Archive of Our Own ^beta

Izuku had a lot of time to think about his life after the war. There wasn't really anything much to do afterwards⁠—no one wanted to bring up the elephant in the room, that Izuku didn't have a quirk at all. Though he guessed it was partly his fault, too⁠—no matter how many times Kacchan looked like he wanted to bring it up, Izuku didn't want to talk about it. He'd wanted to believe he could be a hero without a quirk, but that ambition felt more and more distant by the day. 

It wasn't anything his classmates did; it was just. It was just that Izuku knew how it felt to be looked at like he was lesser, and he wasn't sure if he could bear his classmates looking at him the same way. He'd been one of the few people to get out of the hospital within a few days⁠—he knew everyone else was still recovering, or in Todoroki's case, looking after his brother and his family⁠—and a part of him felt out of place in the midst of it all. Izuku was the one who'd defeated Tenko, but he knew none of that was worth it. Not when he couldn't even save him. 

School didn't start up for a few weeks, and Izuku had a lot of time to think for the remainder. He had a place in 1-A⁠—it was 2-A now, Izuku remembered distantly⁠—but he didn't know if he wanted to take it. All his friends would be there, but maybe that was the problem. He couldn't bear them looking at him as if he was someone, some thing lesser when he'd worked so hard to be what he was now. 

(Not hard enough, he couldn't help but think, sometimes. Or else you wouldn't have ended quirkless again. What are you going to do, now that you're just quirkless again? Useless again?) 

Maybe he was loved because he had a quirk. He knew he was being uncharitable, and Kacchan had apologised, but⁠—Kacchan hadn't given him a second thought before back in middle school, and a part of him was afraid it would happen again, unlikely as it was. 

He didn't know if he could bear seeing the rest of his class move on without him. 

(I thought we'd be chasing each other for the rest of our lives, Kacchan had said, and Izuku could never get rid of the image of Kacchan crying being seared into his brain. Maybe Kacchan hadn't meant it that way, but the thought that they couldn't keep up with each other after all they've gone through⁠—the thought hurt. Made him ache, more than he ever thought it would.)  

When his father called him out of the blue one day, it was almost a blessing. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey, Izuku. Do you remember your old man?" 

"Old⁠—Oto-san?" 

A wiry chuckle. "I guess you still do. Listen. I know you have no reason to trust me, or want anything to do with me, but your mom and I have been… talking⁠—" 

"You have?" 

"Listen. What do you think about spending a few weeks in America? Just to see if you like it better here. Just… think about it, okay?" 

Hisashi hung up, and that was all Izuku thought about for the rest of his vacation. 

The thing was. The thing was that Izuku knew he was taking the coward's way out if he left. But there was nothing for him in Japan anymore⁠—and constantly thinking about classes, constantly thinking about how he was going to be lesser to his classmates just because he didn't have a quirk took a toll on him more than he wanted it to. 

School started again, and their physical classes didn't resume yet purely because of the number of injured students in their class and to give them a chance to recover without feeling like they were being singled out. Izuku couldn't really think of a time when UA had ever done that, but there had never been a war on such a big scale that the shockwaves were still felt around the rest of Japan, either. 

In the end, it wasn't anything particularly big that made him want to leave. 

One day, Kacchan wanted to talk to him. It wasn't anything he could avoid⁠—Izuku had been avoiding Kacchan enough as it was. It felt… easier, to talk to their other friends, than talk to Kacchan. Talking to Kacchan meant he had to acknowledge everything that had happened, and Izuku wasn't sure if he ever wanted to do it. Wanted to acknowledge that he could barely feel the embers anymore, could barely think about being quirkless without flinching. 

"Izuku," Kacchan started, then hesitated. They were in the common room, a day when everyone had taken advantage of the sunlight and hang around outside. Izuku had opted to stay behind, and so had Kacchan. Kacchan looked at Izuku for a second, and Izuku, for one, heartbreaking moment, hated how Kacchan was the only one who could see through him so clearly. Out of the two of them, he wouldn't have expected Kacchan to be the most well adjusted, but there he was. There they both were. "Are you okay?" 

"What do you mean, Kacchan?" 

Kacchan didn't take the bait. Izuku hated how his voice sounded guarded to his own ears. Talking to Kacchan had never felt like this, but now it felt like he was sidestepping everything he wanted to say.   

"You know what I mean, Izuku," Katsuki said, and there was an edge of desperation to his voice Izuku wanted to lean away from. Wanted to escape from. "You've been walking around like you're half-dead this entire week, and barely talked to any of us during your break. The others are too chicken shit to bring it up, but⁠—this isn't you, Izuku." 

"What if it is, though?" Izuku asked and saw the way Katsuki flinched back. "Maybe I changed, Kacchan. Maybe I just… realised some things, that's all."

"Gonna tell me what they are?" Kacchan asked, with a hint of humour in his words. Izuku couldn't find it in himself to smile. 

A part of him wanted to tell Kacchan, tell him about his conversation with Hisashi and how running away felt like a better option by the day. He'd told Kacchan he would stay, once, when he'd just gotten back to UA after being a vigilante for barely a month and had felt the affection for Kacchan hit him in waves and waves. He wasn't sure if he could muster up the same energy, now. 

He felt untethered, almost, like a part of himself wanted to tear itself apart and drift off into the wind. He opened his mouth, closing it again when he realised he had no idea what to say. 

What was the point, anyway? Izuku was always destined to be left behind. 

He shook his head and stood up, ignoring Kacchan's anguished expression that made his heart want to split itself in half. 

"I should sleep," he said, instead of the thoughts rushing through his head. Kacchan had told him to never leave him behind, Izuku didn't want to leave him behind, but⁠—but. 

If he was Eurydice⁠—but no, he wasn't. No one would come back for him. No one would look back for him. 

(He was afraid of thinking Kacchan would.) 

He left UA without saying goodbye. 

A part of him hoped his friends would ask him to stay⁠—hoped Kacchan would ask him to stay⁠—but he was afraid of taking the chance. It was better to make a clean break of it entirely, leave them behind to become heroes in Japan while he made something of himself in America. 

It was better if they forgot about him entirely. He wasn't much use as it was. 

Time slipped by, as it always did. His father lived in San Francisco⁠—and it was completely different from Japan, from its tall buildings to the hero community. There was less hero worship here, in America where everyone wanted to stand strong by themselves. There were many who wanted to befriend him, still, who wanted to talk to the Deku who'd saved Japan, but eventually edged away when he made no attempt to talk to them at all. 

Some of the fighting spirit had left him, when he left Japan. Running away was a coward's move, but there was something in reinventing himself that had called to him. And to his father's credit⁠—he didn't interfere in Izuku's life at all, and to this day, he couldn't decide if that were a curse or a blessing.  

"Do you want to get away, for a little bit?" Hisashi asked what felt like a lifetime ago. 

"Why?" Izuku said suspiciously. It had always been him and his mother, and Izuku's father had only ever been a distant concept to him, someone who never visited or made any effort to bond with him at all. But there was something appealing in his offer, regardless. 

"I know you don't want to hear it, kid. And I'll stay out of your way, really." Izuku could hear him hesitating on the other side of the line, and was curious despite himself. "Inko and I… you know we don't really hold any animosity towards each other. We still talk sometimes. "

Izuku nodded, because he knew this, at least. 

"I just don't want you to feel you don't have a choice. You don't have to stay in Japan if you don't want to, Izuku." 

The sincerity in his father's words were the only reason he’d considered it.

When he boarded the plane, he knew he wasn't going to come back home⁠—but what was home, for the likes of him?—for a long time. 

In America, he learnt how to use a gun. Which was ironic, when he thought about it⁠—he was sure Kacchan would have gotten a laugh out of him learning how to use a gun in America of all places, if he was still talking to him. 

(He didn't have the heart to disconnect his phone number when he'd left Japan, only replacing his sim with one Hisashi gave him when he landed in America. He kept it tucked away inside a notebook, filled with half finished notes of most of his classmates' quirks. Mostly notes about Kacchan's quirk, but he didn't think about it.) 

(If Inko disconnected it, she didn't mention it. Izuku wasn't sure he wanted to find out when.) 

In America, he didn't thrive, not exactly. It wasn't that no one was friendly⁠— everyone was, intent on welcoming the student who'd somehow saved Japan but was shy, regardless. It wasn't Izuku's muttering that put them off talking to him⁠—it was the sadness lingering around the edges of his smile, how he flinched visibly whenever anyone asked him why he left Japan. 

(He didn't know why, still. His indecision paralysed him, sometimes, how he missed his classmates horribly enough it felt like he'd lost a limb. There were so many students that reminded him of them⁠—someone who had the same laugh Uraraka, someone who had the same wiry smile as Todoroki, and those were the people he avoided the most.) 

(Getting close to people felt like a curse, somehow. As if he was only destined to leave them behind like he'd done all his friends in UA. He was just a Deku, after all. Useless, like he'd always been.) 

In America, he was paired up with a boy just like Kacchan for patrol. Dom, he introduced himself as, his eyes distant and unfriendly, spiked blond hair that meant he was ready for anything. The thing that interested Izuku the most about him was his quirk⁠—fire at the palm of his hands, red like Kacchan's explosions.  

"Nice to meet you!" Izuku said, his voice not coming out deadpan for the first time since he'd come to America. The upperclassman took one look at him and scoffed, and maybe Izuku was going to hell for this, but he would have Dom stare at him forever, would have him carve his name into Izuku's back and thank him for it. Maybe it was unhealthy, but if there was someone that reminded him of Kacchan⁠—maybe he deserved the stab in his chest that was the only thing keeping him whole most days. 

"You'll do, I guess," the man said decisively, and Izuku grinned, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.   

If he squinted his eyes just right, he looked just like Kacchan, eyes bright and ready to face off against anything. 

(Izuku's first kiss was with him, after a mission and both of them were beaten up and bruised. There had always been an undercurrent of tension running between them, and he didn't know which of them reached out first until they were frotting desperately in the back of an alleyway, Izuku coming with a groan and a bitten off Kacchan in his lips.) 

(Dom didn't talk to him again. Izuku supposed he deserved it.) 

Stepping foot in Japan for the first time wasn't how he expected it to be. Deku had never felt at home in America, and coming back didn't fill him with a sense of relief more than a pit of dread. He remembered something he'd read years ago, in a literature class back in his high school days: You don’t have a home until you leave it and then, when you have left it, you never can go back. That had stuck with him, for a bit, until he'd discarded that thought to more important things, like how he needed to keep on moving with his life lest he break apart with the strain of it. 

("You're the only one who can do it," his superior had said, sounding like it pained him to say it. Izuku was growing to understand this wasn't a slight against him⁠—this was how he sounded like most days. "There aren't any quirkless heroes to your calibre back in Japan, and you're the only "foreign" hero who knows Japan well. So, congrats kid. You're going back home, kid." 

The grimace on the man's face told Izuku he understood more than he expected him to.) 

And. Well. We all know what happened next. 

(Kacchan called him Deku. Kacchan never looked him in the eye anymore. Preferred to talk to him like he was a stranger, but Izuku couldn't bear it even when he knew he deserved it.) 

(They'd always been a team, and Izuku had missed this more than he'd allowed himself to think. Taking down villains with Kacchan was all he'd wanted to do when he was a child, and the same adrenaline, the same awe came rushing back in full force whenever he fought a villain with Kacchan.) 

(They went on an undercover mission. Izuku emerged with half his heart intact, a constant level of self loathing burnt into him, but somehow, Kacchan seemed the most affected out of the two of them.) 

(Maybe this was the biggest realisation of them all⁠—that Kacchan loved him.)  

(Kacchan loved him.) 

(Kacchan loved him.)

Izuku moved in with Kacchan on a rainy day, when his injuries were healed enough he could go back into active duty if he wanted to. They'd just gotten out of their mission, and Katsuki had wordlessly driven Izuku back to his hotel and told him to pack his bags and that he was coming with him. 

Maybe home was an irreversible condition to him, because Izuku agreed immediately. Maybe Kacchan was home to him, because it was easier than ever to agree to anything he said. 

(Maybe Izuku felt guilty, too. It couldn't have been easy to spend all these years without him, when Izuku witnessed how much Katsuki drank for himself. They all did what they had to cope with the war, but Izuku wasn't sure if any of them were really the same teenagers they used to be back in UA. they'd all changed, and a part of Izuku didn't know if it was for the better. A bigger part of him knew it wasn't.) 

Izuku had never known Kacchan to beg, but he'd come close, back in that hospital room where too many things had been said. It still made him ache to think about the tears in Kacchan's eyes, how⁠— 

"This is what you do to me, Izuku." 

"You're staying put here, okay?" Kacchan said, bypassing the guest bedroom entirely and ushering Izuku to his room like there was no other option in the world other than to keep him close. It made Izuku's heart flutter when he thought about it too much. He'd been a fool to think Kacchan wouldn't go to the ends of the Earth to look for him. How he almost had. 

He didn't realise he was crying until he felt the wetness in his cheeks, felt how Kacchan tensed immediately beside him and wiped his tears away with the pad of his thumb. 

"What is it, baby?" Kacchan asked, his voice gentle. Always gentle, when it came to Izuku. He could hear the rain pattering on to the roof, an almost hushed pitter patter against the expanse between them. 

"I⁠—I love you, Kacchan," Izuku choked out, knowing he'd meant nothing more than this. Kacchan's eyes softened immediately, reaching out to tug him into a kiss, and Izuku went willingly. Kacchan's kiss was almost bruising in its gentleness, as if Izuku was something precious he was cradling in his palms. Izuku could sink into the warmth of him, could let Kacchan do anything to him and all he would say in return was a thankful yes. It had always been Kacchan for him, even when they were little. Izuku didn't know why he'd thought otherwise. 

"Take me to bed," he muttered into Kacchan's mouth, and Kacchan obliged, hoisting him up into his arms and depositing Izuku on top of his bed with a soft thump. It wasn't hurried as it was the last time they fucked⁠—they took their time with it, Izuku wanting to memorise every groove in Katsuki's body and Kacchan wanting to do the same. Kacchan kissed him on the shoulder, on the space where his neck met his shoulder, sucked a bruise into the meat of it, and Izuku was a goner. He let himself sink into it, to bury his hand in Katsuki's hair and dig his fingernails deep into the groove of Kacchan's hips as he thumbed over a nipple. Izuku moaned, almost over sensitive with it. 

Kacchan took his time with it, preparing him slowly enough that Izuku was begging for him to fuck him while he was a writhing mess only gazing up at him. Katsuki's smirk edged into a soft smile, reserved just for him, before he kissed Izuku soft and slow before sliding in. 

And Izuku could feel Kacchan inside⁠— deep and pulsing and making him release a moan that sounded like a garbled mess of Kacchan and please, even though he didn't know what he was begging for. Kacchan clutched his hand, and fucked into him, and Izuku was a goner. There was nothing he wanted more than this, to hike his hips up and look into Kacchan's eyes as he fucked into him with so much affection in his eyes there were no words left to say. 

When he came, it was with a Kacchan in his mouth, with Kacchan looking at him as if he wasn't real. As if there was no one else he would rather be with. It was more heady than Izuku would ever want to admit. There was no other drug than this, this certainty that he would be loved despite everything else he'd done. 

There were a thousand apologies buried at the back of his throat, but they had time. They had time to unravel the mess at the back of Izuku's brain, the thrumming urge that told him he needed to leave, in case he would destroy everything he touched again. He valued Kacchan more than his life⁠—he didn't know if he could bear it if anything happened. 

But for now, the voice in his head was blessedly silent. For now, Izuku threw an arm around Kacchan's body, and allowed himself to fall asleep, face buried in the crook of his neck and feeling safer than he had in a while. 

It was… strange, to talk to his friends after being back. Sometimes it felt like no time had passed at all, but other times, when they talked about a mission they'd been on, it felt like there was a yawning chasm between all of them he had no choice but to live with. It wasn't like it was their faults⁠—Izuku was the one who had left. He only had to deal with this for a few more weeks at least, until he had to return to America. 

Somehow, the thought didn't fill him with relief more than it made him feel like throwing up. There was so much unfinished business in Japan, most of it to do with Kacchan⁠—but Izuku wasn't sure if he could handle talking to him without wanting to tear himself in half. 

Then Izuku had met Kacchan at the bar with their friends, when they'd been interrogating him for the past hour about his escapades in America, and he was sure Kacchan could see the panic on his face easily enough. 

Then⁠— 

Deku. Kacchan had called him Deku. It had been months, but it still hurt to think about. 

Izuku settled into a routine in Kacchan's⁠—their apartment. It had taken less convincing than he'd expected for his father to readily agree to get all his clothes shipped to Japan, Hisashi insisting he would get all that sorted out himself. In Hisashi’s defence, he’d never expected Izuku to stay so long in America in the first place, even though Izuku had expected to stay there forever. He'd wanted to go back to make sure everything was packed properly, but one look at Kacchan's face at even the mere suggestion prevented him from leaving. 

There wasn't a lot Izuku wouldn't do for Kacchan, even though he felt more and more stifled by the day. Izuku loved Kacchan, but there was still a burning itch at the back of his brain that wanted to fly and fly and never look back. But Kacchan needed him. 

(And who was Izuku to ask Kacchan to stop, when it had been him who'd caused this in the first place?) 

"I talked to the Commission about getting your Hero Licence transferred here," Kacchan told him now, over their breakfast. It was disgustingly domestic⁠—both of them enjoying a day off from work while Katsuki peered at him over his phone. There was something strange in his face, as if he was cataloguing each and every one of Izuku's movements carefully. 

Izuku felt a pang of annoyance, but pushed it firmly down. "Oh?" he said noncommittally, without asking why Katsuki had never told him he was going to talk to the Hero Commision. He would have appreciated being told at least, but⁠—there was no use arguing about it now, not when Kacchan looked so earnest about him staying in Japan and getting to do what he loved. "What did they say?" 

"Normally, it would take a fuckton of paperwork," Kacchan said, his eyes still lingering curiously over Izuku's face as if looking for any kind of negative reaction. It unsettled him. "But⁠—since you're Japan's saviour and all that⁠—"

"Don't call me that," Izuku snapped instinctively. Katsuki looked at him, and Izuku flushed underneath the gaze. Kacchan didn't remark on it, however. 

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes. "It's gonna take a month to clear out the red tape, regardless, and I have nooo fucking clue how that works. You're supposed to do some evaluation tests, but Hawks was willing to let that go. You are on probation for the first few months of hero work, though⁠—which makes no fucking sense considering you were in a literal death mission a few days ago. But whatever the fuck gets you here, I guess."  

Distantly, Izuku realised Kacchan was rambling. The remaining shred of his anger disappeared bit by bit to be replaced with understanding. Whatever gets you to stay, I guess. "Well, I guess I can handle a few months of probation," he replied, and watched as Kacchan visibly relaxed. "I wonder what the rest of the class is going to think about me being back." 

"They're going to be overjoyed," Katsuki replied, and the only thing that really broke the entire typical domesticity of the scene was the way he took a beer out from the fridge and yanked the lid open with his thumb. Kacchan held a can out towards him, and⁠—what the hell. It wasn't a workday. A drink or two wasn't going to kill them. Kacchan smiled at him, a real one, not a smirk, and reached into the fridge to pull out a can of cider. "There's the fruity shit you like." 

Izuku let out a little giggle, charmed despite himself. "And they say romance is dead," he teased, grinning as Katsuki simply grumbled a bit before settling back down on the kitchen chair. 

"You'll be dead when I'm done with you," he said, and Izuku laughed. 

There was still a nagging at the back of his brain. 

He could learn to live with it, despite the doubt in his chest. He had to learn to live with it. 

He could do this. He could do it for Kacchan. 

"I think Katsuki was the most affected, when you left," Shouto told him a few days afterwards, blunt as always. Kacchan was on patrol, and he and Shouto and Kirishima had met up for drinks. It seemed that was all the socialising they did these days, and if Izuku was a better man, he would have complained. As it was, he sipped his drink contentedly and relished the pleasant buzz. They were three drinks in, and none of them felt the effects in the least. Maybe that was something to examine later, but. Well. They all had their vices. "He kept pouring over newspaper clippings and glued to the TV all the time⁠—I don't really think he gave up hope of finding you at all." 

And you? Izuku wanted to ask, but was afraid of the answer. Shouto seemed to read his expression⁠—he was perceptive at the most unusual moments, sometimes⁠—because he smiled sadly, and reached out a hand. 

"None of us gave up hope on you, either," he admitted, his voice soft. So soft Izuku had to strain his ears to hear him over the din of the bar. He could see Kirishima approaching them with their drinks clutched in his hand, looking too-happy as he always did. "We always asked Katsuki if he was any close to figuring out where you were, and I think he got sick of us asking that question because eventually… he just stopped meeting up with us. And all of us⁠—well. We aren’t really well-adjusted, as you can see." 

"I see," Izuku replied absently, watching as Kirishima slid in a little too closely next to Shouto in the booth, and Shouto didn't object, instead leaning into the touch. Kirishima hesitated, then laced their fingers together while Shouto's ears pinkened. "Are you two… dating?" 

"No," both of them replied, too quickly. Shouto slid his hand away, and Izuku wished he hadn't spoken up at all. 

"Where's Katsuki, anyway?" Kirishima asked, a very transparent attempt to change the subject. "His shift should be over by now." 

Izuku checked his phone. 

Low and behold, a text from a few minutes ago: I'm on my way. 

"He's on his way," Izuku relayed, trying to get rid of the sudden bout of irrational anger in his chest. He should be thankful that Katsuki wanted to join him. But there was a monster in his chest, and it wanted to explode from frustration. "Probably a few minutes." 

Shouto took one long look at him, as if trying to dissect an interesting specimen under a microscope. "Are you okay, Izuku?" 

"I'm fine," Izuku said, draining his drink and reaching out for the one Kirishima handed him. "Kacchan's coming, after all. Why wouldn't I be?"  

Shouto took his words at face value, at least. They all clinked their glasses together, and drank. 

"What is it like, being a Pro-Hero in Japan vs in America?" a reporter had asked him once. 

Izuku had chuckled awkwardly, wondering if this, too, would make its way back to Japan somehow. "I don't really have anything to go off of," he said, thinking of all the times he'd wanted to be a hero, had watched the charts avidly until his world had collapsed around itself. "Considering I wasn't a Pro-Hero in Japan at all." 

"But there must have been something you noticed, right?" the reporter pressed, intent on finding something that could make the boy in front of her click. This boy with the hero costume that had once been green. "Something, anything for your fans?" 

Deku smiled wirily at her. "If I had to say one thing I miss⁠—it's the community, I guess. There has been nothing quite like it in America." 

He'd disappeared shortly afterwards, thinking about his classmates and the hopes he'd buried in his chest.  

(It only took a little bit of makeup to make himself look unrecognisable under the neon lights of a club, to grind against a random stranger and bat his eyelashes at them.) 

(If he thought too much of it, he would notice that he went for the people who looked like Kacchan most of all. Men who could fuck him harsh and raw, until he was nothing but a sobbing mess underneath them. But none of them made it hurt as well as he wanted them to.) 

(None of them could compare to Kacchan in his eyes.) 

Kacchan wouldn't stop hovering. Not that Izuku didn't appreciate everything Kacchan did for him, for making sure he was home with him, but⁠—the part that made him want to leave grew bigger by the day, and he didn't know how to make it stop. Kacchan was here with him, Kacchan was home, but⁠—but. He was tired of this, of being trapped in this apartment that felt more stifling by the day. 

Kacchan was a gentleman, always always always, but the month where he waited for Izuku's hero licence was more taxing than he liked. It was like Kacchan had a sixth sense for everything he did, always texting him as if he was afraid he would leave. 

Izuku couldn't complain, because there was a part of him that loved the attention. The bigger part of him still gushed to Ochako about how much he loved Kacchan, how much he was glad to be back until she deliberately closed her eyes whenever he started talking about him. 

But sometimes⁠—sometimes, the urge to run was at the forefront of his mind when he woke up, and it took genuine effort for him not to bolt. There was something building up in his chest, the realisation that if he didn't do something about this⁠—didn't talk to Kacchan, a part of their relationship would shatter into irreparable pieces. 

He didn't want to doubt Kacchan, but⁠—he'd already put up enough with Izuku's flightiness.

He wasn't sure if Kacchan wanted to put up with more. 

Exactly a month later, Kacchan came up to him and slapped a Provisional Hero Licence into his hands. It looked the same as when he was a fifteen year old in UA⁠—the same gold lettering, the same Deku stamped into it. Only he looked different⁠; a smile stretched too tight across his face, big enough you could tell it wasn't real if you looked at it for too long. There was a world-weary curl to his eyes, to his lips, and Izuku didn't know when he could let it go. The only other difference was that the licence was valid for two years. 

"You okay?" Kacchan asked, voice gentle as if he was talking to a spooked animal. Izuku hated it. He crushed the Licence in his palms, wincing as it did nothing but made the plastic dig into his skin. 

"I'm fine," he said, and he could tell Kacchan didn't believe him in the least. 

"Good," Katsuki said, then tossed him a pair of keys that Izuku hurried to catch. Car keys? "What are you waiting for? Just follow me." 

And Izuku could do that. 

"Do you think you're even capable of love, at this point?" 

Izuku looked away. "What do you mean?" 

"It's been months, Izuku. I asked you to just try, for my sake. But it's like⁠—it's like I'm trying to measure up to someone that isn't even here anymore." 

He wondered if he was capable too, sometimes. 

Izuku, for all he had learnt in America, had never actually gotten used to driving a car. His agency had arranged all the transportation for him, and it wasn't like he had any friends in America in the first place⁠, so he'd never seen the point in it. Most people called him a workaholic, but that was only half-true. Some people called him a whore, but maybe that was also half-true. 

Izuku was thinking of all those things when he stared at the car before him, keys clutched in his hand. Kacchan was gazing at him, expression unusually shy and arms crossed. 

"I know you've been a bit… stifled, lately," Kacchan started, then hesitated as if he didn't know what to say. Izuku took a deep breath, feeling like his heart would shatter with the affection he held for the man in front of him. Kacchan had noticed. Of course he had. "So I thought I'd get you a car. I don't know if you know how to drive, but I can teach you if you don't, or can get someone else to do it⁠—" 

"I know how to drive," Izuku cut him off as gently as possible. Kacchan smiled uncertainly. It grew into a real one when Izuku smiled back at him, brilliant and more like himself than he'd felt in days. "But⁠—Kacchan… you didn't have to do this." 

"But I wanted to," Kacchan said simply, and Izuku blinked away the tears from his eyes. Kacchan looked away, and Izuku wondered how painful this must be for Kacchan, to let go when he wanted to hold on to Izuku with everything he had. "I don't care how long you leave for, just⁠—you have the option, okay? Just promise me you'll come back. I don't think I can bear this another time, Izuku."  

"You'll tell me, right?" Kacchan had asked Izuku that day atop the rooftop at UA. Izuku looked over at him in surprise, brow furrowed. 

"Tell Kacchan what?" 

"If you feel like leaving again. I'll try to find you no matter what⁠—but," Katsuki bit his lip. Izuku remembered thinking Kacchan had never looked so beautiful than he looked at that moment, sunlight gleaming in his blonde hair, both of them on top of the world and Izuku back to UA. 

"Of course I will, Kacchan," he had said, and meant it. "Of course I will." 

Izuku blinked away the memory, and wondered if Kacchan was thinking of the same thing, that moment over six years ago. When Izuku looked at Kacchan, eyes earnest and almost frantic⁠—he knew Kacchan was thinking of the same moment. Time seemed frozen still, and they were suddenly teenagers again, not knowing fighting Shigaraki wasn't truly the worst of it. 

Izuku took Kacchan's hands in his, smooth hands a sharp contrast to how rough Izuku's were. Kacchan was looking at him, still, and that gaze pierced him whole until Izuku was certain he could see the soul within. Izuku had never expected to be loved this much. 

"I promise," he whispered, and had meant nothing more. Izuku tried to blink the wetness away from his eyes, but it was already too late, tears rolling down his cheeks and unable to do anything else in the face of the enormity of the affection he held for Kacchan. His love for Kacchan made the world go round. "I promise I'll come back."  

The sun reflected off the tears in Kacchan's eyes. Izuku reached out for Kacchan⁠—and he met him halfway, squeezing him tight as if he couldn't bear to let him go. 

Eventually, he would.  

What have I done to you, Kacchan? 

The first thing Izuku did when he came back to Japan was to visit his mother. He still talked to Inko every day⁠ barring when he was on missions—he wasn't sure he could go without it. Inko was the only one he kept up with, when he was in America; it wasn't like he was willing to explain to any of his friends why he'd gone rushing to another country without even so much as saying goodbye. 

Izuku sometimes felt guilty for leaving her alone in Japan, but out of all of them, his mother was the one who seemed to understand why he left the most. Though that was after too many arguments on her part. They'd made peace with it, eventually. 

"Izuku," Inko breathed out, as she opened the door. Inko looked the same as she always did⁠—her hair in a bun, with the permanent ring of anxiety in her eyes Izuku had inherited from her. "You've grown so much." 

"Have I?" Izuku asked, returning the hug and feeling exactly how tall he'd gotten. When he'd left Japan, he was barely matching Inko in height⁠—now he almost towered over her, and Izuku didn't know what to think about that. Didn't know what to think about a lot of things. 

He wiped at his eyes⁠—his mother was already breaking down in tears, and he'd always been a crybaby⁠—and they both went inside the house, Izuku at least happy to know there was one person in Japan who'd welcome him with open arms. Who always would. 

They made small talk the rest of the day, Izuku relaying the many, many things he'd gotten up to America while Inko was in Japan⁠, Inko listening raptly even though it was her fourth, fifth time hearing this. Izuku never really talked much about anything except his missions, and he had a feeling that his mother knew there was nothing else for him to talk about. Inko, being the saint she was, never called him out on it. 

"And what do you plan to do now, here?" his mother asked finally, her tone forced-casual enough that Izuku tensed. "I know there's a few weeks until you're officially supposed to start the mission…" 

"What do you mean?" 

Inko sighed and leaned down on the couch, taking a deliberately casual sip of her tea. Izuku shouldn't feel as trapped as he was at the moment. "I don't think he saw me, but⁠—I saw Katsuki at the corner store a few days ago." 

Kacchan. Izuku swallowed, and tried to muster up the strength to form any words that didn't sound incomprehensible. Kacchan had always been a loaded topic between them⁠—mostly because Inko couldn't understand why the two of them never talked at all anymore. Izuku couldn't find it in himself to explain when he didn't know why, himself.  

"Yeah?" he said back, trying to keep his tone casual. "How is Kacchan doing?" 

"He's doing… fine, I think," Inko bit her lip. "From what Mitsuki tells me, anyway. Always complains about him only talking to her once in a while, but I'm sure she's used to it. Moved out of his apartment with Kirishima to get his own, the last time I heard." 

"That's great," Izuku forced a smile into his face, wondering if he could get away with asking more. Why did he move out? How has it been like being a Pro-Hero? Does he have anyone special? "I always knew he could do it." 

"You should visit him sometime," Inko said, seeing right through him. Izuku looked away. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone who was more concerned about your whereabouts than him, Izuku. He'd be overjoyed to see you back home." 

(Home. It was startling, how casually Inko said it.) 

Inko had never understood the insecurity in his chest, why he felt like his friends would leave him behind so he had to leave before they could leave him. And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? Izuku was always a coward. 

"I'll work on it," Izuku said, the only thing he could muster up that didn't sound like a lie. His mother simply levelled him with a sad smile, and, thank god, changed the subject. 

I don't think I've seen anyone who was more concerned about you than Katsuki, you know. 

Izuku wondered what that meant. If Kacchan really cared that much. 

Then Kacchan proved himself, again and again and again. 

(When Izuku met Kacchan at the corner store a few days later, it wasn't an accident.) 

I promise I'll come back, Kacchan. 

The first time Izuku left with just the car and keys in his hand, he left for a month. Went driving across Japan, with no aim except to leave, Kacchan's gaze boring into him in his mind. 

"Deku?" 

"When do I have to come to work?" 

"Technically, you're still on your vacation, and we still have a bit of paperwork to go through before you can officially start working again, but if you really want to⁠—" 

"It's fine." 

"It's… fine?" 

"Yeah. My licence lasts for two years, right?" 

Kacchan always welcomed him back. 

Izuku doesn't know what Kacchan does during the time he disappears, but Kacchan never mentions it. Izuku never asks. 

Eventually, he disappeared for less and less time. 

Maybe the way they deal with their issues wasn't ideal, or even healthy. But Kacchan always welcomed him with open arms, always dropped a kiss to his head and fucked him through his tears. Kacchan always held on to him like he would disappear the days when he came back, held his hands while both of them pretended there weren't tears dripping from his eyes. 

(Kacchan would do anything for him, Izuku was slowly beginning to realise. Izuku wasn't sure what he had done to deserve it, still, when all he kept doing was hurting him.) 

(But Izuku had always been selfish when it came to his Kacchan.) 

Fingers threaded through his. 

"Kacchan." 

"Yeah, baby?" 

"Do you want to come with me?" 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah," Izuku said, and smiled. Kacchan's eyes were filled with wonderment, as if Izuku had handed him the entire world in his hands. He deposited the keys into Kacchan's unoccupied hands and watched the way Kacchan clutched them like a lifeline that held him still. "How about you drive, this time?" 

(Kacchan was⁠—Kacchan was home. Maybe he'd always been.) 

If you cannot love me, I will die. Before you came I wanted to die, I have told you many times. It is cruel to have made me want to live only to make my death more bloody.

⁠— James Baldwin