Every time.

“So what?” Shouto asked. “Are you thinking it’s some sort of anti-quirk group?”

There’d been groups popping up recently in the media, consisting of people without quirks and advocating for a “world without quirks.” So far, none of them had shown any signs of violent acts, but that didn’t mean that couldn’t change. In Shouto’s experience, most terrorist groups were “non-violent” before they decided to start blowing up buildings.

“Or, they could simply not be using their quirks,” Kirishima said. He was leaning against Katsuki’s desk, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s an easy way to escape anyone finding their identities through the quirk registration.”

“Or maybe their quirks are more nuanced?” Uraraka offered. “Like Shinsou’s mind control.”

“We’ve had Pro Hero MindWash look into the tapes and see if there’s proof of any such quirk,” Hashimoto explained. “He says it’s very unlikely.”

“So, we have no leads and no evidence to go on is what you’re saying,” Katsuki said. Everyone turned to stare at him. It was the first thing he’d said all day. He sneered at them in return.

“No, not exactly,” Hashimoto said, her tone now cold. “We’re looking into where the firearms used in the robberies could have been acquired, though we can’t rule out a duplication quirk. But Hawks and Deku were the ones working on our most promising lead.”

Everyone turned to look at Midoriya, who took a moment to realize they were waiting for him.

“Oh, um.” Midoriya straightened up from where he’d been leaning on the back of a chair and cleared his throat. Shouto wondered if he hadn’t really been paying attention until now.

“Hawks and I had a few connections,” Midoriya explained, looking a little uncomfortable with so many eyes trained on him. “All these priceless items being stolen, we figured they’d be trying to sell them off somehow. He caught word a rendezvous was going to be happening for a trade of something big. Hawks and I went to investigate and, ah, that’s when we were ambushed.”

Katuski scoffed condescendingly from his commandeered desk. It took barely a thought for Shouto to fling a chunk of ice the size of a plum at Katsuki’s head, where it hit with a satisfying thunk. At almost the same time, Kirishima thwapped Katsuki upside the head.

“The fuck,” Katuski spat, his boots falling from the desktop as he rubbed at his head, casting a glower at Kirishima before casting another one at Shouto. He hissed something fowl-sounding under his breath before shoving to his feet and storming off, muttering insults the entire way.

When Shouto turned back, he found Uraraka glaring at him, which caught Shotuo by surprise because Uraraka didn’t glare at anyone and Shouto certainly didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it. He let out a sigh. More and more people seemed to hate him these days.

There were a few more discussions about potential leads and suspects, most of them about a few more promising leads, though none of them were as strong as the one Hawks and Midoriya had been tailing. Officers and heroes had been hitting the pavement, tip lines had been ringing non-stop, and yet nothing solid had presented itself yet. They were talking in circles about quirk and non-quirk villain theories when the Chief of Police, previously detective Tsukauchi Naomasa, blew in and began slapping folders to desks.

“The Commissioner just announced he wants more feet on the ground,” Chief Naomasa announced. “You’re all assigned as part of 24-hour surveillance for our art dealer downtown.”

“Chief, the art dealer?” Hashimoto was shuffling through the files that’d just been handed to her.

Aside from the rendezvous Deku and Hawks had heard of, the police had another lead: an underground dealer that handled a lot of hot and high-valued items. A few of the stolen artworks had shown up in the dealer’s district, and though it wasn’t near enough of them to account for even half of the missing art pieces, it was enough to cause suspicion. The police and heroes on the case had been tailing the dealer for weeks, but with no luck.

“Sir, it’s not even a strong lead,” Hashimoto said, snapping her folder shut and tossing it onto her desk.

Chief Naomasa gave Hashimoto an apologetic look. “It’s the best lead we’ve got at the moment, Detective. And the Commissioner wants us to show the media that we’re putting in the effort.”

“But the heroes, sir?” Hashimoto insisted. “Surely we could use them better elsewhere?”

“There’s only so much manpower we can divert to this case,” Chief Naomasa said. “We still have other cases to solve and most of our other officers are manning tip lines and interviewing witnesses. This is the best use we have for them.”

Chief Naomasa turned to the rest of them and gave them a bow and a quick, “Thank you for your work.” before offering Hashimoto her own small bow that she scoffed at and then he was gone.

“Well, you heard the Chief,” Hashimoto said as she turned back to them, sounding not at all happy. “Look at your assignments, and report in on what you find.”

Shouto opened his folder and looked at the timetable spread in front of him that accounted for round the clock constant surveillance. He found his name and let out groan as he buried his face in his hands. He could feel Uraraka’s eyes boring holes into his back. This was officially the worst case he’d ever worked.

***

The clock on the car’s dashboard read an absurdly early hour. Shouto shifted in the passenger seat of the car and pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he pressed his forehead against the cool window of the car door, staring at the front door of the apartment building that hadn’t changed in the last four hours. He could use his quirk, of course, to keep the late night autumn chill at bay, but to keep it continually going was exhausting, and if he kept it going for too long, he ran the risk of fogging the car windows, which would not only block their line of sight, but also look incredibly suspicious.

He heard the driver’s door open, the car tilt slightly as someone sat heavily in the driver’s seat and then the door slam closed. The beautiful smell of coffee filled the cramped cabin of the car.

“Coffee.”

Shouto turned his head against the car window to see as Midoriya set a disposable cup of coffee in the car’s central cup holder, avoiding having to hand anything directly to Shouto. Shouto took it with a muttered thanks, picking up the coffee if only to wrap his fingers around it and let the heat seep into him.

It was the first stake-out Shouto had with Midoriya, two days after the assignment came from the Chief. So far, he’d shared shifts with Kirishima, who never seemed to shut up, Tetsutetsu, who never seemed to stop moving, and Katsuki, who was just as brooding as he had been for the last week and refused to talk to him, which was just as good for Shouto.

But it was the first night with Midoriya, the first time he’d been within twenty feet of Midoriya since their conversation at the station front doors, actually. Midoriya had actively been avoiding Shouto since the incident, which Shouto thought was fair. The conversation hadn’t gone well, and that was all due to Shouto, so he couldn’t blame Midoriya for hating him.

The silence was uncomfortable, like an itchy sweater you were forced to wear because a relative had made it for you. Not that Shouto had a problem with silence in general, he was rather silent himself generally speaking, and he’d sat through enough of Katsuki’s brooding fits to be familiar with silence. But it was the fact that it was Midoriya being so silent that was unsettling. Midoriya was not a quiet person. If he wasn’t talking, he was muttering or his pencil was scratching on a notebook, or his knee was bouncing, but he hadn’t done any of that for the last few hours. Not even a peep. “Coffee,” was the most noise he’d made since their stake-out had started hours ago. And it made Shouto uncomfortable.

“Midoriya,” Shouto said, his voice low in the silence of the car. A flick of the eyes in his direction was the only sign Midoriya gave that he’d even heard him. “I’m sorry.”

Midoriya stopped moving. It was the smallest shift, as he hadn’t been moving much to begin with, but now he was startlingly still, his coffee held close to his face, though he’d stopped blowing on it. His eyes still stared out the car window, though they barely blinked.

Shouto’s chest felt tight. He wasn’t sure if he should even be talking. Talking is what had caused him this problem to begin with. Talking is what had caused him to hurt Midoriya. Now Midoriya didn’t want anything to do with him, Shouto didn’t know if he’d even want an apology from him.

“What I said before,” Shouto continued. “I shouldn’t have said or assumed any of it and what I asked of you was unfair. I was just…” Shouto paused. He had to swallow before he could continue. “I was scared of losing my best friend, but should’ve realized how hard all this was for you. So, I’m sorry.”

When Shouto stopped talking, the car was filled with silence again. Midoriya still wasn’t moving. It was still cold. The door to the apartment building still hadn’t changed. The clock on the dashboard changed numbers. The silence was still uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to accept—”

“Thank you,” Midoryia said suddenly. Shouto turned to find Midoriya looking at him, looking directly at him for the first time in over a week, his green eyes bright and earnest in the dark of the car.

Shouto snapped his mouth shut. The guilt in his chest still felt like a rock and he didn’t feel any less uncomfortable, but at least he didn’t feel like a rubber band about to snap anymore. Midoriya was talking to him again and that seemed to make the tension inside the car evaporate.

“I’m not sure I forgive you,” Midoriya added as he turned back towards the apartment building front doors.

“I know,” Shouto said quickly.

“And we still can’t be friends,” Midoriya said.

“I know,” Shouto said.

Midoriya sipped at his coffee. Shotuo didn’t feel like drinking coffee, but he kept holding his. The apartment building front door didn’t move. Shouto wasn’t sure if he should risk speaking again, but he did anyway.

“And I’ve asked Kat to stop being, um…”

“An asshole?” Midoriya supplied.

“Right,” Shouto agreed.

“He hasn’t stopped being an asshole,” Midoriya observed.

“I know,” Shouto said.

There was another beat of silence.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Midoriya said, being the one to break the silence for the first time that night.

“I know,” Shouto said.

“I can handle myself,” Midoriya said.

“I know,” Shouto said.

They lapsed back into silence, though this time, it was a bit more bearable. It felt more natural, and Shouto could finally breathe again. He’d be stupid if he thought he could fix everything with just a few words, but it was a start. He’d been miserable the last handful of days, miserable with how selfish he’d been, miserable over what he’d said. Miserable because he hadn’t thought of Midoriya. He had no idea what Midoriya was going through. Well, he had some idea, because he held the other half of their soulmark, but still, Midoriya had been right hadn’t he? Shouto had Katsuki already. Who did Midoriya have?

“Why do you put up with him?”

“What?” Shouto asked, blinking back to reality.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya said, sparing Shouto a glance before turning back towards looking out the window. “Why do you put up with him?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Shouto said, brow raised. “You’re the one that’s been friends with him since childhood.”

Midoriya made a face that looked to be vaguely one of agreement. “Being friends and being married are different, though.”

“Guess I get the better side of him, then,” Shouto said, a teasing tilt to his smile.

“Seriously,” Midoriya snorted. “You let him act like a child.”

“I do not,” Shouto said, an indignant tone slipping into his voice, though he supposed he didn’t really have a right to be since Katsuki was currently on a sulking binge that could rival any hormonal teenager. “He was a lot worse before me.”

“Was he?”

Shouto snorted. “He was.”

“How was he possibly worse, then?”

“Well, at first, he exploded at every small thing,” Shouto started. “He refused to show affection of any sort. He was prideful and selfish and—"

“Sounds awful.”

“Yeah, it does,” Shouto said, laughing slightly. He looked down at his coffee cup, tracing the rim of the plastic lid with a finger, thinking of the ring that was resting under his shirt. “He doesn’t make it easy to love him. But he also doesn’t love easily, so when he does…I don’t know, it makes it special. He tries to be a better person now. He tries to be worthy of love.”

Midoriya hummed, though it was clear he still didn’t understand.

Love with Katsuki was difficult to describe. It was difficult for others to understand because it was a vicious kind of love. Katsuki was explosive when he was mad, sure, and he was dangerous when he hated someone, but he was even more dangerous when he loved someone. He was protective, he was defensive, and God help the poor soul that threatened Shouto if Katsuki found out.

Shouto had been taken by a villain once. It’d been nothing serious, nothing Shouto couldn’t get out of himself if he just bided his time, but that hadn’t mattered to Katsuki. He’d flown in, despite police telling him not to, tearing the building in half and nearly incinerating the villain that had been holding Shouto, a human missile on a warpath. And later that night, he’d been sobbing, face red and twisted and hands fisted because he’d been terrified he’d lost Shouto forever. Because he blamed himself for letting Shouto be taken. And he’d kept crying into the morning.

People didn’t usually see that Katsuki had two sides because he really only showed his other side to certain people. He never did anything small. His anger was big and all consuming, but so was the rest of him. His good parts were just as vibrant as his bad. And it was those good parts that were so big and overwhelming and just so brilliant that were the reason Shouto loved Katsuki. He loved the way Katsuki laughed without restraint, booming and loud. He loved the way Katsuki acted like he hadn’t seen Shouto for months when it’d really only been a few days. He loved the way Katsuki saved people, pouring everything he had into being a good hero. He loved the way Katsuki loved him, violently and without restraint and a little bit secret because no one else could really understand because they didn’t know.

Shouto missed Katsuki, he suddenly realized, slouched in his car seat and cradling his steadily cooling coffee in his hands. He was tired of the fighting, tired of the sulking, tired of not hearing Katsuki laugh or being able to hold him. He was tired of tip-toeing around Midoriya and tired of feeling like he’d done something wrong at every turn. He was tired of feeling like Katsuki blamed him and feeling like he deserved Midoriya’s blame. He was tired of all of it.

It was two hours of intermittent small talk and a never unchanging apartment building later and well after both their coffees had gone cold that Shouto noticed Midoriya shivering, hugging himself in the front driver’s seat. Shouto let out a huff. He held out his left hand to Midoriya. It took him a moment too long to notice it, but when he did, he looked like Shouto had offered him a poisonous tarantula.

“Midoriya,” Shouto said, a little exasperated. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine,” Midoriya said.

“No, you’re not—”

“You’re fine,” Midoriya pointed out.

“I’m used to it,” Shouto said. “Stop being ridiculous.”

He offered his hand more insistently and when Midoriya moved away, Shouto let out a Katsuki-worthy huff and simply reached forward and seized both of Midoriya’s bare hands in his.

“Shouto,” Midoriya said. “I don’t want—ah, ha…”

Midoriya’s protests melted into a sigh as Shouto activated half his quirk. Mirodiya’s hands felt like ice, it was a wonder how he could stand it. Shouto rubbed Midoriya’s hands between his palms, letting his left hand warm up to a toasty temperature. He tried not to think about how this was the first time he’d touched Midoriya since their marks formed, tried to ignore the tiny jolt that had gone through him when his mark brushed Midoriya’s skin. Midoriya didn’t put up any more of a fight, his shivers slowly dissolving and his shoulders relaxing against the cold melting away, the both of them sitting in silence.

“You haven’t called me that in a while,” Shouto said with realization.

“Hmm,” Midoriya hummed, eyes closed as he reveled in the warmth of Shouto’s hands. “Called you what?”

“Shouto,” Shouto said quietly.

Midoriya opened his eyes and met Shouto’s gaze. Shouto had nearly forgotten they’d been on a first-name basis before this entire soulmark mess. Midoriya had stopped using his first name, so Shouto had subconsciously followed suit. It felt like a strange thing to forget because it seemed so important now.

Midoriya quickly looked away and took his hands back. Shouto let him.

“Ah, no,” Midoriya said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t think it was appropriate anymore.”

“No,” Shouto said, looking away now, too. “I suppose not.”

“Sorry,” Midoriya said. “I forgot myself.”

“It’s fine,” Shouto said quickly. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s fine,” Midoriya parroted.

An awkward tension was suddenly present that hadn’t been there before. Shouto felt uncomfortable again, though he probably figured it was his fault again. He felt like he should say something, but he was certain whatever he would say would be the wrong thing again, so he didn’t.

He was saved another eternity of uncomfortable silence by a rap on his window. Both of them nearly jumped out of their skin at the sound of it. Shouto turned to find Uraraka bent over to look in the door’s window. She mouthed something and tapped at her watch. Shouto checked the dash’s clock and found it was much later than he’d realized. It was the end of their shift. He glanced across the street and found Kirishima and Katsuki’s unmarked car, paralleled parked. Shouto hadn’t even realized they’d pulled in. That didn’t explain why Uraraka was here, though.

Shouto opened his door and ducked out of the passenger’s seat. Uraraka stood in front of him, cheeks as rosy as ever and wrapped in a bright pink coat with black trim.

“Hi, Todoroki,” she said cheerily. “Mind if we talk?”

“Um,” Shouto cast a quick glance at Midoriya before looking back at Uraraka. The smile on her face never moved. “Sure.”

“Excellent, let’s go for a walk,” she said. She leaned around Todoroki. “Night, Izuku,” she said before shutting the passenger side door on Midoriya’s confused expression.

“Come on,” she said, looping her arm automatically through Shouto’s before she started dragging him along.

They were half-way to Shouto’s apartment and Shouto was starting to grow a little nervous by Uraraka’s unmoving smile. Shouto considered them friends, which was why this entire scenario with the constant death glares and surprise chat was a little unnerving. He didn’t have to wonder on this long, however, because she pulled him to a stop just a few streets away from his apartment and turned to face him.

Shouto startled when he turned to meet her because her smile was suddenly gone, replaced with something much darker. The look on her face reminded him of Sensei Aizawa whenever he’d been about to unleash hell on them for breaking school rules. He wished she’d start smiling again.

“Uh, Uraraka—?”

“I know what you did to Izuku,” she said suddenly.

Shouto floundered, utterly confused about what she could be talking about. “What—?”

“You need to keep away from him,” she said, and it sounded like a threat. Shouto suddenly remembered the time she’d broken a villain’s back over her knee. He took a hesitant step back.

She glanced away from him then, tucking some hair behind her ear before looking back at him. “I understand the mark isn’t your fault,” she said. “But everything you do to him after the mark is. You have no idea how difficult this is for him.”

Shouto had been about to say something in his defense but snapped his mouth shut. He found he couldn’t look at her. Hadn’t he been thinking the very same thing only a few hours ago? He remembered the jolt he’d felt when he’d touched Midoriya and buried his hands in the pockets of his coat.

“I know,” he muttered to the ground.

“I don’t think you do,” Uraraka said and the sharpness in her tone made him look up. The look on her face was the same, like a bear about to defend her cub, only now there were tears in her eyes. “I’ve never seen him like this, and I know you’re his friend, too, but I don’t think you can see how this is breaking him. You just—”

She closed her eyes and swallowed. She opened her eyes and looked at him, her nose red and Shouto could see how much she cared for Midoriya and it made his stomach twist with guilt.

“You can’t keep asking the world of him,” she said. “Because he’ll give it to you because that’s the kind of person he is, and it will break him.”

She took a step forward then. Shouto tried to take a step back but found his back against a brick wall. She was nearly a full foot shorter than him, but she seemed to tower over him, and Shouto suddenly realized that she’d killed villains before. Was he a villain now? He really hoped she didn’t see him as a villain.

“And if you break Izuku,” she said, her usually brown eyes unsettling dark in the shadows of the night, “I’ll make sure you never rest until you know exactly the sort of pain you put him through.”

She didn’t wait for a confirmation or for Shouto to agree. She simply leveled one more teary-eyed glare at him before striding off, leaving him alone in the harsh light of the nearby streetlamp, his heart racing like he’d just fallen ten stories.

Chapter Text

Izuku was surrounded by warmth. It was a heavy kind of warmth that made everything sleepy and slow, the kind that meant it was well past time to be up and the sun was pouring in through the window and it was too warm for sheets but he was too comfortable to move.

Something brushed over his cheek, feather-light, and it made him jump. He gave a sleepy giggle, keeping his eyes closed.

“Hmm, what are you doing?” he asked. The fingers continued to tickle along his skin, tracing a pattern over his face, but he didn’t move. It felt…nice. The touch was caring and gentle and loving and he wanted to keep feeling it.

“I’m counting your freckles,” came a voice from just a few inches away, laying next to him in bed, sharing their warmth.

Izuku smiled and stretched beneath the sheets, his toes tickling shins opposite him. “I thought you’d already counted them,” he said.

“I needed a recount,” came the voice again, as they trailed the lightest finger across the bridge of his nose. “I think you lost a few.”

Izuku giggled again and finally opened his eyes. He’d never been a morning person, he was slow to wake and his brain was even slower to catch up. So, when he opened his eyes, it took a moment for them to adjust, the bright morning light turning the world into blurry shapes and molted colors.

The light touch pulled away as Izuku’s gaze came into focus, shapes sharpening into a face, colors clearing and separating into white and red. Shouto Todoroki lay across from him, backlit by golden light and looking at him like he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

“You made me lose count,” Shouto said, a playful smile on his lips.

Izuku heard a door open and close from somewhere behind him, but he paid it no mind. He saw Shouto’s eyes flick towards the direction of the door, a grin breaking across his face as he saw what was behind Izuku.

Izuku woke with a start, his alarm blaring on his bedside table. He blindly reached out, fingers fumbling over his clock, but he couldn’t find the stupid button. His hand slid and he heard the unmistakable clatter as the clock toppled over and on to the floor, still screaming its alarm. He let out a groan.

Great. The number one hero couldn’t even turn off a stupid alarm clock.

Izuku sat up before fumbling to find where his clock had fallen. He shut off the stupid alarm and shoved it back on the table where it belonged. He let out a yawn and rubbed at his eyes. It was dark outside, a heavy storm brewing overhead that looked far from friendly. His blankets were sprawled across an otherwise empty bed and a chill had sunken into him from having kicked them off in the middle of the night.

He tried not to think about the dream. It wasn’t a new one. He’d been having it for years, actually, but he had never put much stock into it. Everyone had dreams like that about their best friend, right? It didn’t mean anything. He filed it away with every other nonsense dream he’d had.

He could usually forget about it by the time he got ready in the mornings, but this time it lingered on the edge of his mind for some reason. He could never remember what came after the door opened, or who Todoroki saw when he looked behind Izuku. It was like a tape that had been cut, he knew there was more to it but no matter how many times he had the same dream, he couldn’t remember past that part. And this time the dream felt…different. It felt familiar in a way he couldn’t pin, but he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like the dream had ever happened in person before, but still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it felt like he’d lived it rather than dreamt it.

He tried his best to forget about it as he grabbed his keys and headed for the police station. Thinking about Todoroki too much these days never did him any good.

***

Izuku did not forgive Todoroki.

At least, he thought he didn’t. Not yet, anyway. He hadn’t had much experience with grudges, apart from villains, so he wasn’t sure if he forgave Todoroki or not. 

Since their first stake-out, they’d been scheduled for at least a dozen more together and Izuku swore it was the universe working against him specifically. Over the next few weeks, he saw more of Todoroki than he did of Ochako. Statistically speaking, it should be impossible. And they were next to insufferable, not because Todoroki was rude or asked things he shouldn’t but he was just…awkward. It wasn’t because anything was wrong, but Todoroki simply acted like something was wrong. By their third shift together it was downright painful.

What happened to working as professionals? Well, Izuku figured he was still acting as a professional at least. Everyone else, however... Even aside from Todoroki, Kacchan continued to be sulky and all around more moody than typical, Kirishima had taken to pulling pranks to stop Kacchan from sulking but was largely only effective in creating a distraction for everyone else, and finally Ochako seemed hellbent on lighting Todoroki on fire just with her eyes, though Izuku still wasn’t quite sure what that was about.

It reminded him very much of when he’d had to work on group projects in high school. He did not enjoy it.

They were nearly two weeks into staking out the underground art dealer and still had yet to unearth any new leads. And with all of Izuku’s contacts having dissolved into smoke after the incident with Hawks, it didn’t look like they’d be gaining any ground anytime soon. None of this was helped in anyway when Izuku nearly ran headfirst into Kacchan as he entered the station that morning.

His “Morning, Kacchan!” was met with the customary Kacchan glare.

“The fuck you want, Deku,” Kacchan said. He still managed to make Izuku’s hero name sound like an insult.

Izuku wasn’t sure what happened. He’d heard Kacchan say the very same thing to him dozens of times before. He was used to the glares and petty slights Kacchan liked to send his way. And maybe it was the stress from the case. Or maybe it was the fact that Todoroki was treating him like a distant cousin he didn’t know how to talk to. Or maybe it was the fact that Kacchan had been particularly aggressive lately or the fact that they were scheduled to have their first stakeout together in just a few hours or maybe it was Izuku’s arm which would not stop itching with this fucking patch. Whatever it was, Izuku felt something in him snap. 

A fully formed idea popped into his head and it was impulsive and it was stupid but what else was he better known for?

“Kacchan, wait,” Izuku called, grabbing hold of Kacchan’s sleeve.

Kacchan looked ready to bite his hand off, but Izuku ignored him. “The Chief wants to talk to you,” Izuku said, saying the first thing that came to mind.

A quick text message to Ochako and a few more insults from Kacchan later, Izuku had managed to drag Kacchan to an interrogation room down one of the stations hallways. He opened the door and Kacchan spared him one last sneer before striding forward. He was barely two steps into the room when he froze. Leaning against the far wall, looking just as surprised as Kacchan, was Todoroki, who’d been similarly dragged down here by Ochako as soon as she’d gotten Izuku’s text.

Kacchan whirled on Izuku, but before he could do anything, Izuku slammed the door shut and locked it. He heard a roar from the other side of the door, followed by two loud explosions. Izuku found Ochako in the observation room, looking through the two way mirror into the interrogation room. She turned away when she heard him come in and quirked an eyebrow at him.

“This seems a bit extreme,” she said.

“Who? Me or Kacchan?” Izuku asked coming over to stand next to her.

“Deku!” Kacchan let out a scream and slammed his fists on the glass of the two way mirror. “I’ll fucking kill you! Let us out!”

Ochako cast Izuku a worried look. “All of you.”

Izuku leaned over and hit the intercom button into the room. “Neither you nor Todoroki are leaving that room until you work out…ah, whatever it is you need to work out.”

The video recording used for interrogations had been turned off but the speakers were still on so Izuku and Ochako could hear everything happening in the soundproof interrogation room but Kacchan and Todoroki wouldn’t be able to hear them unless they used the intercom.

Izuku released the button as Kacchan punched the mirror again. “I will level this fucking room, Deku!”

“You sure this is a good idea?” Ochako asked, her brows tilted at a worried angle.

“I haven seen them talk to each other in days and Kacchan just keeps getting crankier and Todoroki is being, well, Todoroki. They need to figure out whatever issues they’re having with each other,” Izuku said, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the desk. “Then they can stop taking it out on me.”

The look Ochako gave him didn’t look convinced, but if there was something more she wanted to say, she didn’t. They watched Kacchan continue to scream and slam explosions against the wall and Izuku was starting to wonder if this really had been a good idea. By the time Kacchan seemed to have spent himself, Ochako had left to take care of something to do with the case, leaving Izuku alone in the observation room.

Izuku wasn’t sure why he wanted to stay. He knew he probably shouldn’t and that he had no reason to want to know what Kacchan and Todoroki had to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He wanted to know what their problem was. He wanted to know if he was their problem.

For what seemed like an eternity, it looked like the entire idea had been a bust. They seemed no closer to talking like rational human beings than they had been days ago. Most interrogation rooms were fireproof and stress-proof and any other kind of proofed they needed to be against criminals' quirks and the room on the other side of the glass looked no more scorched or decimated than it had at first, despite Kacchan’s best efforts. Kacchan stood in front of the two-way mirror, breaths coming fast and raged and his face a twist of fury and…if Izuku didn’t know any better, he’d have said pain. Kacchan looked like he was in pain, like this was the last place in the entire world he wanted to be.

Kacchan heaved a few more breathes, leaning forward to let his forehead rest against the glass. His breath fogged the glass in a haze in front of his lower face. Todoroki was still on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall as if Kacchan’s temper tantrums were no more cause for concern than a spilled drink was.

“Kat,” Todorki said finally, his voice low.

“What,” Kacchan snapped, forehead still pressed against the glass. Todoroki didn’t say anything. Izuku could see the blond hairs trapped between Kacchan’s forehead and the mirror’s glass. They were damp with sweat.

“What, Shouto?” Kacchan repeated, finally turning away from the glass to face Todoroki. “After all this time, now you want to talk?”

Todoroki looked taken aback. The look on his face quickly crossed from shock to indignation. “You’re the one that’s been sulking—”

“You haven’t spoken to me in days, Shou,” Kacchan bit back. “You haven’t even tried. Don’t you dare—”

“And how was I supposed to?” Todoroki snapped back, finally pushing himself away from the wall to stand. It looked like he was ready for a fight. “When you refused to even look at me?”

“And when you couldn’t talk to me, you went to Deku?” Kacchan asked, his tone like a blade.

Todoroki gaped at him, a retort caught in his throat.

“I’ve seen you,” Kacchan spat and he was pacing now, like a cat about to pounce. “You and shitty Deku on your stake-outs—”

“That has nothing to do with—”

“And what were you talking about?” Kacchan asked. “Your marks?”

“What—?”

“How you two are so perfect together?” Kacchan asked, his face twisted and Izuku couldn’t tell if it was in anger or in pain. “How you two deserve each other—?”

“We were talking about you, Katsuki,” Todoroki finally said, sounding exasperated and tired. His voice seemed to echo in the bare interrogation room. Izuku’s breath caught.

Kacchan froze mid-pace. His back was turned to the mirror, but Izuku could see the tenseness in his shoulders, could see how he refused to look at Todoroki. When he spoke, his voice was so low, Izuku almost couldn’t hear it.

“What did you say.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

A shadow crossed Todoroki’s face, one of panic and regret and everything they’d said that first night on surveillance came flooding back to Izuku. He felt sick. Had they really said those things? What he’d asked Todoroki, what they’d both said, Izuku had had no right. Especially with Todoroki. He’d been sick of Kacchan’s glares and jabs and he’d been feeling petty and bitter, so he’d asked petty and bitter things. “Why do you put up with him?” Like he was an annoying co-worker or reporter, like he wasn’t Todoroki’s husband that he’d given everything for and had spent almost a decade together with.

Izuku could see the same thoughts racing through Todoroki’s head, waring behind his eyes.

“I don’t want to tell you,” Todoroki said.

“Why?”

A pained look crossed Todoroki’s face and Izuku could feel how much he didn’t want to say it. “Because it would hurt you. And I shouldn’t have said any of it to begin with.”

“Damnit, Shouto!” Kacchan shouted, slamming both hands to the table. Izuku grimaced, but Todoroki didn’t even flinch. “I deserve to know!”

“Fine!” Todoroki said, like it physically hurt to say. “We were talking about how you used to be insufferable. How you’re reckless and prideful—"

“You wanna talk about pride?” Kacchan said. He took two steps toward Todoroki and he looked like a snake ready to strike. “You wanna talk about how you always know what’s best, how you’re always right—”

Todoroki lifted and dropped his hands in exasperation. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you—”

“But that’s what you think of me!” Kacchan said, his voice cracking and Izuku could hear the hurt in it, could hear the damage those words had caused.

“No, it’s not!” Todoroki said, and Izuku could see his face crumple, could see every regret and mistake come trickling down it.

“I was upset,” Todoroki said. “I know that’s not an excuse, but I was upset and confused and lashed out, but I didn’t mean any of it.”

“But you wanted to tell Deku—”

“Because you weren’t speaking to me!” Todoroki shouted. He sounded so desperate and scared. He sounded like a lost child that just wanted to find their way home. “Because you acted like you didn’t care and I thought I was losing you. I’m not the only one at fault—”

“I know you’re not.” Kacchan had stopped yelling, but his voice cut through the air just the same. Izuku could only see a sliver of Kacchan's face but it was dark and unreadable. “You think I don’t know I fucked up?”

Izuku could feel his stomach twisting. He knew he shouldn’t be here, knew he shouldn’t be watching this, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn away.

“Okay I was mad,” Kacchan admitted, “and I was sulking because I didn’t want to talk to you. But then you didn’t talk to me, so I was giving you space because I thought that’s what you wanted. But I don’t know what you need if you don’t tell me.”

Izuku flinched. Kacchan sounded desperate and hurt. Izuku had only heard him sound like that a handful of times before: after All Might had fought All for One, when Todoroki had been trapped in a cave-in during a disaster rescue, whenever he couldn’t save someone. Izuku had heard him like that before, but it didn’t make it any easier, didn’t make it any more convenient to reconcile this Kacchan to the one he knew, the one that was immovable and unbreakable.

Todoroki stepped forward. The fight had fled Kacchan, his shoulders sagging, his posture tired and weary. He let Todoroki step close and slide his hands up to comb through his hair. Kacchan leaned into the touch almost automatically, the movement as natural as breathing.

“I need you to talk to me,” Todoroki said gently but the plea in it was loud as anything. “I need you to tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You didn’t want to talk,” Kacchan said, voice hoarse as his hand came up to hold on to Todoroki’s wrist. “You slammed the door on me, Shou.”

“I know and that’s my fault,” Todoroki muttered as he pressed his lips to Kacchan’s forehead. “I’m sorry.”

They stood like that for a moment, holding on to one another. Izuku was wondering if he really should leave when Kacchan let out a huff of a laugh.

“You’re supposed to be the rational one,” he said.

“I guess that means you’re a bad influence on me,” Todoroki said teasingly, brushing some hair out of Kacchan’s eyes.

Kacchan laughed and scooted back until he could sit on the low table in the middle of the room. He pulled Todoroki with him so he stood between Kacchan’s knees as Kacchan wrapped his arms around his waist. Kacchan buried his face in Todoroki’s chest as he held him close. Izuku could see Kacchan's back rise as he inhaled deeply, breathing in Todoroki with Todoroki's fingers still laced through his hair. They held on to one another in the quiet of the interrogation room.

“You’re still not allowed to be mad at Midoriya,” Todoroki said suddenly, as if he’d just remembered.

Izuku’s heart dropped at the sound of his name. He hadn't expected to hear it, hadn't expected anything about him to come up.

Kacchan jerked back, a disgusted look on his face. “But why?”

“Why do you want to be?” Todoroki asked, looking down at Kacchan like he was searching his face for an answer. He combed his fingers through Kacchan's hair again, making it even wilder than typical.

“Why does Midoriya have to have anything to do with it?” Todoroki asked. “What do I need to do for you to see that I want you?”

A dark look crossed over Kacchan’s face that soon turned into something that looked almost like guilt.

“Do you?” Kacchan asked, hooking his fingers into the belt loops at Todoroki’s hips. “How do I know you’re not secretly falling in love with him?”

Todoroki scoffed and it took him a moment to realize Kacchan was being serious. His expression softened.

“Because I miss you,” Todoroki muttered and it was so soft and so earnest, Izuku felt his heart twist at it. "Because I miss only you."

Todoroki looked at Kacchan then the way some people looked at priceless art, like he couldn’t believe he had the chance to look at something so beautiful, like he was afraid to look away because he might never see it again.

“Because I miss holding you,” Todoroki continued, hands moving to cup Kacchan’s face.“I miss the sound of your voice and the smell of your skin and the taste of you—”

Then Todoroki kissed Kacchan. It wasn’t simply just a peck on the lips either but it was deep and long. Kacchan tugged on Todoroki’s belt loops until their hips were flush and Todoroki let out a sound Izuku had never heard from him before.

Izuku choked. He had not been expecting this. He should not be watching this. Todoroki moved to mouth along Kacchan’s jaw.

“I miss your morning breath,” Todoroki muttered into Kacchan’s skin, “and all of your terrible jokes.”

Kacchan let out a bark of a laugh. “My jokes are hilarious, Half-n-half.”

Then Kacchan dragged Todoroki up to kiss him again and this time it was needy and desperate. They kissed like they’d been drowning and they needed each other to breathe again. It was open-mouthed and wild and Izuku could hear every sound they made. 

Warmth pooled in Izuku’s lower stomach and he could feel embarrassed heat flooding his face.

Okay, he really should not be watching this.

Kacchan hooked his legs around Todoroki and fisted his hands in his shirt, trying to drag him closer but they were already flush against each other. Todoroki pulled away, fingers tracing along Kacchan’s jaw and looking at him like he was the key to his world.

“Do you still love me?” he asked, hesitant, like he was afraid to hear the answer.

“Fuck, Shou,” Kacchan growled, and in that growl was every part of Kacchan Izuku had never seen—every soft, needy, dependent part of him that Izuku hadn’t even known was there because he only shared it with one other person. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Izuku bolted. The observation room door slammed open and Izuku stumbled through it, the cool air hitting his face making him realize how hot he currently was. But he ignored it as he blindly raced down one corridor after another taking blind turns until he was in an empty, dimly lit hallway in some long-empty part of the station, the walls were lined with doors that no doubt led to storehouses for evidence or cold case files.

Izuku let himself fall against the hallway wall and slide down it until he was sitting on the floor. His heart was still racing and he felt on the verge of a panic attack. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He bent over, hands locked over his head with his ears between his knees and found that he was sporting a semi.

“No,” Izuku muttered in horror. “No, no, no, no, no.”

What was he, fifteen? He willed it to go away, but memories of Todoroki and Kacchan kept flashing in his mind. He didn’t understand how he felt about what he'd seen. God, he felt like a peeping tom. He felt anxious and terrified and sick with guilt that he’d seen it, but he also…he wanted it.

Izuku had never seen Kacchan look at anyone like that, with a grin that wasn’t sharp and vicious but soft and precious. He’d certainly never looked at Izuku like that, but Izuku still thought about seeing Kacchan soft like that—so different than how he always looked at Izuku—and it made something inside Izuku's heart twist. Todoroki had looked guilty and a little pained, yes, but he’d also looked so vulnerable, so open and honest with all his armor shorn away. They’d groped at each other, fitting together so succinctly, so perfectly like puzzle pieces that’d been made for each other. Izuku yearned for it.

Izuku had never had a problem with being single before. After Ochako had been Ejiro and Itsuka and one fling with a hero he’d met when he’d been overseas, but there’d been no one serious for a few years now and it had never bothered him before. Being a hero had always come first, had always mattered more than anything else.

But now he was sitting in the middle of an abandoned hallway, gasping for air, thinking of his two ex-friends and how they fit together so perfectly, how they looked at each other, how they needed each other and Izuku wanted to be part of that. Even when they'd been fighting, they always managed to find each other again afterward. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. He wanted someone to belong to and to cling to like that. He kept thinking of Todoroki and Kacchan and how desperately they needed each other and Izuku realized that he might be a little bit desperate, too. But he knew it was useless, knew none of it mattered.

They were…them. And he was on his own.

Izuku sobbed, gripping at the back of his head as he sat hunched over in the middle of the station’s hallway. He’d lost himself so well in the maze of the station that no one even knew where he was.

Chapter Text

It still hadn’t been make-up sex.

Not that it hadn’t been amazing, because sex with Shouto was always amazing. They’d clung to each other in that interrogation room, doing their best to consume one another in bites and murmurs and tongues. Shouto had muttered something about how they shouldn’t be doing this in an interrogation room in the middle of the police station, to which Katsuki had replied by ripping his belt from his pant loops. God, he’d missed Shouto. It’d been an ache that had settled in his very bones, but then all of a sudden he was holding Shouto again, feeling him, kissing him, tasting him, and the relief of it all had almost been more consuming than the orgasm that had soon followed.

It checked all the boxes for make-up sex with Shouto: screaming, apologies, spontaneous, and definitely not happening anywhere remotely appropriate. But it was still missing something. Katsuki didn’t know what or why…just that it wasn’t the same.

He didn’t let himself dwell on it too long because one, it wouldn’t fix anything and two, he was mostly just happy they were done fighting.

He hated fighting with Shouto. Every time he always wondered if it was his fault—even the times he knew it wasn’t. And every time some small part of him wondered if this would be the fight Shouto would leave him over. Because there was no way Shouto would stay with him forever, not really. Katsuki knew he was shit at relationships. It was why things with Kirishima had never worked out. Katsuki never listened, he was always quick to fight, he never said the right things or understood what he should say or why the other person was mad. And he tried to be better at it, he really did, but damn it, it was fucking hard.

The only reason he and Shouto worked so well was because of Shouto’s inhuman amount of patience. And his willingness to hit back. He never took shit from Katsuki, never suffered any unfair insults without telling Katsuki he was being a straight-up ass. Never hesitated to knock Katsuki in the jaw the few times he needed it. He was the only person Katsuki had ever met that could so soundly handle everything he had to dish out.

But Katsuki always wondered when that patience would run out—because he knew that it would. It had with Kirishima, which was why they never ended up dating. It had with Deku, which was why they weren’t friends anymore. He wondered when Shouto would finally have enough, when Katsuki would say or do the wrong that would make him decide Katsuki wasn’t worth the effort anymore.

At first, he’d thought the marks were it—that a soulmark would make Shouto finally realize someone else was better for him. It’s part of the reason Katsuki had been so pissed—he hadn’t even done anything this time, but he was convinced he was going to lose Shouto anyway. The rest of the reason was that it was fucking Deku of all people. Deku, who had already won the spot as number one hero, who had already taken every dream that Katsuki had ever strived for—did he need to take Shouto from him, too?

And speaking of treacherous ex-classmates, Katsuki was blessed with the misfortune of a surveillance shift with Deku that night to watch the art dealer that was the one and only lead on their case with the mysterious villain and Hawks's disappearance. Katsuki spent most of the trip to the art dealer’s apartment in silence. He’d never learned to drive (he didn’t really need to with his quirk) so Deku was the one at the wheel.

He tried not to be mad at Deku—he really did. He knew Shouto didn’t want him to be mad at Deku and that was the only reason he was trying so hard not to be, but it wasn’t exactly a tap he could turn on and off at a whim. He’d hated Deku for years, and he didn’t understand why that had to change now. He’d been angry at Deku for one thing or another constantly since high school, and the marks were just a new thing to be angry about. He didn’t get what the big deal was. Shouto said the marks didn’t change anything, so if that were true, he should be mad at Deku. Not being mad at Deku would mean that something had changed and Katsuki didn’t want to think about that, because thinking about it made his head hurt and his chest ache.

Streetlights flashed as they drove down the street, glaring off the asphalt that was a glassy black. It was late and the giddiness from his non-quite-make-up-sex with Shouto had worn off and he’d had most of the day to think about his stake-out with Deku and how he wasn’t allowed to be mad and why that seemed to make him more mad and the entire situation just made him cranky overall.

“Shouto says I’m not allowed to be mad at you,” Katsuki finally said, glaring out the passenger window.

“Oh,” Izuku said, his voice unusually high.

Katsuki refused to look back at Deku, because he knew if he did he’d see Deku’s big eyes flashing in the light of the passing street lamps and his stupidly fluffy hair that would look deep and shadowed in the faint lighting and his freckles that Katsuki would only admit were cute if a loaded gun was being held to his head and even then, he might reconsider. The mere thought of looking at Deku made him even angrier.

“So, are you?” Deku asked, breaking the silence. “Mad at me?”

“Probably.”

“Oh.”

The car smelled like Deku, like soap and pine and the concentrated ozone of lightning about to strike. Katsuki felt nauseous at the smell of it. He rolled down the window, the fresh night air hitting his face. Shouto said he wasn’t allowed to be mad. So, he wouldn’t be mad. He reckoned he could do it, too, and that he could get through this entire shitty night without incident so long as Deku didn’t say anything stupid.

“I’m sorry,” Deku said.

Shit.

“What?” Katsuki spat, whirling around to glare at him.

Deku cast an unfazed glance in his direction, and Katsuki realized he didn’t flinch as easily as he used to.

“Sorry,” Deku repeated. “Sorry you’re going through so much…because of the marks.”

Katsuki stared at him, his mind trying to rationalize what he was hearing but failing miserably. It was silent, the car thrumming with the sound of the engine.

Finally, Katsuki turned away and opened his door.

“Wha—Kacchan!” Deku said in alarm as he slammed on the breaks before Katsuki could go tumbling into the street and break his neck.

Katsuki ignored him, stepping out of the car as it screeched to a halt and stormed off in a random direction because he couldn’t stand to be within ten feet of shitty fucking Deku a moment longer. He could hear the driver side door open and slam shut, and he prayed to any god listening that Deku had chosen to stay in the fucking car.

“Kacchan, what are you doing?”

But no one ever listened, especially god.

“The fuck are you apologizing for?” Katsuki said, seizing the chain link of a fence that ran around an empty basketball court next to the road. He rattled it just to have something to do and the cacophony it made soothed his nerves slightly.

“I don’t know,” Deku’s voice was soft and small behind him and Katsuki hated it. “It’s what people do when they can’t help any other way.”

“But it’s not even your fault,” Katsuki hissed, whirling on Deku. As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they were true and he hated it. Because if it wasn’t Deku’s fault and it wasn’t Shouto’s fault, then who the fuck was there left to blame? Katsuki could feel that blame settling in his stomach like a rock—because he was the only one left. He was the one that drove people away and overreacted and was quick to anger and wasn’t worthy of a mark from anyone.

Deku didn’t answer, but simply looked away from him, like he felt guilty, but guilty about what Katsuki couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“Do you want to fuck my husband?” Katsuki spat.

Deku’s eyes went wide, his face horrified. “Wha—No, Kacchan.”

“Do you love him?” Katsuki asked.

Deku paused, his face a mix of shock and confusion. He took a beat, like he was quickly evaluating something and then, “As a friend, yes.”

Katsuki scoffed.

“But it doesn’t mean anything, Kacchan.”

“Why do people keep saying that!?” Katsuki roared, spinning to punch the chain link fence. An explosion ripped from him, so hot it melted a hole in the fence, the blast dissipating into smoke before it reached the far end of the court beyond.

“It means something to me!” Katsuki screamed. “Are you jealous of us?” he asked, turning back to Deku. The shocked look on his face was gone, replaced by something serious and unrelenting that Katsuki didn’t remember him capable of before now. “Is that why you’re here?”

“I’m here because I’m a hero,” Deku said and instead of the trembling voice Katsuki expected to hear, what he got was unwavering and steely.

“You’re here because you’re a homewrecker,” Katsuki spat, storming up to Deku to sneer in his face.

“Fuck, Kacchan,” Deku said, shoving Katsuki away from him. “What is your problem? Could you at least try to be nice for once in your life?”

“You’re still breathing,” Katsuki growled. “That’s me being fucking nice, asshole.”

“Wow, so caring,” Deku said sarcastically, which surprised Katsuki again because he hadn’t realize Deku could be sarcastic.

“How do I know you’re not lying,” Katsuki said, shoving Deku in the chest again. Deku might now be a qualified brick shithouse that now stood a few inches taller than him, but Katsuki was a compact incarnation of unstoppable rage. Deku stumbled back, his feet tripping over the curb and into the street as Katsuki followed.

“How can I trust you about anything,” Katsuki seethed as he shoved Deku again. He stumbled back again, his back hitting the still warm hood of their car parked in the middle of the road.

He didn’t know why, but Katsuki went in to shove him again. Maybe because he could feel his anger roiling in his stomach like a poison, maybe because he wanted to prove something or start something or a little bit of everything. All he knew was that he was feeling too much. He felt burned by the marks that weren’t even his, he felt like he loved Shouto so much it hurt and the thought of losing him was enough to drive him insane. He felt like he hated Deku but also that he didn’t hate Deku and it confused him so bad, it made his head hurt. He felt so much, he couldn’t feel any more, he needed to act, to do something.

So he went to shove Deku again, but before he could, something horribly solid and fast connected with the side of his face so hard, stars blossomed behind his eyes.

“Because I never wanted any of this!” Deku screamed.

Katsuki was used to taking a hit, it happened all the time in his line of work, but this was different. This was a proper Deku hit, no holds barred. A round, dull pain clocked his entire head to the side and he stumbled with the impact of it. His ears were still ringing and he’d  barely gotten his equilibrium back before he was charging at Deku.

He swung his leg up in a roundhouse but his balance was still off and Deku easily stepped out of the way. Katsuki’s leg continued on its trajectory, arching towards the ground. He let off an explosion right before it hit, propelling him into the air. Katsuki sailed into the air over Deku, but Deku didn’t miss a beat, bending his knees before launching himself into the air. They collided, Deku’s momentum throwing Katsuki off so they both hit the chain link fence so hard, part of it crumpled beneath them and they went tumbling into the adjacent basketball court.

Deku recovered first, finding his feet and planting them so he could use their momentum to fling Katsuki across the basketball court. Katsuki’s back hit the pole of the far hoop hard enough to make it ring before falling to the ground.

“You think I wanted this?” Deku screamed at him.

Katsuki had his feet under him in a second, crouched at the base of the hoop. He launched himself forward in the next second, explosions propelling him through the air. He slammed into Deku and kept going until they hit part of the fence that wasn’t destroyed, Katsuki’s hands fisted in Deku’s jacket, pinning him to the chainlink.

“Don’t play that game with me,” Katsuki spat and he could feel fury coiling in his gut like a snake. He hated Deku. He hated his freckles and his stupid smile. He hated this entire situation. But that wasn’t the only thing he was feeling. He felt…excited. He felt elated, like a thrill was running through him. He hadn’t fought like this in ages. He hadn’t fought Deku in ages. Something about it felt so familiar. He’d missed this, he realized.

“I don’t want anything to do with either of you,” Deku growled and it took Katsuki by surprise how feral it sounded. The next thing he knew, Deku had brought his foot up and wedged it against Katsuki’s chest. Deku kicked out and Katsuki went flying. This time he was able to twist in the air, using explosions to direct him so that he landed on the base board of the far hoop this time, fingers latched on the edge and crouched like a sideways cat.

He barely took a second before he launched himself forward again, the backwards momentum sending the hoop toppling over. “You’re a fucking liar!” Katsuki screamed as he blasted himself forward and caught Deku round the middle to slam him backwards into to the ground so hard the asphalt cracked.

Deku continued with the momentum, swinging his lower half up and sending Katsuki sailing over his head. All his training with Kirishima had taught Katsuki not to fight momentum in a fight, but to roll with it, to use it to his advantage. So he rolled with it, landing on his feet on the asphalt over Deku’s head. He spun around just in time to see Deku in his feet before he nailed Katsuki in the solar plexus with an open palm.

Katsuki staggered back, the wind knocked soundly out of him as he gasped like a fish.

“Why do you care?” Deku asked and when Katsuki looked up, he could see tears in Deku’s eyes. The fucker. What could he possibly have to cry about?

“Why does it matter so much?” Deku shouted, taking a step towards Katsuki.

“Shut up,” Katsuki rasped, still struggling for air. He shoved Deku away.

“There has to be a reason!” Deku insisted. “Do you have a reason for anything you—”

“Would you shut up!” Katsuki screamed so hard his throat hurt, a sharp pain stabbing into his chest. Before Deku could do anything else, Katsuki tore off his jacket and held his bare arms out for Deku to see. “Look at me!” he screamed. His pale skin shone in the dim streetlights, filled with nothing but long healed scars and burns. Markless. “I’m not worthy of a mark!” he said and he could feel the heat of tears behind his eyes and he desperately tried to hold them back because the last thing he needed was for Deku of all people to see him cry right now. “I’m not good enough, I never was. I could never beat you, and now you’re the one that’s worthy of the only thing I thought I didn’t have to compete with you for! The one thing I thought you couldn’t take from me.”

Deku looked stunned, like he’d just been slapped, his eyes wide, his lips parted as he stared at Katsuki.

“Shouto,” he said, his voice horribly soft.

“Yes, Shouto,” Katsuki spat.

The silence that followed was deafening. They stood in the middle of the half-destroyed basketball court, still trying to get their breaths back, the chill night air clouding in silver puffs in front of their faces with every breath.

Shouto was the only one that could so soundly handle all of Katsuki’s bullshit. The only one that could face Katsuki head on, could rap him round the head when he needed it, could tell him to stop being an ass when he was being obtuse.

Well, maybe not the only one. Because there was Deku, wasn’t there?

Deku, of all people. Hadn’t he just done that? Actually, hadn’t he always done that? As far back as their first fight after the fall of All Might. He’d hit Katsuki back, he’d given Katsuki what he’d needed in that moment. And he’d done it a hundred times since. Their childhood days of Deku cowering in Katsuki’s shadow were fucking gone. The man standing in front of Katsuki now was something completely different. He wasn’t afraid to stand up to Katsuki anymore, wasn’t afraid to call him an ass, wasn’t afraid to clock him across the face when he was acting like a dick. The realization struck a chord in Katsuki. Shouto was supposed to be that person for Katsuki. It was Shouto that was supposed to be able to handle all his bullshit so succinctly. So, if Deku could do it, too—what could that possibly mean? Katsuki didn’t want to dwell on it, an unsettling feeling nestling in his chest at the thought of it.

“Kacchan,” Deku finally said, his voice still just as soft. “I…I would never do that. I know how you two—I mean I saw how much you two…” Deku trailed off, uncertain whether he should finish his sentence. 

“You saw what?” Katsuki growled, only half caring as he bent down to pick up his jacket.

“Um, today in the interrogation room,” Deku said, voice unbearably soft as he looked down at the ground. “I just saw that you two love—“

“What?”

Katsuki stared at Deku, a numb feeling of horror spreading through his chest as he prayed to god that he hadn’t just heard what he’d heard. Deku looked up, his expression turning to one of panic as he saw the look that was on Katsuki’s face.

“I…I watched you,” Deku said, barely audible. He couldn’t meet Katsuki’s eyes. “You and Todoroki in the interrogation room.”

Katsuki remembered everything he’d done with Shouto in that room. He remembered his back slamming against the two-way mirror hard enough to shake it, his leg hiked high with Shouto’s hand under his knee and his tongue in Shouto’s ear. Sex with Shouto was always amazing. Had Deku seen that? He remembered everything he’d said, everything he’d done and he got the same feeling you get on the drop towers at amusement parks, like your stomach was in your throat and your body was screaming at you to run but there was nowhere for you to go.

His brain was having a difficult time processing this and with every second of silence, Deku seemed to be growing more and more panicked.

“K-Kacchan?” he squeaked.

Katsuki let out a scream, his jacket disintegrating in his hands as blasted forward, seizing Deku by the front of his shirt and slamming him back into the remaining basketball hoop. He didn’t even put up a fight, wincing as his head banged back against the metal pole of the hoop. A white-hot nail of anger had buried itself behind Katsuki’s eyes. He’d never felt like this before. He was furious like he’d never been before—he was justified in his fury. He felt violated, he felt exposed and shamed and a million other emotions that all just accumulated to one overwhelming feeling of rage.

“What did you see?” Katsuki roared.

Another feeling was bubbling up inside him, one that was foreign and familiar at the same time. Familiar because he’d certainly felt it before. Foreign because it was for Deku. He was…aroused. He was furious and he felt defiled and his privacy shattered, but at the same time, the thought of Deku watching him and Shouto, the thought of Deku seeing him do all those things, the thought that it was Deku. The smallest spark of warmth kindled in the lower regions of Katsuki’s navel at the thought.

“I-I didn’t see anything,” Delu choked out. “I was just trying to make sure that you two were okay. I swear, I left after—”

“You fucking lying pervert!” Katuski screamed. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Kacchan,” Deku gasped. “Please—”

Katsuki wasn’t sure what he would’ve done next, but he was so furious he could’ve killed Deku right then and there. But before he could even try, a horrible blaring sound hit both their ears.

The reaction was automatic. Katsuki dropped Deku like he’d been burned. Deku’s fear evaporated into a steady concentration, though his breathing still had a shaky lilt to it. They both pulled out their phones to see the emergency call coming through. The anger roiling in Katsuki was still burning right below the surface, but it receded slightly at the stead of hero work. He needed to focus. This was his job. Katsuki hit the button on his phone’s screen before holding it up to his ear at the same time as Deku did the same with his.

Shouto’s voice was the one to great him of all people.

“Katsuki,” he said, his tone urgent. “Where are you? You were supposed to be on surveillance with Midoriya.”

Katsuki’s mind raced. He tried to come up with an explanation, a reason he could give as to why he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. But Shouto’s voice came through the phone again before he could even try.

“The art dealer—he’s on the move.”

Chapter Text

It was a good thing surveillance shifts didn’t change until the next heroes assigned showed up. The only reason they’d received any word on the art dealer’s movements was because Kirishima and Uraraka were still on duty while Katsuki and Midoriya had been Shouto could only guess was fuck-all nowhere.

Katsuki and Midoriya being somewhere that was explicitly not the one place they needed to be was something that surprised Shouto, if he was being honest. Katsuki could usually be stubbornly reliable in these situations—hero work wasn’t something he’d ever taken lightly. Midoriya, on the other hand, had a habit of jumping headfirst into whatever trouble was nearest, including everything from a kitten in a tree to a child that had lost their mother, despite whatever previous commitments he might have had at that time. His mother had called it a “hero complex.” Shouto would have expected Katsuki to keep Midoriya on task at the very least, which was why their absence was enough to cause Shouto a small moment of panic. Anything could happen to a hero nowadays, and a twenty-minute delay could mean anything from a villain ambush to something much worse. Shouto’s worst fears evaporated, however, at the sound of Katsuki’s voice over the phone. He’d sounded fine at least.

But Shouto’s worries soon dissolved into annoyance. If Katsuki wasn’t dead or dying, then why the hell wasn’t he on his surveillance shift? Shouto figured it was a question he could save for later as he hopped into a spare unmarked police car with Tetsutetsu to follow the coordinates Uraraka and Kirishima had sent out.

Typically for steak outs, an alarm wouldn’t be sent unless the suspect traveled well outside their typical daily routes. The heroes on task had essentially spent the last month trailing the art dealer from his apartment to the grocery store and back with no sign he was planning to make a move anytime soon. But tonight, it was different.

According to Uraraka and Kirishima, the dealer was en route to a meetup spot Deku and Hawks had canvased two months ago as being a well-known spot for black market deals to go down. It was the most promising lead they’d had so far.

Shouto hadn’t spent much time in a car with Tetsutetsu before now, but it was very clear very quickly that the metal hero’s driving technique was…erratic. He’d gotten them to the meetup at a surprising speed, while running a dozen red lights and nearly knocking over a handful of stop signs along the way.

When they’d finally pulled up to the provided coordinates, they found a massive abandoned office building on the edge of a warehouse district looming over them. The building’s outside was ragged and in disrepair with faded paint and crumbling walls. Most of the lower windows were missing, looking like broken teeth in the building’s grim face. The upper windows were intact but dim and black from grime and lack of light, like a hundred eyes that had long since gone blind.

As Shouto and Tetsutetsu approached from the West, crouched and quiet, they caught sight of Katsuki and Midoriya coming up on the building from the East. Shouto cast Katsuki a questioning look, to which Katsuki only rolled his eyes and looked pointedly away, offering him no answer. Shouto was going to kick him.

Uraraka and Kirishima were already at the building’s entrance, silently beckoning the rest of them over. With a few hushed whispers, Uraraka explained that the dealer had disappeared inside the building not too long ago. The plan was to use her quirk to get Shouto, Katsuki, and herself to an upper level quietly while Midoriya, Kirishima, and Tetsutetsu snuck in on the ground floor—their quirks would be more effective at close range. With any luck, they could corner the dealer and his contact without much incident and bring them both back to the station for questioning.  

There was a silent moment of Uraraka using her quirk to float the three of them up to a third-floor window, the by now familiar weightlessness of her quirk making Shouto’s stomach flip until they were able to climb through an empty window and land on solid ground again. They ran through the empty halls of the office building, their movements barely a whisper, until they found the opening that lead to the office’s atrium. The entryway was circular, opening up all the way to the ceiling hundreds of feet overhead, rimmed by a balcony on every level that allowed them to look in on the atrium below as they crouched out of sight.

The office building had very obviously been in disrepair for years, maybe even decades. The flooring had been torn up, leaving an unfinished concrete floor in its stead. They could see that some floors had collapsed, the balconies across the atrium from them sagging into the floors below. Plastic tarps that had been tacked over some of the empty windows fluttered like ghosts in the night air breeze. On the ground floor below them, Shouto could make out the shadowed shapes of the dealer and his contact tucked into a corner of the atrium.

“Team One, do you have visual?” Uraraka’s voice sizzled into his ear through their earpieces.

Shouto glanced across the atrium to the other side. Behind the bars of the banister, he could make out the crouched shadowy shapes of Katsuki and Uraraka spaced out along the floor. His gaze lingered on the familiar outline of Katuski’s crouched form. An unsettling feeling settled into his stomach—what had caused Katsuki to be late? Where had he been? He thought about the fact that it had been Katsuki’s and Midoriya’s first assigned stake-out on this case together, probably the first time they’d been in the same room alone together since the marks. What had happened? Shouto’s attention snapped back to the situation at hand when Midoriya’s voice fizzled to life in his ear.

“Visual confirmed. Audio, too. Stand by.”

Waiting was the worst part of these situations. Wind whistled through the open and broken windows, eerie and foreboding in the otherwise dead-silent atrium. The targets were muttering so quietly three stories below, their voices didn’t even carry up to where Shouto and the others were keeping watch. Shouto couldn’t even begin to guess what they were discussing. Adrenaline thrilled in his veins, knowing their target was so close but being unable to act made his nerves stand on end. If they moved too soon, the target would spook and flee, if they moved too late, then they’d miss their moment and the target would escape. The uncertainty felt like they were balanced on the edge of a precipice, ready to jump at any moment. Shouto glanced towards Katsuki again, knowing the situation would be even worse for him.

Shouto looked back down into the atrium at the sign of movement. The target had started to move, taking a step or two outside Shouto’s line of vision. Shouto saw Katsuki shift.

“They’re moving,” Katsuki growled.

“We don’t have the signal, yet,” Shouto hissed.

“They’re going to get away,” Katsuki said.

“Don’t move,” Shouto said.

“But—”

“Stand down,” Midoriya’s voice chirped in.

Shouto saw Katsuki’s shadow freeze, his voice cutting off. Shouto blinked. Katsuki hadn’t been listening to him, but as soon as Midoriya said something, he stopped? Something unsettled in Shouto’s chest, but he tried his best to ignore it. Why did it always have to be about Midoriya?

Shouto turned back towards the targets. He saw a flash of silver from Tetsutetsu in the shadows.

“That’s the signal!” Shouto hissed.

A hundred things seemed to happen within the space of a second. The quiet and dark office building erupted in a mess of light and noise. Shouto, Uraraka, and Katsuki vaulted over the banister to fly into the atrium below, shouting and using their quirks to keep from killing themselves in their landing. The targets had already darted down a hallway with Kirishima, Tetsutetsu, and Midoriya right on their heels. Shouto and his team made a pinpoint turn to follow, catching up to the others in a second. Up ahead, Shouto could make out the coats of their targets flapping behind them. He couldn’t tell which was the dealer, and which was his contact, their head ducked and hidden beneath hoodies and hats.

Shouto and the other heroes was shouting at them to stop, identifying themselves as pros working with the police, but with no effect. Without warning, the two figures split up, one hooking down a hallway branching off to the right, the other to the left.

“Right!” Kirishima, Tetsutetsu, and Uraraka shouted together before splitting off towards the right.

Shouto, Katsuki, and Midoriya were left to barrel down the left hall after the other target. Katsuki let out a scream as he ripped loose a few ferocious blasts to speed up, Midoriya’s quirk activating at the same time with a crackle of red electricity. At the same time, their target reached out, slapping a hand to the wall of the hallway for a brief moment as he kept running. In the next instant, the wall exploded as the ground beneath them surged up in a violent wave. Katsuki was already airborne and spun out of the way automatically. Midoriya parkoured off the opposite wall and through the debris. Shouto created a shield of ice and blasted through the collapsing concrete.

“What quirk was that?!” Shouto shouted. “Shigaraki?”

“Can’t be!” Midoriya called back. “Still in jail!”

“Just like Stain's supposed to be?” Katsuki shot back without sparing them a glance.

The next corner they swung around, opened up into a large concrete room that might have once been for storage or for meetings or for anything, really—with a high ceiling, a handful of wide concrete pillars no windows, and no way out spare the way they’d just come in. Their target realized they’d run straight into a dead-end and spun to face the three of them, their hood falling back to finally show their face.

Shouto felt like the floor was tilting beneath him, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

“That’s impossible,” Midoriya breathed beside him.

“The fuck!” Katsuki spat.

Before them stood a man with close-cropped hair and gold, narrowed eyes, the rest of his face obscured by an ornate, beaked mask. Overhaul stood planted with his feet spread wide, both arms spread out on either side of him, his fingers curled into furious claws.

There was a moment of frozen shock as the three of the heroes tried to comprehend the whole and complete Overhaul in front of them—a moment that Overhaul took advantage of as he dropped to the ground, planting his palms to the floor. Pillars erupted from the ground, spearing into the ceiling and walls in a hundred different directions. Shouto and Midoriya reacted immediately, leaping forward and weaving in between the sprouting pillars. Shouto heard Katsuki scream in rage, accompanied by the familiar sound of his explosions. Midoriya fell upon Overhaul form above as Shouto slid in on ice close to the ground. A pillar erupted from nowhere, catching Midoriya in the middle and the next thing Shouto knew, Midoriya had vanished in a blur of green and grey.

At the same time, Shouto slid into Overhaul’s feet, knocking his legs out from under him. At the same time, a pillar shot up to nail Shouto in the side of his chest and he let out a grunt of pain as he felt two of his ribs crack. The only reason the pillar didn’t continue to grow and shoot Shouto up into the air was Overhaul toppling over him to the ground. Ignoring the pain in his side, Shouto immediately vaulted to his feet and spun to face Overhaul. Without enough time to leap to his feet again, Overhaul simply twisted on the ground, planting both hands flat on the floor. The concrete beneath Shouto began to crumble and break. Shouto immediately shot ice to coat the ground beneath them, filing the broken concrete and keeping it from moving or breaking any further. The floor had turned into a thick sheet of ice, Shouto’s special rubber-soled shoes kept him from sliding, but Overhaul had already began to drift across the floor.

Shouto planted his feet, ready for his next attack, but before he could even start, Overhaul slapped his hand to the icy floor and the next thing he knew, Shouto’s own ice erupted in a pillar at himself. Shouto threw up a wall of fire, the ice disintegrating into a cloud of steam that blinded him for a moment. That moment was all Overhaul needed because another concrete pillar exploded out of a far wall, hitting Shouto straight to the chest. The impact sent him flying, his back slamming into the nearest wall with a deafening crack that fractured the wall in a spiderweb. Shotuo gasped, the air having been knocked out of him, his vision sent spinning. He could still distantly hear Katsuki screaming in rage as he started to slide down the wall.

Shouto staggered forward but before he could pull his vision back into focus, he felt something slam into his throat, forcing him back to pin him against the wall. Shouto let out a choked gasp, Overhaul’s face coming into focus. Panic surged through Shouto. Overhaul could disintegrate a person with a thought—he could turn Shouto to ash or putty and there’d be nothing Shouto could do about it. Shouto tried to summon his quirk, but his ice melted as soon as it formed, and all he could spark amounted to little more than a few pitiful licks of flame.

Shouto’s fingernails scrabbled uselessly at the hand that felt like a vice on his throat as black spots already started to form at the edges of his vision.

“Shouto!”

Shouto could hear Katsuki screaming. His gaze slid over to find his husband, trapped amidst a forest of concrete pillars. He struggled violently, his explosions fast and vicious but he didn’t look to be making any headway. Shouto could see Katsuki’s face, could see the panic there, the unbridled fear as Shouto continued to struggle for air and he had the very faint thought that if he was going to die right now, he’d at least get to see Katsuki’s face one last time.

“Shouto!” Katsuki screamed. “Let him go, you rat bastard!”

The world blurred around Shouto and Katsuki’s screams seemed to grow muffled. Shouto’s fingers grew slack as Overhaul’s only tightened further, digging into the softness of Shouto’s throat. Shotuo was sure he was only seconds from blacking out completely when a green blur surged up from nowhere, colliding with Overhaul. In the next moment, they were both gone.

Shouto fell to the floor on all fours, gasping for air, his neck feeling like a rung tube of toothpaste. His vision cleared, his hearing coming back to him with ringing clarity. Shouto watched as Midoriya was wrestling with Overhaul before hurling him into a far wall. Shouto tried to stagger to his feet to help Midoriya or Katsuki, only to have his knees give way immediately, falling back to the ground. The world was spinning as he still struggled to get his breath back, his vision pulsing with each beat of his heart. All he could manage was to send a sheet of ice across the floor again under Overhauls feet, making him slide slightly. Overhaul’s looked down at the ice before his gaze flicked up at Shouto, his gold eyes calculating, then to Midoriya, then to Katsuki, who was blasting away the last of the pillars that had trapped him. Overhaul slammed his hand to the wall behind him, fissures erupting across the wall and across the ceiling. The building began to rumble beneath their feet.

He watched as the walls began to crumble around them in a cacophony of noise. The pillars of stone that had been holding Katsuki back finally crumbled away, leaving Katsuki to stumble forward.

“It’s going to collapse!” Shouto shouted, though neither Midoriya nor Katsuki seemed to have heard him, the both of them looking murderous with their gazes trained on Overhaul. The walls around them were now shuddering so badly, they looked like jelly. The original support pillars of the room were beginning to buckle.

“Get down!” Shouto screamed. Shouto’s hand shot out, sending a domed shield of ice over all three of them as the building finally gave way and collapsed on top of them.

***

Shouto came to with a throbbing headache and his throat feeling like he’d swallowed razors. He coughed and found his mouth coated with dust. Blinking the grit out of his eyes, the world came into focus. The abandoned office building had very obviously collapsed, leaving them surrounded by a mess of broken concrete and jutting metal support rods. The hallway leading out had collapsed, too, leaving them with no way out. The only reason they hadn’t been completely crushed was thanks to Shouto’s quick thinking and use of his quirk. Their only source of light came from a few still flickering fluorescent lights. With a quick glance around, he found Katsuki, unconscious and on the ground a few feet away from him, and Midoriya, half-buried under a mountain of debris. Overhaul was nowhere to be found.

Shouto forced himself to his feet, his broken ribs screaming at him, his head throbbing terribly with every movement. He managed to stagger to Katsuki, dropping down to his knees and turning his head to put it to Katsuki’s chest. Relief eased the tension in Shouto’s chest as he heard the steady beat of Katsuki’s heart.

“Kat,” Shouto said, his voice barely a rasp through the dust and the injuries from nearly being strangled to death. He leaned up, gently tapping Katsuki’s face. “Hey, babe,” he tried again, this time louder. “Are you okay?”

Katsuki let out a groan, his eyes fluttering open, eyes sliding in and out of focus for a moment before finally finding Shouto. “Shou?” Katsuki rasped. “Wha’ happened?”

“Overhaul collapsed the building,” Shouto explained, already wedging a hand beneath Katsuki’s neck and trying to pull him upright. “How are you feeling? Can you stand?”

Shouto couldn’t see any injuries, no blood or scrapes or bruises, but that didn’t mean Katsuki wasn’t harboring anything unseen. But he at least seemed cognitive, his eyes clearing quickly and focusing on his surroundings. He was completely awake and alert within seconds, letting Shouto pull him to his feet.

“You’ve got to help me with Midoriya,” Shouto said, dragging Katsuki to where he’d seen Midoriya, his left side trapped beneath an immense amount of rubble. Midoriya was unconscious, like Katsuki had been, though  Shouto could see the shallow rise and fall of his chest so there was no reason to suspect the worst yet.

“Where’s Overhaul?” Katsuki asked as he began to lift stones out of the way with Shouto.

Shouto shook his head. “Escaped.”

There were a few moments of silence, broken by the sounds of shifting stone and their own grunts of effort.

“Shouto,” Katsuki finally said, his voice low. “How was that possible?”

Shouto’s gaze glanced back up towards Katsuki before falling back to their work. “I don’t know,” Shouto said truthfully. “Maybe a healing quirk.”

“No healing quirk is strong enough to regrow limbs,” Katsuki said sharply.

Shouto shrugged. “A reversing quirk, then? Like with Eri?”

Overhaul, aside from being indefinitely incarcerated in a high-security prison, was well known to have lost both his arms in the brutal chaos that had been the battle waged to rescue Eri from the yakuza. And yet, there was no doubt that they’d seen Overhaul, with both arms intact. Sibling and look-alike theories aside, that had definitely been his quirk, overwhelming and devastating.

Katsuki grunted, unconvinced. “Maybe.”

Shouto couldn’t deny the entire situation had him on edge, too, but they weren’t really in a position to worry about it. Midoriya was emerging from beneath the rubble, bit by bit, and though he was still breathing, they had no way of knowing how bad his injuries really were. As they were able to pull more and more of Midoriya into the feeble light, Shouto could see how pale he looked, his face almost grey beneath a thick layer of dust and grime. After they were able to heave away a few more of the heavier chunks of concrete, Shouto was finally able to hook his arms under Midoriya’s armpits and haul him out from under the rubble, staggering under his weight until he fell back, landing on the ground with Midoriya sprawled in his lap.

Katsuki rushed forward, helping push Shouto back into a sitting position.

“Someone has to cradle his head,” Shouto said.

Katsuki’s eyes were downcast, glancing at Midoriya before quickly looking away again. “I’m not doing it.”

Shouto rolled his eyes. “Could you please act like an adult.”

“I’m not a nurse, Shouto.”

But Shouto ignored him, already settling Midoriya’s head gingerly into his lap as he crossed his legs beneath him. Katsuki grunted as he plopped down, propping his back up against a particularly bulky piece of debris across from Sjouto. Shouto detached one of the canisters from his belt and immediately set to work pouring clean water over Midoriya’s face, washing away the dust.  With another canister, he began to dab disinfectant on the minor cuts across Midoriya’s face.

“You test the coms?” Shouto asked as he continued to work diligently over Midoriya.

“They’re fried,” Katsuki said. “Or we’re under too much concrete for the signal to reach anyone.”

“They should have our last coordinates from before the signal cut,” Shouto said offhand. “So long as Uraraka made it out okay, she should have us out in a few hours.”

“Hey.”

Shouto looked up, distracted by the softness in Katsuki’s tone. When he found Katsuki’s face, his heart stuttered. Katsuki looked…fragile. Those usually ferocious crimson eyes were bright with worry, his face genuine with shock.

“You okay, Shou?” Katsuki asked and the wobble in his voice made Shouto’s heart break.

Shouto could feel the soreness at his throat from nearly being strangled to death. He remembered thinking he was going to die, remembered the look on Katsuki’s face when he’d been thinking the same thing. Near-death experiences had always been a bit too close to comfort ever since high school. Both of them were painfully aware of how they were one bad day away from losing someone they cared about, but that didn’t make dealing with those close-call situations any easier.

“Hey,” Shouto said, his voice equally soft, unfolding a leg without jostling Midoriya too much so he could stretch it forward and nudge Katsuki’s foot with his own in reassurance. “I’m fine. Everything’s okay.”

Katsuki sniffed, his eyes noticeably glassy even in the dim lighting. He turned his head to wipe at his face. “I thought you were going to—”

“But I didn’t,” Shouto said sternly. When Katsuki still didn’t look up at him, Shouto nudged his foot again, grabbing his attention. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere.” Shouto let a small smirk flit to his face. “What kind of hero do you think I am that you could get rid of me so easily?”

Katsuki snorted but looked a little more at ease. Shouto’s attention snapped back to his lap as he felt Midoriay shift slightly. Midoriya’s lids fluttered and when they opened, they were unfocused.

“Midoriya,” Shouto said, hushed. He snapped his fingers overhead, trying to get Midoriya to focus, but it didn’t seem to do much. “Midoriya, can you understand me?”

Midoriya shifted again, groaning as his eyes fluttered closed again. The next time they opened, they managed to focus on Shouto for a split second before going hazy once more.

“You’re here,” Midoriya muttered, barely audible. “You’re here, but you’re not real. You’re never real.”

Shouto blinked down at Midoriya before looking up at Katsuki. Katsuki’s brow was furrowed, his gaze focused. He spared a glance at Shouto and they knew they were both thinking the same thing: No headwounds, but an inability to focus and no sign of cognitive thinking was never a good sign.

“What do you mean?” Shouto asked, looking back down at Midoriya.

A lopsided grin slid onto Midoriya’s face and he let out a sigh. “You’re never real in my dreams.”

Shouto’s heart stuttered. In his…dreams?

Shouto looked up to find Katsuki’s fierce gaze now trained on him. When Shouto looked back down at Midoriya, he’d already lapsed back into unconsciousness. Shouto tapped lightly at Midoriya’s face but got no response. He let out a sigh and looked up again, expecting to find Katsuki upset or angry about Midoriya’s remark, but instead he found a wide, genuine smile.

“You think Deku has wet dreams about you?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Shouto said, tossing a spare rock at Katsuki, which missed. Katsuki let out a laugh, which quickly turned into a cough as he choked on the dust in the air.

Shouto looked back down at Midoriya, finding he’d done all he could in terms of first aid. Unsure what else to do with his hands, he started combing his fingers through Midoriya’s hair, brushing the coarse curls off his forehead. It was what he always did whenever he had Katsuki’s head in his lap, his fingers acting automatically, though Midoriya’s curls were more difficult to work through than Katsuki’s straight spikes.

“It looks like Midoriya got you good,” Shouto said, looking back up towards Katsuki.

Katsuki’s face fell into a frown and he turned his head, hiding the swelling bruise that was visible even under a layer dust and grime. Shouto let out a sigh—he knew he should’ve been expecting this.

“Why were you fighting?”

Katsuki refused to look at him. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You want to tell me anyway?” Shouto said.

Katsuki let out an annoyed huff. “He said ‘sorry.’”

Shouto closed his eyes in a prayer for patience. “Really, Kat?”

“Yes, really,” Katsuki bit back.

“I only asked one thing from you—the only thing I asked was to not be mad at—”

“It’s not exactly a switch I can turn on and off!” Katsuki shouted, shooting a glare at Shouto.

Shouto leveled his own glare back in return, letting out a frustrated hiss between his teeth. “What is the point of talking if you don’t listen?”

Katsuki let out another huff, leaning his head back and pressing a hand over his eyes. “No, no, I do,” he said, sounding frustrated with himself. He let out a sigh as he let his hand fall away and looked back to Shouto. “Just…give me some time. I’ll work on it. But I listen to you Shou, I promise I do.”

Shouto blinked, his gaze lingering on Katsuki before he turned back to Midoriya. I listen to you, Shou. The words stuck in Shouto’s throat as if he’d been the one to say them—because Katsuki hadn’t listened to him, had he? When he’d been trying to move prematurely on the art dealer less than an hour ago, Katsuki hadn’t listened to Shouto to stand down, but he’d heeled like a dog as soon as he’d heard Midoriya. The unsettled feeling surged up in Shouto again and he did his best to ignore it as he looked down into Midoriya’s peaceful and unaware face, still gently brushing the curls off his forehead. Why did it always have to be Midoriya?

“I told Midoriya I couldn’t be friends with him anymore,” Shouto said after a stint of silence.

He heard Katsuki shift slightly, grit and dust grinding beneath him. “I figured.”

“I’m going to tell him again that I can’t talk to him anymore,” Shouto said. "Make it final this time." He tried not to count the freckles on Midoriya’s nose, but he didn’t want to look at Katsuki and he didn’t have anywhere else to look. Katsuki didn’t say anything.

“Do you…have an opinion?” Shouto said, finally looking up.

Katsuki had his head tilted back against the rubble, eyes closed with his face towards the collapsed ceiling. “Shit, Shouto do what you want. I’m not your keeper.”

“If it would upset you—”

“I already told you I don’t care,” Katsuki snapped.

Shouto let his gaze fall back to Midoriya, his tone soft but loud when he spoke, “We said we’d tell each other the truth.”

Katsuki sighed, there was another sound of shifting, and Shouto knew Katsuki had sat up to look at him. When he spoke, his tone was low but sincere. “I’m not gonna tell you what to do Shou. That’s not the kind of relationship I want us to have.”

Shouto took a shaky breath and looked back up to his husband. He saw Katsuki’s eyes trained on Shouto’s fingers still combing idly through Midoriya’s hair. Shouto’s fingers stopped moving.

“But with talking to Midoriya,” Shouto said, “you would prefer if I didn’t.

“I…” Katsuki’s gaze lingered on Shouto’s now still fingers wrapped in Midoriya's hair before his gaze finally flicked up to his face. “I would prefer if you didn’t.

Shouto jumped as Midoriya stirred in his lap once more, letting out a hazy moan.

“Don’t talk like I’m not here,” he mumbled, like a child asking for five more minutes of sleep before school.

“Do you even know where ‘here’ is?” Katsuki snarked.

“Hmmm,” Midoriya hummed and then giggled, his lids fluttering open to look at the ceiling cross-eyed. “Disneyworld?”

“Midoriya,” Shouto said, his tone urgent. “Midroiya, watch my finger,” he said training his pointer finger in front of Midoriya’s face and moving it left to right. Midoriya’s eyes seemed to focus on it for a moment before sliding past Shouto’s finger and onto Shouto’s face. A lazy grin spread across his face.

“Have you kissed your mark?” Midoriya asked sleepily. He let out a hysterical giggle. “I did, and wow, that was amazing. I’ve never cried so hard.”

“Is it a concussion?” Katsuki asked.

Shouto shook his head. “There’s no head trauma—none that I can find at least. I don’t know what it is.” Shouto wished he’d had more intensive first aid training, or at least a flashlight to see if Midoriya’s pupils dilated.

Midoriya’s unfocused gaze slid off of Shouto and onto something in the distance before his lids fluttered over his eyes once more. He continued to mumble unintelligible nonsense, which was something of a good sign Shouto supposed.

Katsuki sniggered from across where he was sitting. “So have you?”

Shouto looked up at Katsuki, questioning.

Katsuki raised his eyebrows, his gaze flicking pointedly to Shouto’s right hand. “Have you ever tried kissing it before?”

Shouto gave Katsuki a curious look “No, why would I? Would you?”

Katsuki shrugged. “Well I mean, yeah.”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” Shouto scoffed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you found out I’d kissed my mark, you’d blow your lid,” Shouto said.

Katsuki opened his mouth to respond, stopping himself partway there, and snapping it shut. “I wouldn’t,” he finally said between gritted teeth.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Can you two please stop bickering?” Midoriya moaned. “It hurts my head.”

“We’re not bickering,” Shouto said automatically.

“Yes,” Midoriya with another soft giggle. “Yes, you are.”

Shouto was about to say something, or try to check Midoriya’s vitals again, but Midoriya spoke first, his speech slightly slurred, his eyes still closed.

“And usually I wouldn’t mind, but—” he let out a sleepy sigh. “I wish you would leave me out of it.”

Shouto’s heart sank. He remembered what Uraraka had told him: You can’t keep asking the world of him. He felt the familiar guilt spill into his stomach again, the guilt of the last few months surging up to meet the guilt of what he’d said to Midoriya and the fact that Katsuki had fought Midoriya—even though that wasn’t his fault, he somehow felt guilty about that, too. I don’t think you can see how this is breaking him. Shouto didn’t know what to do, he just knew his best friend in the world was hurting and he just wanted to make it stop.

Shouto tried to discretely wipe at his eyes, though he was sure Katsuki had seen.

“I thought you’d take a crack at how stupid he’s acting,” Shouto said, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. When he looked up, he found Katsuki’s eyes flashing at him through the darkness, stubborn and deadly serious.

“He saved your life, Shou,” he said simply.

Both of them were saved from saying anything else by a loud grinding sound that sounded like shifting rock coming from overhead. Dust and pebbles trickled down from the ceiling of rock overhead and Katsuki moved so he could look up without it getting in his eyes. Shouto blinked up in time to see a massive boulder shift out of the way, letting in a blade of brilliantly bright light and the smell of fresh air beyond.

Chapter Text

Izuku had kissed Todoroki before. It had happened what seemed like an eternity ago but still, it had happened.

It had happened during a late night in the UA dorms their first year, well before Kacchan and Todoroki had been a thing and well before Izuku and Ochako had been anything at all. Someone had managed to score a few bottles of soju and everyone had ended up giddy and giggling well past midnight and someone had had the brilliant idea for all of them to play spin the bottle. Izuku had tried to excuse himself out of playing, along with half the rest of the class, but the girls of the class along with Aoyama had corralled them to sit down and play. Izuku could remember how hot his face had grown when it had been his turn to spin the empty peach soju bottle, and how it had felt practically on fire when the bottle slowed to land on Todoroki.

There’d been a surge of giggling and catcalls and whistling and Izuku and Todoroki had found themselves shoved unceremoniously into a spare coat closet. Izuku’s jaw had been glued shut, his face was unbearably hot as he’d tried to look anywhere but Todoroki despite the fact that they were practically chest-to-chest.

“Y-You know we d-don’t have to actually—” Izuku’s words caught in his throat as he finally looked up to see Todoroki staring down at him, his eyes surprisingly bright in the dark of the closet, his face calm.

Todoroki quirked an eyebrow at him. “Do you not want to kiss me, then?”

Izuku’s brain short-circuited. “I, um…”

A small, teasing smile flitted to Todoroki’s lips and he stepped forward. The closet was so small that when Izuku tried to take a step back, his back hit the door quite abruptly and Todoroki was suddenly leaning into him, impossibly close.

“Who said I didn’t want to kiss you?” Todoroki asked, his voice so low and husky, it sent a thrill down Izuku’s spine.

The next thing Izuku knew, Todoroki’s palm was sliding up along Izuku’s jaw, warm, rough, and calloused. Izuku leaned into the touch without thinking, the feeling of it somehow familiar and comforting. And then Todoroki leaned down and kissed him. Izuku had let out a happy sigh, leaning into it, his arms coming up automatically to wrap around Todoroki’s neck. It had been warm and gentle and exciting and the next thing Izuku knew, Todoroki’s tongue was in his mouth and his hands were fisted in the back of Todoroki’s shirt.

When there came a banging on the door, Izuku jumped nearly a foot in the air and Todoroki jerked away like he’d been electrocuted. Laughter reached them from the other side of the door.

“You two having fun in there?” Kaminari called before dissolving into giggles.

“Oi! Come on! Bakugou is spinning next!” Kirishima called and was immediately met with the sound of explosions and of Kacchan’s enraged shouting.

“Sorry,” Todoroki flashed Izuku another teasing smile. “Looks like our time is up.”

 He reached past Izuku and opened the closet door. Light and sound washed over them, banishing the small secluded space they’d had. Someone wolf-whistled.

“Looks like you two had a good time!” Mina called, grinning widely from where she was perched atop the back of the couch.

“Oh, come on!” Hagakure said. “As if they’d actually do anything!”

“I sure hope not!” Iida said, popping up from out of nowhere. “That would be highly inappropriate!”

“That’s the whole point, Iida!” Uraraka giggled before falling backward off her chair.

Izuku felt his face flush a horrible shade of crimson, burying his face in his hands before doing his best to school his features into something inconspicuous before following Todoroki back out into the common room.

What was surprising was that it hadn’t been a one-time thing. There’d been a handful of other occasions with Todoroki, inexperienced and a little clumsy, during other drunken and misbegotten nights and small dorm parties with hands on hips and heavy heady breathing filling the air between them. They’d never gone further than those few drunken make-outs but eventually, even those had petered out, giving way when Izuku had started dating Ochako and Todoroki’s attention began to drift towards Kacchan. It had never been anything serious, never anything more than raging teenage hormones searching for a release, never anything romantic. The both of them had obviously been able to stay such good friends in the years following, and for the most part, Izuku had forgotten the entire fling.

Izuku blinked up at the starched white ceiling of his hospital room. He wasn’t sure what had brought the memories up now. Unless he’d been dreaming of them. Todoroki always managed to find his way into Izuku’s dreams—Izuku wasn’t sure why this was the case, but it was something he tried not to think on too hard for too long. Because for one, everything with Todoroki had happened ages ago and didn’t mean anything now, and for two, Todoroki was absolutely and without a doubt completely and undoubtedly 100% off-limits.

He’d be lying if he said he’d never had a crush on Todoroki, he’d admitted that before. The long-forgotten late night flings with Todoroki had perhaps been his small indulgence in that aspect of his infatuation, but the idea of dating a friend—let alone a best friend at that—not to mention a friend that was so obviously interested in someone else—was completely out of bounds.

Except that maybe it wasn’t. Because Izuku had dated Ochako, hadn’t he? And she’d been one of his best friends. Because he’d been friends with and dated Ejiro as well and Todoroki and Kacchan had been friends before they’d started dating so that now that Izuku looked at it, it seemed like a pretty weak excuse. Izuku let out a groan and brought his hand up to rub it over his face, the IV tugging slightly at his arm. He was being stupid. Because Todoroki was still married, so none of the other stuff even mattered.

Though now that he was thinking on it, Izuku couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t ended updating Ochako, if Todoroki hadn’t started paying more attention to Kacchan. He wondered if their stupid flights of teenage horniness might not have…grown to be something more. Would he be the one married to Todoroki now instead of Kacchan, sharing an apartment with a ring around his neck? Izuku supposed it would make sense, he was the one with Todoroki’s mark anyways, wasn’t he?

Izuku choked on the thought as soon as he’d had it, disgusted with himself. Izuku brought both hands up to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes. No, no, no, no, no. This wasn’t who he was, this wasn’t how he thought about things. Coveting someone else’s spouse—what the hell was wrong with him?

Izuku turned his hand over, using the back of it to wipe at the sweat on his upper lip. He remembered the small, playful smile Todoroki had flashed him in that coat closet a million years ago. He remembered seeing Todoroki flash Kacchan that very same smile only a few dozen hours ago in that interrogation room. He suddenly realized he wanted to see that smile again. He wanted to see that smile directed at him again.

Izuku closed his eyes against the memory. He couldn’t think about this, couldn’t allow himself to think about this. It would only lead to disaster.

Izuku jumped at the sound of a soft knock at his door, his deep rabbit hole of thoughts scattering as he looked up to find a nurse in his open doorway. She gave him a kind smile.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked.

Izuku managed to nod his head before croaking out an “All right.”

He hadn’t had a concussion, thank god. Izuku had had enough of those to last him a lifetime at this point. Todoroki and everyone else had quickly found out after rushing him to the hospital that it wasn’t a head injury that was making him go loopy, but a severe case of dehydration. He wasn’t even sure how it had happened—a lapse in judgment in addition to absurd amounts of coffee on the late-night stake-outs plus the added stress he’d been dealing with between Todoroki and Kacchan had most likely all added up to Izuku forgetting to drink water to the point of an actual health risk. The incident at the abandoned office building must have been the last straw for pushing him to the wrong side of dehydration. Ochako had practically swelled with rage at finding out that Izuku hadn’t been taking care of himself properly and had even threatened to call his mother.

Everything else aside, however, his injuries could have been a lot worse. After thirty-six hours on an IV, he was back to normal, speaking in full sentences, if still a bit hoarse in the throat.

The nurse offered him another smile.

“Enough to see a visitor?” she asked as someone emerged from the hallway behind her, toweringly tall with a shock of red and black hair and a full mess of half-healed burn scars covering a majority of his face and arms.

After everyone that had seen him to the hospital had been satisfied with his health and had left him to rest, Izuku hadn’t called Iida or his mother first, but Touya Todoroki. It was a conversation he knew had been coming, and after everything that had happened that day, he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

The eldest Todoroki fell into one of the chairs next to Izuku’s bed, his face as guarded and unreadable as ever. A conversation with Touya Todoroki was something Izuku had been doing his best to avoid for as long as possible. He knew the only person that blamed him for Hawks’s disappearance as much as he blamed himself was Touya. And the guilt and shame he knew he deserved from Touya’s unrelenting glare was simply something he didn’t have the capacity to handle on top of everything else at the moment. He’d seen Touya blow up before, had seen him lose his cool, his outbursts nearly outstripping even Kacchan’s. He wasn’t ready for that; he wasn’t ready for all the insults he knew to be true and all the—

“Thank you.”

Izuku blinked, not quite sure if what he’d just heard had been real.

“What?” Izuku said before he could stop himself, turning to look at Touya, who’d sprawled himself in the visitor’s chair, legs splayed, and hands folded on his stomach.

After coming out as a hero, Touya had let his natural red hair grow in while keeping it black at the ends, the entire effect making him look somehow even more singed than before. Touya blinked at Izuku, his gaze unwavering. There was something about it that was so startlingly similar to Endeavor’s that it was unsettling. It was the same fierceness, the same ferocity and threat of immediate incineration.

“Thank you, for saving my brother, Izuku Midoriya,” Touya finally said. “From what Katsuki says, he’d be dead if it weren’t for you.” He shifted in his chair slightly. His next words seemed to come with a bit more difficulty. “And thank you…for trying so hard to find Takami.”

Izuku stared at Touya, whatever thoughts he’d had suddenly whirling too fast inside his head to latch on to a single one.

Touya’s intimidating gaze slid away almost lazily. “Don’t get me wrong, I blamed you at first. You were his partner after all, but after hearing you nearly died trying to hunt down this lead on him…well, if it weren’t for forgiveness, I would still be in jail, wouldn’t I?”

Izuku didn’t know what to say to this. His mouth had suddenly gone dry, his mind was suddenly blank. Touya didn’t blame him? Why? Why wouldn’t Touya blame him? It’d been his fault. He was a hero, he’d been Hawks’s partner, keeping him safe had been his job. And he’d failed.

 Izuku’s voice caught in his throat and he had to look down at his covers. This was probably worse than what he’d been expecting. Because he knew he at least deserved the blame and the guilt. He could handle insults and shouting, but he didn’t know what to do with forgiveness.

“So,” Touya’s drawl snapped him back to the present. “You wanted to talk about soulmarks?”

Izuku forced down the lump in his throat and blinked away the stinging in his eyes before looking back up to Touya.

“I, um, yeah,” he finally managed. “You’re one of the few people I know who…um…”

Touya quirked an eyebrow. “Who has a mark?” he finished for Izuku, reaching his left arm forward to reveal a mark on the soft underside of his forearm, obviously the result of a defensive block against some long-ago attack. The mark was a pale tan, interrupting the browns and purples of the burns that covered his arms, like an inverse mark.

Izuku’s gaze froze on the mark for a margin of a second before falling back to his bedsheets. “Yeah.”

Touya pulled his arm back as his gaze flicked over Izuku’s face, calculating. “I thought your friend, Mei Hatsume, had a mark,” he said. “That was why she’s making the patches.”

Izuku’s hand automatically went to rub at where his own patch usually was, only to find it gone—obviously, the hospital would have removed it when he was brought in. Instead, his fingers brushed over his bare skin and the green outline of his mark. He pulled his hand away.

“Um, she doesn’t like to talk about it,” Izuku said quietly. “Her soulmate died. That’s why she’s trying to develop a way to erase her mark.”

Touya hummed in a semi-understanding way. “Makes sense,” he said, bringing a hand up to run it roughly through his hair. “So, what do you want from me?”

Izuku shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t really thought this through if he was being honest. He just knew he needed to talk to someone about it, someone who might understand or at least help him understand.

“I guess,” Izuku started, his voice already sounding weak. “I guess I just wanted to know what your experience with your marks was. How compelling were they, what did they change or make you feel? What made you want to—?”

Izuku looked up and his voice died in his throat. Touya was glaring at him now, his body no longer lax but rigid and poised like he was ready for a fight and Izuku could swear he saw a glimpse of the villain he’d been before flicker just behind his eyes.

“You think I wanted to fall in love with a hero?” Touya asked, his mouth curled into a sneer. “You think Hawks wanted to fall in love with me?”

Izuku swallowed and looked away. “Sorry, I just meant—why else would anything change if the marks didn’t—”

“The marks don’t make you feel anything that isn’t real,” Touya scoffed. “They’re not some drug that forces you to change your mind.” Touya let himself fall back against his seat again, rubbing a hand over his face before peering at Izuku again. “There’s a theory that marks only show up for people that are meant to be together but that otherwise wouldn’t realize it, like me and Takami,” Touya said, letting his hand fall to dangle over the chair’s armrest. His gaze slid away to wander lazily around the hospital room. “Or two strangers passing each other in the street.” His eyes flicked pointedly back to Izuku. “Or when one of them is already married.”

Izuku felt something cold sink into his stomach. Memories flashed behind his eyes—his arms wrapped around Todoroki’s neck with warm hands in his hips in a cramped coat closet—Todoroki sliding his fingers through Kacchan’s hair as he leaned down to kiss him in a police interrogation room. He tried to force them away.

 “If there’s one thing I learned from Hawks it’s that love isn’t a one-way street or even a two-way street,” Touya continued with a sigh as he leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. “It’s a fucking maze and you’ll never know where you’ll end up but that’s not really the point of it. It matters who you get there with. But the maze was already there long before the mark, the marks just get you through the entrance.”

“So, what you’re saying is that it’s inevitable,” Izuku said blankly.

Touya rolled his head forward to look at Izuku again. “I’m saying that the marks don’t show up randomly or for no reason. They show up to let you know you’ve found your soulmate.”

Izuku clenched his jaw, his hands fisting in his bedsheets. “I don’t believe that.”

Touya smirked. “It’s not a religion, kid. It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not.”

“People used to think quirks were impossible,” Izuku said. “I don’t see why refusing a mark would be any different.”

Touya’s grin grew wider, looking almost wolffish. “Well, you’d be the first to do so, I’ll tell you that.”

“I’ve been the first to prove the odds wrong before,” Izuku said definitely as if proving this now as if proving Touya wrong would make him right, would make everything he wanted to believe true.

Touya’s grin softened, a knowing look sliding into his eyes as he gazed at Izuku. If felt like an eternity of silence stretched between them, filled with the distant beeping of monitors down the hall and the murmurs of nurses passing by, but when Touya finally spoke, his voice was low, like he had a secret he was trying to share.

“Are you in love with my brother, Izuku Midoriya?”

“No,” Izuku said automatically because it’s what he’d always said to this question. Because it was an answer he’d never let himself think about because it was something that he knew could never happen.

***

Izuku was sick of hospitals. He hated hospitals. The worst things always seemed to happen in hospitals.

He couldn’t save anyone in a hospital. He couldn’t battle or wrestle or Detroit Smash the villains that lurked in hospitals. He couldn’t pick up the little girl hooked up to tubes and monitors and carry her away from the villains that plagued her nights and tell her she was going to be safe. He was just as helpless, just as powerless, as everyone else in a hospital. He couldn’t be a hero in hospitals.

Unfortunately, he still had another twenty-four hours to go until he could be released. The IV had worked but they wanted to keep him on surveillance to make sure he was fully fit to leave. And that was another reason he hated hospitals: he couldn’t do anything. Outside, he could distract himself from almost anything by throwing himself into hero work or feverish research of the next support item he could help Mei with, but stuck in a hospital, confined to a bed, he was left with nothing but endless time to worry over everything Touya had told him, which he could only escape by falling asleep, which lead to, oh right, even more dreams about Todoroki, which did the exact opposite of make matters better.

Izuku let out a frustrated huff and moved to get up. Sitting here wallowing in his own self-pity was useless, he could at least take a few laps around his floor and maybe chug a few liters of water along the way. He fought the urge to go downstairs to the children’s ward. Normally, kids loved seeing Deku, Number One Hero, and though he could do nothing about the villains that lived in their hospital charts and their beeping monitors, he could at least do something to bring a smile to their faces. But he’d learned a while ago that while kids loved seeing Deku in his hero suit grinning wide and acting strong, they absolutely did not love seeing Izuku Midoriya in a hospital nightgown looking as sick as they were themselves. So, he’d settle for a lap around the hospital for now instead.

He’d sat up on the edge of his bed when he heard a knock at his door. He looked up, expecting to see Ochako or Iida there and ready to invite either of them to walk with him, but the smile died on his face as soon as he saw who was standing in his doorway. Todoroki stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, looking sheepish and uncomfortable. The worst things always seemed to happen in hospitals.

Izuku felt himself falling back into bed, feeling a little stunned.

“Todoroki,” Izuku said, feeling a little numb. He didn’t know why Todoroki was here, or what he wanted.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Todoroki’s face, and he looked uncertain on whether or not he should step further into the room.

“Hi, Midoriya,” he said, seeming to settle on hovering over the threshold. “How’re you feeling?”

Izuku nodded automatically. “A lot better, thanks. You doing okay?”

Todoroki nodded, and ducked his head, a hand coming up subconsciously to rub at the back of his neck. Even above the tall collar of his jacket, Izuku could see the deep purple bruises that still lingered there. At the time, Izuku hadn’t really had time to process that Todoroki was dying. He’d simply seen his friend in trouble and reacted to help him, but now, with the time to look into foresight, Izuku had realized just how close he’d been to losing Todoroki in the way that mattered the most. The thought sent ice into his veins.

“Um,” Todoroki said, leaning against the doorframe but in no way looking comfortable about it. “Thank you, by the way, for, um, saving—”

“With all the times you saved me, I think I still owe you one,” Izuku said. He couldn’t stand being thanked for doing his job. “Don’t worry about it.”

Todoroki let out a small laugh and Izuku remembered how he’d laughed at Kacchan’s snark in the interrogation room. It wasn’t comparable, but Izuku couldn’t help the small hitch his heart gave at it all the same.

“So, have you told Katsuki you’re moving, yet?”

Izuku blinked. “I thought you would’ve.”

Todoroki let his head drop to look down at his shoes and shook it. “That’s not my news to tell. Besides, he should hear it from you.”

It was a terrible attempt at casual conversation.

“What do you want, Todoroki?”

Todoroki looked up, then apparently found he couldn’t look Izuku in the face, and then let his gaze travel around the room.

“I know we agreed to not be friends—”

“Really? Did we agree to that?” Izuku asked and he could hear the bitterness in his own voice. He wasn’t even sure where it had come from, but Todoroki flinched, and he felt a mix of satisfaction and regret from it that he didn’t understand. “Because I think I only remember me saying we couldn’t be friends. A number of times actually.”

“No, I, uh,” Todoroki said, glancing down at his shoes again. “I guess you’re right. Sorry.” He offered Izuku a feeble smile.

“Sorry,” Todoroki flashed Izuku another teasing smile. “Looks like our time is up.”

Izuku felt something crack in his chest. They’d done this before; they’d been here before. Yet, something about this time felt different. It felt final, and Izuku knew he should be grateful for it, but instead it just felt like he was being robbed of something important.

“Are you sorry?” Izuku asked, ignoring the crack in his own voice. “Because you keep showing up and I keep having to be the one to say goodbye—”

“I know,” Todoroki said quickly, looking up and directly at Izuku for the first time since he’d come through that door. His face looked pensive and strained as if this entire conversation was physically hurting him. “That’s why I’m trying to fix it. I’m sorry—I’m sorry for everything I did, everything I’ve said, and everything I’ve put you through because I know you deserve better. So, believe me when I say that this time, it’s final because I’m the one saying it. I mean it.”

Izuku didn’t say anything. Todoroki took a steadying breath, ducking his head to control his emotions, to file them away and straighten his facial features. Izuku tried not to think about how Todoroki had never hidden his feelings from him before, how he’d never had to control his emotions or hide his expression from Izuku. They’d used to tell each other everything, but now it was different. They couldn’t be friends, they couldn’t be soulmates, they couldn’t be anything.

When Todoroki looked back up, his face was carefully blank. “I won’t talk to you any more than what’s strictly necessary. I won’t look at you for any longer than I absolutely need to, and after this case, you’ll be little more than a memory to me anymore. Is that what you want?”

Izuku answered before he could stop himself: “Yes.”

Something in Todoroki’s eyes shifted, but his face stayed deceptively blank. “Fine.”

And then he was gone. Just like the handful of times before, but this time felt different. This time left Izuku reeling in a way he hadn’t felt before. He fell back on his pillows, suddenly feeling like he’d just run a mile, his thoughts spinning too fast for him to catch up, and he couldn’t put any of it in words, but he knew it all had something to do with the gaping hole he now felt in his chest.

Do you love my brother, Izuku Midoriya?

He’d be lying if he said he’d never had a crush on Todoroki.

Chapter Text

Katsuki did not like being beholden to anyone, he did not like owing people, he did not like being in anyone’s debt, which was why his current situation of his ex-friend who he might or might not hate having just saved the love of his life from certain death, while also having a soulmark with said love of his life was probably the least likable situation Katsuki had ever been in. The only thing to make the matter worse was that Katsuki couldn’t find his ex-friend who he might or might not hate that had just saved the love of his life from certain death in order to stop owing him.

In the week that followed the incident with Overhaul, the police station had been little more than chaos, and after it had all calmed down, it’d taken Katsuki almost another week to finally hunt down Deku. He was surprised by how difficult it’d been to find the most popular hero in the world in the cramped little police station. No matter where Katsuki looked, he always seemed to miss Deku by a second—almost like he was being intentionally avoided. The little shit.

Katsuki doubted he ever would’ve been able to track him down, had he not managed to catch sight of Deku leaving the commissioner’s office when he’d been visiting Shouto on his day off. He’d vaulted over a disgruntled detective’s desk and nearly kicked a policewoman in the head in his haste to get across the stations and to Deku.

“Deku! Hey, Deku!” Katsuki called, grabbing Deku by the arm.

Deku spun, his eyes growing wide as soon as they’d landed on Katsuki.

“Kacchan,” he said, his eyes jumping away from Katsuki and back again before realizing he had no way of escape. His shoulders sagged slightly as he let out a tired sigh. “I, um, can I help you with anything?”

Katsuki felt his voice catch in his throat like a dry pill. He didn’t know why this was so difficult. Shouto would be the first to tell him he wasn’t any good at thanking people or apologizing to them. He hated admitting that he’d needed help, hated admitting that he’d been wrong in any way. Over the years, he’d gotten better at it, but standing here in front of Deku, he felt like a stubborn teenager again, like he’d rather die than say the words stuck in his throat.

Maybe it was because it was Deku of all people. Maybe it was because it was his husband’s soulmate. Maybe it was because he’d tried to kick Deku’s teeth in and then less than a few hours later, Deku had then saved Shouto’s life when Katsuki had failed. Katsuki was the antithesis of humble but nothing had been so devastatingly and humiliatingly humbling as that.

Or maybe it was because Katsuki was still thinking of what Deku had said. Maybe it was because that “sorry” was still ricocheting inside his ears like a pinball. Maybe it was because, amidst this entire shitty situation they were all in, Deku was the only one that seemed to care, the only one that had bothered to say sorry even though it wasn’t his fault and for some reason that meant something.

Whatever the reason was, it left a solid pit in Katsuki’s chest that he was desperate to be rid of. So he swallowed that pit, the words coming up after it sounding strained and tasting strange on his tongue.

“You…saved Shouto.”

Deku blinked at him, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I know, I was there.”

Katsuki gritted his teeth, his mind racing to come up with the least humiliating way to say what he was trying to get out. “You did a good job. You’re a good…” his throat caught on the word. No matter the situation, he just couldn’t bring himself to call Deku a good hero. “You’re a good friend.”

Deku scoffed. “Careful, you might sound like you care.”

Katsuki let out a frustrated hiss between his teeth. “You’re making it really difficult to be nice—”

“Oh, is that what you’re being?”

“I’m trying.”

Deku looked at Katsuki, a shadow crossing his face. Katsuki could practically see something snapping in to place behind his eyes like he’d just made a decision. “Well, it doesn’t look good on you.”

Katsuki was stunned by how much the words stung. He knew he shouldn’t care what Deku thought of him, knew he’d spent nearly two decades raging that he didn’t give a shit what Deku thought of him. But for reasons beyond his fathoming, this stung. These weren’t Deku’s words, these weren’t the words of the kind-hearted, grinning hero that apologized profusely whenever he bumped into a stranger by accident. These were the words from someone he didn’t recognize.

“Fuck you,” Katsuki growled, the words coming from deep in his throat. “I’m out here trying to…trying to—”

“Trying to what?” Deku bit back, and Katsuki felt the bitterness in it like a slap to the face. “To thank me? To apologize? What do you want from me, Kacchan?”

Katsuki stared at him, stunned by the question.

“I…I don’t want anything from you.”

Deku glared at him, his face tense. He glanced away, his gaze jumping everywhere before training it back on Katsuki. He seemed to be wrestling with something like he couldn’t decide whether or not he should say what was on his mind. Katsuki was about to tell him to spit it out when he finally opened his mouth.

“Did Todoroki ever tell you about us?” he finally said.

Katsuki felt like he’d just been struck by lightning, left numb in the aftermath. This was the nightmare scenario. These were the words he’d spent the last few months dreading to hear.

“What do you mean ‘us’?” He could barely hear his own voice over the buzzing in his ears.

“At UA,” Deku said quickly. “During our first year, he and I…we were sort of a thing.” Deku shrugged awkwardly. “Thought you should know.”

Katsuki waited for the emotions to hit. He didn’t know what he should be expecting, but he knew they were coming. He expected to feel like one of his explosions. He expected anger, he expected fury and all the typical reactions, but they didn’t come. He didn’t feel like one of his explosions, he felt like the aftermath, strangely calm and quiet. Before he could even stop himself, his mind was racing, creating imagined scenes of Deku and Shouto together, kissing in the way only Shouto kissed him, hands cupping his face, tongue searching and desperate. Again, he expected the familiar feeling of rage to pool in his gut at the thought, but the anger never came. He was…fine with it.

Before Katsuki even had time to process what he was (or wasn’t) feeling, Deku had already turned and was leaving.

“Hey!” Katsuki called, running down the hallway after him. He had to skirt a few detectives and shoulder check a police officer to even catch up. “Deku!” Katsuki called again, so loud it made a nearby detective jump, but Deku looked for all the world like he hadn’t heard a word.

“Hey!” Katsuki screamed even louder, about to reach out and grab idiot Deku by the arm when the other abruptly turned a corner and disappeared behind a door. Katsuki ran into the same door in the next second, only to find it unrelenting. He jiggled at the door handle, but it was, unsurprisingly, locked.

“DEKU!” Katsuki screamed, pounding on the door. “OPEN THIS GODDAMED—!”

The door ripped open, Deku standing on the other side, looking pissed. Pissed? What right did fucking Deku have to be pissed?

“What?”

“The fuck, Deku?” Katsuki spat. “You can’t just say something like that and walk away!”

Deku glared at him. Over the years, Deku had managed to gain an inch or two on Katsuki, but Katsuki would be damned if he’d let a little bit of height intimidate him. Something seemed to be warring somewhere behind Deku’s eyes.

“And why can’t I?” Deku finally asked. “Why can’t I say something like that when you and Todoroki are both doing whatever you want without caring about the consequence?”

Katsuki gaped at him, dumbfounded. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to anymore. This wasn’t the Deku he knew, this wasn’t the Deku he was used to. The realization distressed him for some reason.

“Do you even understand? Do you have any idea—?” Deku’s voice cut off and he dropped his head forward. After a moment, he shook it. “You know what? Forget it.”

“Deku—”

“Don’t call me that,” Deku snapped, his head jerking back up to glare viciously at Katsuki.

“It’s your hero name,” Katsuki countered.

“It’s not,” Deku said. “Not when you say it.”

Katsuki looked at Deku. This conversation had somehow become a wet bar of soap. He wasn’t sure what had happened, or how it’d derailed so terribly, simply that he was now standing in the wreckage of it.

“I don’t want to talk with you anymore,” Deku said. “Ever. As friends, I mean.”

The next words out of Katsuki’s mouth were automatic. “When did I ever say that I wanted to be your friend?”

Something crossed over Deku’s face, the same shadow as before.

“We’re on the same page, then.”

***

“Hey, babe,” Shouto said as he came through the door, arms laden with half a dozen groceries. Katsuki was on the couch and watched as Shouto dropped some of the groceries at the door and carried the rest to the kitchen. The noise of rustling plastic told Katsuki that he had started rifling through the bags to put things away.

Katsuki listened for a moment before getting up to help. He stood across from Shouto at the island and started sifting through bags, looking for anything that should belong in the fridge or pantry.

“Why didn’t you tell me about you and Deku?” Katsuki said quietly as he shifted through a bag of vegetables.

“What?” Shouto said, paying only half attention as he turned to slide the milk into the fridge.

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Deku were a thing?” Katsuki said again, this time louder. He’d stopped shifting through the grocery bags, starring at a bag of soju noodles.

Shouto let out a sigh as he turned back. “Is this about the marks again—?”

“No, it’s not,” Katsuki said, looking up.

Shouto rolled his eyes. “Well, that would be a first.”

Katsuki felt a bite of annoyance that Shouto didn’t seem to notice how serious he was being.

“Did you ever date Deku?” Katsuki asked. He knew if this were any other situation, he’d already be screaming. He should already be pissed, but he wasn’t. He felt numb. He felt lied to and betrayed.

Shouto looked at him, shocked like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “What? No, I would have told you—”

“Then why did he say you two were a thing?” Katsuki kept his voice calm but there was an edge creeping into it.

Shouto stared at him, his face a mixture of bewilderment and disbelief. “Wait, you talked—he said—What?”

“He said you guys were a thing,” Katsuki repeated, the words tasting like acid on his tongue. “Where you or—?”

“No,” Shouto insisted. “We were never—” Shouto stopped short, his eyes growing wide with realization. “Oh, god.”

“So, he was telling the truth?” Katsuki swallowed the acid on his tongue and he could feel it bubbling in his stomach now, threatening to eat him from the inside out.

“No,” Shouto said. He looked frazzled, burying the heals of his palms into his eyes. “We were never a ‘thing’ we just…we just made out sometimes. It was after we all moved into the dorms.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Katsuki said.

“Because I forgot!” Shouto said as he dropped his hands, exasperated. “Because it never meant anything! Because it would be insane to expect me to remember and tell you about every single person I kissed in high school.”

“Why not? I’ve told you!” Katsuki snapped. “Besides, Deku seems to think it meant something—”

“Did you ever stop to think Midoriya told you that just to get under your skin?” Shouto said.

Katsuki sneered at the thought, disgusted. “Why?”

“Because we hurt him, Katsuki,” Shouto said, sounding hurt himself. “Because we’ve put him through hell and he’s probably feeling bitter and resentful and is trying to, I don’t know, retaliate or lash out. But he probably doesn’t think any more of what we did in high school than I do.”

“You sure about that?” Katsuki said before he could stop himself, his voice laced with accusations.

Shouto stared at him, a look of disbelief on his face. The groceries lay forgotten between them, scattered from their bags like the aftermath of a war. He could hear the quiet whir of the refrigerator in the corner, waiting for the rest of it’s promised contents, but it went unbidden.

“Why are you so convinced I have feelings for Midoriya?” Shouto finally asked, his voice sounding small and broken. “Are you so convinced we’re not going to work out?”

With dawning horror, Katsuki could see the tears collecting in Shouto’s eyes, could see them threatening to spill over. Katsuki watched as the second conversation he’d had that day crumble between his fingers.

“Why is it so impossible to believe that I love you?” Shouto choked.

Shit, shit, shit, Katsuki thought frantically. All the resentment and bitterness that had gathered in his stomach seemed to evaporate, regret and desperation flooding into where they had been.

“Oh, Shou, no, I didn’t mean—”

He rushed around the island and wrapped Shouto in his arms. Shouto wasn’t crying, not properly (Katsuki couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him truly cry) but he was sniffling, his eyes wet, as he pressed his face into Katsuki’s shoulder.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Katsuki said quietly. “I was being an ass.”

“Since when did you become so self-aware,” Shouto said with a watery laugh. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you.”

Katsuki let out a heavy sigh. “I know,” he said. His chest felt heavy. He felt desperate and frustrated with himself. He didn’t want to keep blaming Shouto. He didn’t want to keep accusing him and watching him break down again and again. The thought of it twisted his stomach.

 But he wasn’t allowed to be mad at Deku and as much as he blamed himself, he still found himself filled with frustration that had nowhere else left to go. And he knew shouldn’t and he didn’t want to and he wasn’t sure why he did, but he knew that they had to stop doing this to each other. The only problem was, he didn’t know how to stop it. He knew this entire shitty situation they were in needed to be fixed, but he was the last person to know how to even start. Katsuki had always been good at breaking things, at blowing them up and destroying them. He knew next to nothing about how to fix them.

It was a while before Shouto could gather himself again, Katsuki muttering to him the entire time. Shouto’s cheek was resting on his shoulder, Katsuki’s arms around his waist like some shitty high school couple at a dance when Shouto spoke up again. “Wait, have you really told me everyone you kissed at UA?”

Katsuki frowned. “Yeah?”

Shouto lifted his head to look at him. “Just me and Kirishima?”

Katsuki could feel his face growing warm with embarrassment. “Just because I didn’t run around slobbering over every dumbass—“

Shouto let out a laugh before pressing a kiss to Katsuki’s temple. “You’re amazing.”

Katsuki’s brow furrowed. “Wait, how many people have you kissed?”

Shouto laughed again and buried his face into the crook of Katsuki's neck.

***

It was well past midnight that night when Katsuki was still wide awake while starring at the dark ceiling overhead, feeling exhausted but unable to sleep. He kept thinking about what Deku had told him, about what Shouto had said. His mind continued to work overtime, imagining scenes and images without his permission. Scenes of Deku and Shouto. Of Shouto and Deku. He thought of Deku kissing Round Face behind the UA dorms and suddenly it wasn’t Round Face anymore, but Shouto, being pressed against the wall, his hands cupped around freckled cheeks.

Katsuki tried to be mad. He tried to get angry about the images, about the entire idea that Shouto and Deku had been a ‘thing’ and he’d never even known. He tried to summon up the familiar feelings of rage and fury, but they never came. At one point, he’d even sat up and turned his head to bite into his own bicep until it bruised and trickled blood, breathing hard and fast in a desperate attempt to kick-start his anger into action, but even that had failed.

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t getting upset. He should be angry. He should be pissed, but he wasn’t. He thought of Shouto and him in the interrogation room, his imagination leaping into motion and all of a sudden, it wasn’t Deku on the other side of the two-way mirror, but him, looking in on Shouto and Deku, Shouto’s hands spread over a bare, freckled chest, Deku’s hands reaching down between their legs to grope for—Katsuki opened his eyes, the imagined scene coming to a screeching halt, but not because he was angry, but because of the warmth that had suddenly started to pool in his lower stomach.

He tried to think about other things that might make him angry. Not the idea of Deku and Todoroki in the middle of some heated groping and tonguing, but the two of them on a date, the two of something doing something that would matter more than just sex. He thought of them on a picnic because it was the stupid, cheesy kind of thing Deku would do, the both of them laid out on a blanket, Shouto's fingers combing idly through Deku's hair like they had during the cave-in with Overhaul, the both of them smiling lazily at each other. As he thought of it, he felt...nothing. Or maybe not nothing, probably something, but it definitely wasn't anger.

Even with that, he still wasn’t angry. Why wasn’t he angry? Panic started to fill his chest. He didn’t know what to do with these imagined scenes if he wasn’t angry about them. He should be pissed beyond measure over the idea of Deku and Shouto together, but it wasn’t, and for some reason that scared him. Because he didn’t know what if fucking meant.

But then Katsuki’s thoughts slid to the idea of Shouto leaving him. Of coming home to an empty apartment with no soba noodles in the pantry nor Shouto’s voice coming from down the hall. He didn’t exactly get angry at the idea, but it was more than enough to upset him, a hollow feeling filling his chest at the mere thought of it. But that didn’t make any sense. Because wasn’t that what he’d been thinking about this entire time? Shouto leaving him for Deku?

No, it wasn’t.

Katsuki realized with a shock the reason his anger hadn't been coming. Because all those imagined scenes and images hadn’t been about Shouto leaving him for Deku. Because in every single one of them, he realized, Shouto hadn’t left him. He was still in the picture, watching them from the other side of the two-way glass, or sprawled next to them on a shitty picnic blanket. Katsuki gasped, his eyes flying wide at the realization.

An unfamiliar feeling of panic and horror rushed up inside him as he realized that he didn’t hate the idea of Shouto and Deku together at all, so long as he was with them, too. No, no, no, Katsuki tried to reason with himself as his hands began to shake uncontrollably. That’s impossible, that doesn’t make any sense. Because he still hated Deku and he would never in a million years want to have anything to do with him in that way.

Probably.

Chapter Text

Shouto was breathing heavily, his fingers grabbing for every bare inch of skin he could find. They were kissing, hungry and desperate and Shouto could taste the heat of it on his tongue. He leaned forward and both of them toppled back, hitting the solid metal of the table. Shouto suddenly remembered that they were in an interrogation room and had the vague thought that they shouldn’t be doing this here, but it was quickly overridden by a hand sliding into the front of his pants and palming at his already growing erection. He let out a gasp, his cock already sensitive, his muscles already wound so tight they felt like they were going to snap. His hands moved up muscled sides, desperate to get Katsuki’s shirt off of him, to get his pants—

“This isn’t real,” came a whisper, low and hissing right in his ear. Shotuo froze, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to understand what he’d heard.

“You’re never real in my dreams.”

Shouto reeled backward, his vision finally coming into focus to find a mess of deep green hair and a bare chest littered with freckles. Izuku Midoriya was splayed beneath him, face flushed and mouth grinning wide.

Shouto flung himself upright in bed, covered in sweat and his heart racing so fast he felt like he might die. He gasped for air, the familiar shapes of his and Katsuki’s apartment emerging slowly from the shadows. There came a sleepy grumble from next to him and he turned to find Katsuki next to him, half the blankets flung haphazardly off him. He hated being hot at night.

Shouto moved to reach out to him, seeking out the comfort and familiarity of him, but then the image of Midoriya, naked and flushed, flashed behind his eyes and he flinched away. He pressed his palm over his mouth, his entire body shaking as his heart beat so fast it felt like it was trying to escape from his chest. He looked at Katsuki again and couldn’t bring himself to touch him. He felt dirty. He felt horrified with what he’d dreamed. With a shock, he realized he was half-hard, the sight making him nauseous. Moving as quietly as he could, Shouto slid out of bed and padded his way to the bathroom.

It was nearly twenty minutes later when the bathroom light finally flicked on, the brightness stabbing Shouto’s eyes, even with his face buried in his arms. The water from the showerhead stung like needles as it hit his back from where he was sitting on the floor of the shower. The sound of it nearly drowned out Katsuki’s sleep-weary voice when he spoke.

“Shou? The fuck are you doing?”

Shouto didn’t answer, he kept his face in his arms, trying to focus on the water on his back. Shouto heard as the glass shower door slid open and he heard Katsuki hiss at the cold sting of the water.

“A cold shower?” Katsuki said, sounding awake enough now to be derisive. “What are you? Thirteen?”

Shouto still didn’t answer. He didn’t know if he trusted himself to speak. The image of Midoriya kept flashing in his mind over and over again like some sort of scene from a train crash. He felt so guilty, he was ready to vomit.

Katsuki sighed, leaning against the wall next to the shower. He didn’t close the shower door.

“You know you have me for these situations, right?” he said, his tone somewhat amused.

Shouto nearly sobbed. He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew why Shouto was in here, if he had known what he’d dreamed. He might’ve expected something like this happening after remembering everything that had happened with Midoriya at UA during his and Katsuki’s last argument, but that had been weeks ago and had long since been nearly forgotten again. So that only begged the question of Where had this come from?

Shouto felt disgusted with himself. He would never betray Katsuki, he loved Katsuki. He’d never even thought of Midoriya in that way before—never consciously, at least. And yet somehow that made it worse. The fact that it was his subconscious that had conjured up that image had to mean something, didn’t it? What if…What if this meant he didn’t love Katsuki the same as he had anymore? A dread flooded Shouto that was even colder than the shower. The mark on his palm burned like he’d laid it on a stove. Because that’s what soulmarks meant, didn’t it? Shouto had never thought of it before, but it made sense. The mark would make him fall out of love so that he’d be forced to be with Midoriya. The dream was only proof that it had already started to happen. Panic began to fill his lungs like water. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was going to drown. He didn’t want to stop loving Katsuki. He didn’t know what he’d do without him. He was everything to Shouto.

Shouto’s fingers curled, fingernails digging into the water-slicked skin of his arm. His instincts screamed at him to activate his left side to raise his body temperature, but he refused to give into it. He was shivering and the water felt like razor blades on his skin, but he didn’t let himself try to change it. He deserved this.

“You want to talk about it?” Katsuki asked.

Shouto shook his head without raising it, terrified to look Katsuki in the face. He heard a heavy sigh, followed quickly by a shuffling sound. After a moment, he felt as Katsuki sat down on the tile next to him, having shucked his sleeping clothes apparently. He leaned against Shouto and let his head fall onto Shouto’s shoulder.

“Hmm, okay,” he said sleepily. “Well, I’m here when you do.” It was less than a minute before Shouto could hear Katsuki’s gentle snores.

Shouto felt as his body relaxed slightly, despite the cold. Katsuki’s head on his shoulder felt so reassuring and warm, even with his hair soaked with the same freezing water Shouto was punishing himself with. Katsuki ran warmer than most people, whether it was from his quirk or the heat he generated from his shear, constant rage, Shouto wasn’t sure, but after a few minutes, even he was shaking in the cold of the shower. Shouto couldn’t help the small smile that flited to his face. Idiot. He didn’t have to get in the shower with him.

At the feeling of Katsuki shivering against him, Shouto reached up and turned off the water and let his left side grow warm, causing the entire bathroom to steam. After a few moments, Katsuki stopped shivering and fell back into uninterrupted sleep. Shouto let his head roll to the side to rest atop Katsuki’s and in the next moment, he was asleep.

Shouto woke to a terrible ache in his back and the sound of someone brushing their teeth. The bathroom came slowly into focus as Shouto forced his eyes open. He turned his head on his crossed arms to find a familiar backside standing in front of the bathroom sink.

“What kind of idiot brushes their teeth before they put underwear on?” Shouto mumbled.

Katsuki turned over his shoulder, offering him a foamy grin before slapping his own bare ass teasingly.

Shouto laughed, loud and genuine. Everything ached horribly from sleeping on the tiled floor of a shower, but he pulled himself to his feet. He was still freezing and uncomfortably damp, but he padded out of the shower to press himself against Katsuki’s back, lacing his arms around his husband’s waist and burying his nose into the crook of his neck. Shouto breathed in deep. He loved how Katsuki smelled, like spice and sugar and smoke. He smelled like home.

“Love you,” Shouto muttered, pressing a kiss to the back of Katsuki’s neck.

Katsuki let out a laugh. “Yeah, you better. If I catch a cold from sitting in that wet shower all night, you’re dead.”

Shouto grinned against Katsuki’s skin, reveling in the familiar feel and smell of him. Shouto realized that the warm, heavy feeling in his chest whenever he saw Katsuki felt the exact same as it had on their wedding day and every day since. A nearly crippling relief spread through him at the realization that the dream had actually meant nothing at all. He still loved Katsuki.

***

Looking back on it nearly a week later, Shouto realized how ridiculous his panic had been. He’d been tired and stressed, waking in the middle of the night from a confusing dream, which made him jump to conclusions that were easy to believe at two am while being doused in a freezing shower. Dreams, in general, never meant anything significant, they were just random imaginings of the subconscious. And soulmarks couldn’t force you to do anything, much less control your emotions. The most ridiculous part of the whole night had been the idea that Shouto could ever fall out of love with Katsuki.

It was in that week following the dream that Katsuki and Shouto received a request for a meeting with the Police Commissioner. Neither of them knew what to expect, other than the Commissioner needed them for an important task. It wasn't until they swung the office door open to reveal the Commissioner sitting straight-backed behind his desk that they knew why. The person already sitting in the chair across from the Commissioner turned as they came in, revealing the round, bright-eyed face of Midoriya looking up at them. They all froze.

“Fuck no,” Katsuki said before turning on his heel and storming out the door.

“Ah, excuse me,” Shouto said quickly, offering a quick bow of apology to the Commissioner and Midoriya before turning after Katsuki. He managed to grab him before he made it too far and began hauling him back towards the Commissioner’s office, both of them sniping at each other the entire way before Shouto finally won and managed to drag a sulky Katsuki fully back into the Commissioner’s office. Shouto had to practically wrestle Katsuki into one of the chairs across from the Commissioner before taking one himself.

Midoriya cast both of them a quick, judgmental glance before turning back to the Commissioner. “How can we help, Commissioner?”

The Commissioner surveyed the three of them with a cool look before leaning forward in his chair. “I’m asking the three of you to do some research concerning the case were currently working.”

“Research?” Shouto asked.

“With the reports Deku here gave us regarding Stain and the reports all of you gave on Overhaul, in addition to the strange robberies, we have concerns about whatever quirk might be working behind the scenes here,” the Commissioner explained. Shouto shared a look with Katsuki, who only shrugged. “We’re hoping with some impressive minds on the case we might be able to find something of value around this subject.”

“With you, IcyHot, and you, Ground Zero, both being top of your class at UA,” the Commissioner continued, “and with Pro Hero Deku’s leading experience in hero and quirk statistics research—”

“Is that what they call being an otaku fanboy these days?” Katsuki muttered, quickly followed by a small grunt as Todoroki kicked him in the shin.

The Commissioner continued without giving notice that he’d heard them. “With your combined talents, I expect impressive results from you three that might help us unravel the mystery of this case.”

Shouto glanced at Katsuki, who was now scowling with his arms crossed, then to Midoriya, who refused to look at either of them, and let out a tired sigh before looking back to the Commissioner.

“We’ll try our best, sir.”

Chapter Text

Izuku had flirted with Kacchan before. Not in any real sense, but just in the sense that he’d always thought it was funny to see how embarrassed Kacchan could get. Todoroki had never minded, mostly because everyone knew the idea of Izuku and Kacchan actually having a thing for each other was about as absurd as the idea of Kacchan in a dress, but also because Todoroki thought an embarrassed Kacchan was as hilarious as Izuku did. He would usually laugh along with Izuku as Kacchan would grow red as a beat and begin to stutter his insults. Ochako would even join in on occasion, teasing that Kacchan was going to steal Izuku away from her. Kacchan was a lot more enjoyable when he was reduced to a stuttering mess rather than the screaming, unpinned grenade he usually was. By the end of their senior year, Izuku had become quite skilled at it, being able to make Kacchan blush with just a few words and the right look.

“Do you mind?” Izuku had asked one day as he’d been sitting with Todoroki atop one of UA’s buildings eating lunch. “That I tease Kacchan?”

Todoroki didn’t even hesitate. “Why would I?”

Izuku didn’t look up from his sandwich as he gave a shrug. “Some people would.”

“Do I seem like the kind of person to be so easily jealous?”

Izuku finally looked up to find Todoroki looking at him with a small smile, his food forgotten on his chopsticks.

Izuku couldn’t help his embarrassed smile. “Ah, no.”

“I appreciate it, actually,” Todoroki said, finishing popping his rice into his mouth. “It’s good from him to be humbled every now and again. And he’s cute when he’s embarrassed.”

Izuku choked on his milk, nearly snorting it. It was the first time I his entire life he’d ever heard someone call Kacchan cute of all things.

Todoroki chuckled. “Don’t tell him I said that, he’d probably throttle me.”

As soon as Izuku could breathe again, he was laughing. Todoroki gave him a curious look, which quickly dissolved into a soft laugh to join Izuku’s loud one, the both of them echoing together through the maze of concrete buildings below them.

Izuku hadn’t heard Todoroki laugh in a very long time, he realized as he tapped his pencil against his notebook. His desk and face were illuminated by the blue glow of his laptop, the rest of his lights off at the late hour. The notebook was only a week old, but it was already nearly completely filled with his cramped writing, the lead smudged, the pages dog-eared and stained with coffee rings. It was everything he’d managed to gather in his research since receiving his new assignment from the Commissioner. Most of what he’d was relatively useless, but the method of writing notes made him at least feel useful.

Following the meeting with the commissioner, Izuku and Todoroki had almost simultaneously suggested they all research separately, which really just translated to Izuku researching by himself since Todoroki and Kacchan, well, lived together. It was the easiest choice in theory, given their entire situation, and given the fact that Izuku was desperate to spend as little time in the same room as Kacchan and Todoroki as humanly possible. In practice, however, trying to communicate their research to one another, what with Todoroki being seemingly incapable of replying to texts in a timely manner and the impossibility of trying to decipher Kacchan’s strange and chaotic note-taking system, was proving to be unexpectedly frustrating. And if Kacchan’s increasingly furious messages were anything to go by, he wasn’t the only one to think so.

Izuku rubbed a hand over his face, trying to push the memory of Todoroki’s laugh out of his head. Despite his best attempts, Izuku’s heart twisted at it. At UA, that laugh had been rare, and those small, sly smiles hidden behind an icy wall that so very rarely thawed. Luckily, as with most things in high school, it was something Todoroki had relatively grown out of. Over the years, Izuku couldn’t help but notice that the smiles came easier, the laughs more frequent. Especially after Touya had shown up and the ruling had been issued on Endeavor’s trial. Izuku had always liked to think that he got to see those smiles more often than most, that he’d been doing something right as Todoroki’s friend to be granted that privilege.

It was probably the thing he missed most about Todoroki. It’d been months since he’d seen that smile, and when he finally had, it hadn’t even been for him. He remembered seeing it in that interrogation room, still very small and secret, parsed out to a grinning Kacchan that had had his arms around Todoroki’s waist. Izuku’s breath hitched at the thought and brought his hand up to rub at his tired eyes, trying to quickly dispel the memory. Missing Todoroki didn’t help anything. Thinking about how he shouldn’t miss Todoroki certainly didn’t help with the missing him part, however. It was exhausting, losing a friend, and though Todoroki had kept his word and had refused to interact with Izuku any more than needed, Izuku still couldn’t help the awful, empty, longing in his chest that was Todoroki’s absence.

Izuku sighed and reached for his energy drink, only to find it empty. His desk and apartment were littered with empty coffee cups and energy drink cans. Sleeping was something he tried to avoid when he could. His dreams of Todoroki had only seemed to multiply after their last good-bye and ignoring them had grown to become next to impossible. He still refused to admit that they meant anything more than random sparks of his subconscious, but still, it was difficult to forget about your best friend when you saw him every night, smiling at you like you meant the world.

Izuku longed for this case to be over, longed to be able to finally leave. He wondered if all of this would be easier when he was finally a thousand miles away and could be left to forget Todoroki without having to see his face every day at the police station or on the city’s hero posters that seemed to surround his apartment building.

A glance at the clock on his computer told him most normal people would be asleep by now. Reluctantly, he checked his phone to see if there were any updates on the research attempts from the other two. As expected, a number of text messages flashed at him—Ochako reminding him to drink water and bodily threatening him if he didn’t get enough sleep. There was a notification from Iida, asking when he might be free for coffee. And then there was the chat with Todoorki and Kacchan. Unsurprisingly, there’d only been two messages from Todoroki in the last twelve hours, one sharing a link and another saying he had no updates to offer. Kacchan on the other hand, had flooded the chat with nearly twenty messages in the last half hour alone. Izuku looked at the most recent ones.

>this is ducking stupoid

>ducking

>FUCKING

>were getting duck all nowhere

>*duck

>god shit FUCK

> for ducks sake can we just

>tell that shitty commissioner that this is ducking useless

>*ducking

>DUCKING

>FUCKING

>im sick of tryimg to read dekus shitty girly ass handwriting

>seriously why cant you typee your shit like normal ducking perosn

Izuku sighed before typing out a response.

>Kacchan

>We need to make sure we’ve done all the research we can before we tell the Commissioner for certain that we have nothing

Izuku watched as the ellipses popped up, telling him that Kacchan was writing a response. He imagined Kacchan arguing with Todoroki in person on the other side of the phone as the ellipses continued to repeat themselves.

>FINE

>were meeting up tomorow to share what we habe

>so we can tell the commissomer to duck off

>COCK SHIT FUCK*******

Izuku was about to type something in response, though he wasn’t exactly sure what, but something along the lines of ‘no.’ But before he could get a full sentence out, the ellipses popped up again, this time from Todoroki. Izuku paused, wondering if he should wait to see what Todoroki would say. He never got the chance. In the next moment, Kacchan’s notification popped up,  Todoroki’s ellipses disappearing.

>YES we are

Izuku blinked at the message. It sounded like the reply to something that hadn’t ended up in the chat, like Kacchan had been responding to a verbal sentence with a text. Again, an image of Todoroki arguing against the idea furiously with Kacchan in their apartment formed in Izuku’s mind.

>the boht of you can duck off

>im sick of this shit

>were meeting tomorrow to share notes

>so get the duck over it

>duck

>FUCKKKKKKKKK

Izuku blinked down at the messages, his heart sinking into his stomach. The three of them. In a tiny cramped debriefing room in the police station. Alone.

It’d be the first time the three of them would be alone together since the soulmarks. (Well, aside from the incident with Overhaul, but Izuku had been unconscious for most of that, so he wasn’t sure if that counted.) The thought sent an irrational sinking feeling through Izuku’s stomach. They’d done that before, hadn’t they? Why did it have to feel so different now? Izuku’s hand subconsciously moved to scratch at the patch on his arm. What a stupid question. He knew what was different now.

Kacchan hated him. Todoroki would pretend Izuku didn’t exist and the thought of that made his stomach twist. And despite that, Izuku was filled with dread at the idea of Todoroki paying him any attention at all. What a mess.

Izuku remembered the last time he’d seen Kacchan and Todoroki before everything had gone to hell. He’d been on patrol with Todoroki until early into the morning, too exhausted to make the trip home, so he ended up crashing on Todoroki and Kacchan’s couch. It wasn’t anything new. Izuku used to bum at their apartment nearly every other week. They even kept a pillow that’d been just for him in the linens closet—an All Might one that Kacchan had gotten as a joke, but Izuku absolutely loved.

He remembered waking up late the next morning feeling warm and fuzzy with the familiar fabric of the couch pressed against his cheek. Before he even had a chance to wake up properly, someone poked him hard in the forehead.

He groaned, forcing his eyes open. It took a moment for them to focus, as it always does when he first wakes up. The world sharpened finally, revealing Kacchan’s face as he bent over Izuku, his brow furrowed in a frown. He poked Izuku hard in the forehead again.

“I’m awake,” Izuku moaned, slapping lazily at Kacchan’s hand.

“The fuck are you doing?” Kacchan said, poking Izuku again. Izuku tried to block it this time, but he was still so sleepy, he wasn’t fast enough. “You didn’t even change,” Kacchan said. “Your suit’s dirty—"

“Katsuki,” Todoroki’s sleep-heavy voice came from their open bedroom door, muffled by the blankets he was still buried in. “Leave him alone.”

“He’s still in his hero suit!” Kacchan called back. “On the couch—!”

“You sound like your mother.”

Kacchan visibly swelled with anger at the comment, shooting a murderous glare in the direction of their bedroom. Izuku’s brain felt like it was moving through molasses, so he simply watched with mild interest as Kacchan ground his teeth, obviously wrestling with the decision of whether or not to argue and prove Todoroki right, or betray his honor and simply drop it. He settled for letting out a hiss through gritted teeth and muttering a few choice words under his breath as he turned back to Izuku.

“I’m making breakfast,” he snapped. “What do you want?”

Izuku blinked stupidly at him. “What…do I want?”

“Eh?” Kacchan said with a sneer. “You calling me a bad host, shitty Deku? Like fuck I’d let you starve in my house.”

“Our house, Katsuki,” Todoroki called from the bedroom.

“You aren’t helping!” Kacchan barked back. “You don’t get a say!”

Todoroki mumbled something unintelligible.

“The fuck did you just say?!” Kacchan said, storming back towards the bedroom.

Izuku could hear a muffled argument, interrupted by the violet shuffling of blankets and followed by a loud thwump! that had obviously been the sound of someone being walloped by a pillow. In the next moment, Kacchan emerged from the bedroom with Todoroki—also still in his hero suit and with a full bedhead—thrown backwards over his shoulder. The overall look was rather comical, since out of the three of them, Kacchan was by far the shortest with Todoroki’s long frame making the whole effect look disproportionate.

Kacchan turned and Todoroki craned his neck to look up at Izuku, looking completely unfazed while dangling next to Kacchan’s ass. “I don’t contribute anything to this household, apparently,” he said simply. “So I have to go get groceries now.” Izuku struggled to stifle his laughter as he watched Todoroki and Kacchan disappear down the entry hall.

By the time Todoroki had come back with eggs and milk and everything else and Kacchan had started on breakfast, Izuku had finally managed to drag himself from the couch to sit on one of the barstools at the counter that partially blocked the apartment’s kitchen. The pan on the stovetop sizzled as Kacchan prodded at the food inside, his back to Izuku.

“Hmm, nice apron, Kacchan,” Izuku said, voice still a little lazy with sleep, his hands cupped around a very warm mug of coffee. “You look like a housewife.”

Even from where he was sitting, Izuku could see the tips of Kacchan’s ears flash bright pink as he stood over the stove. Kacchan whirled around, brandishing his spatula like a sword, but before he could even start screaming, Todoroki slid onto the barstool next to Izuku.

“You should see him wearing it without any pants,” Todoroki said with a wink.

Kacchan’s entire face flushed bright red. Izuku could practically see the stuttering before Kacchan even opened his mouth.

“I’m—you’re—you fucking bastards,” Kacchan seethed. He leveled the spatula at Todoroki as if it were a weapon. “You don’t get breakfast, asshole.”

Todoroki raised his eyebrows. “Fine,” he said coolly. “You tend to burn it when you’re upset anyway.”

Kacchan’s entire face crumpled into an enraged scowl. “You lying fucker,” he spat before whirling back to the stove. “Fucking show you,” he muttered, jabbing violently at the eggs. “I’ll make you the best-damned breakfast you’ve ever seen.”

Izuku raised his eyebrows, impressed, and Todoroki simply shared a sly smile with him. A grin broke across Izuku’s face and the next thing he knew, the both of them had broken out into laughter, Izuku having to grip the countertop to keep upright and Torodoki nearly falling off his stool, making Kacchan spin back around and ask what the fuck was so funny.

A wet spot appeared on Izuku’s notes, pencil lead running across the page. Another tear trembled at the end of his nose and he quickly moved to wipe it away. When had he started crying? Probably around the same time he realized he’d never get a morning with Kacchan and Torodoki like that ever again. Instead, all he’d get were fights with Kacchan, a best friend he couldn’t talk to anymore, and a patch on his arm that wouldn’t stop fucking itching.

Izuku gasped out a sob and wiped furiously at his face, willing himself to stop, otherwise he’d ruin his notes. He let out a sigh and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. The gentle whir of his computer was the only sound in his apartment, which felt devastatingly empty at the moment. Maybe Ochako was right: he needed more sleep. He was about to get up to do just that when his phone buzzed again. He almost didn't look at it, thinking it was Kacchan losing his lid again, but then he thought of the badge hovering over the message app and the idea gave him anxiety, so he let himself look at it.

He blinked down at his phone, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, his eyes going in and out of focus at the late hour. It wasn't Kacchan.

***

This wasn’t exactly a new situation. All three of them had spent countless hours crammed together like this before, at UA, as friends, as coworkers. Their final year at UA, they’d been dubbed the new “Big Three,” which meant they came as a package deal as far as the school was concerned. They’d been called in to talk to the first years multiple times and spent hundreds of hours together on joint internships. Then they’d spent even more hours in cramped classrooms and library study rooms to study together. Izuku would usually ask to come, hoping that two of the top five students of the class would help get something other than hero statistics stuck in his brain. Shouto would usually invite him without a second thought, though Kacchan’s acceptance of him tagging along usually came with a comparable amount of very loud complaining.

Now, however, Izuku felt like an unwanted stranger the air felt like a taunt wire as he sat in a spare room in the police station across the table from Todoroki and Kacchan. Izuku had a stack of filled notebooks—only one of them he’d written in specifically for the Commissioner’s assignment, but he figured all the research he’d collected over the years might finally prove useful. Todoroki was sitting straight-backed with his laptop open in front of him. Kacchan was sitting low in his chair, arms crossed, and legs splayed with a tablet on the table and a chaotic-looking binder in his lap. They’d managed to commandeer a whiteboard, which was currently blank, and there was a large monitor on the far wall of the room that had yet to be turned on.

 Izuku felt like he’d swallowed a handful of bees, his throat swollen shut and finding it impossible to speak. Todoroki refused to look up and Kacchan’s knee was bouncing furiously as his glare kept flicking from Todoroki to Izuku and back again. The tension felt taut enough to walk on. It was uncomfortably quiet, the only thing making a sound being the faint hum of the building’s air conditioning. Izuku wondered how long they’d have to be in here for.

Eventually, Kacchan let out a frustrated sigh and rolled his eyes so exaggeratedly, his head rolled on his shoulders. He threw his binder onto the table, a few sticky notes scattering from it.

“So, first off,” Kacchan said, his voice surprisingly loud in the silence. “Our major leads, Stain and Overhaul, are both still in prison, one of which had his fucking arms torn off years ago, so how the fuck were either of them seen recently?”

“Uh, no,” Izuku said quietly, twisting his fingers together. “Stain was actually killed in prison over a year ago.”

“Fantastic,” Kacchan scoffed. “So this whole shitty situation is even more impossible.”

“So it has to be a quirk,” Izuku said quietly.

“No shit,” said Kacchan.

“A mimic quirk?” Todoroki offered. Though he never looked up, the tone of his voice made it sound like he was only talking to Kacchan. Izuku tried to ignore the sharp pang in his chest.

“Like Toga? Didn’t she need, like, blood for that to work?” Kacchan said, raising an eyebrow. “How could anyone get Stain’s blood if he’s dead?”

Izuku fiddled his thumbs, silently agreeing with Kacchan. A mimic quirk did make the most sense, but it wasn’t exactly something they could interrogate Toga about, as she’d been killed during the final battle to take down the League.

“What about Twice?” Kacchan asked. “Wasn’t he never caught?”

“Twice’s doubles disintegrate if they take too much damage,” Izuku said. “I dealt Stain a good amount of damage and he was still standing by the time I left.”

A sneer flashed across Kacchan’s face like he was disgusted with the idea of a hero leaving a fight before it was finished, but it quickly disappeared.

“Quirks can change,” he huffed. “They can get stronger.”

“The fundamental perimeters of a quirk can’t change, Katsuki,” Todoroki said. “Besides, we never saw Twice duplicate Stain, so how do we know he ever got the measurements needed to do so.”

“I don’t know, Shouto,” Kacchan scoffed. “But it makes more sense than mimicking a dead person.”

Todoroki raised his eyebrows. “So duplicating someone whose missing half their limbs makes more sense?”

“Are you saying Toga came back to life and started using her quirk again?” Kacchan asked, openly mocking. He was sitting upright in his seat now, his hackles raised. “Because there’s no record of another villain using a quirk like hers—”

“It makes more sense than Twice acting on his own,” Todoroki countered. He was looking up now, his usually impassive face forming the crease between his eyebrows he usually got whenever Kacchan was being difficult.

Izuku watched them, silenced by that very awkward feeling of being the third wheel while the couple you were with argued in front of you. This wasn't exactly anything new, though. Todoroki and Kacchan always argued, but it was never in any way serious. It was only serious when they were actually fighting. Usually, Izuku found the arguing hilarious because it was typically over something stupid, but with Izuku's current uncertain and unwanted presence, he just felt...awkward.

Izuku glanced at his phone, checking for a message response from the night before. He tried not to be disappointed when he saw that there was no new alert.

"Are we boring you, Deku?" Kacchan snapped.

Izuku jumped, quickly dropping his phone back onto the table. “Um, no. Sorry—”

“Profiling says Twice is too unstable to act without some sort of leader,” Todoroki continued arguing, still completely ignoring Izuku.

“How do we know he doesn’t have one?” Kacchan bit back.

“It makes no sense to use Twice’s quirk but to refuse to use absolutely any other quirks during the robberies—”

“You’re arguing for the sake of arguing,” Izuku said without meaning to. Todoroki and Kacchan whirled on him in almost perfect unison.

“No, we’re not!” they snapped at the same time.

Izuku was forcibly reminded of the last morning of all three of them together and couldn’t help the small smile that forced its way into his face.

“Yes,” Izuku said. “Yes you are.”

They both stared at him. After a moment, Kacchan scoffed and fell back to slouch in his chair again. Izuku caught the small smile that flitted to Todoroki’s face unconsciously. As soon as Todoroki caught him looking, the smile evaporated and his eyes fell immediately back to his laptop. Izuku felt his own smile crumble like a sandcastle under a wave, his chest suddenly filled with a horrible twisting feeling that physically hurt. He let his eyes drop back to his stack of notebooks in front of him. He pulled the topmost one towards himself and flipped it open to a random page just to have something to do.

He glanced at his phone again, his heart sinking. Still no message.

"What the fuck do you keep looking at, Deku?" Kacchan growled. 

Izku glanced at him, dropping his phone again. "Doesn't matter. What about the art dealer Kirishima, Ochako, and Tetsutetsu managed to catch?” Izuku asked, trying to divert. “Have they been able to get anything from him?"

Kacchan snorted. “No. Dude still won’t say shit.”

“They’ll have to release him soon,” Izuku muttered. “There’s not enough evidence for a conviction of anything.”

“I doubt he knows anything, anyway,” Kacchan said as he started flipping through his binder. “Fucking useless.”

Izuku felt something heavy sink into his chest. He knew Kacchan hadn’t meant to, but the words had summoned a deep well of guilt in Izuku. That night at the abandoned office building, the endless nights of stakeouts and observation, the fight with Overhaul, the entire sting had amounted to absolutely nothing. They were no closer to catching this villain—no closer to finding Hawks—than they had been months ago. If only Izuku had managed to seize hold of Overhaul and get him to talk. If only he hadn’t been so slow to save Todoroki. If only he hadn’t managed to lose Hawks in the first place. If only he could stop failing to be as good as All Might.

Izuku suddenly felt very small. He forced himself to swallow and push the guilt and the shame very deep down. None of that would help anything. They had a problem in front of them right now that he needed to focus on. He felt numb, a distant ringing in his ears, as he asked, “Has anyone looked at the quirk registry to see if anything stood out?”

Kacchan looked up at him with a disgusted look. “That thing is fucking endless.”

Izuku shook his head. “We’d just have to start looking at the registries in the areas the robberies were most concentrated in.” He got up and with a small bit of searching of the debriefing room, found a map of the prefectures he was looking for. He hung it over the whiteboard and started marking the locations of the robberies with a marker. “We can widen the search from there and eliminate anyone that’d be too young or too old. Chances are whatever quirk they’re using would require a certain amount of experience and endurance.”

As he spoke, Izuku found his voice coming easier, and as he continued to work, the tightness in his chest lessened. This was what he was good at, research and the excitement that came with feverish problem-solving. He could almost forget about everything else if he just focused on this singular goal.

After a number of hours of research and more speculations and arguments between Todoroki and Kacchan, they still had very little to go on. Izuku’s registry idea had been a bust and without any more evidence, none of them had anything to go on in terms of identifying a quirk. Throughout the entire process, Izuku couldn’t help notice one or two things from Todoroki and Kacchan. For one, Todoroki never seemed to speak directly to him. He always spoke very intentionally to Kacchan, or else just seemed to say things to the open room. Izuku wasn’t sure what to make of this realization. He supposed he should be grateful for it, it’d been exactly what he’d asked for after all. But standing here now, being faced with it, with Todoroki intentionally pretending like he didn’t exist, it made his chest feel hollow with a tinge of desperation.

He didn’t know if this was what he wanted anymore. He’d been best friends with Todoroki for years, all that time filled with battles fought side-by-side and endless hours of conversations and laughter—god, he missed Todoroki’s laugh—and every single time Izuku had broken down in front of him and the very few times Todoroki had cried in front of him. And now every time he saw those mismatched eyes glance over him, never lingering for more than a moment, he felt like nothing.

Kacchan, on the other hand, seemed to be trying extra hard to act normal. His scoffs were a little too loud, his slouches exaggerated, he cursing more colorful, though Izuku didn’t miss how he avoided insulting Izuku outright. He would snap a bit too aggressively once or twice, but would then catch himself, shooting a glance at Todoroki before sinking back into his seat.

The whole situation was…weird. And uncomfortable. And if Izuku wasn’t so distracted by the current case they were trying to solve, he wondered if he’d even be able to survive the awkwardness of the room.

By the end of the day, all three of them were exhausted, and Izuku’s eyes burned from staring at maps and numbers and charts for so long. Kacchan seemed crankier than usual, his binder now singed at the edges. Even Todoroki looked tired, a certain heaviness in his face as they all packed their things away. They would have to contact the Commissioner tomorrow to tell him that they’d managed to come up with absolutely nothing.

Izuku was about to leave and turning to say goodbye to the others when he froze. Todoroki had fallen into a bow, impossibly straight-backed and distinctly awkward looking.

“Thank you for your work,” he said, his tone overtly proper.

Izuku was stunned into silence. It’d been the first thing Todoroki had said to him all day.

Before Izuku even had a chance to collect himself, Todoroki stood up, turned, and then offered the same bow to Kacchan, who looked downright offended before slapping Todoroki across the back of his bowed head.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

Izuku was still stunned by the time Todoroki had straightened up again and both of them had left, another muttered argument breaking out between the two of them. Their voices had nearly faded before Izuku came back to himself and quickly threw himself from the room.

“Todoroki!” he called before he could stop himself.

Todoroki turned. He was at the front doors to the station, obviously waiting for Kacchan, who was a few yards away chatting with Kirishima. His eyes went wide as they landed on Izuku and his face paled like he’d just seen something that terrified him. Izuku quickly pushed down the horrible hollowness that tried to resurge at the sight of that look as he reached Todoroki.

“Thanks,” Izuku said quickly. “For your hard work, I mean.”

Izuku wasn’t sure why he was doing this. He was panting slightly from having run all the way from the debriefing room, and he’d forgotten his jacket and notebooks, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry about that. He just knew he’d wanted to say something to Todoroki. He missed Todoroki’s voice like an ache deep in his chest. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, knew he’d asked Todoroki specifically to not do this, but all he could think about was that ghost of a smile he’d seen in the debriefing room only a few hours ago, and how it had made Izuku’s heart twist at the sight of it and he was just so, so desperate to see it again.

Todoroki blinked at him, his gaze flicking briefly to the side in the direction of Kacchan before flicking back again. His face looked uncomfortably stiff as he gave a quick nod to Izuku in way of an answer. The sinking feeling was back in Izuku’s stomach and he forced the lump in his throat down before taking a step back. He was about to turn and leave, when Todoroki spoke up.

“Izuku.”

A horrible, blinding, painful hope surged up in Izuku strong enough to choke him as he spun back around. Todoroki’s face was drawn, almost hesitant looking.

“Have you told Katsuki you’re leaving yet?”

The hope in Izuku’s chest died in an instant before crumbling away into an overwhelming emptiness. The hollow feeling he’d been trying to keep at bay surged up in him stronger than ever before and he felt like he might collapse under the weight of it. He barely registered what he was saying over the terrible drone in his own ears.

“No,” Izuku said shortly, and before he could get the change see the look on Todoroki’s face, he turned and left.

Chapter Text

Katsuki had no idea what was going on. Which was new. He was brash and jumped to conclusions frequently, but he was smart damn it. Sure, he could be a dumbass when it came to emotions and other people sometimes, but he was at least fucking observant. Maybe. He hadn’t been able to pick up on the fact that Deku and Round Face had been dating until after the fact. But he had been able to pick up on the fact that Shouto had been watching him for quite some time while at UA, he’d just…chosen to ignore it until the locker room.

But all of that wasn’t important now. What was important was that Deku was acting…weird. Well, weirder than normal. He was avoiding both Katsuki and Shouto—which he supposed made sense.

“Because we hurt him, Katsuki.”

Katsuki flinched slightly at the memory of what Shouto had said. So no, he expected the avoiding, but it wasn’t the avoiding that had caught Katsuki’s attention. He was acting…strange. He would keep quiet during the meetings on the case, when normally he couldn’t shut up. He was constantly looking at his phone like he was waiting for something, and every now and then he’d grin at it like he’d just gotten the best news in the world. Like what the fuck was that about? And he looked…tired. Strained. Katsuki supposed most of the rest of the heroes on the case also looked tired, it was an unexpectedly difficult case. Katsuki didn’t know what it was, Deku just seemed more…off than the others, like he was slumping under an unseen weight on his shoulders. And he was jumping at sudden noises.

It was nearly a week after the three of them had shared their notes on the case when Katsuki finally mentioned something about it to Shouto. They were both on the couch, propped up on opposite ends, legs tangled together in the middle. Shouto was on his phone and the TV was on, but Katsuki wasn’t really paying attention to it.

“Does…Deku seem different to you?”

Shouto froze, tensing up slightly the way he did whenever Deku was mentioned around him nowadays. He was still staring at his phone, but neither his eyes nor his fingers were moving across the screen.

“Different?” he asked.

Katsuki cast around for the right words to describe what he’d noticed, what he was feeling.

“He smiles whenever he looks at his phone,” he ended up settling on because it was the only solid thing he had.

Shouto raised his brows, glancing up at Katsuki without lifting his head. “You’re worried…because Midoriya is smiling?”

Katsuki scoffed. “He’s acting differently.”

“We’re all acting differently, Katsuki,” Shouto said, finally putting down his phone. “I’m ignoring my best friend. You’re overcompensating to act normal—"

“Don’t you ever fucking say I’m overcompensating again,” Katsuki snapped. A small smile flitted to Shouto’s face. He rubbed at Katsuki’s shin in a comforting way. Katsuki sighed. “It’s not just that, he looks tired—”

“We’re all tired, Kat.”

“I know, but this is different.”

Shouto’s eyes softened as he looked at him. He let out a big sigh and gave Katsuki’s ankle a squeeze. “Look, if you’re worried, ask Uraraka about it. She’d know better than anyone if anything was up with Midoriya.”

Katsuki let out a groan, his head falling back against the arm of the couch. He couldn’t exactly argue with that. Shouto was usually right about these things.

Katsuki didn’t call people. He thought it was stupid to have a twenty-minute conversation on the phone when a five-second text could suffice. But there was something wrong with Deku and Katsuki figured that if he messaged Round Face, she’d only end up calling him anyway, so he called. It was by far one of the strangest conversations he’d ever had. For one, as soon as he told her what he was calling about, she started asking a million questions, like whether Deku was eating, sleeping, drinking water, how often he smiled, and a hundred other useless things, which, how the fuck would he know? She said something about being out of the area for another case she was working and that she had to check something before quickly hanging up. Katsuki stared at the phone and its now buzzing disconnected tone, not quite sure what had happened. It was barely half a minute later before Round Face called back, the screen lighting up. He answered.

“Oi, what the fuck—?”

“You need to go check on him,” Round Face said.

Katsuki blinked. “What?”

Round Face let out an exaggerated sigh. “Deku gets stressed very easily and on a case like this, he can get overwhelmed and get a one-track mind, so he’d probably forgetting to eat and sleep properly, so someone needs to check on him.”

Katsuki sneered at the phone. “Then why can’t you—”

“Because,” Round Face said. “I’m not there, I’m in another district on an investigation, and I just asked Iida, and he’s on assignment as well. You’re one of Deku’s oldest friends, so—”

“Hah?” Katsuki snapped. “I am not that bastard’s—”

“Don’t be stupid, of course you are,” Round Face snapped and Katsuki felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest.

Katsuki was still frowning down at his phone when he shuffled back into the living room. He wasn’t exactly sure when he’d gotten so bad at conversations, but it was starting to get on his nerves.

“She…said I need to go check on him,” he said, still frowning at his phone, unsure how she’d convinced him to agree to it.

“What?” Shouto said, looking up at him from the couch. “You’re not—”

“She, ah, said she’d snap my neck if I didn’t,” he said, finally looking up. Shouto was staring at him from the couch, phone forgotten in his hand.

“Did you tell her no?” he asked. “That we’re probably the last people—"

“Yeah, I did. And then she said I’m the only one available…” he said, trailing off. The air of the apartment seemed empty, and it took him a moment to realized what Shouto had said. “Wait, ‘we’?”

“Oh, no,” Shouto said, closing his eyes and pressing a hand over them. “No, I didn’t mean—sorry.”

“You…don't want to see him?” Katsuki asked. He felt like he was standing on top of a spire, like if he let his emotions tilt in one direction or another, he’d be sent tumbling into a freefall.

“Of course I do!” Shouto said, letting his hand fall. “But it’s not that simple—I can’t—it’s not—"

“You said you wouldn’t talk to him anymore,” Katsuki said.

“I know!” Shouto said, running his hands through his hair. “But it’s not that easy—”

“You still want to—?”

“Yes!” Shouto shouted and Katsuki froze, the grip on his phone so hard, he thought it might crack. Shouto stared at him, looking horrified with himself before he let out a sigh and buried his face in his hands. “I mean, no.”

It felt like there was no air in the room. It felt like Katsuki couldn’t breathe, like he couldn’t control the horrible constricting feeling that was happening inside his chest. He watched Shouto as he heaved another breath, his hands moving up to thread through his hair, head still bowed, and face hidden from sight.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he muttered to the couch cushions. “But it’s like if I was told I wouldn't be able to talk to you anymore.”

Katsuki didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to feel. He waited for the anger to hit, for the heat and fury, but it never did. It was just like before, that absence of anger. Instead, he saw flashes of Shouto with Deku, the both of them shining with grins as bright as the sun, the vision sending a pulse of warmth through him.

“Can you explain it to me?” he finally asked, voice soft.

Shouto still never raised his head. “Why?”

“Because he’s your friend and I want to understand,” Katsuki said. He let his arm drop, phone dangling by his side. “I want to know this about you, Shou.”

Shouto let out a small laugh and when he finally looked up, his eyes were wet. “He’s your friend, too, you know.”

Katsuki scoffed. Todoroki raised an eyebrow.

“Would you have noticed anything was off if you weren’t his friend?”

“Fuck off,” Katsuki snapped, though with perhaps a bit less venom than usual.

A smile flicked across Shouto’s face saying that he’d heard it and he held out a hand for Katsuki. Katsuki didn’t want to cuddle, didn’t want to submit or give in, but he did want Shouto. So, he shuffled forward and took Shouto’s hand, letting himself be pulled onto the couch alongside Shouto, legs tangling together as Katsuki’s head came to rest on Shouto’s solid chest. He could hear the thump, thump, thump of Shouto’s heartbeat beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. Shouto’s fingers came up to comb through his hair, and Katsuki’s eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, the sensation so familiar, so comforting, that it made Katuski’s heart ache.

“When you were in the hospital hurt so bad, I thought you were going to die,” Shouto started, voice shaking slightly. “Midoriya was there and he held me while I cried. He was the first person outside my family that I told about my scar. He was at Endeavor’s trial with me when you couldn’t be—”

“You asked me not to go!” Katsuki said, raising himself suddenly to glare at Shouto. Shouto's fingers fell out of his hair as he stared up at Katsuki, a gentle look on his face.

“Because I didn’t think the world needed to see my husband murder my father on national television,” Shouto said, fingers trailing along Katsuki’s jaw.

 After the Todoroki brother formally known as Dabi had been released from prison and absolved of his crimes, one of the first things he’d done was press charges against Endeavor for domestic violence and child abuse. It was something Katsuki had tried to convince Shouto to do for years, but when Touya was the one to finally do it, Shouto had agreed to give testimony, along with the rest of the Todoroki family. Katsuki had wanted to be there, to support Shouto and make sure he wasn’t alone during the trial, but Shouto had flat out refused. Katsuki had blown up after he’d been told to stay home, obviously, and it’d taken nearly twenty minutes for Shouto to calm him down enough to sit him on the couch with him, holding both his hands.

“After hearing everything he’s done to me and my family, would you really be able to keep your cool and stay in the gallery?” Shouto had asked, his tone soft and earnest.

Katsuki had thought of everything Shouto had already told him. He thought of everything else he might hear in that courtroom. He thought of having to see Shouto on that witness stand and forced to relive everything he’d been through while Endeavor sat only feet away from him. The very idea had ignited a scorching fury in his stomach so hot he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“No,” he’d hissed through gritted teeth. He couldn’t even attempt to lie. “I’d fucking kill him.”

An affectionate smile had flickered across Shouto’s face and he brought Katsuki’s hands up to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“I love you, but I need you to stay behind,” he’d said and the look on the face said that he desperately wanted anything but for Katsuki to stay behind.

Shouto had been right, of course. Even watching the trial live from home, all it had taken to set Katsuki off was just one camera shot of Endeavor, his massive arms crossed across his chest and looking stoic and unfazed, like everything he’d done to Shouto and his family hadn’t meant anything. Like Shouto didn’t still have a scar on his face that the tabloids constantly talked about. Like Shouto hadn’t had to piece his older brother back together after finding out their own father had driven him to villainy. Like Shouto didn’t still wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, crying for his father to stop.

When Shouto had made it home after the trial that day, it had been to an apartment covered in scorch marks and Katsuki shaking in the corner of their bedroom, tears of fury having long-since dried on his cheeks. As soon as he’d seen Shouto, he’d clambered for him, clutching him so close, his arms had ached the next morning.

Katsuki had never known Deku had been there, though. He'd never known Deku had been the one to keep Shouto company and offer support throughout the trial. The thought made something in Katsuki's chest shift and he suddenly wanted to wrap Deku in the sappiest fucking hug and let him know how thankful he was that he'd been there for Shouto when Katsuki couldn't be.

“Midoriya’s important to me,” Shouto said, still looking up at Katsuki. “But so are you.”

“I want you to come with me,” Katuski said. "To check on Deku."

“Is that what Uraraka said?” Shouto asked.

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “No,” he said as he pushed himself off the couch and away from the warmth of Shouto, settling himself on the edge of the coffee table. “She said she’d kill you if you went, but that’s not the point—"

“I can’t go, then,” Shouto said, turning on his side on the couch so he could look at Katsuki.

“I want you to go,” Katsuki said. Shouto looked at him and Katuski suddenly found he couldn’t look him in the eye for some reason and let his gaze fall to his knees.

“Kat,” Shouto said. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have to tell you something.” Katsuki looked up and found Shouto with his brow furrowed with worry, a sliver of fear in his eye. “I haven’t been completely honest,” Shouto said, his voice shaky and Katuski felt something cold slide down his spine at the sound of it. Shouto closed his eyes, forcing himself to swallow before he could continue. “After…After the marks first showed up, Midoriya was the one to say we couldn’t see each other anymore. He said it because I wasn’t strong enough to, and afterward I still…I tried to be his friend, even after he asked me not to.” Shouto closed his eyes and covered them with his hand. “I’m sorry, it’s just…it was hard to say goodbye.”

It’s like if I was told I wasn’t able to talk to you anymore. Katsuki tried to think about what it would feel like if he couldn’t talk to Shouto again. Not in a sex way, or in a married way, but in a best friend way that meant he wouldn’t be able to tell Shou about his day, or about the important things in his life, or about what had made him laugh that morning. The thought made him feel impossibly heavy like he might sink through the floor and into an abyss. Maybe he could understand where Shouto was coming from. Katsuki could feel a sting in his eyes and wiped furiously at them.

“Why didn’t you tell me before now?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Shouto said and his voice sounded so fragile, Katsuki thought it might shatter. “I was…afraid. Ashamed, I guess. But this time, I was the one to tell him, so I can’t go with you.”

Katsuki thought about going to see Deku alone, and his heart twisted. Every time he’d been alone with Midoriya, they’d fought, which wasn’t exactly anything new, actually. But Katsuki couldn’t help those visions of Deku and Shouto together, of him with them, fingers of one hand tangled in green hair, the other laced between Shouto’s fingers. And then he thought of the marks, of the fact that he was on the outside of some stupid, ridiculous bond between them and he felt a panic crawl at the inside of his chest, the two feelings waring at each other. He’d promised Shouto he wouldn’t be mad at Deku, but the thought of seeing him with all these goddamned emotions in his chest made him want to deck him in the face all over again.

“Please, Shou,” Katsuki said and found himself groping for the familiar feel of Shouto’s hand. “I don’t want to go alone.”

There was a moment before he felt Shouto’s fingers slide into his, warm and calloused and reassuring. His grip was firm and Katsuki grasped back. He didn’t even look to see if it was the hand with the mark.

“I’ll go with you,” Shouto said finally. “But I can’t go inside. He can’t see me unless he needs to. I owe him that.”

***

The apartment building was tall, towering against the rest of the skyline. It was in a nice part of the city, too, which Katsuki supposed should have been expected from the nation’s top hero. Actually, now that Katsuki thought about it, he was surprised the guy wasn’t living in a penthouse. A few flashes of light made Katsuki flinch and he turned to find a few paparazzi lurking in a nearby alley. It took little more than a few seconds of screaming and threats to scare them away, the fucking leeches.

Katsuki was left to pace the sidewalk outside Deku’s apartment building, rubbing at the back of his neck, grumbling to himself. He paused at a hand on his arm, followed quickly by a soft peck on his cheek. He turned to find Shouto, cheeks pink with cold, breath fogging in front of his face, and two cups of coffee in his hands, one of which he handed over to Katsuki. The weather should be growing warmer, but a cold snap had hit recently and the warmth of the coffee was welcome.

“We can grab lunch when you’re done,” he said, nodding towards Deku’s apartment.

Katsuki nodded before sipping at the coffee Shouto had brought him, black with sugar. Katsuki wasn’t sure what to say, so instead, he turned for the building.

“Kat.”

Katsuki paused, turning over his shoulder.

Shouto looked uncertain and worried, shifting from foot to foot with his coffee untouched. “He tends to drink energy drinks when he’s stressed, it’s not healthy for him.” Shouto’s gaze flicked up towards the direction of Deku’s apartment before falling back to Katsuki. “Just…something to keep an eye out for.”

Katsuki opened his mouth before closing it again and settling on a concise nod. He turned back towards the building before a thought seized him. He spun back around and grabbed Shouto by the front of his jacket and hauled him forward for a kiss. He felt warm and gentle, a small sound of surprise escaping him. When Katsuki pulled away, both of their breaths huffed between them in a cloud and Shouto was smiling down at him.

“You’re stalling,” he said, poking Katsuki in the forehead with a finger.

Katsuki scoffed and shoved him away. “You ruined it.”

Shouto simply laughed at him as he staggered back, but the worried, pained look on his face was gone and Katsuki felt a little better. Katsuki rolled his eyes at him and turned towards the apartment building again.

It took all of five minutes to make it up to Deku’s apartment. It took nearly another five minutes for him to actually knock on the door. He bit nervously at the plastic lid of the coffee Shouto had brought him. He didn’t know why he was nervous. He didn’t know why he was here. This was all just so stupid. He didn’t care about shitty Deku or his shitty problems, so why was he at shitty Deku’s apartment of all places? He should probably just leave—

But before he could even make the decision to turn and leave to go back to Shouto, the door swung open. Katsuki froze, his hand stiffening around his cup, his heart launching up into his throat. It was Deku—well obviously it was Deku, this was his apartment after all—but it was…weird Deku. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes, the roundness of his face now slightly gaunt, and his curls lacking the bounce they normally had. He was clad in sweatpants and a compression tank, letting Katsuki see how pale he’d gotten, his muscles looked tensed, outlined by the dim light of his apartment behind him. Katsuki’s eyes flicked to a tan patch that covered Deku’s forearm where he knew his soulmark was. He had the split-second thought of whether the patch was working or not.

Deku blinked at him. “Kacchan? What are you doing here?”

“Haaa?” Katsuki sneered, the sight of Deku looking so shitty making him furious for some reason. “The fuck you mean? What have you been doing to yourself, Deku?”

Deku frowned, not understanding. “Kacchan, what—?”

“Round Face was worried about you,” Katsuki said with a roll of his eyes. He shoved his way past Deki and into his apartment.

“Hey, Kacchan, you can’t just—” Deku blustered as Katsuki shouldered by.

“Why do you look like such shit?” Katsuki asked, nose wrinkling as his eyes swept Deku’s apartment. “You been sleeping or what?”

The place was a fucking mess. Coffee cups and energy drinks littered every available surface alongside empty take out boxes and frozen meal cartons. Dirty clothes were thrown everywhere haphazardly, spare Deku’s desk, which had accumulated a mass of papers and notebooks. A massive map had been pinned to a wall, covering most of the All Might posters, marked to high hell with red marker and pins and yarn that Katsuki had no chance of deciphering. Photos of Hawks and newspaper clippings had been taped to the map, giving the whole thing a vaguely serial-killer vibe.

“The fuck,” Katsuki swore. Looked like there really was something wrong with Deku after all.

“Kacchan, you need to get out of my apartment.”

Katsuki turned at the sound of Deku’s voice, who was standing a little sheepishly in the doorway still.

“Like fuck I do,” Katsuki snarled. “I can’t leave when you’re living like a fucking rat—”

“Not to be rude, but it’s none of your business,” Deku said, his eyes flashing as he finally looked up at Katsuki.

Katsuki stared at him. “Bullshit it’s not!” Katsuki shouted, his coffee cup crumpling in his hand, spilling coffee over his hand and onto the floor. “You’re a fucking hero, Deku! And something’s obviously wrong with you—!”

“Why do you even care?!” Deku shouted. His face twisted into one of fury, the combination with his pallor and sunken cheeks making him look almost frightening. “A couple of weeks ago, you tried to knock my teeth in. A few months ago, you wanted me dead!”

“That’s not the point—!”

“Would you stop fucking around?” Deku spat and Katsuki took a step back. “One day you hate me and the next you’re pretending to be my friend and I’m done with it, just leave me the fuck alone.”

Katsuki stared at him, mouth open with shock. The Deku standing in front of, pale and sickly-looking, screaming at Katsuki to get out of his apartment when he was just there to help, was a complete stranger. It was like he stepped into an alternate reality where nothing made sense and the idea that Deku—the that Deku he knew—wasn’t there anymore filled Katsuki with a horrible hollow feeling that he didn’t understand.

“Are you fucking blind?” Katsuki spat, sweeping his hand around the disaster of an apartment. “You need help!

“I have help!” Deku said, his hands clenched into fists that were tremoring slightly. “No thanks to you, I’m doing fine and you need to get out!

“That’s bullshit and you know it—!”

“Deku?”

Both of them froze at the sound of a soft voice coming from the direction of Deku’s bedroom. Katsuki turned and found a girl standing in the doorway, clad in a tank top and pajama shorts that rode up to show the curve of her thigh, her legs turning thick with brown fur at her calves and ending with horse-like hooves. A long blonde plat trailed down her back with her hair parting around two matching horns that sprouted from the crown of her head. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the both of them, a trash bag in her hands from obviously working to help pick up all the garbage lying around.

“Is everything okay?" she asked, looking towards Deku, her accent sounding disjointed and foreign.

Deku rubbed a hand over his face and let out a sigh, the tension leaving his shoulders, letting them sag.

“No, it’s okay, Pony,” Deku said. He turned back towards Katsuki, who felt like he’d suddenly been punched in the stomach. “Kacchan, I told you I have help. Can you please leave now?”

Chapter Text

Shouto stared up at the overcast sky, watching clouds of his breath as they drifted towards the grey ceiling of cotton overhead. Out of this entire city, this was probably the last place he wanted to be, sitting outside Midoriya’s apartment by himself where any paparazzi or random fan could come by and start a slew of rumors. He felt guilty. Katsuki had said that something was off about Midoriya, but if Shouto was being honest, he hadn’t noticed anything different. Then again, he was actively trying to avoid Midoriya at almost all costs. He wasn’t sure if he’d even notice if Midoriya’s hair had gone pink.

Shouto closed his eyes, letting the cool air rest on his cheeks like a gentle touch. A few months ago, he would’ve been the first to notice something was wrong with Midoriya, but now he had to be told? When had that happened? Shouto should’ve have noticed it, should have seen it, and now he felt so guilty that he hadn’t. Midoriya could be falling to pieces right before him, and he wouldn’t even know. He should’ve known.

He’d always known before.

Sunlight was pouring through the library’s high windows, spilling over everything with golden afternoon light. Izuku’s head was bent over his book, cheek resting so heavily on his fist, his mouth was slightly open and his eye squinted shut. His lips moved silently as he read, his eyes jumping across the page, though they looked glazed over and distant. Dark circles had pooled under his eyes, sunken and deep. The sunlight ringed his head in a halo of golden-gilded curls, his freckles glinting in and out of the sun’s glare like a million stars trapped in his skin.

Shouto poked Izuku in the cheek with the eraser of his pencil. Izuku jumped, his eyes flying open to dart towards Shouto. After a second of Izuku’s brain catching up to his surroundings, his gaze focusing on Shouto, he let out a sigh, his shoulders relaxing. He brought a hand up to scrub it over his face.

A smile flicked to Shouto’s face. “You haven’t been sleeping,” he said.

Izuku let out a noncommittal noise, before leaning forward to bury his face in the crook of his textbook. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, mumbling into the pages.

Shouto raised an eyebrow, pencil twirling between his fingers. “If I were to look in your bag right now, you wouldn’t have any energy drinks in there?”

Izuku grinned into his book before turning his head to look at Shouto, cheek resting on endless notes and facts. His green eyes flashed in a dazzling array of green and black and gold and Shouto understood why half their class had a crush on him.

“Doing better than Kacchan,” Izuku said, a marginally gloating grin on his face.

Shouto’s gaze flicked up to Katsuki, sitting across from them at the library study table, head tucked into the crook of his arm, which was resting atop a stack of books that had yet to be opened. His mouth was hanging open, a soft snore escaping him with every rise of his back. His hair looked like corn silk in the sunlight.

Shouto smiled. Katsuki’s face was so lax and soft, the smallest bit of baby fat lingering in his cheeks. Most people didn’t get to see him when he wasn’t screaming or hissing like a cat. But Shouto did; he got those small moments when Katsuki was draped in sunlight, his shoulders no longer tense, his drool dried at the corner of his mouth because even in sleep, he didn’t know when to shut his mouth. And he supposed Izuku got those moments, too. Whenever all three of them met to study in someone’s room, Katsuki was usually the first to fall asleep, sprawled in Shouto’s lap, or over Izuku’s bed. Izuku would usually call Katsuki “cute” and Shouto would laugh and say something to make Izuku blush. Shouto didn’t mind, though, sharing this Katsuki with him.

One time, they’d stumbled back to the dorms, just on the wrong side of tipsy from the vodka Sero had managed to swipe from Aizawa’s desk. The three of them had all fallen into Katsuki’s room because it was closest, a majority of their classmates either already passed out or still laughing in the lounge. Katsuki had pitched a fit about “stupid Deku” being in his room, but Izuku had only laughed, his cheeks flushed and his movements clumsy. Shouto had watched as the two started to half-heartedly wrestle on Katsuki’s bed for a moment before they both collapsed, passing out in a heap, Izuku sprawled over Katsuki, cheek pillowed on his chest, head rising and falling with every breath Katsuki took, Katsuki’s snores stirring his green hair.

Shouto supposed most people would have minded someone else falling asleep on top of their boyfriend, but he found that he couldn’t even bring himself to care. They were his two favorite people in the world, asleep and happy and safe together. Who wouldn’t want to see that? So, he’d simply crawled into bed and curled into Katsuki’s side, head pillowed on his outstretched arm as he fell asleep to the sound of Izuku’s breathing.

“Oh, he gets his sleep,” Shouto said, blinking out of his thoughts and back to the sleeping Katsuki currently in front of them. “I make sure of that.”

He tilted his chin on his crossed arms atop his own abandoned schoolwork. He reached out and combed his fingers into Izuku’s ever wild hair. “You, however, I worry about.”

Izuku’s eyes fluttered shut, tilting his head into the touch with a small sigh. “But I need to work twice as hard to catch up to you guys,” he muttered, eyes opening slightly to glance at Katsuki. The way his cheeks were squished against the textbook pages, the way he seemed barely able to keep his eyes open, he looked like a tired toddler, ready for bed. “I’ve never been top of the class like you or Momo or Kacchan.”

Shouto sighed. He didn’t know how to tell Izuku that none of that really mattered. Good grades didn’t necessarily make a good hero. It took more than that: heart, drive, determination, ingenuity. He wasn’t sure how to tell Izuku that even if he wasn’t top of the class, he beat the rest of them by miles when it came to everything else. Shouto was sure that even without the grade, Izuku would be the one to rise above them all. But, Shouto wasn’t good with words, so instead, he said:

“You won’t do yourself any favors by running yourself into the ground, either, though.”

Izuku let out a groan, an embarrassed grin on his face as he turned his nose back into his book. “That’s what Ochako says,” he said, voice nasally with his nose pressed into the crevice of his textbook.

Shouto smirked. “Smart girl. She's good for you.”

“Oh,” Izuku said, sitting upright suddenly, eyes wide. “I’m supposed to meet her for lunch.” Izuku fumbled for his phone, movements a little frantic. He swore when he finally saw the time. “I’m late.”

Shouto could feel the smile on his own face. If there was Izuku could be relied on for, it was losing track of time whenever he studied.

“Don’t worry about cleaning up,” Shouto said, as Izuku started to haphazardly scramble to get his notes together. “I’ve got your books. Just go.”

Izuku’s shoulders slumped with relief and he gave Shouto a look like he’d just saved his life. “Thanks, Shouto, I owe you!” he called, already dashing towards the front of the library. “I’ll see you later!”

Shouto watched him through the large library windows as Izuku stumbled outside, hair in disarray from rubbing it into a textbook and Shouto’s fingers. He watched Izuku until he took a turn behind another campus building and was out of sight before turning back to Katsuki.

“Hey,” he said, flicking a pencil at his boyfriend so that it nailed him in the nose and making him start in his chair. “Help me with these books."

Shouto opened his eyes. He was not met with sunshine or a grinning Midoriya or a quietly snoozing Katsuki. Instead, all he was met with was a grey carpet of clouds, dull and cold as he stood on the sidewalk alone. Moving slowly, he pulled his hand from his coat pocket, uncurling his fingers to look at the silver mark across his palm. Without the sun, it looked as dark and as grey as the skies overhead. A lot of the memories were old and faded, often blurring together at the seams, but Shouto found himself remembering more and more of them recently.

Shouto tilted his hand up at the sky, a single raindrop falling to slide over the heal of his palm and down his wrist. What would’ve happened if Midoriya had never ended up dating Ochako? Because thinking back, back before all of it, before the marks, before becoming heroes, before Katsuki, Shouto felt like he might have had feelings for Midoriya that weren’t strictly friend related. Katsuki had brought up his memories of kissing Midoriya, of touching, of holding, of tasting. And maybe at first, it had been part of a game, or just a way for either of them to let off steam, but maybe no so by the end of it. Shouto had never been good with emotions, had never had an easy time trying to figure out which ones meant what, but looking back, he remembered all the times he’d wanted to do more than kiss. When he’d wanted to slip his fingers beneath Midoriya’s shirt. Or maybe just fall asleep with him on his chest and take the time to count the freckles on his full cheeks.

Shouto flexed his fingers, his mark wrinkling and folding over his skin. What would have happened if Midoriya hadn’t started to drift towards Ochako? If Shouto hadn’t noticed the way Midoriya grinned whenever he saw her or the way their fingers brushed as they walked to class together? Would Shouto have continued with Midoriya? Would his interest still have waned after realizing it was a lost cause and instead drifted towards Katsuki? And maybe their stollen makeout sessions would have grown into something more, something with whispered promises and kisses that were no longer stollen? Or would Midoriya’s attentions have drifted towards Katsuki instead of Oachako? And they would be the ones married by now?  Maybe Midoriya had never been meant for him. Shouto curled his fingers into a fist, his mark trapped inside. But what if he’d been meant for Midoirya and had simply chosen Katsuki instead? That’s what soulmarks were supposed to mean, wasn’t it?

Shouto tucked his hand with his mark back into his coat pocket, turning his head to tilt it into his own shoulder. He didn’t like to think about this. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. He tried thinking back, pulling up memories to remind himself how much he loved Katsuki, how he felt like home and warmth and comfort. He remembered the library, the time they’d all passed out on Katsuki’s bed together. The memories felt the same, warm and glorious and nostalgic. But the more Shouto thought, he tried to pick apart the emotions, tried to assign them to either Midoriya or Katsuki, but found that he couldn’t. They blurred together, the memories feeling the same whether he remembered Katsuki or Midoriya. Shouto’s heart clenched at the thought. What did that mean?

Katsuki was his husband, had been his boyfriend at the time. So those feelings should’ve only been for him, right? Shouto clenched his fist so hard inside his coat pocket, his nails bit into his palm, the soulmark mocking him. Had he been lying this entire time?

Shouto’s thoughts shattered as he heard a large explosion overhead. His head jerked up just in time to see a window blow out with a shower of glass and a familiar orange fire.

“Shit,” Shouto muttered before he was through the apartment building’s front doors and flying up the stairs. He’d barely made it to the second level when he ran right into Katsuki, who’d been literally flying down the stairs, using his quirk to propel himself forward. The two of them practically collided, Shouto’s arm catching Katuski in the chest, their opposite momentums spinning them in the stairwell. They toppled partway down the stairs before they hit the next landing in a tangle of limbs.

“Kat, are you okay?” Shouto groaned as he delicately pulled himself free so he could sit up. “What happened?”

“That fucking bastard was lying, Shou,” Katsuki spat, forcing himself to his hands and knees in the stairwell. “He’s fucking fine, the fucking cunt.”

Katsuki shoved himself the rest of the way to his feet so he could start galloping down the stairs again. Shouto scrambled to his own feet to follow close behind.

“Kat, slow down. What do you mean he was lying?”

Katsuki didn’t even look back, his harsh voice echoing up the concrete walls of the stairwell. “He’s got some stupid fucking shitty horse pony girl hero up there—"

“Pony hero?” Shouto said, his foot skidding over a few steps. Katsuki was already half a floor ahead of him. “Wait, you mean Tsunotori?”

“I don’t know her fucking name,” Katsuki snapped.

“Katsuki, I don’t understand,” Shouto said. “What was—?”

“It was a fucking ploy, Shou!” Katsuki screamed as he spun around, having reached the ground floor of the stairwell. His teeth were bared, his eyes wild. “There’s nothing wrong with him and I was worried for nothing! He’s doing just fine without—!”

“Kacchan! You can’t just blow a hole in my apartment and leave—!”

The both of them spun, necks craning to look up the stairwell. Midoriya stood a few floors above them, bent over the railing to look down the tunnel of space the spiral the steps created. He froze as soon as he saw them, his voice dying in his throat. Even from this far, Shouto could pick out the dark circles under his eyes, the unkempt hair, the pale tint to his skin. How had he missed that before?

“Todoroki…?” Midoriya said, and though his voice was soft, it echoed a hundred times over as it fell towards Shouto.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Katsuki said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m out of here.”

Katsuki banged through the stairwell door, the noise enough to shock Shouto out of his trance. He turned away from Midoriya and threw himself the rest of the way down the steps, slamming into the stairwell door and into the empty lobby beyond. He ran through the building’s front doors, stumbling out onto the grey street beyond. He spun, his heart racing in his chest as his eyes scoured for Katsuki. But he was gone. This was bad, this was so bad. Shouto wasn’t sure what had happened, but Katsuki had seemed hurt, and now he was angry and reckless and bound to do something stupid if Shouto didn’t find him first.

“Todoroki!”

Shouto spun to find Midoriya stumbling through the apartment building’s doors. He winced against the light and against the cold, clad only in a tank top and sweats. Before Shouto had a chance to say anything, he heard a shout from across the street, followed by the unmistakable flash of a camera. He didn’t have to look to know there would be more.

“Shit,” Shouto spat. The last thing he needed right now was pictures in the news of him and Midoriya together right after Katsuki had been seen storming off in a rage. He seized hold of Midoriya’s arm and hauled him, still blinking from the sunlight, back into the apartment building. Midoriya stumbled after him, Shouto’s eyes sweeping the lobby before landing on the empty concierge desk along the far wall. Shouto dragged Midoriya behind it, the later falling to the floor as Shouto purposefully planted himself there, the both of them now hidden from view of the windows and the paparazzi outside.

Shouto let out a sigh, tilting his head back against the wall, willing his heart rate to slow. He could hear Midoriya breathing quickly next to him. Shouto was about to wonder how long they’d have to hide out here when Midoriya’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Looks like you learned your lesson about the paparazzi,” Midoriya said with a laugh, glancing around the edge of the desk towards the roach-like cameramen swarming outside.

Shouto didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes and tried to run through a mental list of where Katsuki could’ve run off to. He was all the way to Fat Gum’s hero agency and Denki’s apartment when Midoriya spoke up again, his voice like a knife through his thoughts.

“Kacchan seemed…really angry,” he said.

Shouto opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “I’d say so.”

He heard Midoriya scoff. “Typical. He barges into my apartment and then gets upset with me.”

Shouto swallowed, keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling. He was scared to look at Midoriya. Scared to look and find the same Midoriya painted in the gold of afternoon sunshine or the same Midoriya that had fallen asleep on Katsuki’s chest.

I won’t talk to you any more than what’s strictly necessary. I won’t look at you for any longer than I absolutely need to, and after this case.

“He was just trying to check on you,” Shouto said softly. “He was worried about you.”

“And you weren’t?”

The question felt like a knife in Shouto’s chest.

You’ll be little more than a memory to me anymore.

Shouto didn’t know what to say to that, the same guilt from before burrowing into his chest. Midoriya gave a small noise from the back of his throat like he understood Shouto’s answer, but it was small and lilting like it wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for.

Is that what you want?

Yes.

The silence that followed seemed to stretch on forever. Midoriya kept fidgeting; he’d never been very good at keeping still. Shouto tried counting the tiles in the ceiling.

“Did you hear there was a new hero on the news?” Midoriya finally said. Shouto closed his eyes; he’d never been very good at keeping quiet, either. “Her quirk is really cool, but no one can figure out which school she trained at or if she even trained at a hero school at all. She can turn into a number of different animals. She took down about eight villains the other day as a Bengal Tiger. I was wondering how many different animals she would be able to turn into or if there’s a limit…”

Shouto blinked up at the ceiling, letting his mind drift out of focus, Midoriya’s voice turning into distant background noise. The paparazzi had probably left by now, but Shouto was scared to look. Scared to get up and catch a glimpse of Midoriya’s face, alight with the fervor he normally got while talking about heroes.

This time, I was the one to tell him, so I can’t go with you.

“I miss talking to you. “

Shouto blinked. He hadn’t even realized Midoriya had stopped rambling. His neck was starting to get a crick in it. He shifted, sliding his hand with the mark into his jacket, burying it from sight.

“I did not come here with the intention of talking with you,” he said, his throat feeling very dry. “I’m sorry, but I’d like to keep it that way. It’s what you asked of me.”

“A while ago, you said you might want to still be friends—”

“And I was wrong for saying that.”

“Todoroki, you’re my best friend—"

“What do you want from me?” Shouto said, his voice hoarse, barely loud enough to hear. “Because no matter what I do, I’m always wrong.”

He was met with silence in response. He didn’t want to look at Midoriya—he was so scared to look at him. To see him with the same tired and worn out face Shouto had so easily missed. To see him with the same large eyes that would squint shut whenever he laughed hard enough. To see that green hair and know he wasn’t allowed to see it leafed in sunlight again. To see those freckles and know he would never be close enough again to ever count them. His throat suddenly felt very thick.

“I try to be friendly and that was wrong,” he said. “And I said I was sorry. I try to keep my distance and all of a sudden you want to be friends again.”

Shouto closed his eyes, letting his head fall forward finally, his neck aching. His hand felt hot and sweaty from where it was tucked against his side. Was this how it had felt for Midoriya? Like he could hear the big bad wolf on the other side of the door and wanted more than anything to let him in because he’d known the wolf for years, but knowing that if he did, he’d end up holding his own bleeding heart in his hands? God, he’d been the biggest asshole.

“Whatever it is you want from me I’m pretty sure I can’t give it to you,” Shouto muttered. “Because I love Katsuki and whatever it is you want I’m sure will only end up getting him hurt and I can’t do that to him. So please, please just stop.”

He was met with silence again. A clock on the far wall ticked the seconds away. They could hear the distant noise of traffic outside the building’s front doors. If Shouto concentrated, he could even hear the thrum of the elevators rattling up and down their shafts. He wanted to leave. More than anything, he wanted to go and he wanted to find Katsuki and he wanted to hold him under the covers until the rain started.

He heard as Midoriya took a breath to speak and he tensed, waiting for what would come next. Before he had the chance to say anything, though, there came a shout from outside. A few people shrieked. Shouto could hear the loud boom of a few explosions.

Shouto leapt to his feet, looking over the concierge desk to see as Katsuki blasted through the front doors. Relief felt like an adrenaline shot to Shouto’s heart.

“Kat!” he said, throwing himself around the side of the desk, glad to see Katsuki hadn’t managed to get himself into trouble in the last ten minutes.

“Oi! You two still don’t know how to deal with the paps?” Katsuki called, a sneer on his face.

“What happened,” Shouto whispered as he met Katsuki, running his fingers over Katsuki’s face, along his jaw. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Shou,” Katsuki growled, waving his groping hands away. “Stop it. Let’s just go home.”

Shouto let out a sigh of relief. Usually, when Katsuki got upset like that, Shouto could find him some five hours later, either battered and bruised at the edge of one of the rings in Fat Gum’s agency from sparing with Kirishima or pissed drunk on Kaminari’s couch, or even in a holding cell for a misdemeanor. Shouto still didn’t know what had happened or what was wrong, but Katsuki was back with absolutely nothing wrong with him, and for now, that was enough.

“Todoroki,” came Midoriya’s voice as they turned to leave. Shouto froze, his heart in his throat. He still hadn’t looked at Midoriya, hadn’t spared him a glance. Shouto opened his mouth to respond but before he even had the chance—

“Don’t talk to him,” Katsuki snapped, spinning back around, hackles raised as he faced Midoriya.

“Kat,” Shouto muttered, tugging at Katsuki’s arm, eyes downcast to avoid looking at Midoriya. “It’s fine, let’s just go.”

“I shouldn’t talk to him?” Midoriya shot back. “He’s the one that—"

“Fuck, he’s trying,” Katuski screamed back. “He fucked up, all right? We’ve all fucked up, but at least he’s trying now. He doesn’t need you making It harder for him.”

Shouto looked up towards Katsuki then, his gaze landing on his sharp profile. He could see the stubborn jut of his jaw, the tenseness in his shoulders, all in Shouto’s defense. Shouto felt a lump rise in his throat. Every word Shouto had told him, he believed. Without hesitation. And while Shouto had told him everything that morning in their apartment, he still couldn’t help but feel guilty. He wasn’t sure if he deserved a trust like that.

“I want the both of you out of this building,” Midoriya finally said, his voice low. He sounded so tired.

“You were the one to chase us out the front door, Deku,” Katsuki snarled before grabbing Shouto by the shoulder and turning back towards the front doors.

As they reached the doors, Shouto felt something in his chest tug and he turned. For the first time today, Shouto looked at Midoriya properly. He wished he hadn’t. He looked so broken, tired and worn, and like such a broken version of the Midoriya Shouto knew. He looked like a pot with a crack that had let all his life spill out. Had they done that? Had Shouto done that? Did Shouto break him?

He never got an answer as Katsuki pulled him forward and the front doors swung closed on Midoriya’s face.

Chapter Text

Izuku wasn’t dating Pony Tsunotori. Well, not technically. Kind of.

By the time Todoroki and Kacchan had left and Izuku had begun to drag himself back up to his apartment, he was exhausted. He was barely half-way there, when Pony met him in the stairwell, her eyes wide with concern, and still wearing the boxers he’d lent her.

“Izuku,” she said, reaching out to help him up the stairs, but stalled in a moment of hesitation. “Are you okay?”

“Pony,” Izuku said, his voice sounding tired, even to his own ears, “I said to stay in the apartment, it’s fine.”

A weak smile fluttered across Pony’s face for a split second. “Usually, it’s Americans that say things are fine when they’re not.”

Izuku let out a laugh. “Guess heroes do, too.”

Pony offered him a kind smile before walking with him the rest of the way up the stairs to his apartment. Though she didn’t try to reach out to him again, she didn’t pull away when their fingers brushed. Neither did Izuku. By the time they’d made it back to Izuku’s apartment, a cold draft had already blown in through the gaping hole Kacchan had so graciously left in place of a window. Izuku let out a sigh.

“Guess there’s no more point in trying to clean anymore, is there?” he said, kicking half-heartedly at the empty to-go containers the winter wind had blown all over the floor.

“You can stay with me, if you’d like,” Pony said, looking over Izuku’s half-destroyed apartment.

Izuku sank into his couch, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “Um, thanks Pony, but I think I’ll just stay at Ochako’s place. I’ll see if I can have someone come by tomorrow for a quick patch job.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Pony said, her voice small.

Izuku opened his eyes to see her standing awkwardly among the mess of his apartment.

“Oh no, sorry,” Izuku said, suddenly embarrassed at how rude he’d been. “I just don’t want to impose on you. You’ve already helped me so much; I can’t thank you enough.”

Pony waved him off, smiling. “It’s okay, Izuku. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Izuku pushed himself up off the couch and went over to wrap his arms around Tsunotori and pulled her to his chest. She was already shivering from the cold.

“I mean it,” Izuku said. “Thank you.”

Pony didn’t say anything, simply pulling closer to Izuku and burying her face into the crook of his shoulder.

Izuku and Pony weren’t dating. Not really. She had a girlfriend back in the states, but it was an open relationship and Izuku didn’t mind. He didn’t need a relationship right now—didn’t want one. He wasn’t even sure he could handle one at the moment. Pony was…a distraction, if he had to put a label on it, though that felt so dismissive. It wasn’t anything serious, just something to distract him from everything else. That is, until “everything else” came barging into his home and started blowing holes in his walls.

It hadn’t started like this. It had started with Pony messaging him that she was in town and was wondering if he wanted to meet for some coffee. It’d been nice, a friendly conversation not about hero work, or the missing Hawks reports that still aired almost daily, or about soulmarks. When Izuku had mentioned that he’d be taking a sabbatical as soon as he was finished with his current case, her eyes had lit up, immediately insisting that he come stay nearby in the city she lived in with her girlfriend, how she could help him find a place and help him brush up on his English, and at least be a friendly face in a literally foreign country.

Her insistence had forced a smile to his face, her excitement contagious. He’d tried to decline of course, not wanting to put so much responsibility on her, but she was persistent until he finally gave in. They’d spent the next few weeks going over everything Izuku would need to prepare before moving to America. The coffee dates discussing available apartments eventually turned into late movie nights eventually turned into hands on hips and tongues in mouths and clothes on the floor. Not that last night had been the first time.

It was difficult for Pony, having to be so far away from her girlfriend for so long, and there was only so much zoom calls could do. And Izuku, after being consumed by thoughts and stress relentlessly for the last few months, just needed something to make him forget, if only for a moment. Izuku and Pony had talked after the first morning after and had agreed to keep it casual. They were just friends. They were friends that could both give each other what they needed at the moment, sure, but Izuku didn’t see how that should change anything else. It was…nice, having someone to sometimes hold while he fell asleep, without the stress or commitment of a relationship. Without having to worry about soulmarks with married men or ex-best friends. It was nice knowing that whatever this was, was temporary. That it didn’t have to be another thing to worry about beyond the right here and now.

He wishes he had a distraction now as he lay in the bed in Ochako and Tsuyu’s spare room, staring up at the dark ceiling. Ochako was still away on an investigation and with Tsuyu being a disaster rescue hero, she was gone a lot of the time to be wherever the disasters were. Izuku had his own key, of course, and wasn’t a stranger to staying over by himself. He’d even insisted to pay some of the rent, but they’d refused. He should be tired. He’d been working endlessly on the Hawks case, at the station, on the street tracking leads, up late in his own apartment. It consumed his every waking thought, and even some of his non-waking ones. He couldn’t count the number of dreams he’d had of the night Hawks had gone missing, reliving it again and again. Feeling the horror of looking back and finding Hawks not there over and over. It was like a recording that played again and again, forcing Izuku to watch it, knowing that no matter what he did, the ending would still be the same.

He was pretty sure that if Ochako could see the state he was in, she’d throw him over her back like she’d learned in Judo. He was wearing thin, a feeling that shouldn’t be as familiar as it was. He felt like an overworn pair of shoes—like the couple dozen or so identical red high-tops he’d gone through at UA—like he was one wrong step away from a blowout, but he was sure just one more day wouldn’t hurt. He couldn’t stop. Not until he found Hawks. It was his fault, after all. He had let his partner down, had let his guard down too easily. He was a shitty hero. He couldn’t even keep another hero safe without disaster. He could probably count the hours of sleep he’d gotten over the past week on one hand. The last time he’d had a decent meal was a distant memory, most of his sustenance coming from coffee and energy drinks as he worked through most nights. Exhaustion pressed its thumbs into his eyes.

 The wariness in his bones should’ve worked better than any sleeping pill. Except he’d been staring at the ceiling for the last twenty minutes, unable to keep his eyes closed for more than a few seconds. Thoughts kept chasing each other through his head like jackrabbits: how he was going to find Hawks, how he was going to fix the blown-out window in his apartment, whether Tsunotori really was hurt by him turning down the invitation to stay at her place, Todorki’s hurt and worried face as Kacchan had dragged him out the apartment building’s front doors, how furious Kacchan had been when he’d seen the state of Izuku’s apartment…

Kacchan didn’t really have the same range of emotions as most people. Everything was sort of just a variation of anger. There was an elated anger, a mournful anger, a sulky anger, a panicked anger, but very rarely was it an irrational anger. Izuku had known Kacchan long enough to know that there was almost always a reason behind the anger. To everyone else, it was just another shade of red.

There’d been an incident with a villain a few years ago. Kacchan had been occupied with civilians and the other heroes had been struggling to put out a fire that had started, giving the villain a chance to escape. In typical Deku fashion, Izuku had thrown himself after the villain without a second thought. He vaguely remembered Kacchan calling his name, but he doubt he’d registered it at the time. All that had mattered was the villain and that Izuku stopped him from hurting anyone else. The chase had lead him down an alley, where the villain rounded a corner just ahead of him. He’d only been out of Izuku’s sight for a second—just a second. But that second had been enough for Izuku to find a massive bus hurtling through the air at him as soon as he’d rounded the corner. It had hit him like…well, a bus.

He remembered coming to consciousness to the sounds of screeching metal and an even louder screeching Kacchan. Rubble shifted and the bus creaked around him as the last sheet of metal was ripped away to reveal the blinding lights of emergency vehicles that backlit Kacchan’s silhouette.

“I found him!” Kacchan shouted over his shoulder before leaning down to grab Izuku’s hand.

“Deku! What the hell did you think you were doing dumbass?!” Kacchan practically screamed. He sounded furious. “God, you look like shit,” he growled as he grabbed Izuku’s hand to pull him free. As he leaned forward, his face fell into the light, showing Izuku a twisted and contorted frown.

Izuku could only smile.

“Damn bastard!” Kacchan continued to seethe as he pulled Izuku from the wreckage of the bus.  “You’re a fucking hero, Deku! You can’t just fuck off on your own!”

“Careful,” Izuku said, still grinning. “You sound like you might care.”

“Fuck off,” Kacchan scoffed as he automatically pulled Izuku’s arm over his shoulders to support him. “Damn Deku, you thought you were gonna try and steal all the glory for yourself you selfish bastard.”

Izuku couldn’t help but grin wider, despite the crippling pain of twenty or so of his bones that were no doubt broken. To anyone else, Kacchan would’ve looked furious as he screamed obscenities while dragging Izuku away from the destroyed bus, but Izuku knew better. Kacchan had been terrified.

Izuku spoke enough “Kacchan” to know that “God, you look like shit,” translated to, “Are you hurt?” and “You can’t just fuck off on your own!” really meant “Don’t you dare leave me like that again.” The secret was in the eyes. The rest of Kacchan’s face had been contorted into a mask of rage, but his eyes always gave him away—the fear in them, fear of Izuku being hurt, the fear that had threatened to run down his cheeks when he saw that Izuku was conscious. It was in the way his hands had shook as they reached for Izuku—unsteady and unsure. It was in the slight tremor in his voice at the end of every swear word. But the eyes were the most obvious.

Very few people understood Kacchan—could read beneath the façade of rage to see the man beneath. The man that was kind and careful, and who cared so much it scared him. It was always in the small things: the coffees he’d bring for Izuku on early morning patrols that he insisted were Shouto’s idea, the jacket he’d find draped over his shoulders whenever he fell asleep at his desk that Kacchan would claim he stole the next day, the pissed phone calls Izuku would receive after not accepting a dinner invite that he knew were just Kacchan making sure he wasn’t alone when he shouldn’t be.

Izuku turned on his side, trying to convince his mind to stop racing. But in the deep shadows of the curtains, he couldn’t help but see Kacchan, standing in the doorway to his apartment.

“What have you been doing to yourself, Deku?” Kacchan sneered.

“God, you look like shit,” he growled as he grabbed Izuku’s hand to pull him free.

“Are you fucking blind?” Kacchan spat. “You need help!

“You can’t just fuck off on your own!” he screamed as he pulled Izuku from the wreckage.

Izuku could see Kacchan’s face from earlier that day in the folds of the curtains, as coffee from the crushed coffee cup ran over his fingers to drip to Izuku’s apartment floor. It was a mask of rage, but Izuku could see the that the edges of his mouth were a bit too tense, his eyebrows tilting at not quite the right angel. Above it all, Izuku could see the delicate sheen in his eyes. The eyes were always the most obvious.

“Careful, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered to the empty room, his eyelids finally growing heavy. “You sound like you might care.”

Chapter Text

“What the hell was that?”

“It was a fucking mess, all right?” Katsuki yelled as Shouto slammed the apartment door closed behind them.

“What happened, Kat?” Shouto said as he followed Katsuki as he charged into the living room.

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” Katsuki spat as he struggled to pull off his coat. After a moment of struggling, he gave a frustrated scream before tearing it from his back and flinging it across the room. He turned to storm towards their bedroom.

“No, no, no, you do not get to run away from this by being mad,” Shouto said, grabbing Katsuki’s arm before he could continue his rampage through the apartment.

“What do you want me to do, then?” Katsuki shouted as he yanked his arm from Shouto’s grip.

“I want you to stop blowing things up just because you’re hurt!”

Katsuki scoffed so hard, it scraped his throat. “Like that dumbass Deku could ever hurt—”

He choked on his own words as he saw the look Shouto was giving him. The one that said he could read Katsuki like a book and they both knew it.

“Fuck you,” Katsuki said, more out of habit than anything else.

“It’s okay to be hurt, Kat,” Shouto said as he stepped forward.

Shouto reached forward to run his fingers through Katsuki’s hair. Katsuki didn’t stop him. Fury was still simmering right beneath his skin. He wanted to scream, to explode, to hit something. Instead, he closed his eyes, replaying Shouto’s words in his head: you do not get to run away from this by being mad. He hated when Shouto was right. He let Shouto cup the back of his head, still petting his hair, and let him pull his forehead to his shoulder. They stood there in silence as they both waited for Katsuki’s temper to ebb into something manageable.

“We can’t see him anymore,” Shouto muttered finally. “We’re hurting him. Us being there was hurting him.”

Katsuki scoffed into Shouto’s coat. “I thought you said I was the one that was hurt.”

“We’ve all been hurting,” Shouto said as he combed his fingers through Katsuki’s hair. “And I don’t think any of us have actually done anything to try to stop it.”

Katsuki felt his anger sour into frustration, his face twisting at the taste of it in his stomach.

“Why is it so fucking difficult?” he said, clutching at the front of Shouto’s coat. “Everything was fine before stupid fucking Deku and the damned marks, and now—” Katsuki gasped. He felt like he was drowning. “Every time I think everything’s okay again, it-it just falls apart in front of me and I don’t—I don’t know what’s happening, Shou.” Katsuki could feel himself trembling, could feel his own hot tears blotting Shouto’s coat, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up. “What do I do?”

Shouto’s fingers stopped, his fingertips pressing into Katsuki’s scalp and Katsuki focused on that feeling, letting it ground him. He could smell Shouto, his coat drenched in the smell of him, of cold and warmth and fire, and he breathed it in as he tried to force himself to calm down.

“You have to forgive him,” Shouto said, quiet.

Katsuki finally pulled away to look up at Shouto, tears clinging to his eyelashes. Frustration was still curling at the edges of his mouth, wrinkling his nose.

“Forgive him for what? He didn’t do anything.”

Shouto gave a weak smile as he moved his hands to cup Katsuki’s jaw, thumbs brushing gently over his cheekbones. “That’s exactly why you have to forgive him. I already have. You need to forgive him, and we need to move on. We all need to move on.”

Katsuki stared at Shouto. “You mean forget him.”

Shouto’s smile was small and full of well-worn grief. “If that’s the only way you can, then yes.”

Katsuki was too tired to process any more emotions. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so exhausted. It felt like the walk to Deku’s apartment with Shouto had happened years ago rather than mere hours. He just wanted to stop feeling, stop thinking, to just be content in Shouto’s warmth and fucking rest, for once.

He couldn’t really remember making a move towards the couch, but they had ended up there somehow anyway. Shouto’s coat had disappeared somewhere, and he could hear the beating of Shouto’s heart, his chest warm against Katsuki’s cheek.

“Katsuki?”

“Hmm?” Katsuki asked into Shouto’s chest. He’d been on the verge of sleep, hypnotized by the familiar rhythm of Shouto’s fingers in his hair. He could hear Shouto swallow thickly and he forced himself to open his eyes.

“Why were you so upset?” Shouto finally asked. “At the apartment today, what happened?”

Katsuki didn’t miss how he’d avoided saying Deku’s name. Hefting a sigh, Katsuki quickly mourned his comfortable position on Shouto’s chest before sitting up and settling onto the other end of the couch to face Shouto. He knew his hair was a mess as he ran his own hand through it and his mouth tasted sour and dry. Shouto looked nearly as exhausted as Katsuki felt, with circles under his eyes and the tension in his brow worn and fraying. It wasn't even late, but it felt like they hadn't slept in days.

“He was fucking lying, Shou,” Katsuki said, too tired to be angry. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “He played me for a fucking idiot. He made us think he was sick or needed help, when he didn’t. He had someone the whole time.”

“Tsunotori,” Shouto supplied.

Katsuki nodded, hand still over his eyes.

There was a long pause before, “Is that the only reason?”

Katsuki moved his hand to look at Shouto and frowned. “What other reason is there?”

The smile Shouto gave him looked as frail as glass.

“None, I guess.”

***

Katsuki was not a “morning person.” Everyone called him a “morning person,” which was fucking stupid. Just because he didn’t want to waste time by sleeping in past ten like every other idiot he knew did not make him a “morning person.” And waking up this morning after a very emotionally stressful day feeling like he’d been run over by a Mack truck certainly didn’t make him any more of a “morning person.”

By the time Katsuki had shuffled out of the bedroom, half-dressed and cotton-headed, it was to the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. Katsuki blinked blearily at the coffee maker. Starting the coffee first was so much of Katsuki’s not-morning-person routine, he was surprised that Shouto even knew how to use it.

“Kat.”

Katsuki looked to finally see Shouto, leaning over the kitchen counter and the mug in his hand steaming. Katsuki blinked stupidly at Shouto, already fully dressed and looking like he’d already been up for hours. Something about this scene was disturbingly off, but Katsuki was still too tired to try to piece together what it was. Was this how Deku always felt in the mornings? God, no wonder he was so insufferable. Shouto pushed a second mug across the counter towards a spot at one of the barstools.

Katsuki eyed Shouto warily as he slid onto the stool across from Shouto, and he could smell that the coffee was as black as he always liked it.

“Shou, what’s happening,” Katsuki asked without touching the offered mug.

Shouto didn’t miss how the mug went unnoticed, his gaze lingering on it for a moment before finally looking up to Katsuki. He hefted a big sigh before he spoke.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Shouto said as his fingers gripped and ungripped the handle of his mug without drinking from it.

Katsuki tried to swallow back down the pit of panic that rose up from his stomach but was unsuccessful. Instead, it sat in his chest, suffocating him. Nothing ever good started with a “we need to talk.”

“I…I don’t want you to think this is a bad thing,” Shouto said. “But I’m going to go stay with Fuyumi for a bit.”

Katsuki blinked. The world was tilting. He seized the edge of his stool before he could fall off it.

A hoarse, “What?” was all he could manage to croak.

Shouto sighed again and when he looked at Katsuki, his eyes were so bright and earnest, Katsuki could tell he was trying to say something with them, but Katsuki was too stupid to read what it was.

“You need space, Kat,” Shouto finally said.

“The fuck does that mean?” Katsuki spat. Katsuki couldn’t let go of his seat. If he did, he was going to fall, and the entire world would come crashing down around him. “If you want to leave me—”

“No,” Shouto said, straightening up suddenly. “No one is leaving anyone,” Shouto said, and the ferocity of those words made Katsuki loosen the grip on his stool a bit.

“I just think,” Shouto paused, struggling for the right words, his coffee abandoned and no longer steaming. “We both need some time alone—away from each other, I mean. And Fuyumi’s said she wants me to see the kids more—"

“You can’t just fucking abandon me, Shou—"

“I’m not!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the tiles of the kitchen. He caught himself, heaving a steadying breath before, “Would you just—just listen to me. Neither of us have had any time to rest or time to ourselves since this whole thing started—"

“I don’t need time alone—"

“God, would you stop arguing for five seconds!” Shouto slammed his hand on the countertop, his coffee mug rattling with the force of it. “You can’t keep surrounding yourself by other people to distract you from everything you want to avoid! You ignore your feelings, Katsuki! You just bottle them up and let them fester—and don’t you dare say you don’t,” he said, aiming an accusatory finger at him.

Katsuki snapped his mouth shut on the argument at the tip of his tongue and instead replaced it with a fuming glare. Shouto finally paused, leaning with his hands on the counter, head bowed as he collected himself.

“I just think we both need some time on our own to process everything,” he said as he rubbed a hand over his face. “A few days, maybe a week at most, okay?”

“You’re going to go no matter what I say,” Katsuki said, his voice sounding as hollow as Shouto’s promise.

Shouto shook his head before finally looking up to him again. “I won’t. I am asking you, though, to try to understand.”

Katsuki didn’t say anything. If he opened his mouth, he was sure he’d choke. Whether on words or tears or vomit, he wasn’t sure. Everything around him seemed to just keep turning to shit, to keep crumbling in his hands no matter how hard he tried to hold on to it. The idea of facing the next few days alone were impossible. The terror in his stomach told him that if Shouto walked out that door, he’d never see him again.

“Kat?” Shouto asked, and Katsuki was surprised to find Shouto suddenly next to him, the hand on his shoulder as soft as his voice.

He turned towards Shouto, still not trusting himself to speak, and met his husband’s eyes. Shouto’s hand came up to cup his jaw, and Katsuki saw the same gaze he saw every morning, across the bed from him, or in the kitchen.

“If you say no, I’ll stay,” Shouto said. And Katsuki knew it was the truth.

Chapter Text

“Uncle Shouto!”

“Takeshi! Ayumi!” Shouto cried as two laughing children ran into his open arms. He wrapped them both in a hug and stood from his crouch to swing them both around, the both of them squealing with laughter as their feet flew up.

“Shouto.”

Shouto grinned as he turned to see his sister standing in the driveway.

Shouto stopped spinning to drop both giggling children to the ground, and Ayumi immediately grabbed hold of his hand, squeezing it with her tiny fingers and walked alongside him as Takeshi ran ahead to hug his mother’s leg. Fuyumi grinned back at him, one hand falling to ruffle Takeshi’s hair, the other cradling a baby sling lashed around her shoulders.

“And hello little Himari,” Shouto said, peering into the sling. His one-year-old niece laughed up at him, her eyes bright and crinkling.

“Hi, Fuyumi,” Shouto said, dropping a kiss to his sister’s temple.  

“How’ve you been?” she asked as she cupped his jaw in her hand. She passed her thumb over his cheek, just brushing the edge of his scar. He tried not to think about how the only other person he didn’t mind touching his scar like that was Katsuki.

Shouto managed an imposter of a smile. “Been better.”

She gave him an empathetic look.

“Come on,” she said, putting a hand to his elbow before steering all five of them towards the house.

Chapter Text

Izuku watched as Stain stood over Hawks, jaw wide and tongue slithering like it was its own creature. The feather blade gripped in Hawks’s hands was the only thing keeping Stain’s own blade from plunging down into his chest. Hawks’s teeth were bared, every part of him focused on keeping the tip of that blade from dipping any further downwards even as blood trickled down into his eye. Izuku had no doubt Hawks would’ve normally been able to escape on his own without issue, had it not been for the unnatural angle of his leg bent beneath him. If there was one thing Izuku had enough experience of, it was to recognize a broken leg when he saw one.

The fact that what he was seeing right now counted be real didn’t matter. The fact that it was impossible didn’t matter. The fact that Stain was in a prison hundreds of miles away and therefore could not possibly be here right now, about to kill another hero right in front of Izuku, didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was Hawks.

It took Izuku less than a second to evaluate, make his decision, and move. The familiar feeling of electricity thrummed in his legs before he launched himself forward, plowing into Stain. They flew across the street before crashing into a far building, concrete and glass shattering around them. Before Stain could even realize what had happened, Izuku flung himself away and out of his reach. The sound of shifting gravel and rock told Izuku that Stain was already moving again as he turned and seized the closest weapon he saw: a lamppost. The ground barely buckled as Izuku ripped it from the sidewalk. He could hear Stain moving again before he saw him. Without even pausing Izuku gripped the lamppost with both hands and spun like a batter up to bat, swinging the pole in a wide arc. It caught Stain in the middle, intercepting him in the middle of the air as he’d been racing towards Izuku. Izuku swung, flinging Stain into another far building with a deafening crash.

Izuku glanced behind him to check on Hawks, only to find him upright and leaning on one of his feather blades like a crutch, keeping his weight off his broken leg. The lamppost in his hands fell to the ground with a horrible clang.

“You shouldn’t be standing,” Izuku said as he rushed to meet him. He had to grab Hawks just to keep him upright as his other leg gave out. “Are you okay?”

His only answer was a pinched grimace as Hawks continued to struggle to hold himself up.

“We have to get you out of here,” Izuku said, glancing around them.

The building he’d most recently flung Stain into was still. Izuku spun, eyes raking over the entire square. The streets and buildings had already been evacuated, so things were quiet, but even now it had turned into a death-like silence. Izuku looked back to where he’d last seen Stain and still didn’t see any movement. He knew Stain couldn’t be down for the count yet, knew that Stain could take a lot more before he stayed down, but Izuku couldn’t see any movement or hear any shifting of rubble. Izuku cast a wild glance around them again, only to find nothing. The only sound was Hawks’s labored breathing and the pounding of Izuku’s own heart.

“We have to go,” Izuku said. Not knowing where Stain was, was like not knowing where a grenade had been dropped. They needed to get out of there now.

He seized the back of Hawks’s jacket and launched both of them into the air.

“Once we have enough altitude, let me know if you’re able to fly on your own,” Izuku said. Hawks didn’t answer as Izuku landed the corner of a building and used his legs to vault them further and higher. With his small stature and bird-light bones, Izuku barely registered Hawks’s weight in the jacket gripped in his fist, like he was carrying a duffle bag instead of a fully-grown man. By the time they reached the skyline, Izuku was leaping across building rooftops like a skipping stone.

“Hawks?” he had to yell to be heard over the rush of wind. “How’re you doing?”

Izuku hit the next rooftop, legs coiling for barely a moment before launching them forward again.

“Hawks?” Izuku said again when he received no answer. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder to check on Hawks and nearly hit the side of the next building when he had to look back again in shock.

Izuku was a second too slow with his reflexes and hit the next rooftop hard, tumbling across like a car rolling down a hill. He skidded to a stop on the gravel rooftop, unable to feel the road rash across his face as he stared at his own hand. Hawks’s jacket was still fisted in his fingers, wrinkled and torn from the fight with Stain. But it was empty. There was no Hawks. He’d been here one moment, and then he was gone.

Izuku scrambled to his feet and ran to the rooftop ledge, ready to vault himself back across the buildings he’d just come from and scour the city to find Hawks. As his foot hit the ledge of the building, it crumbled beneath him, and he was suddenly falling. All around him, buildings dissolved into pillars of red feathers until he was falling through an endless cloud of them. They cut him, edges sharp as blades as he tried desperately to find something to grab hold of. He couldn’t see anything past the endless red, feathers clogging his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He was choking on them, suffocating.

Izuku hit the ground with devastating force. The feathers had evaporated as soon as he’d hit, but he was still choking on the feeling of them, spitting it out of his mouth, struggling to breathe again even after the impact had knocked the air from his lungs.

Izuku was wheezing, still desperate for air when he finally pushed himself to his elbows and looked up to see where he’d landed. Wherever he was, it was dark and bare. The only thing he could see was Hawks’s jacket still fisted in his hand, and the cracked concrete beneath him. He barely had a moment to register any of this before figures started immerging from the darkness, one by one, as they towered over him.

Izuku’s voice was barely louder than a whisper when he croaked, “No.”

The figures started to move forward. He was surrounded.

“Stay away.”

One by one, their faces fell into the light. Stain, with his writhing, languid tongue. Overhaul, with his arms spread wide and his fingers hooked into claws. Twice, twitching and crooked as he walked towards him. Toga, face shattered and covered in blood the same as it’d been the day she’d died. Dabi, wreathed in crawling blue flames. Shigaraki, with his torn smile and decaying face.

“No, stop,” Izuku begged as ghosts swarmed him, burying him in corpses. He screamed under the weight of them, trapped in a writhing mass of bodies that blotted out the light. Hands tried to rip Hawks’s jacket away from him, but he refused to let go. Not that. Anything but that.

Images flashed before him as he clung to Hawks’s jacket like a life raft.

Touya, screaming in the police station after he’d been told that Hawks was missing. “That’s my family!”

Touya, when he’d been released from prison, looking down his nose at Izuku with barely restrained contempt as he said coolly, “My brother seems to be fond of you, so I’ll put up with you, for now.”

Touya, sprawled in the chair next to Izuku’s hospital bed, eyes cold as he asked, “Are you in love with my brother, Izuku Midoriya?”

A ray of light broke through the endless mass of bodies and hands clawing at him. Izuku looked up and found a hand reaching out for him. He reached back without even thinking, desperate for escape. He clasped it and a sharp, searing pain, stabbed through his palm, but the fingers were warm and familiar, so he didn’t let go. Izuku screamed as the hand pulled him forward.

Izuku emerged from his suffocating nest of blankets sweating and gasping as he sat up in bed. Darkness met him and it took him a moment to realize he was home, safe and sound. Izuku heaved lungfuls of air, struggling to convince his heartbeat to slow back down to a normal speed. He leaned forward, head between his knees, trying to force the images of his dream out of his head. He struggled to remember the methods he’d learned from his therapist: focus on his breathing, redirect his thoughts, remember that he was the one in control.

Once Izuku’s fight or flight response finally subsided, he forced himself out of bed and shuffled out of his bedroom and into his apartment. It didn’t look any less of a mess since he’d last seen Kacchan and Todoroki, even after all of Pony’s help. At least the massive hole in his wall had been filled, thanks to Cementoss, even if it was just a grey slab in the middle of his wall where his window used to be.

Izuku stumbled around his still dark apartment, not even sure what time it was, though if he had to guess it was very early. Kicking empty take-out containers and energy drink cans aside, he worked his way from one of his apartment to the other, picking up dirty clothes strewn across everything he owned and sniffing each one in turn until he found some that were at the very least passable. He tried not to think about how Ochako would react if she saw him living like this, tried to push out of his mind the memory of Kacchan’s horrified and concerned face from when he had seen him living like this, as he got dressed.

Exhausted and drained, Izuku left his apartment, the door swinging closed without even a glance back at his disaster of a life.

***

Izuku woke to a sore back and a crick in his neck from the awkward position he’d folded himself into on the couch in the police station. He pushed himself into a sitting position, rolling his head from side to side to try to work out the kink. It wasn’t a comfortable sleeping arrangement, not by a long shot, but he at least never had nightmares when he slept at the station, which made it preferable to anywhere else.

The room he was in gradually came into focus as Izuku blinked the sleep from his eyes. It was some abandoned office of a police chief that hadn’t been replaced yet that Izuku had unofficially commandeered as his own. With all the nights he’d been spending at the station rather than in his own apartment lately, Izuku had moved all his research here, where it had nearly doubled in size, taking up an entire wall of the office. Everything from quirk research to rumored sightings of Hawks to every scrap of information on the robberies he’d been able to scrape together lay across the desk and spilled from the cabinets along the far wall.

Izuku rubbed at his eyes, not feeling any more rested than he had when he’d left his apartment earlier that morning. He checked his phone to find five unread messages from Pony. The little red badge made him feel guilty, but even the idea of responding was overwhelmingly exhausting, so he left his phone on the desk as he went to get some coffee from the station’s kitchen.

The noise of the coffee maker was easy to zone out to as he watched freshly brewed coffee trickle into his cup. Around him, the station was waking up as the night shift left and the day shift came to replace them, though Izuku barely noticed it as he stared down into his paper coffee mug, watching the steam curl up around the rim, carrying with it an overwhelming, almost burnt smell.

Once, what seemed like a century ago, Kacchan and Todoroki had been fighting, much to the surprise of no one. Izuku couldn’t even remember what the fight had been about, only that it had been brutal and had lasted much longer than most of their other fights.

He remembered watching Kacchan struggle with the same coffee maker in the same kitchen an eternity ago, furiously jabbing at the buttons and spitting insults before moving on to dig his way blindly through the cabinets before slamming each one shut with enough force to knock an empty mug off the counter. Kacchan had let loose another string of curses as the mug shattered on the floor, sending bits of ceramic across the kitchen tiles.

“Need any help, Kacchan?”

The glare Kacchan shot Izuku was venomous, but something Izuku had grown an immunity to over the years, so he ignored it.

“Shut the fuck up, Deku,” Kacchan spat. Izuku leaned against the entryway of the kitchen, watching as Kacchan knelt and began picking up the broken cup pieces. Izuku vaguely hoped that it hadn’t been someone’s favorite mug Kacchan had just destroyed.

“Do you want something, Deku, or are you just gonna fuckin’ stand around all day like an ass?” Kacchan finally said without looking up.

Izuku quirked an eyebrow as he took a sip from his own coffee cup. “So, this is what a sexually frustrated Kacchan looks like.”

Kacchan dropped the pieces he’d already picked up, sending half of them across the kitchen floor and the other half to shatter into even smaller pieces.

“The fuck did you just say?”

Izuku looked pointedly at the broken coffee mug before taking a sip from his own coffee. He looked back to Kacchan and lifted his eyebrows.

Kacchan snorted and fell back to sit on the floor, arms propped up on his knees. Izuku knew Kacchan would never admit it, but he knew their relationship better than anyone else. He’d never been a third wheel, per se, or at least he’d never felt like one, but he’d been there since the beginning and even before that. He knew them each as their own person and together. And Kacchan knew it.

“Shouto, he’s—” Kacchan stumbled, chewing on his words. “He’s being stubborn and stupid—”

“And you couldn’t possibly relate,” Izuku said.

The glare Kacchan shot him would’ve wilted anyone else.

“So,” Izuku said with a shrug. “Apologize.”

Kacchan scowled at him. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Did Shouto?” Izuku asked.

Kacchan’s scowl deepened and let his eyes fall from Izuku to focus on a point on the floor. “No.”

“So, why not apologize?”

“Because it’s not my fault,” Kacchan spat.

Izuku rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point, Kacchan. Do you love him?”

“What kind of stupid fucking—”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

Kacchan set his jaw, glaring furiously at Izuku, but eventually said, “Yes.”

“Then does it matter who’s fault it is?” Izuku said. “Be the bigger person, for once. Don’t let the both of you continue to be miserable just because of something stupid like your pride.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” Izuku said, incredulous. “When was the last time you had a good time with Shouto?”

Kacchan looked at him for a beat before turning to stare at the floor again, too stubborn to admit anything.

“When was the last time you two went on a date?” Izuku pressed. “Or had sex?”

Kacchan’s head snapped back up at that, his face already red. “You fucking pervert—”

“Aren’t you tired of fighting with him?” Izuku said, ignoring him. “Don’t you want it to stop?”

Kacchan glared at him, on the precipice of a snarl with the kind of contempt that Izuku knew he reserved only for him. It was the kind of contempt that came from being forced to face your own bullshit. It was the kind of contempt that was bred from years of being known, truly known, by a person and being unable to hide from their truths.

“I’m not going to continue to watch my best friends be miserable just because you’re being an ass,” Izuku finally said bluntly. “Apologize, Kacchan.”

It wasn’t until a few days later that Todoroki had found Izuku while both been on patrol and had stopped him.

“Look, I, um, I know it was you who told Katsuki to apologize,” he’d said, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed. “Thank you.”

Izuku didn’t respond and instead looked at him critically. “Did you apologize, too?”

Todoroki had given a small, self-depreciative laugh before looking down at his hands. “Yeah.”

Izuku felt his own expression soften into something warmer. “Good. I hate seeing you guys fight.”

"Me, too." Todoroki's mouth twitched into something of a smile. 

“You know,” Todoroki said after a moment and as he looked back up at Izuku, there was a fondness in his eyes that Izuku couldn’t find a name for. “Sometimes I don’t think Kat and I would’ve ever made it if it weren’t for you.”

And then Todoroki hugged him, and it was as warm as sunlight on gold-flecked hair.      

Izuku blinked, his temporary office coming back into focus around him, the wall of Hawks evidence towering over him. He must’ve fallen asleep standing up, he realized, if only for a moment. He didn’t even remember walking back here from the kitchen, coffee in hand and still steaming. He set it down on the desk before rubbing his eyes, though he felt more tired than ever when he looked back up at the mountain of files and evidence before him.

It was time to get to work.

***

Izuku wasn’t even sure what time it was anymore, only that it was now dark outside. It must’ve been late, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen someone walk by his door. The precinct must’ve been nearly empty by now. Even some of the overhead lights had been turned off.

Izuku rubbed a hand over his exhausted face. He’d spent most of the day chasing down leads and interviewing anyone he could find with even a slight connection to the case. The rest of the day had been spent pouring over all the files he’d amassed over the last couple of weeks.

A freshly emptied energy drink can sat on his desk next to his elbow and his heart was racing with its after-effects as he struggled to focus his tired eyes. Hawks had been missing for nearly three months now. Dabi was close to incinerating anyone that suggested that the worst had happened. Every news channel available was starting to invent wilder and wilder speculations. The commissioner had had another press release only two days ago, the second in as many weeks.

And Izuku had nothing.

It’d been months, Izuku had chased down every lead and had spent countless nights on stakeouts with an entire police force at his back, and he had nothing.

As he stared at the sea of files and evidence and notes he’d collected that nearly filled the office, he couldn’t help but think that all of it was useless. He was no closer to finding Hawks and who’d taken him than he’d been three months ago. Hawks had been his partner and he’d let him be taken. And now, he was letting his case go unsolved. Izuku felt as his heart begin to race faster. Maybe Hawks would never be found. And it would be all his fault.

The wall papered with research and dozens of news articles about Hawks felt like it was about to collapse on top of him. He couldn’t breathe. His heart was pounding now, throbbing in his head with every beat. It felt like there was a heavy weight on his chest, crushing him, suffocating him, killing him. Izuku tried to stagger to his feet but could barely take a step before he fell to his knees. He was shaking so violently he couldn’t catch himself as he fell forward onto the floor. He couldn’t breathe. The world was ending. He was dying.

He was only distantly aware of a shadow that appeared, filling the doorway. Someone was saying something, but he couldn’t hear past the roaring in his own ears. The shadow moved towards him, their face finally coming into focus, and he had the vague thought that at least the last face he’d ever see was a familiar one.

Chapter Text

Katsuki was sprawled across the couch, letting his mind fade into a buzzing numbness as he watched the tv, unable to even focus on the bright sounds and colors that flashed across its screen. He’d spent the first hour after Shouto left sitting in the middle of the living room, staring at the wall like some shell-shocked disaster victim, wondering what the hell he was going to do now. Then he’d taken a nap. After he woke up, he’d spent hours furiously cleaning the apartment, attacking everything from scrubbing the bathroom sink to dusting bookshelves to organizing the spices in the kitchen cabinets.

In the days that followed, he spent every waking moment either working, cleaning, or training, never letting himself rest for more than a few moments. In less than three days, the apartment was spotless, and Kirishima had kicked him out of the training ring and told him to go home no less than five times.

He’d only stopped when he’d opened the linens closet to stuff it full of clean towels one day and something large and soft toppled off the top shelf onto his head. He’d dropped the towels he’d been carrying and spat a few curses only to have them die in his throat when he finally realized what had fallen on top of him. A wide, brilliant grinning face stared back up at him, accompanied by angular features and bright yellow hair.

A pillow. Deku’s All Might pillow.

He’d stared at it. He didn’t even know how long he’d spent standing there in the middle of the hallway, staring at a pillow in an empty apartment. After an hour, or what could’ve been a few minutes, Katsuki slowly bent down to pick up the pillow. It was soft, like a marshmallow, still plush beneath Katsuki’s fingers.

Katsuki knew he should throw it away. He should walk right over to the kitchen and throw it in the trash bin. He knew he should throw it away. He wanted to throw it away. But for some reason, he didn’t. Instead, his body working against his own will, he walked stiffly over to the couch and dropped the pillow against the armrest. Dragging his feet back to the linens closet, Katsuki finished putting away the clean towels, though at a markedly slower pace.

When the last towel had finally been tucked away, Katsuki closed the closet door and leaned his forehead against the cool wood. He was suddenly very tired. He’d planned on doing about a dozen other things in his manic state, but now after having come down, even thinking about any of them left him utterly exhausted. Instead, he mustered enough energy to make it back to the couch before turning on the television to something random and lying down. He hadn’t even noticed as he pulled Deku’s pillow to his chest and curled around it. He hugged it to his chest as he stared off into space somewhere to the left of the television.

He and Shouto had a guest room, obviously. One that Shouto had decorated, and Katsuki kept in spotless condition. For some bewildering unknown reason, for all the times he’d stayed over, Deku refused to sleep in the spotless guest room nearly half the time, which infuriated Katsuki to no end.

“And what is wrong with the guest room, Deku?”

“Nothing is wrong with it, Kacchan!”

“Bullshit!” Katsuki spat, standing in the doorway to the spare room, blocking Deku from leaving. “Then why aren’t you sleeping in it? Is it the curtains? I told Shouto they were stupid—”

“What? No!” Deku said with a snort. “It’s not the curtains. But I’m only staying a night; I don’t want you to have to change the sheets just because of one night.”

“You calling me lazy, Deku!?”

A loud laugh escaped Deku, who quickly tried to smother it. “No! I’m just being courteous—or trying to at least—ooh!”

He was cut off as Katsuki hoisted him into the air around his middle and flung him onto the guest bed. Deku immediately tried to get back up, but Katsuki wrestled him back into the bed, their fingers locked and Deku laughing the entire time.

“Just sleep in the damn bed, Deku!”

“Kacchan, stop!” Deku said, laughing as he struggled to keep Katsuki off him. Katsuki knew Deku wasn’t really trying to throw him off. If he had been truly trying, Katsuki would’ve been flung across the room and through the far wall in a heartbeat. Instead, he was playing, humoring Katsuki, which Katsuki supposed he should’ve been insulted by, but Deku’s laughter sounded so genuine, he found he didn’t really care. In fact, he thought it might even be…nice.

“Are you trying to kill our guest, Katsuki, or should I give you two some privacy?”

Katsuki glanced up to see Shouto leaned against the doorframe as he watched them wrestle.

“He won’t sleep in the guest room, Shou!” Katsuki said as he turned back to Deku, who was now trying to pull his hands free of Katsuki’s grip. “Thinks he’s too fuckin’ good for it, the arrogant fucking—”

Katsuki’s words were squashed as Shouto took two steps forward before leaping onto the bed right on top of them. The three of them became a mess of legs and Deku’s giggling, turning Katsuki’s previously well-made bed into nothing short of a rat’s nest. It took nearly a minute for Katsuki to finally untangle himself from the other two and make it off the bed.

“Fuck both of you,” Katsuki said as he was already headed for the door.

Before he’d even managed a step, he felt a familiar hand grab his wrist, warm and gentle but all the while still firm, as Shouto pulled Katsuki back and Katsuki fell back onto the bed with both Deku and Shouto, Deku grinning wide as he started to play-wrestle with Katsuki again and Shouto threaded his fingers through Katsuki’s hair.

The All Might pillow had been a joke. Katsuki had bought it for Deku, meaning to make fun of him. He’d said Deku could use it for all the nights he insisted he spend on the couch. Instead, Deku had beamed at the pillow, a smile lighting up his face so bright, Katsuki felt he had to look away for some reason. And of course, he did actually use it for all the times he slept on their couch…as well as all the times he slept in the spare room. Katsuki supposed he should’ve been annoyed by his joke backfiring, but he couldn’t really manage to, if he was honest. Deku seemed to genuinely love the stupid gag gift.

All of these thoughts and memories layered over each other in a foggy, amorphous concept in Katsuki’s mind as he hugged Deku’s stupid pillow to his chest, his chin and nose buried in the soft, minxy fabric. It even smelled like Deku, like soap and ozone and grass. Deku was gone, but parts of him still lingered.

From where he was on the couch, he realized he could easily see through his and Shouto’s open bedroom door. Their bedroom wasn’t even visible from the spare bedroom, open doors or not. Katsuki wondered if that was why Deku spent so many nights here on the couch, rather than isolated alone in the guest room. He would have. Katsuki wondered if Deku even knew why he preferred the couch, or if he just naturally gravitated towards him and Shouto—well, no, just Shouto. They were soulmates. Katsuki…wasn’t.

Katsuki didn’t know how long he’d spent on the couch, hugging Deku’s stupid pillow and staring at nothing, only that he must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew, he was jolting awake, heart racing and back damp with sweat. It took a few minutes for his mind to catch up, realizing where he was, his heart quickly slowing down. With a groan, he sat up, propping his elbows on his knees so he could bury the heels of his hands into his eyes. His head felt fuzzy in a way that was just shy of a headache and his mouth tased foul. He had no idea what time it was, only that it was dark now, the sun still lingering just below the horizon as the apartment was lit by the bluish glow of the television, which was still on.

Katsuki had no idea what had woken him, or what his dream had been about, the memory of it hovering just outside his consciousness, and honestly, he didn’t give enough of a shit to try any harder to remember. He wasn’t a stranger to bad dreams. No hero was. Shouto had bad dreams, so did Kiri and Deku and just about every other damn person they knew. It’s what happened when your job description included daily trauma. Some dreams were worse than others. Some he didn’t have the luxury of forgetting as soon as he woke up. Shouto was usually there for the worst dreams, grounding him or talking him down. And the times that he wasn’t…well, there was usually Deku.

It was one of these innumerable dreams that Katsuki had woken from violently one night, thrashing and reaching out for Shouto. When he found the bed empty, the panic that rose in his throat nearly choked him. He didn’t know where he was, the darkness that surrounded him pressing in from all sides to smother him.

“Kacchan?”

Images flashed at him, remnants of his dream emerging from the darkness to continue their assault. He lashed out at them. Where was Shouto? What had happened? Was he hurt? He would tear every one of these terrors apart to find him.

“Kacchan!”

In the midst of Katsuki’s confused haze, hands sprung from the darkness to grasp at him. The panic that surged in his chest was suffocating. His dreams were real, tangible, and had borne themselves from the darkness to devour him. Katsuki fought viciously, clawing at the demons. He couldn’t go, not now. Not before he found Shouto.

“Kacchan!”

A nearly crushing force finally seized his wrists, crossing his arms and forcing them down against his own chest. The weight that pressed down on him was oppressive, but also somehow…soothing. Katsuki heaved breaths, unable to break free of the powerful hands pinning him down.

“Kacchan, look at me.”

After gulping down two lungsful of air, Katsuki calmed enough for his vision to focus and he could finally see Deku’s familiar face hovering over him, his eyes bright and shining with worry in the darkness as he held Katsuki down.

“It’s Deku, you know me,” he reassured. “You’re safe and you’re home in your apartment. You’re safe.”

Katsuki struggled to speak, panic still clogging his throat. His voice was wheezy when he said, “Sho-Shouto. Where—?”

“He’s fine. He’s on patrol tonight, remember?”

Katsuki took another huge breath. He was right. Katsuki remembered the peck goodbye Shouto had given him before he left just a few hours ago. He’d been scheduled for patrol, Katsuki knew that. If something serious had happened while Shouto was on patrol, both Katsuki and Deku would’ve been called in to help by now. Katsuki’s heart rate dropped from a sprint to a hurried jog.

Katsuki began to shake violently, quivering with the come down of the adrenaline that had flooded his system. Relief overwhelmed him. He was okay; he was somewhere safe and familiar. Shouto was okay. He wasn’t alone, Deku was here. The relief mixed with the panic that was still lingering in his chest and the unfiltered fear that stayed buzzing in his head and it was too much, all of it all at once.

Tears welled up before they finally spilled over and ran down the side of Katsuki’s face. He took a shattering, shaking breath and struggled to force them back. When he failed, he arched his head back, tilting his crown into the bed sheets, desperate to move his face out of Deku’s sight. It was okay for Shouto to see him fall apart, but not Deku. He never would’ve let Deku see him like this.

Deku seemed to understand this because for a moment, Katsuki could see a war of emotions cross his face, of wanting to give Katsuki his privacy, but also not wanting to leave him alone.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently, finally coming to a decision. He climbed into bed, pulling Katsuki into his lap and against his chest, nestling his chin atop his head so that Katsuki was out of his line of sight and Katsuki could not see his face. He wrapped his arms around a still shaking Katsuki, holding him with a nearly crushing strength, applying that same soothing pressure as before.

“You’re okay,” Deku muttered.

“Fuck off, Deku,” Katsuki said, though his voice was still trembling, and he made no move to push Deku off him. “I’ll kill you.”

All he heard was a chuckle, deep and rumbling in Deku’s chest.

“Sure, Kacchan. I’ve got you.”

Katsuki stared blankly at a spot on the floor as he sat on the couch in the middle of his and Shouto’s darkening apartment. His mania of the last few days seemed to finally be catching up to him. He felt more tired than he had before he’d fallen asleep. The thought of finishing all the house chores was exhausting. Watching tv sounded exhausting. The idea of even trying to fall asleep for the night was exhausting. After the apartment had faded into a more conclusive darkness, Katsuki finally forced himself to his feet and picked up Deku’s pillow from where it’d fallen to the floor. He stuffed it into the trash on his way to the front door to slip on his shoes. He’d scour the apartment tomorrow to see if Deku had left anything else.

By the time he’d reached the police station, it was late into the night. He wasn’t even sure what time it was or what he was really looking for. He’d been aimlessly wandering the city for hours, drifting between all the familiar places, like Fat Gum’s agency, the All Might memorial, the restaurant with Shouto’s favorite soba noodles, the children’s education agency he volunteered with. His feet carried him to the police station out of some sort of habit, the familiarity of it blindly guiding him.

He nodded at the front desk officer before roaming the dimly lit halls. The station was small, and it didn’t take him long to explore most of the halls. He was about to turn around to find his way back to the front doors when he heard a crash down the hall, followed by a shout and then what sounded like a scuffle.

“Oi!” Katsuki called, starting towards the room he’d heard everything from. “What’s goin’ on in there?”

He was greeted with a few moments of silence before, “Kat?”

Katsuki blinked. “Shou?”

Katsuki bolted for the room, sliding to a stop in front of the open door to a captain’s office. The room was a mess, the walls papered with records and files and newspaper clippings like some sort of serial killer lived here. Half of the photos pinned to the wall featured Hawks, in candid polaroids or featured in news stories speculating where he might be. Even more records were spilling out of the two filing cabinets in the corner and covered the desk. Along the far wall was wedged an old and dilapidated couch that looked like it needed a good wash. The desk chair was tipped over on its side, most likely the crash Katsuki had heard, along with empty energy drink cans that littered the floor.

Amidst it all was Shouto and Deku, both on the floor as if they’d just collapsed there, Shouto with Deku between his legs, his arms wrapped tightly around Deku, constricting him.

“Katsuki,” Shouto breathed. “Thank god. Come here and help.”

Katsuki stared at them, his brain short-circuiting on how to connect the dots of what he was seeing. Deku was convulsing, his eyes squeezed shut, his breathing coming wheezy and fast, face contorted, pale, and covered in sweat. Shouto was clutching him like he was the only thing left holding Deku together.

“It’s a panic attack,” Shouto explained. “Katsuki, come here.”

Katsuki ran forward and hit his knees before joining Shouto in clamping his arms around Deku. He hissed as his arm brushed by Deku, static electricity biting at him.

“You have to hold him as tight as—”

“I know what to do, Shou,” Katsuki snapped. Everyone’s panic attacks were different, and the best ways to help them differed just as broadly. But Shouto and Katsuki had seen enough Deku panic attacks to know how to handle them better than nearly anyone. He needed to be constricted, like a straitjacket to trigger his autonomic nervous system. Holding a convulsing Deku was like trying to keep a dryer from moving, but he clasped Shouto’s arms trying to sandwich Deku between them as tight as possible.

Katsuki looked up to move his chin out of the way to keep his teeth from being knocked together. He managed to meet Shouto’s eyes by chance. They hadn’t talked to each other since Shouto had left for his sister’s. Shouto stared back without flinching before offering a flicker of a smile. Katsuki matched it and tugged both Shouto and Deku closer.

After a time, the dryer convulsions calmed down to a vacuum cleaner until they were barely shivers. Shouto and Katsuki moved Deku to prop him up against the nearby wall. His breathing was shallow, and his face still glistened with sweat, but his eyes were at least open and he was no longer shaking.

Katsuki pushed his bangs out of his face and snapped his fingers in front of him as Shouto stood and moved to the doorway to pull out his phone.

“Hey, hey, you okay?”

Deku’s eyes seemed to focus, following Katsuki’s fingers. He closed his eyes and gave a nod. Dark circles ringed under his eyes, though Katsuki wasn’t sure if they were from the attack or from overworking himself.

“Hey, Uraraka,” Katsuki could hear Shouto’s voice from the doorway and Uraraka’s muted response from the other end of the line.

“I’m going to go get you some water,” Katsuki said. “Will you be okay?”

Deku opened his eyes and glanced at Katsuki before giving another nod.

 “Right,” Katsuki said. He glanced back at Shouto on the phone. “Shouto’s got you.”

Deku gave another exhausted nod and once Katsuki was satisfied, he stood. He placed a brief hand to Shouto’s back as he passed him in the doorway and received a reassuring nod in response. Katsuki ducked into the bathroom on his way to the kitchen.

Katsuki turned the faucet and leaned over the sink. The cold water jolted him as it hit his face. It ran down his arms and dampened his hair as he splashed his face again. He braced himself on either side of the sink, water dripping from his face and hair to join the still running faucet, measuring his breathing as he stared down into the sink drain. He glanced up at the mirror out of habit and froze when he caught sight of something in the reflection.

He stared at it, trying to blink the water out of his eyes in case it was blurring his vision. His vision cleared, but what he saw did not change, staring maliciously back at him.

“Fuck!”