Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the tall windows, casting a soft glow over the quiet hum of activity. You padded across the room in your socks, uniform already on, the hem of your skirt brushing over your thighs as you moved toward the kitchen. Katsuki stood at the counter, aggressively toasting bread like it had insulted his mother and barking something over his shoulder at Kaminari and Kirishima, who were fighting over a jar of jam. 

Without a word, you stepped beside them, your hands moving fluidly- “ They’re gonna break the jar before breakfast starts.” Katsuki glanced at you, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, then rolled his eyes- swiping the jar away from them and popping open the lid with a sharp twist, slamming it down on the counter with a little more force than needed. 

“ Fucking idiots.” He signed back. You laughed softly, shaking your head.

Across the room, Izuku sat cross-legged on the couch, hunched over his ever-expanding hero analysis notebook. His hair was already tousled and his pen scratched methodically as he recorded something. The moment he caught your gaze, he raised one hand in greeting, then quickly signed with the other. “ You ready?” 

You gave a two-finger salute and tapped your arm once. “Yes.” then pointed toward Katsuki with a sly smile. “He’s already got his panties in a twist, better be on your best behaviour Zuku.”

He rolled his eyes. “I always am Y-chan.” 

“I can see you nerds.” Katsuki scoffed as he walked past. 

You stuck your tongue out at his back, flipping him off. “We weren’t trying to hide it from you Kat.”

The air buzzed with a slight excitement, despite the usual chaos. The first day of your third and final year. After two and a half years of grueling training, internships, and pushing to your breaking point, you had finally made it to the top. This year was the one that mattered, The one that would set the stage for the rest of your lives as pro heroes. 

You perched yourself on the arm of the couch near Izuku, sipping from your mug and glancing around the room. Everyone was moving with purpose, even as Sero couldn’t find his back pack and was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. The dorms smelled like toast, oversteeped tea, and determination. This wasn’t just a school anymore-it was home . A battlefield, a sanctuary. And today marked the beginning of the end of this chapter. 

Izuku shifted slightly on the couch, his notebook balanced on his knee, half-filled with scrawled strategies and observations from the summer. He watched you for a second longer than necessary, then resumed writing, his hand gliding across the page in a rhythm you’d grown up recognizing. You remembered that look from when you were kids, when the three of you would hide out in the park after school,pretending sticks were swords and the world was yours to have. 

Katsuki was louder with his nerves-his excitement-his happiness. His everything really. He slammed the cabinet doors and practically growled as he shoved his breakfast on his plate, still yelling at Kaminari even though the poor guy hadn’t done anything. You caught his eye as he moved to sit by the two of you. “ Take a breath Kat, you’re gonna explode before homeroom.” He scowled at you, but the corner of his mouth twitched again.

“Shut up. I’m fine.” His gaze was sharp, but you were used to it by now. It never scared you. You were the only one besides Izuku who could call him out without flinching. 

The three of you had been inseparable since before you had quirks. Since Izuku was the awkward, quirkless kid with too many dreams, and when Katsuki had something to prove and shoved down his feelings. Since you were bullied for having a villain's quirk. You were a mix of both, the middle ground, the one who either kept the peace or added fuel to the fire. 

Three of you balanced each other like a mismatched puzzle, bonded not just by childhood, but by a loyalty that had survived years of change, pain, growth, and even the hell that was middle school.

You remembered the late-night talks, the hospital visits after brutal training sessions, the nights you crashed in each other's rooms when sleep wouldn’t come after the war. Now as third years, that bond was more than just a shared past- it was a foundation. You weren’t kids anymore. You were teammates, almost pros. 

Izuku looked up from his notebook and signed again, “ No matter what happens, we’ve got each other, right?”

You nodded without hesitation. “ Always.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes from his chair across from the two of you, but tapped his fork on his plate once. “Yes.” 

“Can you guys talk out loud like normal people?” Kaminari sighed from the dining room table. 

“Are you jealous, Kami?” You teased, eying him from your seat.

“If the moron wanted to know what we’re saying he could just learn.” Katsuki scoffed, biting into his toast. “Dumbass extra.” he signed.

You snorted, Izuku shook his head packing up his bag. “ Be nice.” he signed.

“Guys stop talking about me like I’m not right here.”

“How would you know that’s what we’re even doing?” You questioned standing up and moving to grab your bag. 

“I may not know what you're saying but I’m right here.” He mumbled. 

“Oh so you do have some brains in there after all?” You laughed. 

Katsuki smirked, zipping up his bag. “ Hurry up nerds. We’re gonna be late.” He signed, moving out the door. With you and Izuku trailing behind him. 

  ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The air was thick with heat and movement at the training grounds. Dust and scorched grass hung low in the air, stirred up by the relentless pace of the training exercise. Mr. Aizawa’s voice barked through the field like a whip-sharp, precise, and impossible to ignore no matter how hard you tried. 

“No wasted movement! Coordinate with your partners! You think villains are gonna wait for you to figure it out?” His capture scarf cracked in the wind as he paced the edge of the field, eyes scanning each trio with surgical scrutiny. 

“I could focus if you’d stop yelling in my damn ears!” Katsuki yelled back. 

Your blood pulsed loudly in your ears-not just from battle, but from the exertion of your quirk. Drawing a line across your palm with a swift flick of a blade, you pulled crimson ribbons from your skin, weaving them into a shimmering blade that gleamed like tempered glass in the morning sun. You lunged forward,slicing through two of Ectoplasm’s doubles in one clean arc. The blood-blade disintegrated mid-air, droplets floating for a split-second before you yanked them back, reconstituting the mass into a curved shield in time to absorb a sudden strike from behind. 

To your left, Katsuki moved like a force of nature-aggressive and controlled in only the loosest sense. His palms detonated with explosive rhythm, a steady BOOM followed him yelling “Die!” another blast detonated as he cleared a path through the wave of doubles. His gauntlets remained unused today- Aizawa wanted you to focus on combo moves and unenhanced quirk use- but it didn’t matter. He didn’t need them. You caught him flinching after one particularly close blast, his head dipping just slightly as if to shield his right ear. You knew that twitch, you and Izuku both did. He’d never admit it, but you’d been friends too long to miss the signs. 

The toll of all those explosions was starting to show. 

Izuku stood at the center of the triangle you formed, always reading, calculating, adjusting. His notebook safely tucked away, replaced by instincts and danger sense. He ducked low beneath a sweep of an Ectoplasm clone’s leg, countering with a whip of Blackwhip that lashed it into the air. Without need to speak, he pointed- your cue. You leapt, blood solidifying into twin daggers in your hands, slicing through the airborne clone as it crumbled into mist. Katsuki blasted the next wave before they even touched the ground, his explosions forming a rhythm Izuku could count on. It was a dance you’d done hundreds of times, but today it felt sharper. Cleaner. 

The combo moves came naturally now. Izuku surged forward with Full cowling sparking across his limbs, grabbing your shoulder mid-movement and tossing you towards the next target. You spun midair, forming a circular saw of blood in your palm and driving it into a clone’s chest, turning it into nothing but vapor and a puddle. Katsuki covered your landing with a scatter-blast that sent debris flying. You raised your shield again instinctively, catching shrapnel meant for Izuku’s flank. “ Thanks.” He signed quickly as he landed beside you, eyes already flicking to the next threat.

All around you, the rest of the class moved in their own chaotic patterns. Todorki was freezing half the field, Sero swung between the trees, and Uraka sent projectiles floating midair for others to launch. But Aizawa’s attention lingered on your trio, and not just because you were his problem children. He knew your dynamic was dangerous in the right ways- three childhood friends who had grown into three of U.A. 's strongest. You trusted each other to cover blind spots, to lead without egos clashing, and to act without hesitation.

You caught Katsuki rubbing his ear again after another close-range blast, just for a heartbeat before hiding it behind another blast. You signed quickly between attacks- “You okay?” He just grunted and rolled his shoulders.

You looked at Izuku and he noticed it too. His eyes’ narrowing slightly before shifting focus. He knew not to press in the middle of a fight. So instead, he changed tactics, subtly shifting his path to create more space between Katsuki and the clones. A silent nod of understanding passed between the three of you. 

The last clone dissolved and you dropped your shield, flexing your fingers. You didn’t stop the blood flow, just slowed it to a small drip because you looked at Mr. Aizawa and just knew .

“Good. Again. This time, coordinated assaults only. If I see anyone freelancing, you’re doing laps until sundown.” 

You, Katsuki, and Izuku exchanged a quick look. That was the signal to get serious. 

Izuku spoke first, eyes already scanning the rapidly reforming doubles from Ectoplasm. “Formation four?” he asked aloud, even though you’d already started moving. You nodded, Katsuki gave a grunt of approval. It was a combo you’d developed over the last year- fast, vicious and practically seamless when executed right. 

You sprinted forward first, slashing your palm again to draw blood. With a sharp flick of your wrist, a curved boomerang-shaped blade formed and launched toward the advancing doubles, slicing through the first three with a clean arc. The moment the blade returned, you split it mid-air into needles, scattering them around the battlefield like landmines-waiting for Izuku’s signal. 

Izuku darted ahead next, kicking off a slab of concrete with full cowling, launching himself upward and flipping mid-air. He pointed toward the ground, activating Blackwhip with precision. The whip lashed out and struck one of your scattered blood-needles, detonating it like a remote mine, then another and another-controlled mini-explosions that funneled the clones into tight clusters. “Now.” he signed. 

Katsuki came in from the rear, palms already glowing with volatile energy. He hurled himself forward using a twin burst, weaving between the stunned doubles with perfect control. At the center of the cluster, he twisted, and shouted. “Howitzer Impact!” and detonated a controlled explosion that blew the entire formation apart-dozens of clones evaporating in a massive concussive shockwave. You raised a blood shield in front of Izuku just in time to block the blast that followed. Through the smoke you saw Katsuki land with a heavy thud, teeth bared in a grin. 

You didn’t stop there. 

“Formation Eight!” You called. 

Izuku nodded and dashed toward you. You pulled another thin stream of blood from your arm, shaping it into a whip and lashing it toward him. He caught it mid-spring and used the tension to sling himself around in a sharp arc, catching a clone in the jaw with a rising kick. As he landed, Katsuki hurled an explosion into the path ahead of him, and Izuku used the shockwave to launch himself higher, twisting in the air with blackwhip spiraling out behind him like a comet tail.

You followed, vaulting forward with another blood weapon forming in your hands-this time two long sabers. You moved in rhythm, flanking the enemy clones as Izuku dove from above. At the last second, Katsuki ignited a blast just beneath your leap, accelerating your strike. You came down in a crimson blur slicing through three clones as Izuku landed behind you, neutralizing two more with pinpoint blackwhip strike. 

Katsuki landed last, breathing hard, smoke rising from his shoulders. You saw him blink a few times, disoriented by the sheer volume of sound from the last blast. His right ear twitched again. You moved closer without a word and passed him a blood-coated ear plug you’d formed from your own platelets-a technique you’d starting working on for him after the war. He glanced at it, then at you, and gave a tight nod before slipping it into place. He didn’t say thank you, but he didn’t have to. 

As the last clone dissolved in a haze of smoke and light, the field finally fell quiet, save for the sound of heavy breathing and wind rustling through the treetops. Your shield melted into harmless droplets and returned to your bloodstream, leaving only thin crimson trails across your palms. Izuku stood to your right, already analyzing what went wrong, what went right. Katsuki cracked his neck and pretended he wasn’t half-deaf from his own power. You stood between them, covered in your own blood, calm, heart pounding, and completely at home. This wasn’t just training. You three didn’t survive battles- you owned them. But still-

You turned to Izuku, angling yourself away from Katsuki. “He’s getting worse.” You signed when you caught Izuku’s eye.

“I know,” he nodded. “He won’t accept our help if we try though, you know that.”

You nodded. You did know, you knew all too well. Now wasn’t the time to bring it up either, you’d have to wait till he told you himself.

Aizawa’s voice rang out again, this time quieter. “Better. That’s what real teamwork looks like.”

You stood between the boys again, your breathing a little heavy, sweat dripping down your temples. “He’s not talking about us right?” you signed, laughing.

“Of course not, we're the best.” Katsuki signed back with a scoff, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Yes I am talking about you.” Aizawa signed when he caught your eyes. The three of you stilled. “See me before lunch, problem children.” he said aloud. The class erupted with oohhh’s.

“Shit.” You muttered, throwing your head back.

“ Why do you guys always have to provoke him?” Izuku sighed, moving towards the changing rooms. 

“We don’t! It’s not my fault I forgot he knows how to sign.” You threw your hands up as you followed behind him.

“That’s why we started using code at school dumbass.” Katsuki mumbled, hitting the back of your head. 

“One- Ow motherfucker-” You replied, flipping him off. “And two I forgot alright! And you signed too!” You pointed at him, blood swirling around your hand and dropping on small droplets on his arm. “Who’s the dumbass now dumbass ?”

“Stop using your blood to piss me off shark week!” He snarled. 

“Oh, would you look at that- the changing rooms.” You sang out, running into the girls room so he couldn’t get you. “See you later!” you called out over your shoulder.

“Coward!” He yelled after you. 

“Kacchan really?” You heard Izuku mumble not too long after the door swung closed.

The rest of the girls filled the locker room slowly, the air filling with familiar sounds of post-training routine- showers running, locker doors creaking open and shut, the hum of conversation drifting lazily through the steamy air. You sat on a wooden bench near the back, towel draped over your shoulders, scrubbing carefully at the stubborn streak of dried blood trailing down your forearm. The red stain spread into the white fabric like ink in water. Even after all this time, you still had to be methodical about cleaning up after using your quirk. Hemokinesis wasn’t a quirk you used without consequence. Blood manipulation left residue-visible, tangible traces of every technique you’d performed while using it. Even if today wasn’t that taxing, the effort left your arms, legs, and even the side of your neck marked with clots and smears. 

You winced scrubbing harder at the blood stuck on your neck, sometimes it felt like the blood clung to your skin like guilt. You let out a soft sigh and leaned back, letting your arm fall in your lap. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to watching you peel your own blood off like its paint,” Mina said, leaning over the bench beside you. “It’s kinda gross, but like in a cool vampire ninja way.”

You smirked “Thanks, I guess?” you rubbed at a stubborn patch on your collarbone and winced. The skin underneath was raw, something you’d probably have to ice later. “Could be worse, at least it’s mine most of the time.”

“Still,” Jirou added from the other end of the bench, toweling off her hair, “It’s a little intense. You come out of training like a horror movie extra.” 

“Or a really mental nurse.” Momo chimed in, fixing her skirt. 

“And yet you still get more attention than the rest of us combined.” Hagakure mumbled from her locker. 

“Well one, you're invisible,” You laughed. “And two I get attention because I look like I murdered a school full of children.”

“Um not true,” Mina said with a sly grin. “You have two boys who follow you everywhere- speaking of which- why aren’t you dating one of them yet?” She didn’t need to name them- everyone knew who she was talking about. “I mean, you’re practically always with them. Especially after the war, the three of you are attached at the soul.”

“Right?” Ochaco chimed in from across the room, slipping into her uniform shirt. “You all sign to each other across the room like some secret spy trio.”

“Aren’t you the one who has a crush on Izuku?” You teased.

She rolled her eyes ignoring you completely. “ Anyways - It’s kind of adorable. If you ask me,” 

“I didn’t.” You mumbled, rubbing at that spot of blood on your neck again. 

“I think they both have a crush on you, especially Deku. He gets all soft eyed whenever you walk in the room.” She continued.

“I don’t know…” Tsuyu croaked thoughtfully. “Bakugou gets real twitchy when anyone else stands too close to her. Remember the sports festival second year? He nearly exploded that second-year transfer student.” 

“Or the time when he nearly bit Kaminari’s head off when he said you looked good in your new costume.” Mina laughed. 

You rolled your eyes. “You’re all ridiculous. We’ve been friends since we were five. It’s not like that.”

“Mhmm, sure it didn’t used to be. But it is now, you’ve all been glued to each other since the war,” Jirou said. “And no one’s blaming you- I mean Bakugou literally almost died .” 

You flinched a little at the memory. Him in the air jumping in front of Izuku, his body moving on his own as he got stabbed in the gut. You having to stop the bleeding so that he didn’t die. His cold body in your hands. You shook your head, getting rid of the memory. 

“Maybe you’re not ready to admit it to yourself yet, but the rest of us see it.” Mina shrugged. “We’ve got a bet going on of who you’ll end up with by graduation.”

“You what ?” You turned to glare at them, horrified. 

Laughter erupted through the room, even from Momo. “We’re just saying,” she added diplomatically, “you might be the only one who hasn’t noticed how obvious it is.”

You stood up, maybe a little too quickly to be casual, and tossed your used towel into the bin. You grabbed your uniform jacket, and slipped it on. “Alright, alright. Enough . Aizawa is expecting me- and those two idiots too.” You tightened the strap on your bag and headed for the door.

Your face felt a little flush, maybe from the steam of the shower, you didn’t know. All you did know was that the girls were ridiculous. You didn’t have a crush on either of them, and they didn’t have one on you. End of story. 

Right?

You stepped into the hallway and spotted them. Izuku stood a little straighter when he saw you, flashing a smile that made his freckles bunch together. Katsuki leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes scanning you like he was making sure you hadn’t pushed yourself too hard again. 

You raised two fingers and tagged them twice against your thigh- “I’m fine.” 

Izuku responded with a three-finger flick near his shoulder- “You sure?” You nodded in response. 

“Took you long enough,” Katsuki grumbled aloud, pushing off the wall. “You’re slow even when you’re not bleeding.” 

“I told him to be patient.” Izuku sighed, brushing a hand through his curls. 

You shook your head, falling into step between the two of them as you headed down the corridor. The three of you walked in step, the rhythm easy and unspoken. You were shorter than both of them now, smaller too. It was strange, one moment you were kids on the play ground, taller than both of them and now you felt small. Sure you could put both of them in their places, but if it came down to it- just with raw strength you wouldn’t win. 

They weren’t little boys anymore. Izuku didn’t cry when you ran too fast ahead of him anymore. Katsuki didn’t push you into the river when you were too scared to jump off the edge. And you didn’t go over to their houses for sleep overs anymore. You were almost an adult now. With two boys who you’d do anything for, bonded in childhood dreams and trauma that would never leave. 

You tapped your arm twice as you neared Aizawa’s office. “Ready?” 

Katsuki didn’t answer with words. He cracked his neck and clicked his tongue once against his teeth. “Ready.” 

Izuku offered his answer in signs. “Always.” 

You exhaled through your nose- shaking your head, Katsuki looked at you and smirked. “Nerd.” You both signed at the same time. 

Aizawa’s door was already slightly ajar when you reached it, as if he’d been waiting. His gaze met yours first, unreadable but not cold. “Come in,” he said, voice low and direct. “Close the door behind you.”

You filed in. “You're not gonna kill us right?” You murmured, shutting the door behind you. The blinds were drawn, and the only light in the room came from the faint glow of his computer monitor and the warm afternoon sun trying to squeeze through through the slats. You took the middle seat between Izuku and Katsuki- out of habit. 

Aizawa didn’t speak. He looked tired, but then again, he always did. He studied you all with a measured gaze, then folding his hands together on the desk. “You three have changed a lot since your first year. After the war I half expected you to burn out… or break.”

“Harsh” You muttered under your breath.

“ But,” he started, shooting you a look.  “Intsead, you became the most stable unit we have in this school.” 

Katsuki shifted slightly, frowning. “This isn’t about those damn provisional license audits again, is it?”

Aizawa ignored him. “I’ve watched the way you fight. The way you communicate. You’ve built something rare. You all protect each other in a way that goes beyond class.” His eyes flicked to yours, then Izuku’s, then Katsuki’s. “I’ve seen it first hand. You don’t need to be told what the other is thinking. You just know .”

He leaned back in his chair. “U.A. has always had the tradition of recognizing students who demonstrate exceptional promise. You know Mirio, Nejire, and Tamaki- the former big three.”

Your breath caught. Izuku blinked at Katsuki, whose brows furrowed. None of you said anything, but the air between you seemed to tighten. You didn’t want to assume but-

“It pains me to say this but-” Aizawa said slowly, “This year, you three are being named the next Big Three.” 

The words hit like a sudden drop in gravity. For a few heartbeats, all you could hear was the quiet hum of the office. The war, the aftermath, the nights you couldn’t sleep. The mission you shouldn’t have survived. All of it… led to this?

“We didn’t make this decision lightly,” He continued. “It wasn’t just about strength. It was about your leadership. The influence the three of you have on your classmates. And how pro heroes watch you from the sidelines,waiting to see who you become.” 

Izuku looked overwhelmed- eyes wide, muttering to himself softly. Katsuki didn’t move, but his jaw was tight, and his hands flexed once-just enough to betray the fact that this mattered to him. More than he’d probably admit. 

You felt everything at once. Gratitude. Pressure. Pride- that the little girl who got told her quirk was made for a villain, had made it this far. Fear. This was a responsibility. A promise that you were no longer just students. You were leaders. Symbols .And if you were going to wear this title, you’d have to live up to it every single day. 

Aizawa’s voice cut through your thoughts. “This comes with expectations. You’ll mentor younger students. And yes, you’ll be working directly with Hero Commission liaisons as well as completing your school work on time and working at your internships. But we wouldn’t have chosen you if we didn’t believe you could handle it.”

“You're serious?” You blinked. 

“Yes.” His gaze flickered over to you, then the door. “You're dismissed. Any questions you can take up with me or Principal Nezu at a later time.”

The three of you shuffled out into the hallway. It was too quiet. Not in a bad way- just… quiet in the way things are when something shifts. No one wanted to be the first to say it out loud. So you walked in silence for a few minutes, side by side. 

Izuku’s hand brushed against his jacket pocket, twitching like it always did when he was overthinking. Katsui had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, chin slightly lowered, but you could see the muscles in his jaw working. Your thoughts buzzed like static. The Big Three. You weren’t just students anymore- you were the faces of the next generation.

“So…” You finally said, voice quiet as the three of you rounded the corner toward the cafeteria. “We’re the Big Three now.” 

Izuku let out a soft breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah. I guess we are.” He glanced at you. “How do you feel about it?”

You shrugged, but it wasn’t careless. “Happy. Proud. Terrified. All at the same time.”

“Sounds about right for you.” Katsuki muttered.

The scent of food drifted out from the cafeteria entrance. It was midday now, and the lunch crowd was loud, scattered, and oblivious to the fact that three of U.A’s top students had just been handed a legacy. After the war, you were swarmed with attention- both from the media and from the students. Things calmed down after a couple months, you had to practically shove girls away from Katsuki and Izuku. Had to threaten to stab boys who came too close to you when they weren’t around too. What would things be like now? When everyone found out about you being the Big Three, would it be the same?

You grabbed a table near the back- your usual spot- and sat in your usual order: Izuku on one side, you and Katsuki on the other. Old habits die hard.

Izuku picked at his tray and quietly reviewed the nutritional chart taped to the wall like he always did, Katsuki’s hand drifted to the table surface. At first, you thought he was just fidgeting- but then you felt it, the soft taps of his fingers. 

“Next spar?” he tapped.

You didn’t look directly at him. Instead, you dipped your spoon into your bowl and tapped the base of it twice, then once more with a pause between. “Tomorrow?” 

Katsuki gave a faint nod, then went back to eating. Izuku, who’d caught the exchange, smiled and glanced between you. “Again?” 

“Always.” you replied with a smirk. “It’s faster than whispering. And quieter than yelling, in class you know this better than anyone.”

He nodded with a small smile. “It’s not like we have much time left,” he murmured. He wasn’t wrong. Graduation was creeping closer. It felt surreal-like you were stuck between being kids with powers and adults with responsibilities. 

“Do you ever think about what happens after all this? You asked, nudging your rice around the tray. “When we’re out there on our own? No dorms. No class schedules. Just… the real world.”

“Yeah,” Izuku said softly. “And now that we’ve been named the Big Three, it’s not just about what kind of heroes we want to be. It’s about what kind of legacy we leave behind. What kind of example we set.” 

“Tch.” Katsuki didn’t look up but his tone lacked its usual bite. “It doesn’t change a damn thing. We were already carrying it. This just made it official.” 

“He’s right,” You admitted. “We’ve been fighting like pros since the war ended. This just… puts a title to what we’ve already been doing.” 

Izuku finally smiled. “I guess that’s true. But still- there’s pressure. I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want us to mess this up.”

“We won’t, nerd.” Katsuki muttered, glancing at you. 

“We’ve come too far to fall now.” You added. “Win to save. Save to win right?”

The boys tapped the table. “Always.” 

A silence fell over us again- not heavy this time, but thoughtful. There was pride in it. Determination. And even though none of us said it aloud, you knew that whatever was coming next, you’d face it. Together . 

  ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

- 5113 words

Chapter Text

The hallway echoed with the rhythmic sound of students’ footsteps and morning chatter. You, Katsuki, and Izuku made your way to class, walking side by side. The sun filtered through the tall windows, casting long streaks of light across the floor. 

You laughed, unrestrained. “I can’t believe you told that second-year off for bumping into me.” You shook your head with amusement. “He apologized, Kat.”

“Damn right I did,” He muttered, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets, the corner of his mouth twitching, “Stupid kid wasn’t watching where he was going. He’s lucky I didn’t blow his shoes off.” 

Izuku sighed, glancing between the two of you. “You didn’t actually use your quirk, right?” He asked, as you turned the corner. “We’re supposed to set an example now, you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “No Zuku ,” You cut in quickly, nudging him with your elbow. “He just threatened to use it, in classic Katsuki diplomacy.” 

Katsuki scoffed. “If I didn’t say something you would’ve.”

“No I wouldn’t have.” You muttered. 

The two boys exchanged a look between them over your shoulders, then Izuku raised his hand. “Liar.” he signed. 

“Asshole.” You signed back, sticking your tongue out at them.

You walked into class, the air buzzing with the familiar energy as it normally had. Some people were already seated and chatting, others just entering in behind you. You caught Shoto’s eye from across the room and waved, to which you gave a short nod. Mina smiled from her seat, a knowing look on her face. You rolled your eyes at her.

You slid into your seat, dropping your bag on the floor beside your chair. Katsuki and Izuku placed themselves on either side of you, habit as always. The door slid open and Mr.Aizawa slinked his way in, dragging his sleeping bag behind him. 

“Alright, settle down,” he muttered, his voice gruff and tired sounding. His half-lidded eyes scanned the class. “Today’s discussion is something you’re all familiar with, but bears repeating. Profession hero work isn’t all spotlight and success. You’re not just going to fight villains-you’ll be watched, judged, and scrutinized. Constantly .”

The class fell silent as he spoke, you pulled out your note book as others did the same. Attention sharpening by the weight of Aizawa’s tone. He stood behind the podium now, scanning the room slowly. “The public expects you to be perfect. One mistake, one misstep- even if your intentions are good- can turn admiration into outrage. No one's immune to it. Not even myself.” 

You peered over at Katsuki then, eyes narrowing slightly, pen poised over your notebook. His hands were clenched into fits under the table. Aizawa got immense backlash from the public after Katsuki got kidnapped at the training camp, back in your first year. The injuries, his kidnapping, AllMight losing his power… It all happened while your class was under his watch. You didn’t blame him for it, none of you did. But that didn’t change the fact that the public did at that time. 

“Remember Endeavor’s scandal two years ago? Or the backlash the school got after the training camp, or even the USJ attack?” You turned your attention back to him then. The reminders were sobering.

You felt tension creeping into your shoulders. You glanced back at Katsuki, whose hands were now placed on his desk, tapping a finger lightly against the corner of his desk. “You okay?”

“I should be asking you that.” You tapped back, trying to be discreet. “I’m fine. Just thinking. You?” Your fingers brushed the desk carefully to mask the sound. 

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Izuku’s head tilt ever so slightly. Then came another rhythm. “I see you two,” He tapped from his own desk, a grin threatening to pull at his lips. “Include me.” 

You bite your bottom lip to suppress a laugh, and Katski rolled his eyes. “We were,” you responded with a smirk, “you’re just slow.” Aizawa’s voice droned on in front of you.

Katsuki's knuckles drummed softly against the wooden surface of his desk again. “Meet at the roof after.” 

Your lips twitched again, the corners of your mouth threatening to curve upward. “Reason?” you tapped quickly, not breaking your gaze on the board. 

Katsuki responded with a slightly faster pace this time. “Idea for training.” You gave a faint nod and returned to your notes. You heard a faint rhythm on your left again. 

“What idea?” Izuku tapped with the side of his pen.

“You’ll see.” Katsuki responded.

It had become second nature at this point. Code at school, sign at home. It started when you were kids- before U.A., before villains and battle scars. Back when you were just three loud, curious kids playing in alleyways and overgrown parks. Izuku had found a weathered book on survival and wartime strategy in a used bookstore and it became your secret weapon.

At first it was a game. Something only you knew. The three of you would tap messages through walls, use flashlights to blink coded signals across the halls, or even knock out rhythms against metal fences when hiding during hide-and-seek. It had become something sacred. Now it just became a way to communicate thoughts you didn’t want others to hear.

Aizawa paused, then looked directly at your side of the room. “Midoriya. Bakugo. L/n. Something you’d like to share?” he asked, voice deceptively soft. You all froze. You straightened in your chair.

“No, sir,” Izuku said quickly. “Just… paying attention.” 

“We were just… processing. It’s a lot to think about.” Aizawa stared for a long moment before giving a tired sigh and continuing his lecture. You breathed out a sigh of relief, moving back to your pen to begin your notes again. 

The bell rang eventually, marking the end of the lesson, and the chatter broke out once again. You stood, stretching your arms above your head as Katsuki leaned over. “You tap too slow.” 

You rolled your eyes, hitting his arm lightly. “Maybe you just think too fast.”

Izuku joined you at your side, back pack on his shoulders. “You guys are the only people I know who would have a conversation during a lecture on responsibility .” 

You laughed, picking up your bag from the floor and heading to the door. “It’s called multitasking , Zuku. You should try it sometime.”

Students flooded out of the classroom, voices rising, footsteps echoing. You didn’t speak as you slipped with the crowd, heading up two flights of stairs, past the west stairwell, and through the rarely locked rooftop access door. The metal groaned softly as Katsuki pushed it open. 

The rooftop was quiet, the school’s white concrete roof sprawling beneath a pale blue sky streaked with soft clouds. A gentle breeze tugged at your sleeves. The campus buzzed faintly in the distance, but up here it felt like the world had shrunk to just the three of you. This place had been an unofficial headquarters since second year- where you vented, laughed, cried, healed . Together. The roof didn’t judge. It just listened.

Katsuki walked ahead, stopping near the metal railing that overlooked the school grounds. He crossed his arms and stared down, jaw tight, brows furrowed. You and Izuku exchanged a glance before stepping up beside him, waiting. He wasn’t one for wasting time, but when something sat on his mind, he needed space before he could say it out loud.

“I’ve been thinking,” he finally muttered. His voice was low and steady. “This title. It’s not just some trophy. They’re expecting us to be more than students now. They want leaders. Professionals. People the first-years can look at and say, ‘that’s what a hero should be.’” He turned and looked at you two then.

Izuku stepped forward, brows drawn. “We’ve done everything they asked of us. Extra training, field work. Kamino . We risked our lives in real combat. But it still feels like we’re playing catch-up, doesn’t it?” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between the two of you. “Being the Big Three means setting an example. Not just in power- but in control. Strategy . We have to be sharper than we’ve ever been.”

“The curriculum isn’t enough anymore,” Katsuki said. “Aizawa’s classes are solid-but he’s teaching a whole group. We don’t have time to wait for everyone else to catch up. If we're gonna do this, we need to train smarter. Harder . On our own terms.” He paused, glancing over at you. “I can’t let someone else lose something because of my mistakes.”

You blinked. AllMight’s power. Aizawa’s leg, his eye. Izuku’s scars. He still blamed himself for all of it. “You're okay.” you signed. “None of that was your fault.” 

He only nodded slowly, looking down at his hands. Your sign to change the subject. Your gaze drifted out over the horizon as the wind tugged your skirt slightly. “You want to build something outside of class right? Controlled simulations. Variable scenarios. Things we can’t risk messing up in public,” You turned back to them, eyes steady. “You’re right. We can’t afford to stay comfortable- not with eyes on us now. Not with what’s coming.” 

“We’ll design the training ourselves,” Izuku said, slipping into his analyzing mode. “We’ll rotate roles- leader, support, threat analysis. Create unpredictable situations. Civilian rescues, hostage simulations,villain interference. If we can think through the worst-case scenarios now, we’ll move faster when the real thing happens.” He chewed his bottom lip for a second. “It won’t be easy. But it’s what pros do.” 

Katsuki nodded slowly, his mouth a tight line. “We’ve been through too much to get lazy now. No more relying on raw strength or instinct. I don’t care how strong people think we are- we earn that shit. We don’t coast on it.” 

You stepped between them, smiling. “It’s us. No more waiting for the school to tell us what’s next. We make ourselves better. Together .” 

A promise. 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The late afternoon sun streamed softly through your bedroom window, casting golden rays across the scattered notebooks, pens, and textbooks that covered your floor. You were perched on a cushion with your back against the wall, working through a set of calculus problems with furrowed brows, your pencil tapping lightly as you calculated. Katsuki sat cross-legged opposite you, scribbling furiously in his notes, grumbling occasionally under his breath when he had to erase a mistake. Izuku, multitasked. His own textbook open while also jotting down some thoughts in a separate notebook- most likely hero related strategies. The atmosphere was quiet, but comfortable.

It had been like this for a while now. After school, the three of you would decompress in one of your rooms, do your homework, and then head to the gym. If you thought about it too long, your mind would wander back to what the girls had been saying. The three of you were always together- ‘attached at the soul.’ It wasn’t something you’d really thought about before, it just was .

“Oi, you need to redo number four,” Katsuki muttered, interrupting your thoughts, eyes flicking over your page with a sharp glance. “You used the wrong formula.”

“Shit,” You sighed, flipping your pencil around to erase. “I knew something felt off.”

“Don’t worry,” Izuku smiled, nudging your knee with his. “It’s just practice.” 

“Yeah but you know I suck at this shit.” You mumbled. “I mean- when the fuck am I actually going to use this?” 

Before either of them could respond, your phone buzzed on the edge of your desk. You glanced up at the screen, ‘Mom’ flashed back at you. You frowned slightly-she never called at this time. “One sec,” You muttered, picking it up and pressing the phone to your ear. “Hey, Mom.”

There was a pause before her voice came through, edged with tension. “Oh my baby. Are you home safe?”

The worry in her voice caught you off guard. You blinked and sat up straighter. “Yeah mom, I’m fine. I’m just studying with Izuku and Katsuki before going to the gym.”

She sighed heavily on the other end, and you could just see her pacing the kitchen, wringing her hands like she used to when you scraped your knee as a kid. “Did you see the news today? There was a villain attack not far from your school… and your name keeps coming up more and more in the tabloids. I just- I know you’re strong, sweetheart, but hero work is dangerous.”

You sighed tightly, but kept your tone light. She’d been like this since you came to U.A. and you couldn’t really blame her, your first year was hell on earth. “I know, Mom. We’re careful. Aizawa and the other teachers are always looking out for us. Plus, we’re training harder than ever.”

“But that’s what scares me,” she said quietly. “You’ve got a big target on your back now. And- I just keep thinking- what if something happens? What if I lose you?” 

Ever since Kamino, she’d gotten worse. Katsuki was injured so badly, and it took a toll on you- on your body - you had to stop the bleeding. Use your own platelets to stop his own from spilling. You almost passed out from the blood loss. You told yourself you’d never get that close to losing someone like that again. 

You swallowed thickly, glancing toward the boys. Izuku had paused his writing, looking up with concern. Katsuki’s jaw had tightened, eyes staring into your own. You took a deep breath. “I’m not going anywhere, Mom. I promise. We’re going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.” 

There was another stretch of silence. Then her voice came back, a little softer, but still shaky. “Are the boys there with you now?”

You hesitated for a second, then tapped the speaker icon. “Yeah, you’re on speaker now. Say hi guys.”

“Hi Aunty,” Izuku said warmly, shifting his tone into a polite, cheerful one. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“Hey Aunty,” Katsuki added gruffly, though there was a warmth in his tone that he rarely showed to anyone else besides her. “She’s fine. You don’t have to worry.”

You moved your other hand quickly, “Sorry.” you signed to both of them behind the phone, wincing slightly. They both gave you a look- Katsuki rolled his eyes, Izuku smiled softly. 

“Thank you, boys,” your mom said, her voice calming a bit. “I know she’s safe with you two. I just- you’ve all grown up so fast. From playing in the backyard to fighting villains- and sometimes I wish you were all still five years old. Pretending to be heroes with towels tied around your necks.” 

You laughed a little, the sound breaking some of the tension building in your chest. “We were pretty dramatic, huh?” 

“Especially you,” Katsuki muttered with a smirk. “You insisted your cape was actually a battle banner.”

“You had a whole speech memorized,” Izuku added, eyes crinkling. “We couldn’t even start our pretend battles until you finished it.” 

“Shut up- says you two- who still has their matching AllMight cards, hmm?” You mumbled. “That speech was legendary.” 

Your mom chuckled through the speaker, as Katsuki signed to you, “I know you still have yours too.” You rolled your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him. He was right, you did. Tucked in a pocket of your hero costume. 

“It really was. But listen- just promise me one thing, all of you.” she paused.  “Promise me that you’ll keep taking care of each other. That you’ll be smart. Don’t rush into danger just to prove something- I’m talking about you Izuku.”

Izuku’s face heated slightly. “We promise, Aunty,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Katsuki said after a beat, looking right at you. “You’ve got our word.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “That won’t change.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The air felt heavier now- not bad, just more . Then your mom let out a breath. “Okay, I trust you. All of you. But call me more, it gets lonely in this big house all by myself.”

“I will.” you said, and then hung up, the line going silent again. 

You placed your phone down beside you and clapped your hands together. “Alright, let’s finish this shit. Gym in thirty.” 

“Deal.” Izuku said.

“Fine.” Katsuki muttered, already writing again.

After another half-hour of focused studying- punctuated by occasional grumbling from Katsuki and soft mutterings from Izuku- you finally scribbled the last answer onto your paper and stretched your arms above your head with a satisfied groan.

“Done,” you declared, flopping dramatically onto your back. “I’m a free woman.”

Izuku looked up at you with a laugh. “Dramatic much?” You flipped him off. “You did actually finish ahead of schedule though, so good job.” 

Katsuki snorted. “Barely. You spent ten minutes complaining about integrals.” 

“I was manifesting my way through them,” you shot back with a grin.

He just shook his head. Your eyes flickered toward your phone reading the time. “Alright, gym time. I’m gonna change real quick and then we can go.”

You stood up and made your way to your closet, grabbing a pair of black compression leggings and a burgundy sports bra. Turning around, you noticed that neither of the boys had moved from their spots on the floor.

You raised a brow, a playful smirk curling on your lips. “Are you two waiting to watch me change or something?” 

Izuku’s face turned scarlet. “N-no! I was just- I mean- I didn’t think you were going to-!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes but looked away, muttering something that sounded a lot like, “Tch. You wish.”

You laughed. “Okay, so get out- or else you're gonna see me naked.” You waved your hand, shooing them to leave.

Izuku scrambled up and opened the door quickly, going to his own room down the hall. Katsuki took his time, standing up and grabbing his things. Walking to the door without a rush. 

He peered at you over his shoulder. “It’s not like we haven’t seen your skin befor-”

“ Out , Kat.” You pointed to the door. Heat rising to your cheeks slightly.

He wasn’t wrong. They’d seen the majority of your body in training, swimming, even as a kid. But things were different now, you were older, had parts of your body that they obviously didn’t. And the scars along your skin weren’t always ones you were proud of. 

He raised his hands in surrender, laughing under his breath and closed the door softly behind him. A few minutes later, you emerged dressed and ready, pulling your hair into a ponytail. Your clothes clung comfortably to your frame, snug in all the right places. 

Kartsuki looked up and scoffed from his place in the common room. “About time.”

“Shut up.” You mumbled, fixing the bag on your shoulder. “Let’s go before I beat your ass in front of everyone.”

“Like you’ve ever come close.”

The three of you left the dorms together, heading down the path. The sun was just beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the courtyard as you passed through it. The school gym wasn’t far, but the walk was comforting- routine. Students passed by and waved, some with wide eyes when they recognized the three of you. You were all used to it by now; the whispers in the hallways, the lingering stares. It didn’t just start this past week when it was announced that you were the Big Three, no it started after the first attack on your class. And it only grew from there. Murmurs about the training camp, Katsuki’s kidnapping, Izuku’s quirks, about how close the three of you were, and now about becoming the Big Three. 

As you reached the front of the building, Izuku suddenly slowed and stopped just before the door.

“I have to go talk to All Might,” he said, glancing at the two of you. “He wanted to go over some of my One For All control notes from this week.”

You nodded. “He’s probably waiting for you then, you should go.”

Katsuki just crossed his arms. “Tell him I said he better not go soft on your weak ass.”

Izuku rolled his eyes, chucking. “I’ll let him know, Kacchan.” 

You gave him a quick wave as he jogged off, disappearing down the side path leading to the back of the building. The fading light caught the edge of his hair, making it look almost golden as he disappeared around the corner.

The two of you stood in front of the gym door for a moment. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable- it just was. You glanced over at him, catching his sharp profile against the sky.

The light hit his face just right, painting him in deep golds and soft reds, like the sky itself could decide if it was setting or just stuck staring at him too. Katsuki stood there, silent, hands shoved in his pockets. His usual scowl was nowhere to be found- it was enough to notice the slope of his nose more clearly, the way his jaw shifted slightly when he chewed at the inside of his cheek.

You didn’t think you had ever noticed that before. Why were you noticing that now? Maybe it was just weird seeing him so still- he was always moving-arguing, training. When did he become so quiet? When did the air around him stop moving as much? Maybe it was how the sky burned behind him that made him look so… peaceful. 

You blinked slowly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. The air felt too warm all of a sudden. Why was it so warm outside? You cleared your throat, “You ready to blow something up?” you asked, with a teasing smirk. 

His lips curled slightly as he glanced at you. “Always.”

And with that, the two of you stepped into the gym together, the door closing behind you with a soft click. Leaving the world, and the weird feeling in your chest, behind you.

The gym reeked of sweat and heat, the sharp scent of burnt ozone still lingering in the air from Katsuki’s most recent detonation. The walls were scorched in jagged patches, smoke curling lazily along the ceiling. You stood near the far end of the room, chest rising and falling with each breath as you manipulated a thin ribbon of blood, swirling it between your fingers like a blade. It pulsed with your heartbeat- the colour deep and vibrant, alive. 

Across the room, Katsuki was already gearing up for another round. The two of you had been at it for over an hour- with no sign of Izuku still- no teachers, no rules, no one telling you when to stop. That was the point. This wasn’t training for the sake of grades anymore. You were sharpening the edges you’d already bled for. For the title that sat on your shoulders like armor and on the fear of not being enough. 

“Again,” he barked, mostly to himself, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His breathing was heavy, uneven, but his hands were already sparking.

He didn’t wait. He rushed forward, vaulting off a scorched piece of metal debris, palm bursting as he launched another controlled blast across the gym- aimed wide, meant to test his reach and trajectory control.

You followed his movement with your eyes, calculating. You cracked the blood whip out in front of you, snapping it toward a speeding projectile he’d launched mid-blast- catching it in the air with a sickening crack. The impact jarred through your hand, but you kept it steady. He landed hard on the floor, skidding to a stop. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

The intercom crackled. A distant, muffled announcement came through- Principal Nezu’s voice. Something about closing times? You couldn’t make out the words clearly. You turned your head toward the speaker and instinctively looked at Katsuki, expecting some kind of reaction.

But he didn’t even flinch . 

He stood, fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes locked forward like nothing had happened. And then- a beat too late- a flicker of frustration crossed his face. He turned sharply toward the speaker, expression twisted and you saw it: The slight shake of his head, the narrowing of his eyes, like the words had been spoken underwater. 

Like he couldn’t hear them.

Your chest tightened. The ringing . Izkuk and you were trying so hard to keep an eye on it but- it was worse than you thought. He’d never said a word about it. Not to either of you. Not even when you were alone like this. 

You set the blood whip down, letting it dissipate into nothing, and walked toward him slowly. His eyes met yours before you had even reached him. Like he had sensed you. He knew you saw. But still- you stopped a few feet away, the silence between you thicker than smoke.

Without a word, you signed, “You didn’t hear that, did you?”

He looked away, exhaling through his nose, jaw grinding. There it was again- the way he chewed on the flesh of his cheek with fear. The flicker of anxiety behind the anger. 

He signed back, stiffly, almost like it hurt . “It’s not all the time. Just- sometimes. After I go all out.”

You waited. But he didn’t keep going, his hands twitched like he wanted to say more- but he just didn’t. Like he couldn’t. You stepped closer, “You're worried it’s permanent.”

He didn’t answer.

“Katsuki,” you signed gently. “You don’t have to push this hard every time.”

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Slowly, he looked at you-  and his expression cracked, just slightly. “I do ,” he said aloud, his voice rough. “If I lose my hearing, I lose reaction time. I lose the edge. If I lose that-” He shook his head. “I’m just another loud idiot who blew himself apart before graduation.” 

“Katsuki-” You stepped closer, placing your hand over his, he pulled back like your touch burned him. You froze. 

“Don’t do that-” He shook his head. “Don't look at me like that .” His voice wasn’t sharp, not really. It was rough around the edges, worn down, like sandpaper that had seen too much use. Like he didn’t have the strength to be angry with you right now. 

He looked away again, eyes burning holes into the scorched wall behind you. You didn’t speak. Not right away.

Because you had looked at him like that. With concern. With sadness. Of course you did, you cared for him deeply. You gave your own blood to save his life. 

“I’m not looking at you any kind of way.” you said quietly, but the lie tasted bitter. 

He scoffed under his breath. “ Bullshit ,” He spat, but there wasn’t really a fire behind it. “You are.”

You stepped closer again, slower this time, careful not to do what you did before. “And what if I am?” you snapped back. “You think I didn’t notice? That Izuku and I don’t notice? You think that I haven’t seen how you wince every time an explosion is too close- too loud? Or when you don’t hear something fully?” 

His jaw twitched. “It’s not like I can just turn it off!”

“I know that!” You spat, breathing a little heavy. “I know that. But you can’t just blow yourself to hell every time you feel like you’re falling behind.” You spoke a little softer now. “That’s not how this works anymore. We’re not kids screaming at each other on the playground. You’re allowed to give a shit , Katsuki.”

“I have to be faster,” he insisted. “Smarter, Stronger. All of it. Always . Because what happens if I’m not?” He looked at you then, and the words that came next weren’t loud. They weren’t explosive. They cracked like glass. 

“What if you’re the one that gets hurt again- because of me . Because I can’t hear the warning?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

There it was. It wasn’t about him. Not really. Not about the rankings or the title. It was about you. 

You swallowed, throat tight. “You think I’m weak enough to die just because you miss a cue?” 

“No,” he said immediately. Too quickly. “No- I didn’t mean it like- shit Y/n, I made a promise to your mom .”

You stepped in closer, your hand brushing his- gently this time, just the edge of your fingers against his knuckles. He didn’t flinch this time. Didn’t pull back.

“I know, but I’m not going anywhere,” You said. “Not unless you keep burning yourself out like this.”

Your fingers stayed where they were, close but not quite interlaced. The silence between you shifted- less like smoke now, more like something else. Something heavy.

You glanced up at him. “You’re not just a loud idiot, Katsuki.” 

He looked down at you, brows drawn. “No?”

You smiled, small and maybe a little sad. “No. Of course not. Why would I be friends with an idiot?”

He laughed softly, and for a second- just one- something flickered in his eyes. A softness, quickly smothered. His hand shifted. His fingers brushing against yours. And he didn’t pull away.

“You’re not alone. You’ve got me- us . We work smarter, not louder.” You smiled again. “You’re still Katsuki Bakugou- even if the world gets quieter.” 

You didn’t know how long the two of you stood there for. Breathing hard. Hands brushing. But he didn’t push away. And you didn’t leave. You just existed like two passing ships caught under the same moon.

  ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

- 4963 words

Chapter Text

The moon was bright, almost blindingly so. The distant hum of quiet life just outside of the gates. You probably shouldn’t have been up here, not alone anyways, but here you were. Sitting on the railing with your feet dangling over the edge, a soft breeze tugging the edges of your hoodie. The roof never judged, never changed, despite all of the changes you’d been through in the last two years. 

Two whole years since you stepped through the gates of this place with dreams bigger than your own shadow. So much had changed since then- the class had been through battles, heartbreaks, victories you didn’t feel worthy of, and losses you never asked for. Your body bore a few scars, sure, everyone's had. But it was the mental scars that kept you up most nights. The ones that never left no matter how hard you squeezed your eyes shut.

Izuku and Katsuki bore those scars too, but at least you had each other now. Despite what everyone thought of you three, it was a constant- never changing, steady. No matter what, they’d always be here.

You didn’t hear the rooftop door creak open over the wind at first, but you felt it- like a shift in the air, a pulse of something familiar. A moment later, shoes scraped against the concrete, heavy and certain. Katsuki walked across the roof with an exasperated sigh.

He didn’t say anything right away, just moved with purpose until he was beside you. No hesitation, no question. He sat down with a low grunt, arms resting on his knees, eyes locked on the horizon like it had pissed him off personally.

Katsuki always seemed to appear when you needed someone, whether you asked or not. Especially when you didn’t ask. Even when you didn’t know you needed someone. There was comfort in that- the way he didn’t make you explain. Like he just knew. 

“I could hear your steps from across the hall,” you murmured, offering him a sideways glance. “Didn’t think you’d follow me all the way up here, though.”

He scoffed. “You think I’d just let you mope alone like an idiot?”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “You’re one to talk.”

Silence fell between you again, but not the uncomfortable kind. It was the silence that only came with years of knowing someone. The kind that said everything without needing words.

You watched him rub his ear again, the motion subtle but telling. He tried to hide it, but you’d known him too long to miss it. 

“Is it worse today?” you asked softly.

His jaw tensed. He didn’t look at you. “It’s fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

A beat passed. He didn’t speak again, but you knew. You always knew. How could you not? Your body beat the same as his, moved in tandem. Even without speaking. Without being near each other, you always felt him. More than anyone else. 

So you didn’t bring it up again, because what could you say to make it better? His hearing was going and there wasn’t anything you could do to fix it. It wasn’t fine, and you both knew it. And Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t the kind of person who needed pity-especially not from you. If anything, pity only made the weight in his chest heavier. And you wouldn’t make that mistake again, not after this past week. 

Instead, you let the silence stretch again, until the wind picked up just enough to carry a shiver down your spine. You wrapped your arms around yourself, not from the cold, but from the ache that settled in your bones. It wasn’t from training. Or missions. Or even old wounds. 

It was from seeing everything you’d been through. From seeing him stabbed through the gut and having to stop the bleeding. Feeling his pulse start to fade, watching Izuku fight the battle alone. From seeing Aizawa cut his own leg off-

You blinked hard against the memory.

It was always worse at night.

The stars looked the same, scattered like broken glass across the sky, but they didn’t feel the same anymore. Maybe they never would. Not after what all of you had seen. Not after what you almost lost. What you kept losing.

You heard the shift of fabric beside you, a quiet scrape as Katsuki leaned back on his hands. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel him watching you. Like he always did when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

“You’re doing it again,” he muttered, voice low. Rough.

Your brow furrowed. “Doing what?”

“Carrying it.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your eyes followed a plane blinking faintly overhead, too high to be heard. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like to be that far away. From the war. From expectations. From loss.

“You think you’re the only one who sees everything?” he added, quieter this time. “You think I don’t know what you do when Izuku’s not looking? When no one is?”

Your throat tightened.

“I’m not trying to-”

“You always do,” he cut in, but not harshly. “You act like you’re the glue. Like if you crack, the rest of us will fall apart.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Aren’t I?” you shook your head, voice quieter now. “Where would the two of you even be without me?” 

“No.” His answer was immediate. “We’ve already fallen apart. A bunch of times. We just keep crawling back.”

Silence.

He exhaled through his nose, then turned to look at you full-on. “You can lean on me. Y’know. Once in a while.”

You finally looked back at him.

His eyes were tired. Lined with shadows and the weight of too many battles fought too young. And they were honest. Katsuki had never been good at sugarcoating. But when it came to you, he didn’t lie. He never could.

Something twisted in your chest. Not pain. Not exactly. Not anymore.

“I know,” you said softly. “When did you get to be such a softie, huh?” you laughed, nudging his shoulder with yours. 

He shifted, resting his arms on his knees, chin tilted toward the wind, a small smile resting against his lips. 

“Shut up- I ain’t soft.” he scoffed.

You stared at him.

There wasn’t a smirk on his face. No teasing glint in his eye. Just… warmth. The kind he’d never admit to. The kind he only gave to the people he cared about. 

And suddenly, the ache in your bones didn’t feel so unbearable.

So you leaned, just slightly, letting your head fall against his shoulder. Katsuki didn’t say anything else after that. He just sat there, with your head against his shoulder, letting the wind do most of the talking. It whipped through his hair, tugged at the edges of your hoodie, hummed between the rails like it was trying to fill the space neither of you could.

You didn’t move.

Because maybe if you stayed still long enough, the ache would soften. Maybe the world wouldn’t feel so loud or too big to hold.

Or maybe it wasn’t the world at all. Maybe it was just him, sitting so close you could feel the heat bleeding off his skin, grounding you in a way nothing else could. They were both really good at that, Izuku and him. Good at keeping you sane. 

You closed your eyes for a moment. Not to sleep, just to breathe.

And he stayed there with you- quiet, solid, present in a way that Katsuki Bakugou had only ever been with a handful of people. Maybe only two. And one of the two was sitting beside him now, breathing through the ache the same way he was.

You broke the silence first.

“You think I could sleep in your room again tonight?” 

His jaw ticked. You felt it more than you saw it.

He didn’t answer right away, and you didn’t rush him. Katsuki always answered when he was ready- when it mattered.

But the air shifted, just barely. The kind of subtle tension that bloomed between two people standing too close to a fire and pretending they weren’t burning.

Finally, he gave a short nod. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

You exhaled, soft relief curling at the edges of your chest.

It wasn’t the first time.

Not even the tenth.

There’d been too many nights over the past year when the silence was louder than the explosions in your heads- when the beds in the dorms felt too big, too cold, too far from the people who got it. So you’d wandered. Sometimes you’d find Izuku curled up on the common room couch, head tilted back and nightmares stitched behind his eyelids. Other times, it was just you and Katsuki. No words, no explanations. Just… space. Shared warmth. Sleep that finally came, even if only for a few hours.

You didn’t look at him when you spoke again, just lifted your head off his shoulder and looked at your hands, voice quieter now.

“You don’t mind?”

Another pause. Then a sound- soft, almost scoffing. But not mean.

“You think I’d let anyone in my room if I didn’t want ‘em there?”

That made you smile, just barely.

“No,” you murmured. “I guess not.”

He shifted beside you again, not pulling away but turning just enough so that his knee brushed against yours. You could feel the tension in him- coiled, held back, like there was something else he wanted to say and didn’t know how.

Katsuki had never been good at softness. But you’d learned to read it in him anyway.

In the way he waited for your answer. The way he always kept one headphone out when you were near, in case you wanted it. The way his voice lowered when he spoke to you, even when he was pissed.

“I sleep better when you’re there,” he said suddenly. Blunt. But low, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted you to hear it or not. 

You blinked.

“Oh.”

It was the only word you could manage without your chest tightening.

But he didn’t take it back. Didn’t flinch.

Just looked at the sky like he hadn’t said anything at all.

Your heart beat a little harder. Not in the way it used to during fights or missions. In that slower, deeper rhythm-the kind that came from safety.

You stood up first, brushing your hands against your sweatpants, the rooftop wind tugging at your sleeves. “You coming?”

He gave you a look, tired and unreadable and maybe a little softer than he meant it to be. Then he pushed himself up beside you with a grunt, shoulders broad in the moonlight, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Yeah,” he said.

And he walked beside you without another word.

Because that’s how it always was with Katsuki- no promises, no declarations. Just quiet constancy. Just showing up.

And as the two of you slipped back into the dorms, your steps echoing side by side in the empty hallway. Your chest didn’t feel tight, not anymore. 

And when sleep finally found you, it was peaceful and warm. Like most things where around your friends. Around him. 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You woke up warm.

Not the kind of warmth that came from blankets or sunlight, but the kind that came from proximity. From being near someone who knew exactly how the dark felt, and didn’t ask you to explain it.

The dorm room was quiet. Soft morning light filtered in through the blinds, casting pale gold stripes across the floor, your arms, the edge of Katsuki’s bed.

He was still asleep beside you.

Or at least, you thought he was- until you shifted, and his arm twitched slightly where it had ended up half-draped across your waist sometime during the night.

You froze.

It wasn’t the first time.

You’d ended up tangled like this before- halfway between sleep and not, minds too tired to care, bodies pulled close like you were still trying to keep each other alive. And neither of you had ever said a word about it in the morning.

It just was.

You felt him shift again, just slightly, and this time you knew he was awake.

He didn’t say anything. Just let out a slow exhale that hit the back of your neck, and you felt your skin prick with awareness.

“Morning,” you murmured, voice rough from sleep.

He grunted. “Mm.”

A pause. Then his voice, low and quiet, just above a whisper:
“You okay?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it from where his chin was nearly brushing your shoulder. “Yeah. You?”

“Fine.” A beat. “Didn’t wake up once.”

You smiled, lips barely moving. “Guess that makes two of us.”

Neither of you moved for a while.

The clock on his nightstand ticked quietly. Someone walked past in the hallway. The world kept going.

And still, you stayed there. 

Eventually, he shifted enough to sit up, rubbing a hand over his face. His hair was a mess, sticking up even more than usual. You sat up too, legs curled beneath you, watching him in the soft morning light. The dorm was quiet except for the distant hum of others starting their day- voices muffled through walls, the occasional creak of pipes or a door clicking shut somewhere down the hall.

Katsuki caught your gaze and held it.

For a second, it felt like something might break- or shift, at least. His eyes searched yours, unreadable, as if weighing whether to say something he couldn’t take back. But he just blinked and looked away, muttering, “You hog the damn blanket.”

You snorted, the tension snapping like a twig. “You’re the one who sleeps like a space heater. I was dying.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Just barely.

“You need a haircut,” you said, reaching out before he could lean away, fingers brushing through the tangled mess of blonde sticking out in every direction. Your touch lingered a little longer than necessary- and he didn’t stop you. “Do you want me to cut it after school tomorrow? Izuku needs one too.”

Katsuki gave a half-hearted scoff, his eyes flicking toward you and then down to where your hand had dropped into your lap. “Tch. Yeah, whatever. Just don’t screw it up.”

“You say that like I ever have,” you replied, raising a brow.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you again- really looked. Like he was seeing something unfamiliar in something he knew better than anyone. You sat there, in his t-shirt, hair messy and eyes still crusted with sleep. A pause stretched between you, filled with- something- you couldn’t name. 

“You’re in my bed again,” he said finally, voice low and almost quiet.

“You let me,” you said back, just as soft. “Again.”

His jaw tensed like he wanted to argue-like the words were there, ready to push you away -but instead, he just let out a short breath and stood up, grabbing a hoodie off the desk chair. The moment passed, folded into the morning like all the others before it.

The moment passed, folded into the morning like all the others before it. Familiar, fleeting. Safe.The moment slipping quietly into memory, like all the others.

You sat there for a second longer, watching the way the light spilled across the floor, catching in the threads of the blanket still tangled around your waist. You wondered, for the first time, if the girls were right- if this was the subtle ache of something unspoken blooming in the quiet.

No. 

You shook your head, ridding your mind of the thought. 

Finally, you stood, stretching your arms above your head until your back popped.

“I’m gonna go get ready.” you muttered, brushing sleep from your eyes as you stepped toward the door. “I’ll see you in an hour?” 

Katsuki didn’t answer right away. Just tugged the hoodie sleeves down over his hands, gaze dropping to the floor like maybe it held some kind of clarity. 

Then: “Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “An hour.”

You lingered in the doorway for a beat longer than necessary, like maybe you were waiting for something else. For what? You didn’t know.

But he didn’t look up.

So you left.

And behind you, the silence grew loud again.

You walked down the hallway barefoot, arms wrapped loosely around yourself. The dorm was quiet this early- just the soft hum of lights, the distant sound of a shower running, and your own footsteps echoing off the tile.

Your door creaked softly as you opened it. Familiar, lived-in. Safer, somehow, than the silence you'd left behind.

You exhaled.

Your uniform hung neatly on the back of your desk chair, pressed from the night before. You peeled off Katsuki’s oversized shirt- warm from sleep and clinging slightly to your skin- and folded it carefully, smoothing it with your hands before setting it gently on your desk. The scent of him still lingered faintly on the fabric: smoke, spice, and something softer underneath, something undeniably him.

You didn’t let yourself think about it too long.

Sliding into your uniform felt mechanical, the motions practiced: shirt, skirt, tie, blazer. You ran a brush through your hair, tied it back out of your face, and splashed cold water onto your cheeks in front of the mirror. A small ritual to shake off whatever had settled into your chest.

By the time you stepped out again, the hallway had started to wake- doors creaking open, voices growing louder, laughter bouncing from wall to wall. Another day at U.A.

You made your way down to the common room, where the scent of toast and eggs hung in the air. The TV buzzed softly in the background, some early morning news report playing to no one in particular. A few of your classmates were already scattered around the space, slouched over the kitchen counter or curled into couches, still blinking sleep from their eyes.

Katsuki was already there, leaned against the far wall with a protein shake in hand, uniform jacket tied around his waist. His eyes met yours briefly as you walked in. Just a flicker of recognition. Nothing more.

Izuku waved you over from where he sat near the kitchen bar, already halfway through a plate of toast and eggs. He was mid-conversation with Katsuki, hands moving quickly in familiar patterns.

You signed, “good morning.” sliding into the seat between them, and the rhythm of your little trio picked up like it always did- seamless and natural.

Izuku blinked at you, eyes narrowing. “You okay? You look tired.” he signed.

You gave a small shrug, smiling with just the corners of your mouth. “Just didn’t sleep much.”

Katsuki scoffed dryly “Maybe because someone was kicking me all night.”

You shot him a look, your fingers signing without thinking. “You hog the entire bed. That’s not on me.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a flicker of something amused at the corner of his mouth- like maybe he wasn’t all that annoyed after all.

The three of you slipped into your usual quiet conversation, signing around bites of food, like it was second nature.

Around you, the dorm buzzed louder with the energy of the day starting up- chairs scraping back, dishes clinking, classmates laughing or shouting across the room. But within the small circle you and Katsuki and Izuku had carved out, everything felt a little more still.

Just for a moment.

The kind of peace that was built, not found.

You were mid-sentence- halfway through signing “Did you finish the math homework? It’s due second period” - when someone across the room spoke up loud enough to catch everyone’s attention.

“Jeez, you guys are doing that sign language thing again,” Kaminari said, chin propped in his hand, eyes barely open as he nursed a cup of coffee. “Feels like I’m getting left out of a secret club or something.”

You looked up, surprised, your hands pausing in midair. Not offended- just caught off guard that he’d bring it up, again. 

“We’re not trying to leave anyone out,” Izuku said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck, always a little too eager to keep the peace.

“It’s just easier sometimes,” you added, giving Kaminari a light smile. “Quieter, too.”

Katsuki didn’t even look up from where he was cracking his knuckles. “Maybe you should try learning it, dumbass.”

Kaminari snorted, unfazed. “Maybe I would if you offered to teach me without yelling in my face.”

That earned a few laughs from the rest of the room, and the tension diffused just as quickly as it had sparked. You went back to signing with the boys- the movements smaller now, more compact, tucked into the space between you.

When the time came to head to class, the three of you grabbed your bags and filtered out with the rest of the students, stepping into the crisp morning air. The sky was a soft blue, streaked with clouds, and the sun hadn’t quite burned through the chill.

Katsuki walked on your left, Izuku on your right- a silent formation you’d all fallen into long ago, without needing to talk about it. There was a rhythm to your steps, easy and familiar. Like breathing.

But it didn’t last.

About halfway down the path to the main building, Mina came bounding up from behind, looping her arm through yours with a grin far too mischievous for so early in the morning.

“Hey,” she said brightly. “Can I steal you for a sec?”

You glanced between the boys- Katsuki gave you a vaguely annoyed look but didn’t say anything, and Izuku just smiled politely- before nodding and letting her pull you to the side.

As soon as you were a few steps away, Mina leaned in, eyes gleaming like she already knew something you didn’t.

“So,” she said, sing-song, “I saw you leave Bakugo’s room this morning.”

You sighed. “It’s not like that.”

She raised a brow. “Really? Because it’s like the third time this week. Fourth, if we’re counting Sunday.”

You rolled your eyes.“We’ve always done that. It’s not new.”

“Sure,” she said slowly, drawing out the word like she didn’t believe you at all. “But things feel different lately. I mean, the way you three were sitting this morning- you’re like a little unit. Always signing and whispering and walking in step like some kind of perfectly synchronized trio. And I know that's normal for you guys but- Bakugou keeps looking at you.”

“It’s not that deep,” you muttered.

“Isn’t it?” She tilted her head, her smile softening a little. “I’m not judging, I swear. I think it’s cute. I just wanna know… are you sure you don’t have feelings for either of them?”

The girls had asked you weeks ago about this same thing, and of course it’d never crossed your mind before. Because these were your friends, your best friends. You grew up together, practically did everything together. So it was never a thought before- but now? 

You hesitated- for a second. Mina’s grin widened. 

“I knew it,” she whispered triumphantly. “Which one?”

You pulled your arm out of hers gently, shaking your head with a huff. “There is no one, Mina.” 

She gave you a look. “That’s not a no.”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you glanced over your shoulder- where Katsuki and Izuku were still walking ahead, occasionally glancing back like they were waiting for you to catch up.

And for a second, the quiet ache came back- the one you never knew how to name.

You gave Mina a half-hearted glare-the best you could manage when your heart wasn’t really in it- and started walking again, brushing her off with a muttered, “You’re imagining things.”

She just hummed knowingly behind you, but thankfully didn’t press the issue further. For now.

Katsuki and Izuku were waiting just ahead near the edge of the path, both paused mid-step like they’d been pretending not to wait for you. Izuku gave you a small smile when you rejoined them, and Katsuki just grunted.

“You good?” Izuku asked.

You nodded once. “Yeah. Mina’s just being… Mina.”

Katsuki eyed you for a second, like he wanted to ask what that meant- or maybe already knew. But instead, he just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and started walking again.

You fell into step between them once more.

The campus was still waking- the sky getting brighter, voices louder. Leaves rustled underfoot as a light breeze passed through the trees lining the walkway, carrying with it the earthy scent of the morning. You passed other students, some chatting excitedly about hero training, others dragging their feet and yawning.

For a few minutes, the three of you walked in silence. Not awkward- just quiet. Comfortable.

You let your hands move absentmindedly again, signing without even looking. “You think Aizawa’s going to give us a pop quiz?”

Izuku signed back quickly, with a grimace. “If he does, I’m not ready. I was helping Eri with her science project last night.”

Katsuki’s hands moved next- sharp, a little more aggressive in rhythm. “You should’ve studied earlier instead of babying that kid all night.”

Izuku didn’t even flinch, just sighed. “She’s not a baby. And she needed help.”

Katsuki scoffed under his breath. “You’re too soft.”

“And you’re still an asshole,” you signed back, your face expressionless.

Izuku tried to stifle a laugh.

Katsuki’s lip twitched- not quite a smile, but something close. Then he bumped his shoulder lightly into yours, just once.

You didn’t say anything, but your chest felt warmer.

The building came into view up ahead, the front steps already crowded with students funneling inside. You could hear Iida’s voice somewhere off to the side, organizing some poor first-years into an orderly line for some reason. Uraraka waved from the steps and called out something you didn’t quite catch, and Izuku waved back instinctively.

“Are you ever gonna ask her out?” You signed, raising a brow.

Katsuki scoffed out a laugh. “Nerds too chicken shit for that.”

Izuku’s face heated. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about.” he paused. “And I am not.”

You laughed, shaking your head. You all climbed the stairs together, shoulder to shoulder, the noise of the day rising around you- classmates, announcements, the muffled chatter of the campus coming to life.

But even in the middle of all that, it still felt like the three of you were walking in your own little bubble- quiet, familiar, steady. Always. 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The sun hung high above the training field, casting long shadows across the terrain as the wind stirred dust from the mock battlefield. The class had been split into three teams for today’s joint exercise: territory defense under high-stakes combat simulation. Each team had one goal- hold the zone, neutralize threats, survive.

Your team-  didn’t just hold the zone.

You commanded it.

Katsuki was the first to launch forward, a concussive blast cracking from his gauntlet as he rocketed into position. “LEFT RIDGE. MOVE.” His voice tore through the comms, clear and sharp.

“I’ve got it!” Izuku called out, already zigzagging between cover with Full Cowl crackling at 30%, eyes scanning for enemy movement.

You didn’t need Katsuki to tell you your part. Your feet were already moving before he’d shouted. You felt the moment coming- that twitch in his shoulder before he blasted off, the way his weight shifted just slightly to one side. You’d read it like a second language.

Blood slid from the tips of your fingers in elegant, fluid strands, dancing through the air in crimson ribbons. You wove it in tight arcs, reinforcing the perimeter with thin, barely-visible traps- slicing wires that could harden in an instant, a living web of steel hidden in plain sight.

Katsuki landed beside you in a blast of scorched wind, already barking the next command. “High ground. Cover Deku while he-”

“I’m already on it,” you muttered, flicking your wrist.

A bolt of hardened blood shot from your palm like a spear, embedding into the concrete tower above. You pulled yourself upward in one smooth motion, landing on the edge with ease. Your hands moved quickly, shaping the blood into a fan of curved blades that hovered behind your back like wings.

Below, Izuku dove into the fray, drawing three opponents into a tight formation. You saw it instantly- the opportunity. He was baiting them in.

Katsuki saw it too.

“NOW!” he shouted.

You both moved at once.

Katsuki launched into the air, palm out, spinning midair to build force. You sent two of your blood blades arcing low behind the opponents, timing their path to converge just as Katsuki’s explosion hit from above.

BOOM.

Smoke erupted from the impact zone. Your blades struck at the same moment, pinning the two flanking opponents to the ground with precise, non-lethal cuts that immobilized them.

The third tried to break away- only to be caught mid-run by Izuku’s sweeping kick, followed by a shockwave punch that sent him skidding into the barrier wall.

Silence.

The “opponents”- combat robots and two other third-years from 3-B- lay scattered across the field, incapacitated. The buzzer rang from the tower: Zone Secured.

From the top of the platform, you saw Katsuki looking up at you.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

His expression was unreadable to anyone else- just the usual scowl, sharp and focused. But you caught the flicker behind his eyes. The nod that wasn’t just about teamwork.

It was acknowledgment.

You felt it too.

You dropped down beside him, landing in a crouch with your blades retracting into thin tendrils of blood that soaked back into your skin.

Izuku jogged over, slightly winded but grinning. “That was insane. You didn’t even say anything and still hit that combo perfectly.”

“Tch. We’ve been doing this long enough,” Katsuki muttered, wiping soot off his gloves. “If they’re too slow to keep up, that’s on them.”

But he looked at you again. Just for a second.

And you caught the edge of something in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

Pride. Respect. Maybe even something deeper.

“Good work,” you said softly.

His jaw clenched, like the words caught him off guard.

“…Yeah. You too.”

Izuku looked between you, eyebrows raised, sensing something but not saying a word.

You all stood there for a moment, framed by smoke and sunlight, the air buzzing with leftover adrenaline. The Big Three- not just powerful, but united. Every breath, every movement, a harmony of strength forged through war, pain, and trust.

And as the next team stepped up for their round, you walked off the field together- side by side- the hum of that slow burn still thrumming in your chest, stronger than ever.

The rest of the teams went as class went on, you watched from the sidelines. Viewing them on a big screen. Izuku and Katsuki stood on either side of you as you watched your classmates.

Afterwards, hum of the exercise buzzed through the class like static.

Your classmates were loud- energized, sweaty, riding the high of a good fight. Boots clattered across the floor, and someone had already started recounting the matches in dramatic detail.

But Katsuki was silent.

He sat on the bench, halfway through peeling off his gauntlet, jaw tight and eyes unfocused. His shoulders rose and fell a little too sharply with each breath. Normally, he’d be the loudest one in the room, barking about someone’s screw-up, bitching about the training setup, mocking Izuku for analyzing everything in post-game commentary.

But now- nothing.

You watched him carefully from across the room, towel draped around your neck, costume sticking slightly to your skin where blood had dried and then been reabsorbed. The noise didn’t bother you. Not really. But you felt it bothering him.

A tiny wince.

A flicker of pain as someone went into the locker room, the door slamming nearby.

He blinked twice, slow, like trying to shake off a sudden wave of vertigo.

You moved before you even thought about it.

Crossed the space between you in a few steps, and reached out- not touching his skin, not startling him. Just a single, practiced tap on the outside of his forearm. Two fingers.

“You good?”

He looked up, eyes sharp at first- the instinct to snap already there-but when he saw it was you, that edge softened. Just a little.

You pointed to your own ear, then tilted your head.

The question was simple. One you’d asked before.

“Is it bad today?”

Katsuki’s mouth pulled into a tight line. His gaze darted around- at the noise, at the crowd, at the place where the reverb of his last explosion still clung to his senses like smoke. Then, without a word, he signed back: “They’re ringing.” Then, after a pause. “It hasn’t been all day. Just now.”

Your hands moved without hesitation. “Come with me.”

He didn’t argue. He just stood, grabbing his towel and following you with the same quiet obedience he only ever gave you- like he trusted that you knew where to take him. That you’d help him get out of his own head when the noise got too thick.

You led him out through the back hall, past the gym annex and into a rarely-used observation room connected to one of the smaller training floors. It was quiet here- soundproofed, no one around. Just a wide bench beneath a wall of one-way glass and the silence of empty space.

When the door shut behind you, the tension in his shoulders dropped a notch.

Not gone. But better.

He sat without needing to be told. You sat beside him- not too close, but close enough that your knee brushed his.

You didn’t speak.

Instead, you let the silence settle like a weighted blanket, thick and steady, something solid for him to come back to. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, one hand draped loosely over his knee, the other rubbing the space behind his ear.

You watched him in the soft light.

Strong. Exhausted. Quiet in a way that only you ever saw.

After a long moment, you signed again, gentle. “Are you in pain?”

He shook his head once. Then he signed.“No pain, just noise.”

You nodded, understanding that distinction more than most. “Do you want quiet or a distraction?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

But then his hand moved, slow and honest. “Just stay.”

You didn’t smile- not fully- but something in your chest settled. He was finally being honest about his hearing. And you weren’t going to push it. So instead, you leaned back beside him, close enough for warmth but not pressure. Not asking anything of him. Just there.

Minutes passed.

And then, softly, you felt it- his hand brushing against yours on the bench. Not a grab. Not a dramatic move. Just a touch. Hesitant. Like he didn’t want you to know he needed someone. But you already knew he did. 

And you reached back. 

Not to hold it.

Just to let your fingers rest against his.

The stillness didn’t demand anything from either of you.

It just was.

A quiet hum from the building’s central vent filled the space. Outside the one-way glass, sunlight slid across the empty training floor in long gold beams, catching on dust motes suspended in the air. But in here, there was only warmth. Only breath. Only the soft touch of Katsuki’s fingers resting lightly against yours on the bench.

Not holding. Just… there.

A tether.

You didn’t move. Didn’t draw attention to it. Because he didn’t need that- not now. Not ever, really. He didn’t do affection in the way most people did. Not with words. Not with showy gestures. He gave you his presence. His stillness. His trust. And in this moment, he was giving you something rarer than all of that:

His silence.

Because he wasn’t shutting you out.

He was letting you in.

You let your head tilt back against the wall, closing your eyes again. The hum of the vent, the pulse of your heartbeat, the quiet weight of him beside you- it all settled into something grounding. Something safe. You didn’t know how long you sat there like that. It didn’t matter.

Eventually, you felt him shift.

Not away- but toward you. Just enough that his shoulder brushed yours more firmly. His fingers curled just slightly under yours, like a reflex he hadn’t let himself follow through on before.

You looked at him.

He was staring at the far wall, jaw tight, mouth set like he was chewing on something he didn’t know how to spit out.

You didn’t push.

But after a long moment, he spoke. Quietly. Like the words had been sitting in his chest for too long.

“…I hate when it’s like this.”

You turned toward him slightly, not breaking the contact of your hands. “I know.”

“I don’t mean just the hearing,” he added. His voice was low, rough. Raw. “It’s not just that.”

You stayed still. Let him say it in his time.

“I get… stuck in my head. After missions. After training. Even the good ones. Just… replayin’ it. Too loud. Even when it wasn’t.”

You nodded once. “I know,” you said again, softer this time.

His eyes flicked toward you, sharp with something unsaid. “Do you?”

You held his gaze. “You think I don’t see it too?” you breathed. “I told you before that we see it, Katsuki. That I see it.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Instead, he turned his hand under yours, palm up. A offering this time.

You laced your fingers through his.

The silence didn’t feel so heavy now.

“I’m better when it’s you,” he murmured. “When I talk to you about it.” 

Your breath caught- not from surprise, but from the sheer weight of it. The way Katsuki Bakugou could drop a sentence like a bomb, but make it feel like a secret instead.

You tightened your hand around his.

“I know,” you whispered.

And the best part was- he knew you weren’t just saying it. You felt it too. The way you moved together on the field. The way you breathed in sync. The way you always knew when to find him, to pull him away before the edge got too sharp. 

He squeezed your hand once. “Don’t tell Izuku about it. Please.” He murmured.

You nodded. He was trusting you with something he wasn’t trusting anyone else with and you weren’t going to break it. “Okay.”

No more words were exchanged between the two of you.

There was no need.

Because this- this was what trust looked like between two people who had never had the luxury of being soft with the world. 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The common room was glowing with warm lamplight, soft chatter, and the low hum of a movie playing in the background. Someone had dragged a bag of popcorn across the table, and a few classmates were scattered across couches and beanbags, arguing over the real question of the evening:

“Okay, but seriously-  if every quirk was pitted against each other in a cooking competition, who’d win?” Kaminari asked.

And that's where it started.

Sero voted Mina for “creative chaos,” while Jirou argued that Todoroki could literally sear or chill ingredients to perfection. Kaminari, predictably, voted for himself on pure confidence alone.

And then someone made the mistake of saying:

“Nah, it’d be Bakugou. He actually can cook.”

You snorted from the couch without looking up. “Yeah, because blowing stuff up is definitely the same as culinary technique.”

Katsuki’s head snapped up from where he was sitting on the armrest of a chair, arms crossed. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, Kat. Just because you make decent meals doesn’t mean you’d win a competition.” You leaned forward, your voice laced with mockery and a smirk tugging at your lips. “You think you wouldn’t burn half the dish out of sheer spite?”

He stood up a little straighter, already bristling. “I cook better than everyone here, and you damn well know it.”

“Better doesn’t mean best under pressure.” You tilted your head, eyes gleaming. “You’d probably get disqualified for yelling at the judges before the first round ended.”

“Oh, please. You’d snap a blood thread and trip someone just to win,” he shot back, pointing at you now. “You’re the one who can’t handle a little pressure without going full drama queen.”

“I’m not dramatic.”

You were absolutely dramatic. And you both knew it.

“Bullshit,” he barked, stepping closer.

Izuku, sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby, looked between the two of you with an amused smile, the kind that only came from watching a routine you’d both done many times before. Familiar. Heated. 

“You literally yelled at me last week for stealing the last dumpling.” 

“Because you looked me in the eye while doing it. That’s betrayal!” You yelled.

“And you nearly impaled me with a blood spike in response!”

“It was blunt!”

“It hit my thigh!”

The room had descended into laughter now. Kaminari was grinning like a man watching his favorite sitcom unfold in real-time. Mina was whispering something to Jirou with an unmistakable smirk, both of them clearly watching the sparks fly- and not just the metaphorical ones.

Katsuki stepped closer, crowding your space just slightly. The fire in his voice had shifted- less venom, more heat. The kind that didn’t burn, but simmered.

“You’re seriously gonna stand there and say I wouldn’t win?”

You raised your chin, eyes narrowed in challenge. “If we actually had a cooking showdown, I’d wipe the floor with you.”

His mouth twitched- that little ghost of a grin he always tried to smother.

“You’re on.”

The room ooh’d in unison.

Izuku leaned back, shaking his head, a warm smile pulling at his lips as he watched the two of you. “I swear,” he murmured, mostly to himself, “you guys could argue about the weather and still make it sound like foreplay.”

You both whipped your heads around at the same time.

“What?!”
“Shut up, Deku!”

He just laughed.

And when your gazes snapped back to each other, it lingered- the tension from the fake fight still hanging in the air like static. But now, it was mixed with something else. The way his chest rose and fell a little faster. The way your eyes flicked, just briefly, to his mouth.

The heat was real. And you didn’t know what to do with that. Maybe it always had been.

But instead of acting on it, he stepped back with a mutter of, “We’ll see, smartass.”

You let out a slow breath. “Hope you’re ready to lose.”

You both turned away at the same time- but neither of you could quite hide the smiles tugging at the corners of your mouths.

And across the room, your classmates exchanged knowing looks.

The game wasn’t over.

It was just getting interesting.

And the next thing you knew you were all standing in the kitchen. 

Counters cleared, ingredients prepped, timers synced. A whiteboard in the corner read:
“Bakugou vs. Y/n - Iron Chef: Dorm Edition”
Complete with a scoreboard, which Mina and Kaminari had drawn way too much effort into, including flames, knives, and poorly-sketched doodles of both your and Katsuki’s angry faces.

Everyone was gathered. Sero had set up a makeshift judges’ panel with folding chairs and snacks that had nothing to do with the actual competition. Sero, Jirou, and Tokoyami sat watching like it was a high-stakes sports match, while Mina clapped like an overly invested TV host.

“Three-course meal,” she declared dramatically. “One appetizer, one entrée, one dessert. You have ninety minutes. Katsuki, Y/N - ready your knives.”

You tightened the string of your apron, tying it behind your back with practiced ease. Katsuki rolled his sleeves up, revealing his forearms with a level of menace usually reserved for villains.

“Try not to set anything on fire this time,” you said sweetly, already reaching for your first ingredients.

“Only thing getting roasted tonight is you,” he shot back.

Mina blew her whistle- why she had a whistle, no one knew-  and the competition began.

30 Minutes In

The kitchen smelled incredible.

You were plating your appetizer- a light, crispy blood-orange and beet salad with a homemade vinaigrette- while Katsuki was finishing up something rich and savory involving miso, seared pork, and a dangerously caramelized glaze that had everyone in the room sniffing the air like hungry strays.

Izuku was already scribbling notes. “They’re both using flavor layering techniques. Kacchan going full umami, and Y-chan is balancing acidity with sweetness-”

“Bro,” Kirishima said, “I don’t care. I just wanna eat.”

You and Katsuki kept glancing at each other, timing your moves so neither of you had to share space- but still moving together, like you couldn’t help but sync up even when you were competing. It was instinctual now.

Every time you reached for something, he was already stepping aside. Every time he turned to grab a pan, your hand brushed his arm, just slightly- and neither of you moved away.

The tension was palpable.

He caught your eye once while flipping his protein, smirking when he saw your dessert batter a little too close to curdling.

“You sure you know what you’re doing, chef?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” you said, stirring with a little more force than necessary. “Focus on your over-glazed ego dish over there.”

He laughed. Actually laughed- low, throaty, and rare enough that Jirou’s head snapped up like she’d heard a unicorn.

Sero leaned over to Mina and whispered, “They gonna kiss or kill each other first?”

“Both,” Mina whispered back. “In that order.”

End of Competition

The last few seconds were a blur of icing sugar, plating detail, and the kind of intensity usually reserved for Pro Hero battles.

“Time’s up!” Mina called.

You stood across from each other, arms crossed, faces flushed from heat and adrenaline. Your apron had a smear of chocolate on it. Katsuki had flour on his cheek. You didn’t say anything.

Just stared.

That buzz was still there. The one from the roof. The one from every late-night breath and training synch-up. It was under your skin now- and in his, too.

Izuku was the most polite judge.

“This... this is amazing,” he said after your entrée. “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

“Better than me?” Katsuki asked immediately, fork still in his mouth.

Izuku turned pale. “I didn’t say that!”

Jirou, less kind, said, “Your appetizer was a little salty.”

Katsuki looked personally offended. “It’s called seasoning, you coward.”

The dessert was the clincher.

You’d gone with a blood-infused spiced chocolate tart- a nod to your quirk, the coloring vibrant and dramatic. Katsuki had made a smoked caramel panna cotta that melted in your mouth and pissed you off just a little with how good it was.

In the end, the scores were neck and neck.

Mina stood, holding the whiteboard like it was a championship belt. “And the winner is...”

Dramatic pause.

She flipped the board.

“TIE.”

The room exploded with groans and cheers.

“What?!” you and Katsuki both snapped at once.

“Sorry,” Jirou said, mouth full. “Can’t decide. You’re both obnoxiously good at this.”

Izuku just smiled, looking between you two again- watching the way Katsuki hadn’t stopped looking at you. The way your eyes narrowed at him, but didn’t look away.

“Rematch,” Katsuki said quietly, stepping close.

You raised a brow, tilting your head. “Scared to lose for real?”

He leaned in, voice low. “I don’t lose.”

Your breath caught- because that was more than banter. That was something else, and the smirk he gave you said he knew it.

You pushed him back with a flick of your towel, heart pounding harder than it had in the heat of the competition.

Later, maybe, you’d ask what he meant.

But for now, the room spun with laughter, full bellies, and too many watching eyes.

And under it all, the burn kept simmering- steady and constant. 

And for the second time today, you started thinking- really thinking-  that maybe Mina was right. 

 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

- 8084 words

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun poured gold across the dusty backyard, turning every leaf into flickering embers. The soft clatter of cicadas hummed in the background, barely louder than the excited whispers and shuffled feet of three small figures crouched behind a row of scraggly bushes.

"Okay, okay-now, I sneak around the villain's base," Izuku whispered, his mop of green curls bobbing as he made a dramatic crawl across the grass. He held up a small, crudely drawn map on the back of his math homework. "You give the signal if anyone comes, right?"

"I know the plan, Deku. I’m not an idiot." Katsuki scowled, arms crossed, but there was no bite in his voice. His blond spikes caught the sun like a lion’s mane. He had smudges of dirt on his cheek, and a sock stuffed in the waistband of his shorts- as a pretend grenade.

You sat cross-legged on the grass beside him, squinting at your notebook. You were still trying to figure out how to say 'go now' in sign language, the one we’d cobbled together from library books and late-night hero documentaries with closed captions.

You raised two fingers, then pointed sharply ahead. Go now. Or something like it.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. “That’s not how you did it yesterday.”

“It makes more sense this way,” You said with all the stubborn certainty of an eight-year-old. “This is like a command. Strong. Heroic.”

He stared at your hand, then- after a beat- mirrored the sign. “...Yeah, alright. That’s kinda cool.”

From across the yard, Izuku peeked up from behind a plastic slide. He saw the signal and did a tiny fist-pump before darting forward, rolled dramatically, and knocked over an empty bucket we were pretending was a laser turret.

“Pew pew!” he hissed, aiming his finger-guns at invisible enemies. “I’ve breached the perimeter!”

Katsuki leapt up. “Too slow! If I was the villain, you’d already be dead!”

You followed, your hand flashing another quick sign-retreat-and grinned when Izuku exaggerated a gasp and tumbled backward behind the sandbox.

Then it happened.

A low, crackling growl sparked from Katsuki’s palm as he threw out his arm, trying to mimic one of those dramatic All Might moves. “I’ll clear the path-” 

BOOM

The explosion was bigger than any he’d made before.

A thunderclap burst from his hand, blinding white at the center, hurling dust and dry leaves in every direction. It echoed off the wooden fence like a firecracker going off in a metal trash can. Birds scattered from the trees overhead.

Izuku hit the dirt, eyes wide and arms over his head.

You were already moving.

Without thinking, you lunged toward Katsuki, who had dropped to one knee, clutching the side of his head. His eyes were scrunched tight, jaw clenched in pain. You didn’t speak-there was no time.

You slid in beside him and gently, but firmly, clapped your hands over his ears. He flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“Too loud,” he rasped.

“I know,” you whispered. “I got you.”

The noise faded, but a ringing silence seemed to settle around the three of you, heavy and wrong.

You glanced over your shoulder. Izuku was crawling closer on hands and knees, worried etched into every inch of his little face. “Kacchan?! Are you okay?”

Katsuki didn’t answer. He was blinking hard, breathing shallow, clearly trying to fight the panic swelling behind his eyes.

You looked down at your hands-still cupped gently over his ears-and then moved them away. Slowly. Testing.

“Can you hear me?” you asked, quieter now.

He nodded. Hesitantly. But his hands came up to cover his ears again, like the silence wasn’t safe either.

A sharp sting bloomed at your fingertip-barely noticeable. You didn’t realize you’d bitten the inside of your lip until a thin thread of blood rose and floated in the air beside you, moving with a subtle, practiced twitch of your wrist. It hovered, glowing faintly red in the sunlight, then coiled back into your palm and vanished.

Izuku stared, wide-eyed. “You used your quirk…”

 “I didn’t mean to-.” you muttered.

Then Katsuki looked up at you. His expression unreadable for a moment-somewhere between pain, embarrassment, and... gratitude, maybe. He held your gaze, then reached out and tapped your forearm, twice. Soft, deliberate.

You blinked.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

Two taps. “You good?”
You only nodded in response.

It became your code that day-silent, fast, yours. A little secret locked between scarred hands and scraped-up knees. Whenever a blast went wrong, whenever the world was too loud, or too much… the two-finger tap would say what words couldn’t.

Then, from the kitchen window:

“KATSUKI!” came the unmistakable bellow of his mother. “What did I say about using your quirk in the backyard!? This isn't a warzone, you little gremlin! And I swear, if the fence is scorched again-!!”

Katsuki winced. “Crap.”

Izuku scrambled up. “We should run.”

You stood and dusted off your knees, already half-laughing despite the adrenaline still fizzing in your veins. “Too late. We’re caught.”

Mitsuki’s head popped out the back door, scowling hard. “Y/n! You better not be using your quirk either-! And you,” she pointed at Izuku, “you’re smarter than both of them. Don't encourage this nonsense!”

“Sorry, Aunty!” you and Izuku called in perfect unison.

Katsuki muttered something under his breath that definitelq wasn’t an apology.

Still, as the three of you trudged back toward the house-smoke still curling faintly in the air-you gave Katsuki’s arm one more quiet tap. Two fingers.

He didn’t look at you.

But he tapped back.

And somehow, that said more than enough.

The three of you played for hours like that. Crafting signs, tapping codes, dodging imaginary explosions. Back then, the world was simple: heroes were real, villains were far away, and the only war you had to fight was whether two fingers or a flat palm made for a better sneak attack command.

In that golden yard, you were already who you wanted to be.

Even if you didn’t know how far apart the three of you would drift… or how hard the real battles would get.

 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The classroom buzzed softly with end-of-period murmurs and the scratch of pencils. You sat by the window, letting the late morning light pool across your desk, notebook open but mostly blank. Next to you, Izuku scribbled furiously, lost in analysis as always. Katsuki sat on the other side of you, head propped on one hand, already scowling at nothing in particular.

Mr. Aizawa stood at the front, half-buried in his capture weapon, expression as unreadable as ever.

“You’ve all got one week,” he said, eyes sweeping across the room. “Then it’s the last Sports Festival of your lives here.”

Groans. Excitement. Nervous laughs.

Somewhere in the back, Kaminari muttered, “I’m already sore just thinking about it.”

Aizawa raised a brow. “I suggest you start treating it like more than a game. This is where scouts look for Pro potential. And you’re not first-years anymore.”

Then, his gaze landed on you. On Katsuki. On Izuku.

“The bar’s already been set,” he continued. “You three-the Big Three of this year-are the reason that bar is so damn high.”

The room went still.

The casual buzz of low conversation, the scribble of pens and rustle of papers-all of it faded into silence. Even the hum of the air conditioning seemed to dull under the weight of his words.

All eyes shifted. Dozens of glances, quick and lingering, landed squarely on the three of you.

Katsuki sat with his arms folded behind his head, slouched in his seat like he hadn’t heard a word, but his jaw tightened. A tell. He rolled his eyes with a scoff, but didn’t say anything-not like he used to.

Izuku blinked hard, startled as if pulled out of his thoughts. The pencil in his hand snapped under his grip, graphite tip breaking clean off and clattering onto his desk. “Ah-!”

You sat up straighter, spine instinctively lengthening, heart thudding once against your ribs. You weren’t embarrassed-but the attention sat heavy on your shoulders, electric in its intensity. The way the others looked at you wasn’t judgment. It was expectation.

You could feel it.

And then-

BOOM.

The world tore open.

The window beside you shattered inward with an earsplitting explosion. A concussive blast slammed through the classroom, turning sunlight to smoke and peace to chaos. Shards of glass spiraled through the air, glittering like razors. A shriek split the silence.

A low, warped laugh followed-a sound like broken machinery and gravel in a blender.

Then: the unmistakable stomp of boots over rubble.

A villain.
On campus.
In daylight.

Alarms hadn’t even gone off yet.

“Everyone down!” Aizawa’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. He moved fast-Capture Weapon already flaring out-but a chunk of broken ceiling dropped in front of the exit, blocking his path. Dust exploded in the doorway.

Smoke surged into the room, thick and acrid, stinging your eyes.
Your ears rang from the blast, a high-pitched whine overlaying the muffled yells of your classmates.

You blinked through it.

Glass crunched beneath someone's shoes.

Hagakure called out, panicked. Sero was already helping Kaminari up from the floor. Someone was crying.

Panic took hold of the class-but only for a moment.
Because in the center of it all, three of you moved.

At once.

Your eyes met Katsuki’s through the rising dust.

He stepped toward you, fast and deliberate, and tapped your forearm-sharp and precise, like a pulse.

“Ready?”

You tapped back, hand steady. “Always.”

Through the haze, you caught Izuku’s silhouette. He raised his fingers, then curved them into a small movement. “Enemy. Left side. One meter. Charging.”

A directional sign you’d all practiced a hundred times.

You nodded-no words, no hesitation.

You slipped a small knife out from the holster on your thigh, slicing your palm. A drop of blood slipped from a fresh cut- barely a nick, but enough. The blood shimmered in the filtered light, rising into the air like smoke and coiling at your command. A crimson snake, elegant and deadly.

Then the villain emerged from the fog-towering, broad-shouldered, and wearing a mask that looked like rusted metal bolted to his jaw. His quirk rumbled visibly under his skin, muscles pulsing with uneven bursts of kinetic energy. A brute, most likely. Dumb but loud.

Quickly, you slid the knife back in its holster and readied yourself.

He roared, barreling into the classroom like a bull through glass.

Katsuki launched through the broken window in a blast of light and force, boots cracking the tile as he shot forward.

“GET YOUR DAMN HANDS OFF MY SCHOOL!”

The villain swung hard, massive arm carving through the air toward him-
But Izuku was already there, faster than the eye could track, using a burst of Full Cowling to dash in low.

He twisted mid-air, heel slamming into the villain’s side with perfect force-just enough to shift his momentum, sending the brute off-balance without absorbing the full impact.

The villain snarled, teeth bared behind the mask, stumbling forward blindly toward the nearest group of desks-where Ojiro and Mineta were still recovering.

“ENOUGH!” you shouted, stepping forward.

You raised your hand-and the blood obeyed.

A shrill whistle cut the air as your control snapped into sharp focus.

Two tendrils of blood surged outward in twin streaks-one slicing through the air toward Mineta, the other toward the villain.

The first strand wrapped Mineta’s bleeding leg gently, almost tender, sealing the wound with practiced precision. The blood hardened slightly on contact, coagulating, binding flesh with a medic’s finesse.

The second tendril cracked like a whip, coiling around the villain’s wrists in a crimson spiral. You clenched your fist-

And it hardened.

The blood turned rigid, vice-tight, locking the brute’s arms in place mid-swing. He roared in frustration, muscles bulging, but the restraint held firm-for now.

“You’re not going anywhere,” you hissed under your breath.

Izuku landed next to you, sliding to a stop, watching the villain for any more surprises.

Katsuki hit the ground behind him with a final blast of propulsion, fists smoking and teeth bared. “He moves again, I detonate his damn shoes off.”

The villain thrashed-but he was done.

A moment passed.

Just breathing. Just dust settling.

Then: stillness.

The entire classroom stood in stunned silence.

Three of you. No casualties. No missed steps. No hesitation.

You looked at Izuku. He nodded, panting.

You turned to Katsuki.

“A little slow aren’t you?” he signed, with a smirk.

You huffed, hitting his arm with your clean hand. “Fuck off, Kat.”

Izuku gave a thumbs up from the other side. “He’s not regenerating. Definitely low-tier. But loud.” He said aloud.

You held the binding firm until Aizawa emerged from the blocked door, capture cloth already spinning.

In moments, it was over.

The villain unconscious, classmates accounted for, the ringing in your ears from the explosion starting to fade.

The chaos had lasted less than sixty seconds.

And the three of you hadn’t said a word aloud.

A few minutes later, while recovery girl tended to the wounded and the Support Course robots swept the shattered glass, you stood beside Katsuki and Izuku near the edge of the classroom ruins.

Izuku exhaled shakily. “If that didn’t wake you up I don’t know what would’ve.”

You didn’t speak-just reached out and gave them each a two-finger tap on the forearm. “You good?”

They tapped back in unison.
“Yep. All good.”
“Still here.”

And somewhere beneath the tension, beneath the responsibility, beneath the reputation-

You were just three kids in a backyard again.

Only this time, you really were heroes. 

The villain sagged in the makeshift restraint, unconscious or close to it.

The room was still full of smoke and the sharp tang of scorched concrete, but the immediate danger had passed. Aizawa was already on comms, his capture cloth now freed from the blocked doorway, giving terse updates to security.

Recovery Girl would be here soon. The alarms were finally blaring now-uselessly late.

You exhaled through your nose, forcing your shoulders to relax.

But Katsuki- he didn’t stop moving.

He paced forward again, like there was still a fight left to burn off inside him. His hands flexed, crackling with residual sparks. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow like he expected a second wave.

“Bakugo, stand down!” Aizawa barked.

Katsuki either didn’t hear him-or didn’t care.

His boots crushed broken glass as he moved through the smoke-choked room, just past the blown-out window where the villain had entered. His body language was a storm-tension wrapped in muscle, rage with nowhere to go.

You saw it before he did.
The jagged crack in the ceiling above him.

A fractured support beam-just loose enough to fall.

“Katsuki, look out!” You yelled.

He didn’t stop.

So you ran.

Your fingers closed around his arm in one smooth, instinctive motion, the grip firm, urgent. You yanked hard. “MOVE!”

He blinked-finally aware-just as a massive slab of ceiling gave way behind him.

CRASH.

The concrete slammed into the floor exactly where he’d been standing a second earlier, sending dust and debris exploding outward in a low rumble.

He staggered back into you slightly, caught off guard-not by the danger, but by the intervention.

For a beat, neither of you spoke.

The dust swirled between you.

Then his eyes found yours-narrowed at first, then steady. Not wide with shock, not full of that wild fury that usually came after someone dared to pull him back.

Just… locked. Focused.

Your hand was still wrapped around his forearm, fingers pressed against the familiar edge of his wrist. His skin under yours was hot, humming with lingering adrenaline.

But his gaze-his expression-was quiet.

A flicker passed between you. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just a moment of recognition so deep, so unspoken, it might as well have been part of your bones by now. Gratitude.
Reliance. Trust.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t bark something dumb or defensive.

He just let the moment sit there.

Then-he tapped your arm. Two fingers. “Thanks.”

You swallowed. Heart still racing. Tapped back. “Anytime.”

Behind you, Izuku’s voice rang out, panting from where he was helping someone up. “Kacchan! You almost-are you okay?!”

Katsuki didn’t look away from you. His voice, when he finally answered, was low but steady. “She had me.”

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t show it.

Because of course you did. You always did.

You released his arm slowly, the echo of the moment still lingering between your fingertips.

Katsuki rolled his shoulder like it was nothing-like concrete hadn’t nearly crushed him, like you hadn’t just saved his life in a blink. But you noticed the shift in his posture. Less storm. More center. He stood just a little closer now.

Izuku joined you a moment later, giving you both a once-over. “You two okay?”

Katsuki made a noncommittal sound, brushing off dust. “Better than that dumbass villain.”

You just nodded, exhaling deeply.

Still here.

The three of you stood together again, shoulder to shoulder as the support teams rushed in behind you, as chaos settled into order.

And somehow, through the falling debris, the unspoken signals, and the trust in your fingertips-

You knew.

Izuku, shoulder brushed yours and you felt the moment settle like dust in your bones.

Not every fight needed words.

Sometimes, all it took was two taps and the unshakable certainty that someone would always be there to pull you back when the ceiling started to fall.

 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The air inside the gym was thick with sweat, heat, and the hard rhythm of effort. Fists hit reinforced mats. Quirks lit the air in flashes of color and pressure. The Sports Festival loomed like a silent countdown behind every rep, every drill.

Class 3-A was running hard.

Harder than usual.

The tension in the room was nearly palpable-like static under the skin.

You felt it. So did Izuku. So did everyone.
But it clung to Katsuki and you like humidity-dense, inescapable, charged.

He trained with the same violent precision he always did, explosions sparking in controlled bursts against reinforced targets. But he glanced at you more than usual. Watched you out of the corner of his eye. Said nothing. Gave nothing away.

You matched him in silence. You always did.
There was no need for words when you were both busy proving things.

You pushed your quirk harder than usual.

You had to.

Blood manipulation wasn’t like Izuku’s strength or Katsuki’s firepower-it didn’t roar with power, didn’t scream across a field. It was control. Precision. Surgical strikes. And if you wanted to stand out in the arena, you needed to make it loud.

So you made it loud.

You slashed the air with arcs of crimson, spinning your own blood into dense projectiles, hardened shields, barbed restraints. Drills blurred into sparring. You took on three classmates at once-dodging, cutting, controlling.

“Damn,” Kaminari muttered from the edge of the mat. “She’s going off today.”

“She’s always good,” Kirishima said, wiping his forehead. “But yeah. Today’s… different.”

Izuku watched from across the room, lifting weights in his off time-but his gaze kept flicking between you and Katsuki.

He noticed the way Katsuki clenched his fists every time your strikes landed with brutal elegance. The way he lingered a second longer near your training circle than necessary. The way you kept glancing at him only when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Tension. Sharp and silent. Neither of you addressed it. Neither of you could.

But Izuku saw it-felt it-beneath everything.

He didn’t say a word.

But Forty minutes in, you felt the first wave hit you like a subtle undertow-just a gentle pull behind your ribs. An ache in your legs. A little too much burn in your lungs.

You ignored it.

You were used to the price of your quirk. It was your own blood, after all. The more you used, the more you lost. You’d trained to stay sharp. Stay fast. Keep clotting factors high and flow controlled. You couldn’t afford to almost pass out again. Couldn’t afford to almost lose someone again.

But you’d gone too far this time.

Your vision wavered slightly. The room shimmered around the edges. The cold, clammy touch of blood loss crawled up your neck and down your spine.

You tried to reset. Breathe. Shift your stance.

Katsuki noticed first.

He was on the other side of the gym, mid-spar with Sero, but the moment your knees dipped slightly-just enough to break your stance-his head whipped toward you.

Your face was pale. Too pale. And your eyes-unfocused. Slower.

He moved instantly.

No words. No warning.

He blasted past Sero with a quick explosion, boots slamming into the mat as he launched himself toward you. You didn’t even realize he’d crossed the room until the heat of his Quirk flared in front of you.

“What-”

He raised his hand and fired a controlled explosion at the floor between you and the rest of the class-BOOM.

The smoke erupted like a curtain, thick and fast, shielding you both.

“Oi,” he snapped, catching your arm before you could fall forward.

Your body slumped slightly, balance skewed. His hand caught your shoulder, firm but not harsh.

“...You’re a damn idiot,” he muttered, barely audible under the buzz of still-dissipating smoke.

You tried to speak, but your mouth was dry, and your chest was tight.

He didn’t let go.

Didn’t yell.

Didn’t move away when your knees gave just enough that you leaned into him, breath shallow, muscles trembling from overuse.

You expected him to say something cruel. Something cutting. His usual tone.

But he didn’t.

He just adjusted his stance and kept you upright with one strong arm, shielding your body from view until the smoke cleared and Aizawa appeared through the haze.

Katsuki looked up at him.

“She’s done for today,” he said, sharp and flat. Not a suggestion. A statement.

Aizawa nodded once. “Midoriya. Help her to Recovery Girl.”

Izuku was already moving, quick to take your other arm. His eyes flicked to Katsuki for half a second-but he didn’t ask questions.

Katsuki passed you off like it physically hurt him to let go.

Your hand brushed his as he stepped back.

He didn’t look at you. Not directly.

But the line of his jaw was tight, and his eyes burned beneath his lashes like a warning flare. A look that said things he couldn’t. Things he wouldn’t.

Izuku shouldered more of your weight as you started toward the exit, his voice soft. “You’ll be okay. Just rest. You’re not alone, you know.”

You nodded faintly. But your gaze drifted once more over your shoulder, through the smoke, to where Katsuki stood.

Still. Watchful.

You didn’t need words.

Neither did he.

Somewhere along the way to the nurses office, you must’ve lost consciousness. Because when you awoke, you were laying in a bed. And not your own.

The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air like static, cold and sterile, a stark contrast to the heat and energy of the gym. The curtains were drawn around your cot, softening the late sunlight into gauzy gold. You could hear the distant buzz of the school still moving beyond the infirmary walls-boots in the hallway, doors closing, the echo of training continuing without you.

Recovery Girl stood over you with a clinical frown, arms folded as she finished checking the monitor by your bed.

“Honestly,” she muttered, her cane tapping against the floor once in irritation, “you third-years are pushing yourselves harder than pros these days.”

You managed a weak smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said briskly. “Just stop acting like you’re invincible. You’re not. None of you are.” Her eyes softened despite her scolding. “Especially you.”

You turned your head slightly, cheek pressing into the cool pillow. “I had control-until I didn’t.”

“Mm. That’s the problem with your quirk, dear,” she said, taking a moment to adjust the IV hooked to your arm. “You’re borrowing from your own well. You take too much, and there’s nothing left. That kind of cost builds up quietly, then hits all at once.”

“I didn’t want to hold back.”

Recovery Girl gave you a long look.

She sighed. “You’re not going to win anything worth having by bleeding yourself dry. If someone can’t see your strength before you collapse, they’re not worth impressing.”

Your fingers curled faintly in the blanket.

“They saw,” you said softly.

Recovery Girl didn’t comment-just gave a soft hmmph and handed you a cup of water. “Small sips. Slowly. You’ll need fluids for the next day or two, but I’ve stabilized your blood pressure and jumpstarted your recovery. No combat drills until I say so.”

“Got it,” you murmured.

She left the room after a few more checks, mumbling something about stubborn kids and early gray hair.

You closed your eyes.

Just for a second.

The room was still and quiet. The hum of the machines. The tick of the clock. The echo of your own pulse settling back into something normal.

Then-
A soft knock.

Not the door. The wall.

Two short taps.

You didn’t move. But your chest tightened, in that familiar, quiet way.

The curtain rustled slightly, just enough to let a figure slip inside.

Katsuki.

He didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t meet your eyes. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense.

His gaze raked over you like he was checking for something-injuries you hadn’t noticed. Signs of weakness he wasn’t used to seeing.

“You look like shit,” he muttered, voice low.

You smirked faintly. “Thanks. You’re sweet.”

He scowled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

A long pause stretched between you.

Then-

“You scared the hell out of me.”

The words landed heavier than any explosion.

You blinked.

His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“I saw it,” he said quietly. “Your stance. Your face. You were gonna fall over and no one else saw it. No one moved. It was just like before-” his voice trailed off.

Your throat tightened. He didn’t have to say it for you to know what it was. Back then, you didn’t even think he was fully conscious- not enough for him to remember anyways.

“I didn’t want to stop,” you whispered. “I needed to show I could do more. That I wasn’t just-”

“You’re not just anything.”

The intensity in his voice made you stop breathing for a second.

His eyes finally locked on yours.

“You’re not weak. You’re not in my shadow. You’re not Deku. You’re you. And that’s enough.”

Your heart stuttered.

He stepped closer, still tense, like he was fighting the urge to pace or punch something.

Instead, he reached out-and rested two fingers on your forearm.

Soft. Steady.

“I’ve got you.”

You didn’t speak. Just lifted your hand and tapped twice against his wrist. “I know.”

He stood there a moment longer, shoulders easing just slightly, like saying it out loud had drained something from him.

Then, without another word, he reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a chilled sports drink and a protein bar-your usual favorite. The kind you only found at that tiny corner store three blocks off campus.

He set them down gently on the table next to your bed, the faint clink of plastic on metal louder than it should’ve been in the quiet.

“You forgot to eat,” he said gruffly, eyes still not meeting yours. “Again.”

You stared at the items, then at him. “You went to the store?”

He shrugged like it didn’t matter. Like it hadn’t cost him anything. But the flush at the tips of his ears betrayed him. “Figured you’d be too stupid to ask for help. So I helped.”

You swallowed, throat still raw. “Thanks, Katsuki.”

He moved to leave-shoulders already turned, boots already shifting toward the exit-but paused halfway through the curtain.

Still avoiding your gaze.

Then, quietly-

“Next time… don’t make me come running like that.”

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Next time, I’ll fall toward you. Easier that way.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

He didn’t stay.  Didn’t speak. But he didn't have to.

You caught it. Just before he stepped out.

A fleeting glance over his shoulder, eyes dark with something deeper than irritation. Concern. Real and raw and unspoken. Like he hated that you were hurt. Hated that he couldn’t stop it. Hated that it mattered.

That single look said more than any lecture or scolding ever could.

You almost called out to him-but didn’t. The weight of the moment held your tongue still.

Because you both knew. Something had shifted.

When he left, the curtain fluttered shut again behind him. The room was quiet once more. Your fingers drifted to the condensation still clinging to the sports drink. You let them rest there, tracing the chill.

But the weight of what he didn’t say lingered.

And so did the warmth of his touch on your arm.

 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The world had gone quiet again.

Dinner was long done. The rest of the class had dispersed-some holed up in their rooms, some still around the dining room table studying, the lingering hum of student life muffled behind walls and hallway corners.

You sat cross-legged on a stool in the common room with a towel over your lap, a small set of hair clippers, scissors, and a worn black comb laid out neatly on the table beside you.

Katsuki sat in front of you, spine straight, arms folded across his chest like he’d rather be anywhere else-but he didn’t move.

Izuku was perched off to the side, legs dangling over the arm of the couch, flipping through his notebook but not really reading. His head was tilted toward you, a warm and slightly amused expression on his face.

This had been the rhythm since your first year at U.A. You cut their hair. Because neither of them could be trusted to do it without ending up looking like a cautionary tale.

You snipped off the guard on the clippers, letting the soft buzz fill the room as you leaned in behind Katsuki. His ash-blond spikes had gotten a little unruly-longer at the nape, uneven at the sides where his gauntlets sometimes chafed his hairline during long training days.

“You moved too much during the last cut,” you murmured, dragging the comb through his hair. “You’ve got a patch that grows funny now.”

“Maybe you should stop getting distracted mid-trim,” he shot back without heat.

“Maybe you should stop fidgeting like a toddler in a dentist chair,” you said, tugging gently at a stubborn cowlick near his temple.

He went quiet again. Let you work.

The tension from earlier-of smokescreens, of blood loss, of things unsaid-lingered in the corners. But here, in the softness of electric buzz and falling strands, it dulled to something familiar.

Izuku, with a half eaten protein bar in his mouth, glanced up at you both. He said nothing- just raised an eyebrow with that damn knowing look he’d been perfecting lately. Like he could see the invisible string starting to stretch between you and Katsuki, taut and glinting.

"You missed a spot last time," Katsuki muttered, eyes fixed ahead, arms crossed like he was trying very hard not to enjoy this.

You snorted. “You sneezed mid-trim. Pretty sure that was your fault.”

Your hands moved carefully through Katsuki’s hair, the motion second nature by now. Before he’d complain about your technique and you’d threaten to give him a bowl cut. But today… today your fingers lingered just a little longer behind his ear. And he didn’t flinch.

Didn't even move.

If anything, he leaned in. Just slightly.

And you felt that pull again.

Izuku cleared his throat loudly.

"You're gonna give him bangs if you keep zoning out like that," he said around a smirk.

You flushed. Katsuki growled. “Shut up, nerd.”

Izuku held up his hands. “Hey, hey. Just saying. I’ve seen this romcom.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the spray bottle. But your heart was beating faster now- just loud enough that you wondered if Katsuki could feel it through the tips of your fingers.

Because somewhere between childhood routines and dorm room distractions, something was changing.

Izuku smiled faintly as he watched. “I always forget how calming this is.”

“You say that every time,” Katsuki muttered, eyes half-lidded now.

You chuckled under your breath, brushing trimmed hair off the back of his neck with a soft towel. “It’s muscle memory. You both act like you hate it, but you show up every time I say something about your hair getting long, like clockwork.”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t butcher it,” Izuku offered with a shrug. “Barbers don’t know what to do with… this.” He gestured to his mess of green curls.

“I don’t hate it,” Katsuki mumbled, barely audible.

You paused, scissors poised above his ear.

Then resumed.

No one said anything more for a while.

The hum of the clippers. The soft snip of scissors. The gentle brush of fingers through hair.

Peace. Simple, earned peace.

When you finished with Katsuki, you gave his shoulder a nudge. “Go rinse. You’re up next, Zuku.”

Izuku set his notebook down and moved easily into the seat Katsuki vacated. Katsuki grunted, running a hand through his now-clean cut as he headed off toward the bathroom to clean off the stray strands.

You started on Izuku, who sat still as ever, gaze forward and relaxed.

After a few moments, he spoke.

“...He was really scared today,” he said quietly, without looking at you.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

He glanced up. “You okay?”

You paused-just a beat- then nodded. “Yeah.You know me. I never let shit like this linger.”

He smiled. “Good.” 

Katsuki came back, towel around his neck, still rubbing his head dry. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the last of Izuku’s trim in silence.

When you finished, you pulled the guard off the clippers and started to clean them. The boys sat around you- Katsuki with his arms crossed, Izuku reading again, a thread of normalcy weaving through the room like a blanket.

When the hair clippers had been cleaned and tucked away. The towel was folded over the back of the chair, still faintly warm from where Izuku had been sitting. The lights were lower now, the soft hum of the fridge the only background noise as the dorms settled into sleep.

You wiped a few remaining strands of hair from the floor with the side of your palm, collecting them in one hand and tipping them into the trash. You weren’t rushing, but you weren’t lingering either.

The boys had already gone quiet-Izuku had vanished into his room after a few sleepy thank-yous, and Katsuki…

He was still there, leaning against the counter.

Arms crossed.

Watching you.

His expression was unreadable. Somewhere between tired and thinking too hard, and you knew better than to ask which.

You turned to wash your hands in the kitchenette sink, drying them on the hem of your shirt. When you looked up again-

He was standing a little closer.

No words.

He didn’t do that anymore. Talk, unless it was necessary. But you caught the way his hand drifted up, hovered between you both for a beat.

Then he signed, slowly- deliberately, like you used to when you were younger. When the world got a little too loud for two kids with dreams.

Two fingers. Tapping on your arm, then pointed up. “You. Me. Roof?”

Your throat went a little tight at the simplicity of it. From memory. You nodded. Sighing back “Yeah.”

The night air was cool and clean, the kind of crisp that only came in the early hours when the world forgot it had weight. The stars blinked above like lazy embers. The city glowed far off in the distance, golden and quiet.

Katsuki sat with his back to the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, hands braced behind him for support. You sat beside him, close but not touching, a soft breeze pulling gently at your shirt sleeves.

Neither of you spoke at first.

You tilted your head back to look up at the stars. “Remember when you thought that constellation looked like a fist?”

He didn’t move. “It does look like a fist.”

“It looks like a rat holding a spoon, Kat.”

He scoffed. “Your imagination’s broken.”

You huffed out a breath that could almost be laughter. “Says the guy who sees cosmic violence in starlight.”

A long pause.

The kind that let the wind pass between your shoulders and legs, the kind that felt like the world was exhaling around you.

Katsuki’s voice broke it.

Low. Steady. “You’re gonna burn yourself out before we even get to the Sports Festival.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Then: “Better to burn bright now than fade out in front of everyone.”

He turned his head slowly to look at you.

His expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even annoyed. It was something quieter. Something closer.

“You’re not a damn firework,” he muttered. “You don’t get to burn out for the crowd.”

You blinked at that. “Says you.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His voice was rough around the edges but quieter than you expected when he said:

“I saw your face. When you passed out, y’know. You were still trying to stand.”

“I didn’t want to fall in front of everyone.”

“You can fall in front of me.” A pause. Then, like it cost him, “you’ve done it before.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was raw. Honest. Uncovered.

Your chest ached a little, but not in a bad way.

You didn’t answer with words.

Instead, you reached out and touched his wrist-two fingers, soft and sure. “Thank you.”

Katsuki didn’t pull away.

He didn’t sign anything back. Just let the touch rest there. Let the moment sit heavy between you, weighted with everything he hadn’t said out loud in years.

You stayed like that, side by side, under the wide sky-where nothing needed to be said, because you both already knew.

 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

- 6393 words

Chapter Text

The training field reeked of iron.

Crimson ribbons floated midair-twisting, braiding, unfurling like silk in zero gravity-only to snap into serrated form with a sharp crack. At the center stood you, drenched in sweat, cheeks ghost-pale, eyes alight with stubborn fire. Blood pooled beneath your feet in an unnatural stillness, held aloft by sheer will and mastery, while new tendrils formed overhead-arched like wings, bristling like armor.

You heard the distant sound of a whistle being blown, but you didn’t stop.

Not yet.

A high-pressure lash of blood cracked against the training dummy, cleaving through synthetic metal with surgical precision. Then another-a twin strike, faster, more refined. You twisted your hand upward and spun, crafting a sharpened spiral from the blood in the air. The structure shimmered in the sunlight-complex, beautiful, unstable.

Your vision blurred.

"That's enough!" came Present Mic’s voice from the far end of the field, but it was too late. The spiral faltered. A cold sweat broke across your neck as a wave of dizziness crashed over you.

Your knees buckled.

You would’ve hit the ground hard-if not for the pair of arms catching you just in time.

“Idiot,” Katsuki grunted, voice low in your ear, his grip steady around your waist. You didn’t need to look to know the furious scowl on his face. “What the hell were you thinking, pushing it that far?”

"I’m…fine," you lied through gritted teeth, though your body screamed otherwise. The buzzing in your ears grew louder.

“That’s not what fine looks like!” Izuku’s voice cracked with worry as he rushed over, green eyes wide. He crouched next to you, a mess of concern and scribbled notes already forming in his mind. “You’ve lost way too much blood! That last structure-how did you even maintain that many points of control at once?! You need transfusion or at least-”

“I need to master it,” you rasped, pushing yourself upright despite Katsuki’s hand tightening slightly to stop you. “The sports festival is only three days away. I don’t have time to hold back.”

“You don’t have a body left if you bleed yourself out like a dumbass,” Katsuki snapped, but his tone didn’t match his grip. It wasn’t anger. It was fear-well-hidden, but there. You felt it. A tangle of something unspoken sat thick between you.

“I told you all this ‘Quirk Limit Assessment’ thing was a load of crap,” he muttered under his breath, still holding you steady.

You would’ve laughed if you had the strength.

But then came the clicking of heels-sharp, decisive-and a tiny figure emerged from the medical tent like a storm.

“Don’t you dare try to pass out on me again!” Recovery Girl barked, wagging a finger in your face before producing her cane. “You stubborn, reckless girl! If you want to master your quirk, do it without turning yourself into a donor bag! What if he hadn’t caught you?! You think you’re invincible just because your blood can dance on command?!”

You winced-not from pain, but from guilt. 

The lecture wasn’t new. You’d earned your fair share of tongue-lashings from Recovery Girl over the past two and a half years at U.A., but this one hit differently. Maybe it was because you could feel the sweat cooling on your skin like ice, or the ache in your limbs that hadn’t fully settled yet. Or maybe it was because she was right. You had pushed it too far.

Still, despite the scolding, you offered a weak smile. “It danced pretty well, didn’t it?”

Recovery Girl sighed, deeply, but there was grudging admiration beneath the exasperation. “Hmph. Foolish as ever. But yes… it was elegant. Refined. Controlled. The structure you formed in the final minute-was that a blood lattice with filament weaving?”

You nodded faintly. “Quad-core anchor points. Reinforced on the axial vectors.”

She blinked, then actually looked impressed. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Probably,” you said, sipping the water Izuku handed you.

He knelt beside you still, eyes soft behind his freckles, and you noticed how his fingers lingered slightly against yours when you took the bottle. He gave you that Izuku smile-the one full of warmth and worry.“You’re incredible, but you can’t pour from an empty cup. You do know that, right?”

You nodded softly, stealing a glance at Katsuki-who still hadn’t let go.

He’d loosened his grip, sure, but his hand was still there, grounding you. A silent anchor. His thumb shifted slightly, brushing against your hip like he was daring you to notice-and you did. The hairs on your arms stood up, and not from the chill of blood loss.

He caught your glance, scowled like he always did-but it didn’t reach his eyes. Something was in them. Something unreadable to most. But you weren’t most.

You’d grown up next to those eyes. Watched them flicker with stubbornness and fire since you were kids playing in alleyways and backyards. You knew what they looked like when he was mad, or irritated, or excited. But this?

This was something else.

Something that lingered.

The silence stretched just long enough to hum.

Then, Izuku cleared his throat, clearly trying to pretend he hadn’t just watched the entire exchange. But the way his mouth twitched-like he was biting back a grin-gave him away.

Again.

Of course, Mina had made a few comments, as she always did. But it wasn’t just her now- it was others too. 

Jirou had raised a brow during combat training last week when Katsuki snapped at Kaminari for getting “too close” while helping you to your feet. Sero made a passing comment about how Bakugou only seemed to bark at you when you went too hard in class.

You’d ignored them.

Kind of.

But right now, as Katsuki’s hand lingered, and his thumb made one more deliberate pass along your side before he finally let go, you could feel the heat blooming under your skin. And you knew Izuku felt it too. Because he gave you that look again-the one where his eyes sparkled like he was mentally taking notes for a very private, very detailed analysis he’d never actually write down.

“I’ll, um… go check if Aizawa-sensei needs anything,” Izuku said, voice a bit too high-pitched, a bit too fast.

You narrowed your eyes. “Izuku.”

“I’m serious! I think I heard him ask for something.” He stood up, too quickly, dusting off his pants and backing away like someone caught eavesdropping. “Probably paperwork. Or-bandages! Yeah, definitely bandages.”

You didn’t even need to look at Katsuki to know he was rolling his eyes. But as Izuku vanished with all the subtlety of a stampede, the mood around you both shifted.

Quieter now.

More real.

The way it normally was when it was just the two of you.

You reached up to rub your temples, groaning slightly. “My head hurts.”

“Tch,” Katsuki scoffed. “I’m not surprised, that’s twice in the last week you’ve almost passed out during training.”

You glanced at him again, and this time, he didn’t look away.

Didn’t hide it.

Didn’t flinch.

There was a low simmer in his gaze, steady and burning just beneath the surface. His jaw twitched, like he was about to say something else-but Recovery Girl stomped over again, snapping the moment like a twig.

“Alright, enough staring like lovesick pigeons. You!” she jabbed her cane in your direction. “Medical tent. Now.”

Katsuki opened his mouth to argue, but she didn’t give him a chance.

“You too, Bakugou! Since you’re apparently glued to her side, you can help her walk.”

You blinked, and for once, Katsuki didn’t argue. He just sighed, low and rough, and offered you his arm.

“C’mon, dumbass.” he muttered under his breath.

You leaned on him, arm slipping through his as he adjusted his pace to match your limping steps. The training field behind you faded into a blur of mangled dummies, blood-stained dirt, and sunlit tension that hadn’t quite settled.

"Your quirk’s evolving faster than you are," he muttered as you crossed the threshold into the cool shade of the medical tent.

“Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Bakugou,” you quipped, and though your voice was thin, it held a trace of amusement.

His lips twitched-a not-quite smile-but he didn’t bite back this time. Instead, he eased you down onto one of the narrow cots, crouching beside it so you didn’t have to crane your neck to meet his eyes.

“Seriously,” he said, voice low. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not to them. Not even to me.”

The last part slipped out too naturally, and something about it made the air in the tent thicken. Your breath caught, just slightly.

“I’m not-” You hesitated, but the words felt honest on your tongue. “I’m not doing this to prove anything. I’m doing it because… I have to know where my limits really are. Because someday, there won’t be a whistle. Or a dummy. Or backup. Just me.”

Katsuki’s jaw clenched. His hand-still resting beside your leg-flexed, then stilled.

“And if you collapse before that ‘someday’ comes?” he asked, quieter this time. “If you break before you even make it to the starting line?”

His words weren’t sharp. Not like usual. They were sanded down by something softer-frustration, maybe. Fear again. Real fear.

You reached out and placed your hand on top of his. He didn’t pull away. Didn't move at all, actually. Just watched you, unreadable.

“I won’t break,” you whispered. “Not yet.”

For a beat, neither of you spoke. The silence between you wasn’t empty. It was full. Brimming with things you weren’t saying, things you’d been too stubborn, too scared, or too stupid to say.

Then, from outside the tent, came the unmistakable sound of Mina shouting, followed by Kaminari’s exaggerated groan and Sero’s laughter. The real world was still there. Loud, chaotic, full of opinions you didn’t ask for.

But for now, it stayed outside.

Recovery Girl returned moments later with a medical kit and a scowl that could cut through titanium. “Honestly,” she huffed, setting the kit down beside you, “the only thing more reckless than overtraining is falling in love with someone just as stupid.”

You froze. Katsuki did too.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Recovery Girl blinked, then looked between you both-and her eyes gleamed like she’d just connected two very loud, very overdue dots.

“Well,” she said, drawing out the word. “Isn’t that interesting.”

Katsuki stood abruptly. “She needs fluids and rest,” he snapped, sidestepping the statement like it hadn’t sucker-punched him in the gut. “Not gossip.”

Recovery Girl didn’t argue. But she was definitely smirking behind her mask.

You sighed, leaning back on the cot, letting the tension slide off your shoulders-some of it, anyway. “You gonna stay?” you asked Katsuki quietly, when Recovery Girl wandered off to prep an IV.

He paused, staring at you like you’d just asked the dumbest question in the world.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Class 3-A was unusually tense after the quirk assessment that morning.

It wasn’t the lesson plan-Power Application Theory with Cementoss-or the looming sports festival. No, the tension had a name. A very loud, very explosive name.

​​"Are you deaf, Shitty Hair?! I said move your damn chair!"

Kirishima, who’d been halfway through a yawn, blinked in surprise. “Dude, relax-I was just-”

“Don't tell me to relax!”

You flinched at the sharpness of Katsuki’s tone. So did half the class.

“Again?” Mina whispered behind her notebook. “He’s been worse than usual all week.”

Sero nodded, trying to look casual about the way he angled his desk a little further from Katsuki’s. “Like, worse-worse. Even for Bakugou standards.”

Izuku didn’t say anything, but you could feel the question radiating off him as he glanced between you and Katsuki. You kept your eyes on your notes, pen unmoving. Avoiding the pressure. Avoiding him.

Cementoss didn’t even pause the lecture-years of teaching Katsuki had apparently taught him to choose his battles wisely.

But Izuku didn’t drop it.

Because of course he didn’t.

You felt his elbow nudge yours lightly.

You glanced.

He tilted his chin just slightly toward Katsuki, who was slumped in his chair, elbow on the desk, jaw tight. His eyes were half-lidded, scanning the board with an irritated squint. He looked tired. Not just physically-but… frayed.

Izuku signed small, discreet. “Something’s wrong.”

You hesitated. Then, slowly, signed back. “I know.”

Izuku’s brows drew together. He paused, thinking. Then. “What is it?”

You looked away, pretending to check the homework page. You didn’t sign anything back.

He noticed. Of course he did.

And now you’d given yourself away-not by what you said, but what you didn’t. 

Then, it got worse by third period.

Katsuki was snappier, slamming his chair back hard enough to make Iida flinch when called to the board. He growled under his breath when Kaminari repeated a question he hadn’t heard the first time, and even Jirou gave him a pointed look when he barked, “Speak up!” in the middle of her answer.

And through it all-you and Izuku watched.

You saw it. The tilt of his head, just slightly, favoring the left side. The way he blinked more than usual, jaw locking every time a student laughed too loud or a chair scraped back.
The way his hand flexed at his temple, just barely, when the bell rang too close to his seat.

Izuku was putting it together, slowly.

You could see it.

But he didn’t know the full picture-not like you did. Not like that day, when Katsuki had admitted, under the fading glow of adrenaline in the observation room last week- that the ringing wasn’t going away.

You hadn’t told Izuku.

But now, as the guilt pressed into your chest like a weighted blanket, you were beginning to wonder if you should have.

Because this wasn’t just stubbornness anymore.

This was Katsuki slipping.

Lunch period arrived like a mercy. Katsuki stormed out before the bell had even finished ringing. You and Izuku caught up with him outside the class but only watched him go-his footsteps angry, purposeful.

When he disappeared around the hall corner, Izuku turned to you with arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

"Talk," he said plainly. “You know something.”

You froze. “Izuku-”

“You flinched earlier when I asked.” His voice was soft, but sharp. “You never flinch when you’re keeping stupid secrets. So this isn’t stupid, is it?”

You looked down at your tray, appetite gone. “It’s not mine to share.”

Izuku’s brow furrowed. “Then it’s Kacchan’s.”

You didn’t answer.

But that was answer enough.

He exhaled slowly, frustration and concern bleeding into each breath. “...He’s not okay.”

“No,” you said quietly. “He’s not.”

“I knew he wasn’t- we knew he wasn’t but this?” He shook his head. “He hasn’t gone to get it checked out?”

“He doesn’t want anyone knowing yet.”

Izuku closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his palm into one temple. You could see it-the war between respecting Katsuki’s privacy and his own instincts screaming at him to help.

“He told you,” Izuku said finally, not looking at you. “But not me.” You winced. “I’m not mad,” he added quickly. “It’s not about that. It’s just… he should’ve said something sooner.”

“You know how he is Zuku. I think… he’s scared,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “Not of the damage. He already knows about that. He’s scared it’s permanent. That it’s not going to stop.”

Izuku’s hands curled tightly on the table. “He uses his explosions to hear in close combat. It’s practically echolocation when he’s pushing hard.”

“I know.”

“And if it’s getting worse-”

“He might not be able to keep fighting the same way,” you finished for him.

Silence stretched again between you-too heavy for a lunch table.

Finally, Izuku looked up. “I won’t push him. Not yet. But... I can’t pretend I don’t see it anymore. If he won’t say something soon, we’ll have to do something.”

You nodded. The weight of the promise sat heavy on your shoulders.

Just then, Katsuki re-entered the cafeteria. He didn’t look at either of you as he approached the table. Just headed for the far side, tray empty, slamming down into a seat with his arms crossed and his expression thunderous.

You and Izuku exchanged a glance.

This wasn’t sustainable.

Izuku sat back in his seat, watching Katsuki with narrowed eyes and a pinched expression. His lunch remained untouched.

You could see the thoughts running behind his eyes like rapid-fire notes in one of his hero notebooks-hypotheses, timeline estimates, training adjustments, worst-case scenarios. But none of that would matter if Katsuki didn’t admit he was hurting.

Katsuki didn’t look over once. Not when you shifted in your seat, not when you quietly pushed your untouched food to the side. Not even when Izuku stood and mumbled something about getting water.

He just sat there-shoulders rigid, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the far wall like it had personally offended him.

You waited a minute, two. Then:

“Did you even eat?” you asked softly.

His eyes flicked to your tray behind you, then to your face.

“Tch. You didn’t either.”

You tried for a small smile. “Guess we’re both stubborn.”

He didn’t return it.

Instead, he finally leaned back, rubbing the heel of his hand into the side of his head-left side-like the pressure might force the ringing to stop. He didn’t speak. Didn’t complain.

He never did.

You lowered your voice, glancing around before speaking. “Katsuki… you need to tell him.” His jaw tightened. You kept going. “He’s not mad. Just worried. You know how he gets when he feels shut out.”

“Then maybe he should stop being so fucking nosy.”

“He’s your best friend.”

“I didn’t ask him to be.”

That one stung-and from the brief flicker of regret that passed over his face, he knew it too.

You let the silence stretch for a few seconds before answering.

“You didn’t ask me either,” you said quietly. “But I’m still here.” His head tilted slightly. “And I’ll stay here,” you added, softer still. “But I’m not going to lie for you forever. Not if it’s going to kill you.”

That landed.

He blinked. Once. Slowly.

Then he looked down at the table, like it might give him answers he didn’t have the words for.

You noticed, not for the first time, how pale he looked under the cafeteria lighting. How there was a new crease between his brows, deeper than the others. How he winced, just barely, when someone behind him dropped a tray and the crash rang a little too loud. How this always happened after he pushed himself too far.

“Katsuki,” you said his name gently, “what’s the worst part?” He didn’t answer. So you pressed again, softer. “The ringing? The pressure?”

He exhaled through his nose, eyes still on the table. “No,” he said finally. “It’s the space. The dead space. Like… half the world just goes silent. And I know shit’s happening, I know I should be hearing it, reacting, moving-and I can’t. Not fast enough. It’s like-" he broke off, swallowing. “Like I’m fighting underwater. Everything's half a second too late.”

You nodded slowly, heart aching.

Izuku returned before you could respond, a bottle of water in hand. He paused as he saw you both-your gaze locked with Katsuki’s, the tension hanging like humidity in a storm.

Katsuki looked up just as Izuku reached the table. “What?” he snapped.

Izuku blinked, startled. Then held up the water like a peace offering. “Just… here. You looked like shit.”

Katsuki snorted but took it.

Izuku sat. “We’re not gonna make a thing out of this.”

“No?” Katsuki drawled. “Doesn’t sound like you two at all.” 

“No. Not now.” Izuku looked at you, then back at Katsuki. “But we’re a team. All of us. If one of us can’t fight the same way anymore, we adapt. We build new strategies. We train different. But we don’t ignore it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t hostile.

It was honest.

Hard.

Heavy.

But necessary.

Katsuki cracked the water bottle open with a sharp twist of his wrist. He didn’t say anything, but his shoulders had eased just a fraction.

You saw the moment something in him gave way-just slightly. Just enough. But he still didn’t say anything. Instead, Katsuki scoffed and looked away, sipping the water. But he didn’t storm off this time.

He stayed.

 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The common room was quieter than it had been in weeks.

Rain pattered softly against the windows-just enough to blur the outside world into greys and shadows. Most of the class was holed up in their rooms. Only a few stragglers remained: Shoji curled into a couch corner with a novel, Yaoyorozu flipping through flashcards across from Tokoyami, who looked like he was meditating more than studying. Izuku had muttered something about needing to get up early to train before heading off to his room to call his mom.

And then there was you and Katsuki.

You sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the fireplace, bass guitar resting across your knee. The low hum of tuning strings cut gently through the silence, broken only by the occasional click of a mechanical pencil from where Katsuki sat nearby at the coffee table, scribbling something into his homework planner with a furrowed brow.

The quiet was comfortable.

Familiar.

Like the static that filled the space between breaths.

You plucked a low E, twisted the tuning peg slightly, then plucked again. Almost there.

Behind you, Katsuki muttered something under his breath.

You didn’t catch it.

You paused mid-pluck and tilted your head, squinting over your shoulder. “What was that, Kat?”

He didn’t look up. “I said,” he snapped a bit louder, voice jagged at the edges, “I asked if you had finished your homework yet, dumbass.”

The words came fast, louder than they needed to be, like he’d built them up in his throat and they exploded out before he could stop them. His eyes flicked to yours-annoyed, but not at you.

At himself.

At his ears.

At the world.

And then, softer, quieter-“Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap.”

You set the bass down gently beside you and crawled a little closer, until your knee bumped the edge of the coffee table. He didn’t pull away.

You signed slowly, fingers steady. “Is it bad right now?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His jaw tightened, and he dropped his pencil, pinching the bridge of his nose. You saw the moment he dropped his walls-not completely, but enough for you to see the raw edge beneath.

“Yeah,” he signed, pausing. “Left side’s worse. Like someone jammed a broken speaker in my ear and turned it up to max.”

You signed again. “Does it hurt?”

He didn’t lie. He signed slowly.“Not really. Not sharp. Just constant.” His fingers twitched like he wanted to smack the side of his head. “Makes it hard to think.”

You hesitated, then reached across the table and gently took his hand in yours. His fingers closed around yours immediately. Like muscle memory. Like habit.

“I hate it,” he muttered aloud.

You gave his hand a small squeeze. “You know I’d fix it if I could,” you said aloud, quietly. “I’d pull the static out of your skull if I could make it bleed.”

He huffed a laugh at that, one corner of his mouth twitching. “You’d probably shape it into a weapon.”

You smiled faintly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He looked at you fully then. Really looked. And the irritation faded into something softer. More exposed. The rain kept falling outside. Shoji turned a page. The fire crackled.

Katsuki shifted, pulling his hand back gently, then scribbled the last answer into his planner with a scowl. He shut the book with more force than necessary.

Then-without looking at you- “Can I crash in your room tonight?”

The words were casual. Flat.

But you heard what wasn’t said.

The subtext wrapped in years of shared silence and trauma.

The ringing won’t stop.
The walls feel too thin.
If I’m alone, I’ll go crazy.
And I don’t want to ask-but I don’t want to be alone.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Of course.”

Katsuki stood, tucked his notebook under his arm, and glanced at you.

“I’ll brush my teeth,” he said gruffly, as if that was the important part.

You nodded, watching him disappear down the hall, heavy footsteps fading into the hush of the dorm.

You sat for a moment longer, guitar forgotten, hand still faintly warm where his had been. Then you stood, turned off the amp, and followed him. The rain kept falling. The world kept spinning, even if it felt like his had stopped. And you’d be there to help pick up the pieces when it did.

You made your way to your room, bare feet gliding on the carpet. The room was dimly lit, warm with the low glow of a desk lamp and the distant whisper of rainfall against the windows. You’d cracked the balcony door open just enough to let in the scent of petrichor and the clean chill that came with evenings like this.

Katsuki had come in moments later, he sat cross-legged on your bed, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, flipping through something on his phone without really reading it. The ever-present tension in his shoulders had ebbed slightly. Not gone-but quieter.

It always went quiet when it was just the two of you.

A faded U.A. hoodie clung to your frame and a pair of loose red sleep shorts. You needed to change into a shirt of some kind, even if it was cold tonight- sleeping beside Katsuki always made you over-heat.

“I’m changing-don’t look,” you muttered, gesturing toward the wall.

He scoffed, but obeyed, flopping onto his side and facing away. “Yeah, yeah. Not like I haven’t seen a goddamn leg before.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not the point.”

You pulled out a faded old shirt from your dresser, Katsuki’s- one that he’d never taken back from you. So you kept it- tucked in the bottom of your drawer. Safe and sound- comfortable. It didn’t smell like him anymore, but sometimes- when it was late- you’d get a small smell filtering through your nose that was unmistakingly his. 

You pulled your hoodie over your head, arms getting halfway out of the sleeves before realizing it had definitely shrunk. Or you’d grown. Or both. Either way-you were stuck. How did you even get it on in the first place? 

“Shit-ugh, shit, wait-”

You stumbled slightly, half-wrapped in twisted fabric, arms caught above your head and face smothered against your own shoulder.

“Kat,” you grumbled, voice muffled. “I need help. This thing’s trying to kill me.”

Katsuki sat up, turned-and paused.

For a second, he didn’t move.Then you felt his hands-warm, calloused-brush the edge of the hem tangled around your ribs.

“Hold still,” he muttered, voice suddenly too quiet.

You did.

His fingers worked carefully, tugging the hoodie upward, loosening the tension around your arms, freeing one and then the other. The cotton peeled upward-and then stopped.

Just long enough for you to realize what he was seeing.

You froze.

Your shoulder blade was exposed-just barely-where the fabric bunched above it. 

The scar was small, but brutal. Ugly in a way time couldn’t soften. A harsh burn-etched line cutting down and across the curve of bone, like something had torn into you and tried to dig its way out. It had faded over the years-but not much.

You never let anyone see it. It was always hidden beneath your costume, compression bras, t-shirts. But right now, you had a tank top on- one that didn’t cover much. And it was exposed. The boys had never seen it, even when Katsuki had crashed in your room or you slept in his- on those nights neither of you could sleep- you’d made sure to keep it out of sight.

But now…

His fingers brushed the edge of the scar.

You flinched. His finger tips were warm and rough but his touch- was soft. Light. Careful.

“I didn’t know it was that deep,” he said, voice thick. “Back then, at Kamino…”

You closed your eyes. “You were unconscious. Bleeding out. I had to use my blood to-”

“I know,” he snapped-but it wasn’t angry. It was something rawer. More jagged. “I remember waking up. Just barely. You were over me. Fucking covered in red. And you looked… different.”

You stayed still as his fingers traced the edge of the scar-slowly, gently. Not like he was touching something broken, but something that still mattered.

“I thought you were dead,” he said, quieter now. “I thought I was, too.”

You laughed-soft, humorless. “You were halfway there. I had to give you more blood than was probably legal. Recovery Girl almost fainted when she saw the aftermath.”

“Should’ve let me die,” he muttered. “You wouldn’t have-”

“Don’t.” Your voice sharpened, your hands coming down to push the hoodie the rest of the way off, fully free now.

You turned to face him, scar bare, heart open.

“You don’t get to say that. Not after everything. Not after all we’ve survived.”

His gaze met yours, flickering-stormy, unsteady.

“Not while we’re still surviving.” 

He looked down.

Then, slowly, lifted his hand again, brushing his knuckles along the scar like he was committing it to memory.

“It should’ve been me who got hit,” he whispered.

“It was,” you said, barely audible. “But I blocked the second strike. If I hadn’t…”

He didn’t speak again for a long time.

The rain kept falling.

Outside, the world spun.

Inside, the silence between you held a pulse of its own.

You moved aside and nodded toward the bed. You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself in the warmth of his presence, the weight of his fingers still lingering like a phantom along your scar.

Then, voice soft but firm, you said, “Turn around again.”

Katsuki blinked, his gaze darting briefly to the edge of your exposed collarbone- then he nodded once, jaw tight, and turned his back, moving to the bed without protest.

You stripped the tank top off quickly and grabbed the shirt draped over the desk chair. The motion was familiar, routine even, but you didn’t rush it-not with him sitting there, not with the ghost of Kamino still lingering between your ribs like a splinter.

The shirt was soft, oversized, and smelled faintly of him. You pulled it on, combing your fingers through your hair to settle the ends that clung to your neck.

“I’m done,” you said quietly.

He turned back without hesitation. And for a moment, he didn’t look away.

You crossed the room, bare feet brushing across the rug as you made your way toward the bed. Katsuki’s eyes followed your movements-not in that way, not with heat-but with something else.

With reverence. With relief.

Like he still wasn’t fully convinced you were standing. Breathing. Alive.

You stopped at the edge of the mattress, and for a moment neither of you moved. The low hum of the rain on the balcony filled the space. It was a good kind of quiet. A careful quiet.

Then you lifted the corner of the blanket and climbed in beside him.

The mattress dipped beneath your weight. The covers settled around you both like a shield. The light from your desk lamp pooled across the floor, flickering faintly with the breeze.

Katsuki lay on his side, facing you.

His eyes flicked over your face-searching. For what, you didn’t know. But he didn’t ask questions. And he didn’t let go of the silence, either.

So you reached out, your hand finding the space between his ribs and resting there, just gently, where his scar had long since healed. It was the place he’d been stabbed. The place your blood had gone to mend. You didn’t need to look to know it was still there beneath his shirt-thick and jagged and full of history.

His breath hitched slightly at the touch, but he didn’t move away. In fact, he leaned into it.

“You didn’t let me die,” he murmured finally, barely audible.

You shook your head once. “Never could.”

He stared at you, rainlight flickering in his eyes. And then, softer than you’d ever heard from him, like it was breaking him open just to say it. “Thank you.”

He reached out, not asking, and rested his hand lightly at your waist.

You let him.

You smiled-small, real-and nudged your forehead gently against his. “Always.”

Then the rain faded into background noise. The world quieted around you. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, the ringing in his ears was no louder than a whisper.

 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

- 5473 words

Chapter Text

The arena was electric.

The final Sports Festival for U.A.'s top class was underway, and every seat in the stadium was packed. A sea of colors, signs, and screaming fans blurred together into one living, roaring organism. The energy was palpable- you could feel it humming in your chest like a second heartbeat.

Across Japan, the broadcast played on giant screens in city centers and quiet family living rooms alike. Commentary buzzed through speakers, helicopters hovered far above the dome, and even Pro Heroes tuned in from offices and patrol routes.

You stood in the entry hallway, surrounded by concrete walls and the low rumble of anticipation. Cool shadows cloaked you- the last bit of calm before stepping into chaos.

You rolled your shoulders and cracked your neck with a satisfying pop, flexing your fingers as a faint shimmer of blood ribboned across your knuckles, responding to your will.

A low voice echoed over the loudspeakers, distorted only slightly by the thunder of the crowd.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! IT’S THE MOMENT YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR!! WELCOME TO THE U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL- THE THIRD YEAR CLASSES!!!” 

Present Mic’s voice was unmistakable, even behind the broadcast static. His passion lit the stadium on fire.

You exhaled slowly, nerves tightening in your gut. But not from fear- from excitement. From the heavy, thrilling pressure of being watched. You weren’t just a participant.

You were one of the Big Three.

And every eye was on you, Izuku, and Katsuki.

From down the tunnel, you caught movement. Two silhouettes approached-one slouched slightly with a determined look in his eyes, green curls bouncing with every step.

The other walked like he owned the world, his boots slamming into the floor with each stride. Sharp red eyes locked with yours.

Izuku, with a smile on his face, was already moving his hands quickly.  “You’re ready?”

“As ever,” you replied, giving him a nod. The faint glisten of blood swirled up your wrist and vanished into your sleeve.

“Tch,” Katsuki muttered aloud, tilting his head as he popped his shoulders. “Don’t go freezing up just because there’s a few million extras watching.”

You snorted. “You wish I’d freeze. I’m gonna leave all of you behind.”

His grin was sharp. “Then get out there and prove it, blood princess.”

The metal gates began to rise with a heavy clang-clang-clang. Golden light spilled into the hallway, and the roar of the crowd rushed in like a tidal wave.

You all moved together.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Childhood friends. Rivals. Teammates. Monsters in the making.

“AND HERE THEY COME!”
“THE THIRD-YEAR HERO COURSE- CLASS 3-A- LED BY THE UNDEFEATED TRIO KNOWN ACROSS JAPAN AS…”

“U.A.’s BIG THREE!!”

The moment your foot hit the sunlit arena floor, it hit you like lightning-the scope of it all. Cameras panned, flags waved, fans screamed your names. Somewhere, kids held up signs with your hero names scrawled in permanent marker. And in the front row, a group of pro heroes leaned forward in their seats.

Scouting.

Watching.

Judging.

“This years Big Three is held by Izuku Midoriya the strategist with raw power and even greater heart, Katsuki Bakugou- the explosive force who never backed down, and Y/n L/n- the blood manipulator who turned pain into power, and power into poetry in motion! Say Eraser- these three have been in your class for the last couple years- what would you say about them?” Present Mic spoke over the intercoms.

“The three of them have been through a lot together over the years- giving me splitting headaches along the way,” Aizawa muttered, “but one thing is for sure, their bond is unbreakable.” 

The words echoed in your ears, even as the roar of the crowd swelled again.

Unbreakable.
Those words took you back-to just last night.

The wind had been cool on the rooftop, tugging at the edges of Katsuki’s hoodie and ruffling Izuku’s curls. You sat between them, your legs dangling over the edge, the school grounds sprawling below like a memory. The city lights shimmered in the distance, and the moon hung heavy and full above U.A., as if it, too, had been watching your journey all these years.

It was quiet for a while-comfortable silence, the kind only earned after everything you’d survived together.

Izuku was the first to speak, his voice soft. “Crazy, huh? Our last Sports Festival.”
He tilted his head back, green eyes reflecting the stars. “Feels like we blinked and suddenly we’re here. Third-years.”

Katsuki scoffed lightly, arms crossed behind him as he leaned against the fence. “Took long enough.”

You chuckled, fingers tracing idle patterns in the concrete. “Remember our first one? I nearly passed out from blood loss trying to show off.”

“Yeah,” Izuku laughed, bumping your shoulder gently. “And still somehow placed top ten.”

“Damn showoff,” Katsuki muttered, though there was no venom in it.

The silence came again, heavier this time. You all knew what this meant. The last Sports Festival. The last time the three of you would stand side by side like this in front of the whole country. After this… it would be real. Real-world responsibilities. The world wouldn’t see you as students anymore. They’d see you as heroes.

Katsuki stood up first, hands stuffed in his pockets as he turned toward the door. “We’re getting up early. I’m not waiting around while you two drag your asses.”

You raised a brow. “You heading in?”

He gave a half-shrug. “Yeah. You coming?”

You blinked. “Coming where?”

Izuku smiled knowingly. “Common room.”

The answer hit something deep in your chest-muscle memory tied to comfort and survival. A sleep over, just the three of you, like old times. Not just you and Katsuki, not now. Not before something big like this.

“I saved your usual spot on the couch,” Izuku added, nudging your foot with his own.

You looked at them both-Katsuki already halfway down the stairs, Izuku waiting patiently beside you, eyes filled with something warm and unshakable.

You stood. “Yeah. I’m coming.”

The memory faded just as the sunlight hit your face.

Present Mic’s voice roared across the stadium again, dragging you back to the present as if no time had passed at all.

“LET’S HEAR IT ONE MORE TIME FOR U.A.’S THIRD-YEAR HERO COURSE-CLASS 3-A-AND THEIR LEGENDARY BIG THREE!!”

The noise was deafening now.  Your fingers curled, and blood swirled at your side like a loyal shadow, ready to bend to your command.

Izuku looked toward the stands, a fire already blazing in his eyes. Katsuki cracked his knuckles, letting a faint pop-pop-pop echo from his palms like a threat.

You stepped forward, wind brushing your hair out of your face.

You were ready.

For the spotlight.
For the fight.
For everything this festival was about to throw at you.

This wasn’t just your final Sports Festival.

It was your legacy in motion.

And the arena transformed in minutes.

Pillars rose from the ground like jagged teeth. Shifting platforms rumbled into place. Turrets along the edges hummed ominously-they wouldn’t fire anything fatal, but they’d knock a careless student flat if caught unaware. Drones hovered above, locked on every competitor, ready to stream each second to the world.

In front of you, Cementoss laid out the rules for the first round. "Three-person teams. Objective: secure and hold the center flag for ten minutes. Knock-outs, disqualifications, and forceful ejections are all valid. You lose the flag, you fight to get it back. The top teams by score move to the second round. Let’s see who’s got what it takes.”

{Now playing: Flex Up by Lil, Yachty, Future & Playboi Carti}

The flag stood on a raised dais in the center of the arena, glowing blue.

The second the countdown hit three, the three of you locked eyes.

Right hand. Two taps. Formation C.

You nodded once. Your hands moved instinctively. “Go silent. No comms. Enemies listening.”

Katsuki answered with one twitch of his wrist. “Understood.”  

Izuku shifted into stance, fingers twitching in a rhythm only the three of you understood. “Enemies. Right. Mid. Ready.”

You tapped a reply along your thigh. “You're right.”

BOOM.

The buzzer exploded through the air- and the match was on.

Most teams rushed the center flag.

You didn't.

Katsuki launched upward first, using mid-air bursts to hover above the map. From his bird’s-eye view, he relayed enemy formations with a flick of his hand. Izuku darted forward and split off left- covering the open flank.

You? You stayed low and fast-blood arcing from your palm in a whip that latched to one of the higher pillars. You swung, high and smooth, like a sniper seeking the perfect vantage point.

A voice cracked through a nearby speaker.

“The Big Three have split formation! Could this be a miscalculation?!” 

No.

It was a trap.

​​A team came hard- strength-based. One had a boulder-shifting Quirk, another had armor skin. Their plan? Bull-rush and overpower.

They never saw it coming.

From above, Katsuki dropped like a meteor, hands exploding as he shattered the frontline. Dust flew, and so did the team.

At the same moment, Izuku’s voice crackled in your earpiece- a decoy transmission. The real signal came through two clicks and a static buzz. “Cut them off. Now.”

You bit your thumb, pooling a line of crimson into your hand, then hurled a spear of solidified blood into the debris- not to hit, but to trap. The blood extended on contact, webbing out and hardening into a barrier, boxing in the two survivors before they could regroup.

Izuku blinked from behind, air-shotting forward to land between them. “You’re boxed in,” he said calmly. “Surrender now or get launched.”

They didn’t hesitate.

Team - eliminated.

Not just physically- strategically.

Then came the second wave.

This time? Tech-based. A coordinated trio from the support course with drones, gravity nullifiers, and decoys made of hard-light. Trickier. Smarter. They didn’t charge-they circled, analyzing weak points.

But you weren’t statues.

Katsuki adapted first. He dropped low, bounced off a rotating platform, and redirected an EMP pulse meant for him back into the enemy's drone net-wiping their sensors.

“They’re blind. Move.” One motion of his hand told you everything.

Izuku stepped into the chaos like he owned it, feinting left, then vanishing into thin air with a flash step. He tagged their support first, collapsing the enemy’s formation before it could stabilize.

You shifted. Blood looped from your wrists, splitting into thin threads that lashed out like tripwires. One caught a speedster mid-dash-another wrapped around a hard-light projection and snapped it to static. Then you surged forward, cracked your knuckles, and drove both palms down.

Crimson erupted from the ground, jagged and feral-pinning the last opponent to the wall.

“Nice try,” you whispered. “But you brought toys to a war.”

By minute six, the arena was carnage.

Turrets spun wildly, shifting priorities based on proximity. Platforms bucked and rotated. Explosions rang out across every sector. Teams fell one after another-some overwhelmed, others outmaneuvered.

But not yours.

Katsuki guarded from above, diving down to blast anyone who came within fifty meters. He was aggressive, precise- violent only when necessary. Every move he made pulled attention, funneled opponents away from the flag.

Izuku ran the perimeter like a one-man army, predicting patterns, exploiting hesitations, and knocking out solo flankers before they even realized he’d moved.

You stood atop the flag platform, blood looping lazily around you like coils of a serpent. Every step an enemy took brought them within range.

One flick of your finger-a dozen razor-sharp strands launched like bullets.

Every drop counted.

Your quirk demanded sacrifice-pain for power. But you'd long made peace with that. Right now, it was about conserving energy. 

“Class 3-A’s Big Three-are dominating! Unbelievable teamwork! Zero verbal comms, and yet they move like they share a brain!” Present Mic shouted over the speakers. “This is real Pro-level coordination! Just look at how they’re cycling defense- what kind of combat language are they even using?!”

Chaos was everywhere.

Mina, teamed with Kaminari and Sero, were waging their own war in Sector 4. Mina danced across the rotating panels, acid skating between enemies while Denki charged up a wide field to disable another team’s gadgets. Sero had strung entire pathways into tripwire traps-an enemy tried to flank and got yanked midair into a turret burst.

“Team Kamianri is holding strong!” Present Mic cried. “Who says style can’t be lethal?!”

Yaoyorozu, teamed with Tokoyami and Shoji, had built a temporary mobile fortress using her Creation Quirk-rolling platforms of reinforced steel pushed by Shoji’s multiple limbs. From within, Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow lashed out like a dragon through the fog of movement, grabbing and tossing stunned opponents like ragdolls.

“Defensive tactics from Team Creation in Zone 2! Is this an all-or-nothing standoff, or are they biding their time?!”

“Hey! Give that back, you feather thief!”

Overhead, Tokyoyami, Todoroki, and Kirishima formed a terrifying close-range unit. Kirishima blocked projectiles with his hardened body, Todoroki laid down walls of ice and fire that split entire sections of the map in half, and a speedy classmate named Kaito, with a wind-boost Quirk, stole flags out from under noses and vanished before anyone could chase him down.

Team Kirishima was in third place-but climbing.

Another team-led by Iida, with Uraraka and Tsu-was taking a surgical approach, disabling squads without even fighting them head-on. Iida’s speed disrupted turret lock-ons, Uraraka zero-grav’ed entire obstacles, and Tsu used her tongue and agility to pull competitors off the flag platform from halfway across the map.

Their score? Respectable.

But it wouldn’t be enough.

Around the ten minute mark, it was all over. 

Back at the center, the storm gathered again.

A team charged the platform-led by Monoma, flanked by two second-year prodigies with duplication and mist-based mobility Quirks.

“Big Three, your time’s up!” Monoma yelled, his tone halfway between smug and unhinged.

Katsuki swooped down. Monoma dodged.

Izuku moved in from the side-Monoma parried, a mirror of Izuku’s last dash.

But you were already midair.

Blood lashed out, hardening into a wide disk, and you used it as a springboard to flip over Monoma’s team.

You landed behind him. “Not good enough.”

One clean slice of blood-strand through the mist-one knockout.

Katsuki slammed a shockwave into the second.

Izuku swept Monoma’s leg with pinpoint wind pressure, caught him midair, and tossed him to the turret zone.

Eliminated.

“Ten seconds left!” boomed Midnight over the arena’s system.

Turrets went wild. Platforms shifted wildly, spinning.

Katsuki dropped down, landing hard beside you. Izuku blinked in at your left.

Three of you. Back to back.

No one else made it to the platform.

Then- the buzzer sounded

Match Over.

The arena fell into silence.

Then the scoreboard lit up:

1st Place - Class 3-A (Midoriya, Bakugo, L/N) - 10:00 Hold Time - 8 Teams Eliminated.

You gave a low whistle and offered a blood-coated fist.

They bumped it without hesitation.

No words. No cheers.

Just a nod from all three of you.

The crowd erupted.

The arena shook with applause. Spectators leapt from their seats, fists in the air, phones recording every moment. Chants rippled like a wave, echoing across the entire stadium.

The drones zoomed in on the trio- you standing tall, blood flickering like dancing ribbons around your arms; Izuku calmly catching his breath, smiling even under pressure; Katsuki stood, hands crackling with heat and impatience, like he was ready to start the next fight right then and there.

Inside the commentator's booth overlooking the field, Present Mic was practically vibrating in his chair, voice exploding through the speakers. "YEEEEEAAAAHHH, BABY!! That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Absolute dominance from Class 3-A’s Big Three! Look at that battlefield- total lockdown! Zero flag losses! Not even a scratch on their record!"

Next to him, Aizawa, arms crossed, barely blinked. He spoke into his mic with a tone like he’d just been woken from a nap- calm, cold, precise. "It’s not surprising. They’ve been training together since year one. They don’t need to speak-they just read each other. Shared field experience. Shared history. And a communication system they developed themselves."

Present Mic whipped toward him, wide-eyed. "A system?! Are you tellin’ me those little finger twitches and blinks were more than nerves?!"

Aizawa nodded, eyes still locked on the field. "Morse code. Finger-signs. Coordinated glances. They’ve been refining it since before ever stepping foot in my classroom. By now, they can plan a full strategy in three seconds without speaking a word."

"A secret language between best friends?! That’s so anime it hurts!!" Present Mic leaned over the desk, voice a mix of excitement and disbelief. “Aizawa-sensei, you’ve taught all three of them since year one! You gotta give us something! Did you ever think they’d end up like this?!”

Aizawa sighed, finally blinking. He glanced at the screen again as the three of you descended from the platform- Katsuki barking at a tech to hurry up with rehydration bottles, Izuku waving politely to fans, and you wiping a smear of blood from your cheek, with a smile on your face, laughing a Katsuki’s yelling.

He spoke softly. Not to impress. Just the truth. “I didn’t just think it. I knew it. From day one, they were never just students.They were contenders. Now? They’re the future.”

The metal doors hissed shut behind you, blocking out the roar of the arena.

Inside, the cool, sterile air of the prep room was a welcome contrast to the heat and intensity outside. The walls were lined with benches, first aid stations, and hydration tanks. The low buzz of medbots doing light scans filled the silence.

You dropped onto the nearest bench with a heavy exhale, fingers twitching as the last traces of blood retracted into your arm. A slight sting throbbed in your arms- nothing serious, just the cost of control.

Across from you, Izuku was gently rotating his shoulder, a water bottle tucked under his arm. His notebook, yes, still, lay open on the bench next to him with notes scribbled in rushed kanji: “Targeted pressure zone: northwest pillar defense pattern”.

“Shoulder okay?” you asked, already reaching for a cooling wrap.

“Yeah,” he smiled, sheepish. “Just muscle fatigue. Could’ve pushed less during the last takedown, but…”

“But you saw the opening and went for it,” you finished. “Classic Zuku.”

“I won’t apologize for winning,” he said, half-laughing.

You turned as Katsuki stormed in, sweat-slicked and still burning off steam. His boots clunked across the floor. “You didn’t have to use the wall trap so soon,” he snapped, throwing you a sharp glance. “Could’ve baited them in closer.”

You leaned back and tossed him a towel. “And waste time dancing around with meatheads? Nah.”

Katsuki caught the towel but didn’t thank you. He just grunted and flopped onto the bench beside you with all the grace of a grenade. “Could’ve gone smoother,” he muttered.

Izuku grinned. “It was textbook perfect.”

Katsuki clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers into quick, sharp signs. “Fucking nerd.”

You rolled your eyes, signing back. “Enough.”

The door slid open again-this time with a chorus of footsteps and voices.

Ochaco, Iida, Todoroki, and Kirishima entered first, sweaty and dust-covered from their own match. Iida’s glasses were askew, and Todoroki had a faint scorch mark across one shoulder. Behind them, the rest of Class 3-A began to trickle in-some limping, others chattering, all buzzing with the rush of the first round.

“Yooo!!” Kirishima beamed, giving you a fist bump. “You guys killed it out there! That teamwork? That trap combo? That was, like, full-on black ops hero work!”

Ochaco nodded vigorously. “Seriously, it still blows my mind that you didn’t even talk! I always think you have telepathy or something!”

“We do talk,” you said dryly. “Just not with our mouths.”

Todoroki took a seat beside Izuku, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. “You’ve refined that communication system a lot. I assume you’ve memorized full tactical sequences?”

Izuku gave a thoughtful nod. “More than twenty. Depends on terrain, number of hostiles, and our current health markers. We adjust mid-fight based on visual queues and preloaded routines.”

“Like muscle memory algorithms,” Todoroki mused, nodding slowly. “You’re running layered logic in real time.”

“Y’all are way too intense,”Mina flopped down beside you and nudged your leg with hers. “Okay, but be real-do you guys even like, hang out for fun anymore? Or is it all blood, explosions, and battle plans?”

You chuckled. “You’re assuming that isn’t fun.”

Ten minutes later, the announcement crackled over the overhead speakers:
“Round Two begins in twenty. Qualified teams, report to staging.”

The mood shifted.

Chatter died down. Banter softened. The room slowly began to drain as teams shuffled out toward the prep hallway.

The prep hallway was quieter this time.

The cheers of the crowd still thundered beyond the walls, but in here, beneath the fluorescents and concrete, it felt more like a waiting room before war.

You sat on a low bench, rolling out your shoulders, blood already swirling around your wrist in slow, methodical pulses. Not summoning yet-just reminding your muscles what came next.

Izuku stood beside you, tapping through the next event data on a slim tablet. His brows were furrowed-more focused than usual.

You nudged his arm gently. He looked up.

You didn’t speak. You just lifted your hands- subtle, fluid, practiced. “You noticed it too, right?”

He glanced toward the far end of the hallway.

Katsuki stood alone, stretching his arms, eyes half-closed, jaw clenched. And for once, he wasn’t snapping at anyone. He wasn’t even reacting to the distant sounds of explosions from the screen replay.

Izuku nodded. “Right ear again. Didn’t react to the warning siren last match.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, fingers tapping your knee in a rhythmic pause. Then you signed again, slower this time. “It’s getting worse.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just stared, then signed back. “I’ve noticed he’s adjusting for it. Watching our body language more. Reading lips. He’s always watched our hands.”

You hesitated, glancing at your fingers. They were a little red-you’d overused the whips last round. “We need to switch up the silent cues.Use more visual markers. Shoulder signals. Color pulses.”

Izuku’s face tightened, but he nodded. “Agreed. Less reliance on hand signs. Fewer chances for misreads.”

You glanced again at Katsuki, whose head tilted ever so slightly in your direction. His red eyes narrowed- not in confusion. He’d probably read half the signs from across the room.

Then he scowled and mouthed clearly: “I’m not deaf.”

You lifted your hand-signed with a small, wry smirk. “We know. We’re adapting, not pitying.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, but his shoulders dropped slightly. Then he walked over-quick, heavy-footed-and punched the tablet out of Izuku’s hands.

“Let’s just win this round already.”

Izuku caught the tablet midair, expression unreadable.

You stood, stretching your arms behind your head, the blood at your wrists drawing up into a tighter coil. “Yes sir, King Katsuki.” You mocked, with a small bow. 

Because the next round was waiting.

And you weren’t here to rest.

You were here to finish what you started.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The crowd exploded as you walked across the field. 

Present Mic started hyping the crowd up. “NEXT UP-the most unpredictable round of all! The OBSTACLE COURSE! Traps! Terrain! And total chaos!”

 “This round’s about more than power. It's reflexes, timing, and smart adaptation. Most of them will focus on speed.”Aizawa drolled. 

 “But not our Big Three! These three could probably do it blindfolded!- scratch that, I think Bakugou already is with how little he listens-!”

 “Mic, please.”

The moment the buzzer blared, Katsuki launched without hesitation-pure explosive force, sending himself up and forward, skipping the first ten meters of terrain entirely.

You and Izuku split opposite paths- you went low through the narrow trenches, where sharp blades swung from above. He took the high scaffolding, balancing across crumbling platforms and sniping sensor turrets with air pressure flicks.

You tapped your thigh once. "Go Wide, Adjust Mid." 

Even though this round wasn’t about team work, the three of you still worked together- out of habit more than anything else.

Izuku- reading your cue- signaling you’d take the underground detour and meet halfway- the main tunnel was rigged. You didn’t even need to look to know he caught it.

Katsuki blasted through a wrecking-ball section, slipping narrowly between swinging iron beams. His movements were sharper now. Calculated.

And you noticed it- he wasn't reacting to sound-based traps anymore. Only visual cues. Izuku saw it too. You signed from a distance. “He's compensating in real time.”

He replied mid-run. “Just like always.”

The course twisted-the next section a gauntlet of collapsing glass platforms and randomized laser grids. Below? A safety net lined with foam… and an automatic disqualifier.

Contestants were already dropping.

“Careful,” you muttered under your breath, slicing a path through the laser field by hardening your blood into reflective plates- redirecting beams away from Izuku’s route. He gave you a nod and shot forward, using the gap to slip through untouched.

Katsuki came in from the far left- saw the pattern, mimicked your plate angle, and dove through just before the lasers reset.

The three of you landed on the final stretch together- only seconds apart.

You didn’t sprint.

None of you did.

You walked across the finish line in unison, as if you had time to spare- like you were just reminding the audience who owned this festival.

And the crowd erupted.

“ARE YOU SEEING THIS?! Absolute control! The Big Three cleared the obstacle course like it was a victory lap!” Present Mic almost fell out of his chair with excitement. 

“That’s not arrogance. That’s synchronization. They’ve calculated every variable- even each other.”

One by one, the rest of the contestants trickled in-some limping, others burned or scraped, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and awe. But it wouldn’t matter for most of them.

Only eight were moving on to Round Three. And you three were already at the top of that list.

The three of you walked to the hall, Izuku pattering off muttering something about needing some water. The sound of the crowd still echoing behind you. Concrete walls, fluorescent lighting, and the faint smell of dust and adrenaline-it all felt strangely calm. Like the eye of a storm.

Katsuki’s footsteps echoed behind you. 

He rounded the corner, slinging his sports jacket over one shoulder, shirt clinging to his frame from the heat of his last detonation. He was scowling, but it was his usual scowl-the kind that meant he was thinking, not pissed.

You gave him a sideways glance. “You're sure taking your time.”

He snorted. “Was making sure the extras behind us weren’t too dead to walk.”

You leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “How generous.”

He didn’t answer right away, just stood a few feet away, eyes scanning the far end of the corridor where the bracket board would soon be lit up.

You glanced at him again. “Your ears are bugging you, aren’t they?”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“…Saw you ignoring all the sound traps,” you added, voice low. “You were compensating by using light reflection off the metal beams. Smart. Quiet.”

Katsuki shrugged once, like it didn’t matter. “Got some feedback whistling in my ear. It’ll fix itself.”

“You should say something.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I’m about to lose a match over it.”

“No,” you agreed, “but it’s the Sports Festival. And you always go full throttle in the one-on-ones.”

A beat of silence passed.

“…You worried?” he asked, voice quieter than before.

“About your hearing?”

“No,” he said, eyes flicking toward you. “About fighting one of us.”

You didn’t answer at first. Just tilted your head back against the wall, staring up at the harsh lights above. Then, with a small smirk, you said.“I’m more worried about what you’ll break if you lose.”

Katsuki’s lip twitched, not quite a smile. “If I lose.”

You met his gaze. “You’re already adjusting mid-fight, compensating for a disadvantage. You think either of us wouldn’t do the same?”

“I’m not saying you’re weak,” he muttered.

“I know.”

Silence again. This time, not heavy. Just... still.

“Izuku was saying last night,” you added after a moment, “that this is probably the last time we ever go all out against each other in front of a crowd like this.”

Katsuki’s expression darkened slightly. “So?”

“So,” you said slowly, “maybe don’t take it for granted.”

He was quiet for a moment longer.

Then he took a step toward you, voice low and gruff. “I’m not taking anything for granted. I’m going to crush whoever I get-and if it’s you or Deku?” He cracked his knuckles. “Then it’s gonna be the best damn fight of this whole festival.”

You gave a small nod. “Good. I’d be insulted if you held back.”

Just then, the overhead screen in the hall lit up with a heavy electric buzz. A digital flicker ran across it, and the bracket began to form-randomized matches appearing one by one.

You both turned to look.

The brackets had you all on opposite sides- by design. The crowd wanted to see you fight each other.

The Quarterfinals were matched as follows: Round One, you vs. Shoto Todoroki. Round Two, Katsuki Bakugou vs. Fumikage Tokoyami. Round Three, Izuku Midoriya vs. Itsuka Kendo. Round Four, Iida Tenya vs. Hitoshi Shinso.

The tension in the air had shifted.

Before, you were part of a unit- the unbeatable Big Three, watching each other’s backs. Now? It was war.

You caught Izuku’s eye as he walked over. He gave you a small smile, hands already twitching at his sides- either from nerves or mental simulation.

Katsuki hadn’t said a word since the bracket was revealed. He hadn’t looked at either of you. He just tightened the waist band of his pants and stared at the ground like it insulted him.

You raised your hands, signing casually. “If we meet in the finals, no holding back.”

Izuku signed back with a nod and a small grin. “Of course. But… I won’t lose.”

Then you turned to Katsuki, who finally lifted his eyes, brow twitching.

You signed quickly. “You okay?”

He stared a beat too long, then flicked his fingers once. “Focus on Icy Hot.”

Shortly after, your match was called and you stepped into the center of the stadium. The crowd fell into an almost reverent hush. The sun glinted off the cracked arena floor.

Across from you stood Todoroki- still, calm, eyes focused on you and you alone.

He bowed slightly. “I won’t go easy.”

You returned the gesture. “Wouldn’t expect you to.” You winked.

Above, Present Mic’s voice crackled through the speakers. “And we’re off!! Blood Manipulation versus Fire and Ice- two of the most controlled, dangerous, and cold-blooded fighters in Class 3-A!”

“This will be a mental game. Both of them are strategists. Both know each other’s weaknesses. Whoever controls the rhythm… controls the match.” Aizawa added.

The horn blasted.

Todoroki struck first- ice shot across the ground like a tsunami, trying to trap your feet.

You jumped, biting your thumb mid-air, and lashed out a curved arc of blood that sliced the ice path clean in half. You landed in a low crouch, blood coiling around your arms like serpents.

He followed up immediately with a burst of fire, but you spun to the side, letting the heat glaze across a hardened shield of blood. Still, it seared the edges.

“Sloppy,” he muttered, launching another wave.

You smirked. “Not sloppy. Just testing something.”

You hurled a blood needle directly at his shadow- and when he instinctively jumped to dodge, you snapped your fingers. The needle expanded mid-air, blooming into a cage of hardened strands- trapping him mid-evade.

The crowd gasped.

But he didn’t panic. He just simply, melted the cage instantly, heat radiating from his skin in controlled bursts. He landed hard and slid backwards, breathing heavier now.

This wasn’t just fire and ice anymore. You’d forced him into improvisation.

He responded with a flick of his wrist- a ring of cold mist erupted around the arena, lowering visibility, freezing moisture from the air itself.

“Smart,” you muttered, closing your eyes.

No need for sight.

You bit the inside of your palm, sent a fine mist of blood into the mist- like sonar, mapping every movement by sensing its flow.

“Too easy,” Bakugou muttered from the sidelines, watching your fight. Still, his fists twitched. He could never sit still when it was you out there.

Izuku, arms folded, whispered, “She’s stronger than last time.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou muttered. “But she better not hold back if she ends up facing me.”

And there he was. You pivoted and snapped a tendril straight into his path- catching him in the stomach before he even saw it coming.

He hit the ground, skidding backward- ice shards erupting to cushion his fall.

The buzzer rang.

 “WOAHHHHHH Y/N win’s by ring-out!” Present Mic called.

You were already walking out of the ring by the time Todoroki stood slowly, chest heaving. He nodded. “That sonar technique… you’ve been practicing.”

You wiped blood from your lip, looking at him over your shoulder. “You’re not the only one who trains in silence.”

He smirked faintly. “Fair enough.”

Back in the waiting corridor, your adrenaline hadn’t fully faded. The blood on your arm was drying too fast, cracking faintly where you flexed your fingers.

Katsuki was already there. Leaning against the wall. Watching. Like he’d ran down from the stands to meet you.

“You’re slower than usual,” he said without looking at you.

You let out a breath, pressing a cool patch to your arm. “Maybe. Or maybe I was just showing off.” You shrugged. 

That got him to look.

Sharp red eyes met yours-half-lidded, unreadable, but burning underneath. The kind of look that always felt like it was one second away from something.
An insult.
A confession.
An explosion.

But none of it came.

“That cage trick-” he started, voice low. “That’s new.”

“Built it last week,” you said, watching him just as closely. “Didn’t tell you. Wanted to see if it worked.”

His jaw twitched. “It did. Barely. He almost froze your damn face off.”

You shrugged, just to rile him. “Would’ve healed.”

He took a step closer.

“You’re not invincible, you know,” he muttered, voice lower now. “You act like it, but you’re not.”

“Neither are you,” you shot back, heartbeat picking up-though you weren’t sure if it was entirely from the fight. “And you never act like it. You act like nothing fazes you- but I know better,” then, voice softer, you added. “Don’t I?” 

He didn’t move back. Neither did you.

A beat passed.
Then another.
The hallway fell quiet again. Static buzzed around the two of you again, and it felt- thick.

Then he said, so quietly you almost missed it. “What happens if it’s us in the final?”

Your throat dried out a little. You stared at him, searching his face for something- what? You didn’t know.

And when you didn’t answer, he nodded once, like he’d expected that. 

“I won’t hold back. You know that, right?”

You swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

He didn’t move.
But he didn’t have to.

The space between you was tight and loud, despite the silence- your words still lingering in the air like gunpowder smoke. And somewhere, under all of it… That dumb thing was still there. Sharp. Stupid. Unavoidable.

And then-

“Hey!” Izuku’s voice echoed down the corridor, light but a little too timed to be casual.

He jogged into view, a bottle of water half-drained in his hand, hair sticking up in five different directions.His green eyes flicked from you… to Katsuki… then back again.

The corner of his mouth twitched up.

Not quite a grin. Not quite teasing.
Just… knowing.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, oh-so-innocently.

You straightened a little too fast. Katsuki stepped back exactly once.

“No,” you said-too quickly.

Katsuki didn’t answer. He just clicked his tongue and looked away.

Izuku raised a brow, visibly not buying it. “Mmhm. Right. Must’ve been an intense strategy meeting. Really close-range.”

You scowled at him, but there was no heat in it.

Katsuki, on the other hand, muttered under his breath. “You’re worse than fucking Recovery Girl.”

Izuku smiled, like that was a victory. Then he lifted his hands casually and signed to you. “One down.”

You signed back, with a grin tugging at the edge of your mouth. “Two to go.”

But the moment snapped a little as Katsuki cracked his knuckles, the sharp pop of bone loud in the silence. 

His match was next.
He knew it. You knew it.
And he wasn’t going to lose.

He didn’t say anything as he walked past- didn’t look your way again, just rolled his shoulders and strode toward the exit of the hall with heat still radiating off his back like smoke from a fuse burning too close to the end.

You watched him go.

Izuku, now standing beside you, didn’t speak right away. But he didn’t move either.

And then, just barely above a whisper, he spoke. “You know he’s not mad, right?”

You blinked. “What?”

“He’s not mad,” Izuku repeated, watching the distant door swing shut behind Katsuki. “He’s… something else. You just make him forget how to act normal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “He’s never acted normal.”

Izuku chuckled. “True. But with you, it’s different. Has been. For a while.”

You didn’t respond. Because what were you supposed to say to that?

And Izuku-bless him-didn’t press. He just shrugged one shoulder and turned toward the open hallway.

“Come on,” you said aloud, voice clearer now. “Let’s go find a seat and watch.”

He nodded, glancing once more at the arena doors. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t wanna miss that.”

And as the two of you headed toward the stands, neither of you spoke again.

But something was shifting- in the air, in the fights, in the space between you and Katsuki.

Whatever happened next…
You could already feel it.

Like a countdown.

And when the clock hit zero- when the final match came.

Something was changing.

 You just weren’t sure what it was.

The crowd was still buzzing from your match, the energy still thick in the air. You and Izuku sat together near the lower bleachers reserved for Class 3-A. Other classmates gathered behind, but none of them spoke much.

All eyes were on the field.

The arena had shifted: darker now, with the overhead lights dimmed and spotlights flickering over the battlefield. Shadows stretched longer. Perfect for Tokoyami.

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees.

Izuku sat beside you, brow furrowed, watching every motion like it was an unfolding war map. His hands twitched in his lap- not with nerves, but with sign. “If Tokoyami gets early coverage, Kacchan might lose visibility. That’ll kill his mid-range game.”

You nodded, then signed back. “He knows. But he can’t hear Dark Shadow’s charge cues anymore. His right side’s still weaker. Tokoyami might exploit it.”

Izuku’s fingers paused mid-sign. He glanced at you didn’t say it out loud, but you saw it in his eyes: He’s not the same as before. And that scared the hell out of both of you.

Across the stadium, Katsuki stomped onto the platform, explosions already crackling in his palms. His glare was pure heat.

Tokoyami stood calmly, Dark Shadow already stretching into a tall, spiked form over his shoulder- its eyes glowing with anticipation.

“Don’t blink,” you muttered under your breath.

The buzzer rang.

Dark Shadow launched first, an aggressive swipe meant to pin Katsuki immediately and cut off his line of sight.

But Katsuki had already moved-up, blasting diagonally and spinning mid-air, kicking debris straight at Tokoyami’s feet. Dark Shadow caught the rocks in midair, but it was too late- Katsuki was above them, descending in a corkscrew burst of concussive fire.

“TOO SLOW, BIRD BOY!”

BOOM.

The impact cracked the ground- but Tokoyami was already diving backward, Dark Shadow cushioning the hit with a thick wall of shadow. 

You watched, eyes narrowed, seeing what others might not. “He’s aiming wide. He’s compensating for his hearing loss. Taking longer attack angles so he can track movement visually.”

Izuku nodded, fast. “It’s working. But if Tokoyami floods the field in shadows…”

And right on cue-

Dark Shadow expanded, coating the arena in a dome of blackness, lashing out from every angle. The crowd gasped as the stage vanished under a wave of ink-like tendrils.

From the commentary booth, Present Mic called out. “YOOOO!! Tokoyami turning the field into a NIGHTMARE ZONE! Is this the round Bakugou finally bites it?!”

Aizawa scoffed. “Bakugou’s not blind. He’s adapting. Watch his right hand.”

Katsuki closed his eyes for half a second.

In his right hand- a tiny strobe flickered from his explosions.

You blinked. Izuku leaned forward. “He’s signaling himself?”

The strobe wasn’t just a distraction. It pulsed at a rhythm- one, two, pause. One, two, pause. You recognized the cadence immediately.

Morse code.

He was syncing to the rhythm to keep track of his surroundings. His own heartbeat, in light. In the next instant, he moved.

A massive KA-BOOM rocked the shadow field, blowing a huge hole in the darkness.

Through it, Katsuki tore forward like a missile, flame trailing behind him- shoulder-checked Dark Shadow hard enough to stagger it, then spun into a final point-blank blast straight to Tokoyami’s chest.

Tokoyami went flying, caught only by the arena’s safety barrier.

Buzzer.

Midnight cracked her whip. “The winner is Katsuki Bakugou - by knock-out!”

The crowd roared.

You didn't cheer. Neither did Izuku.

You both watched Bakugou as he stood there, panting, one arm hanging looser than the other, but with a look in his eyes that said: “I’m still here.”

As Katsuki stomped off the field and re-entered the prep corridor, Izuku stood. You caught his sleeve. “He’s compensating too much on the right side. He’s gonna overextend if we face off.”

Izuku narrowed his eyes, serious now. “I’ll aim for his blind flank if we meet.”

You glanced at him sideways. “That goes for me, too.”

He nodded once. You both looked toward the corridor where Katsuki disappeared. No matter who faced who next, one thing was clear:

You were all prepared to tear each other apart.

Because only one of you would leave as champion.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The crowd hadn’t calmed down since Katsuki’s explosive finish. But this was different. There was a kind of respectful tension in the air now- the kind that came when a strategist stepped onto the battlefield.

And right now, the arena belonged to Izuku Midoriya.

“Make some noise for the notebook-wielding powerhouse- the Tactician of Class 3-A- IZUKU MIDORIYAAAA!”

 “Don’t let the notebook fool you. Midoriya’s always five steps ahead. Kendo will have to push him out of his rhythm if she wants to stand a chance.”Aizawa muttered, flicking lint off his pants.

Present Mic nodded. “Kendo’s no slouch either! That Big Fist quirk’s gotten brutal in the last year. This isn’t brains vs. brawn-it’s battle IQ vs. raw adaptability!”

From the stands, you watched Izuku. He stood loose, balanced. Not tense, not cocky. Just present. Subtle, but prepared.

Across from him, Itsuka Kendo paced lightly, stretching her arms. The moment the match began, her Quirk would activate and her fists would expand into crushing tools of precision.

She smirked. “You’re not going to try and outpunch me, right?”

Izuku smiled politely. “No. I’m going to outthink you.”

The buzzer sounded.

Kendo struck first, arms bulking out instantly into massive, orange-gloved fists, aiming straight for a knockout.

But Izuku sidestepped cleanly, footwork tight and minimal. He was already mid-analysis, eyes scanning her rotation speed, the torque of her shoulder, her weight shift.

He moved like he was dodging punches he'd already seen in his mind.

Boom. Boom. Boom. 

Her fists cratered the arena floor, missing by inches each time.

Izuku flicked his fingers- a small shockwave blast from his hand redirected dust into her face, obscuring her vision.

She flinched.

He dashed in and tapped her elbow joint, twisting just enough to collapse her stance.

You watched from your seat, eyes narrowed, reading every detail. You signed quickly toward Izuku’s match. “He’s not using full strength.”

Katsuki had returned quietly behind you by now, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He answered flatly without turning his head. “He’s saving it.”

Izuku leapt backward again, keeping distance, controlling the pace like a conductor in an orchestra. Kendo tried to close the gap, but he baited her forward- one step ahead, always.

Then- finally- he saw the opening.

Her foot slid. She overreached.

He dropped low and swept her legs from under her with a precise burst of energy, not even enough to bruise- just enough to send her flying toward the edge of the platform.

She hit the ground outside the ring with a grunt, catching herself on her forearm. She looked up, blinking in disbelief.

The buzzer sounded loudly. 

“My oh my!” Midnight called from her spot on the field. “The Winner Izuku Midoriya by ring-out!”

Kendo stood slowly, breathing hard, sweat sticking her bangs to her forehead. She walked back toward the arena center and offered her hand.

Izuku smiled- genuine, breathless- and shook it.

“Still think I’m trying to outpunch you?” he asked.

She smirked. “You’re a pain in the ass, Midoriya.”

He only smiled, turning to walk off the platform. Izuku walked back toward your section of the stands, you met his gaze and signed with both hands in slow, deliberate motion. “You held back.”

He signed back, sweat dripping down his jaw. “Saving my energy. Whoever I face next… I’ll need everything.”

You nodded once.

Katsuki still didn’t look at either of you, but you saw it in the way his fists clenched- he was watching. Every movement. Every interaction. Every strength and weakness.

He knew the finals were coming.

And it was going to be one of you.

ida had won his match, making him your next opponent. You stood in the prep hallway, cracking your neck, your knuckles. Bouncing from one foot to the other.

It wasn’t nerves.

It was anticipation. Tension curling through your limbs like a livewire.
Because you were going to win-and when you did, it would be one of the boys next. Katsuki or Izuku. There would be no hiding from it anymore.

The wind had shifted the moment your boots hit the entrance ramp.

The roar of the crowd wasn’t deafening now-it was reverent. Expectant. Every eye on you.

The earlier chaos of the obstacle course, the brutal collisions of the quarterfinals-they were prologue. This was where everything narrowed. Where every move mattered.

Your name rang through the arena like a blade drawn from a sheath.

You walked alone into the light.

Your boots slowed near the center. You lifted your hand and bit into the fleshy base of your thumb.

Just deep enough.

The pain sparked like electricity, sharp and clean. Blood welled instantly, pooling in your palm. You let it trickle down to your wrist where it joined the rest-your reservoir, your weapon, your edge.

The crowd shuddered with a collective breath.

Across from you, Iida stood in pristine posture, glasses gleaming beneath the harsh stadium lights. The telltale hum of his engines vibrating in the air.

He bowed sharply. “I respect your strength, but I won’t lose today.”

You nodded back, calm and controlled. “You won’t get the chance to.”

Up in the stands, the class murmured.

“She bit her hand again.” Ochaco whispered, clutching the railing. “That’s her fourth time this tournament.”

“She’s got to be conserving.” Todoroki observed, arms crossed. “But the way she’s layering the blood now-it’s denser.”

“A STRATEGIST’S DUEL! The lightning-fast president of Class 3-A vs. the most terrifying blood manipulator U.A. has ever seen!”

“This won’t be flashy at first.” Aizawa added, voice steady. “Watch for the feints. Both of them rely on timing. She’s going to try to bait him into her rhythm.”

The buzzer sounded. 

You didn’t charge. You took a single step back and flicked your wrist-sending a spray of tiny blood droplets arcing in a wide semi-circle around you. They didn’t look like much. Just a glimmer of red mist in the air.

But they were markers.
Control points.
Like pre-set landmines in invisible positions.

Iida wasted no time.

Recipro Turbo roared to life-a streak of blue-white heat slicing across the arena. He didn’t attack at first. He circled, weaving close and pulling back, testing the range of your threads, mapping your delay time between movement and reaction.

Izuku leaned forward in the stands, muttering under his breath.“His cornering speed… it’s increased. He's using foot pivots to control momentum.”

“Tch.” Katsuki scoffed beside him, arms crossed. “You think that’s gonna stop her?”

Iida darted left-then launched into a hard right feint, blasting toward you at an oblique angle.

You snapped your fingers. A whip of blood sliced out-precise, razor-thin. But he dropped low, skidding across the stone floor on his heel jets, then vaulted over your head in a move so smooth the crowd let out a collective “Whoa!”

He was faster than you’d seen him all year.

From above, Mina shrieked, “HE’S GONNA CRASH INTO HER!”

He didn’t.

He hit a support pillar mid-run and ricocheted off it, flipping mid-air and hurtling back at you from behind.

You spun.

Snap.

A wall of blood hardened between you and him, just in time. It caught his shoulder, sent him spinning, but he recovered mid-air-feet landing in a crouch with sparks trailing from his soles.

Then he came in low, trying to knock your center of gravity out.

You didn’t stop him.

You let his shoulder slam into your side.

Because that was when you coiled.

The moment he touched you, a loop of blood lashed around his waist-tied like a grappling line. A second thread latched behind your heel. You both yanked.

The two of you crashed sideways, tumbling over the cracked stone floor in a whirlwind of motion.

But you landed first. He hit second. Hard.

Without hesitation, you drove two blood-needles into the ground at his sides, anchoring razor-thin tripwires in a circle around his body.

He didn’t notice at first-he pushed himself up on one elbow.

You raised your hand.

 “Stop.”

He froze.

Eyes flicked downward.

And there-barely visible-were the strands. Laced around him like a web. One twitch, one misstep, and he’d trip half a dozen threads. Not fatal. But enough to bind him.

The crowd went dead silent.

Todoroki leaned forward, whispering to himself, “Thread grid… variable tension… she planned for a sliding recoil pattern.”

Iida’s chest rose and fell.

He swallowed.

And then-his hand went up.

Submission.

“UNREAL!” Present Mic howled, nearly falling out of his chair. “Y/N TAKES IT! SHE TRAPS IIDA WITHOUT EVER HAVING TO MATCH HIS SPEED!”

Aizawa let out a quiet breath, a rare smirk touching his mouth. “She didn’t stop him. She stopped the fight from ever becoming his. That’s the difference.”

You stepped forward as the blood threads dissolved with a flick of your fingers.

Iida remained kneeling for a moment, breathing hard, then looked up at you. “You controlled every angle.”

You offered him your hand. “You controlled your speed. I just played around it.”

He grinned, taking it. “You deserve the final.”

From the stands, Izuku clapped hard, a proud smile lighting his face. “She’s sharper than ever. That was ten different layers of trap logic.”

Katsuki didn’t clap. Didn’t smile.

He just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching the arena floor like it owed him a fight. 

You turned toward the entrance corridor, hearing the buzz begin again.

Because now, there was only one match left before the end.

Katsuki Bakugou vs. Izuku Midoriya.

Winner faces you.

And no matter who walked out of that fight-
You would be waiting.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The stadium shook with anticipation. The crowd was standing. Every camera in Japan was locked on the arena floor.

And in the middle of it all stood your best friends. 

Izuku, the tactician, the analyst, the beating heart of Class 3-A.

Katsuki, the storm, the detonator, the unrelenting force of will.

They didn’t walk to the center.
They marched.

Present Mic practically leaped out of his seat as they approached the ring. “It’s here! The rematch of a generation! Midoriya vs. Bakugou! Childhood rivals, best friends, deadliest enemies on the field! Who takes it?!”

Aizawa paused, watching the arena with an unreadable expression. “…I don’t know.”

Present Mic blinked, turning to look at him.  “Wait, seriously?” 

Aizawa shrugged. “They’ve both grown. Both evolved. But this isn’t about power anymore. This is personal.”

Below, Izuku rolled his shoulders, relaxed in posture but eyes sharp.

Katsuki bounced on the balls of his feet, jaw tight, a low growl caught in his throat like a thunderclap waiting to break.

“You ready for this, Kacchan?” Izuku smiled.

“Been ready.” Katsuki scoffed. “I ain’t going easy on you, nerd.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Izuku grinned faintly. “Even if I win, at least you’ve got your cute little support system to patch you up.”

Katsuki’s eyes twitched. “…What?”

“You know. The one who follows you around? Controls blood like a demon? Smart, scary, weirdly loyal?” He tapped his chin in mock thought. “Reminds me of someone…”

“Shut your damn mouth.” He spat.

Izuku smirked. “Didn’t deny it.”

Bakugou growled. The crowd screamed. 

You leaned forward on your seat, leg bouncing uncontrollably. Every nerve in your body buzzed.

Beside you, Mina let out a slow whistle. “Oof. He’s gonna blow a fuse.”

You glanced at her. “He’s fine. That’s his version of a love language.”

Mina raised a brow, lips curling. “Explosions and denial? Romance isn’t dead after all.”

You tried not to smile, eyes fixed on the field. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure,” she drawled. “You just happen to sleep in his room every other night, and he just so happens to listen to only you when no one else can get through to him.”

You gave her a side-eye. “Didn’t realize I came to the Sports Festival for commentary and a full psychoanalysis.”

“Y’know what you did come for?” Mina leaned forward dramatically. “This. This exact moment. Deku vs. Kacchan: Final Year Edition. With you front row for the drama. Honestly, I’m jealous.”

Your mouth quirked into a half-smile. “I’d rather be down there.”

Mina bumped your shoulder. “We all would. But you’ll get your turn. You always do.”

You didn’t respond right away. You just kept your eyes on them-on the way Katsuki’s fingers curled into fists, the way Izuku planted his feet just slightly forward, balanced and calm.

Mina caught your expression and nudged you again, quieter this time. “Hey. You nervous for them… or for what comes after?”

You blinked. “Neither…?”

She nodded, unconvinced, her voice losing the teasing edge. “Whatever happens, it’s not just a fight. It’s a history lesson. For everyone watching.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “It’s the kind of fight that changes everything.”

Down below, the buzzer boomed across the arena, rattling the very foundation of the dome.

And Katsuki moved first- as he always did. A straight blast forward, using his palms to close distance instantly.

Izuku ducked low, kicked off the ground, and redirected the shockwave with a counter burst from his fingers. He twisted mid-air and landed behind Katsuki- already reading his angles.

“You’re slower on the pivot now,” he said casually.

Katsuki whipped around, aiming for his side.

BOOM- Izuku blocked it with his hand, skidding back, fingers buzzing from the impact.

“You didn’t hear my footstep behind you. Used to, though.”

Another BOOM-  Katsuki threw a tight blast into the ground, covering the arena in smoke.

From inside the haze, he muttered. “Shut up.”

Izuku slid sideways, using the smoke to mask his reposition. “I get it, you hate sympathy. But it’s not sympathy, Kacchan.”

A flick of his wrist- shockwave blast, cutting through the smoke like a blade.

Katsuki dodged mid-air, twisting sideways.

“It’s acknowledgement. You’ve been adapting around it this whole time. I’m just saying it because-"

Katsuki blasted directly in his direction- full force now, a scream of fire and fury. “I SAID SHUT UP!”

The two collided in a mid-air explosion- shockwaves slamming into the forcefields, crowd gasping as the protective barriers rippled with pressure.

You watched from the sidelines, heart thudding. You knew their patterns, their triggers, the way they read each other like open books. “He’s covering his right blind zone with flash bursts,” you sighed under your breath. “He’s funneling Izuku’s left.”

Mina blinked from beside you, turning slightly. “Kinda creepy how much you know about them.”

“Shut up.” But there was no heat behind it.

Back in the arena, Izuku gritted his teeth, glancing toward Katsuki’s right side. “I’m not trying to exploit you, y’know.” He raised his hands again. “But I think you’re terrified of what’ll happen if we talk about it out loud.”

Katsuki snapped.

He surged forward with three rapid-fire blasts, each tighter than the last, forcing Izuku into a backpedal rhythm. No time to counter, no time to breathe. 

“You’re always talking,” he snarled. “Always explaining. Like that’ll save you.”

Izuku slid backward- then caught himself on one foot and launched upward with a compressed flick, the shockwave knocking Katsuki slightly off his trajectory.

“But maybe if you said it,” Izuku shouted mid-spin, “you wouldn’t have to carry it alone!”

BOOM.

Katsuki caught him mid-air.

Not with a blast. With a punch.

Fist to gut. Raw. Sharp. Personal.

Izuku coughed- air knocked from his lungs- and before he could reset, Katsuki spun, grabbed his collar, and launched a point-blank explosion at his side.

Izuku hit the ground hard.

He rolled- tried to stand- but Katsuki was already above him, hand pointed directly down. “No more lectures, Deku.”

BOOM.

Shockwave. Dust. Silence.

Izuku laid on the ground, blinking up at the sky, bruised, ribs cracked, lips bleeding- and grinning.

Katsuki stood over him, panting hard, sweat dripping down his neck, shoulders rising and falling with raw intensity.

Izuku coughed. “You hit like you’ve got something to prove.” But Katsuki didn’t move. Izuku’s smile widened. “She’s rubbing off on you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Katsuki scoffed-then, reluctantly, extended his hand.

“You’re starting to get dramatic.” Izuku smiled, gripping his friend's hand in his.

Katsuki snorted, hauling him up. “I’m telling her you called her dramatic”  

Izuku groaned out a laugh. “I’m not scared of her.”

 Katsuki raised a brow. “Shut up.” he chuckled under his breath, slipped his arm under Izuku’s, bracing his weight, and began walking them both toward the med gate.

“Come on nerd, let’s get you patched up.” 

Up in the stands, the crowd was still roaring, still processing what they’d just seen-not just a fight, but a history of pain, growth, and loyalty thrown into motion.

Mina exhaled beside you. “Okay. That was insane. Like, next-level soul-baring anime boss fight insane.”

You didn't answer right away.

Your eyes were still locked on Katsuki-how he held Izuku up without flinching. How he didn’t have to say anything else for you to understand everything.

“You alright?” Mina asked, softer now.

You nodded, barely. “Yeah. Just…” You swallowed, pulse thudding in your throat. “Just thinking.”

She tilted her head. “About?”

You blinked, eyes tracking the slow path of your friends as they limped off the field-Katsuki’s arm steady around Izuku’s back, fingers curled just a little too tightly. As if letting go might shatter something.

“About how that wasn’t just a fight,” you murmured. “That was Katsuki letting go of something. Or... trying to.”

Mina gave you a sidelong glance. “You think he’ll ever say it out loud?”

You snorted under your breath. “He’d sooner set his own bed on fire.”

“I mean, it’s practically a confession when he doesn’t try to kill someone mid-argument.”

You smirked faintly, but the smile didn’t last long.You leaned back in your seat, letting the noise of the crowd wash over you like static. Katsuki had been different lately, and you weren’t sure if it was from his ears or something else. Something more. 

You had nightmares he never asked about.

He had bruises you didn’t press him on.

And somewhere between laying beside each other in silence and the late-night rooftop talks, something had shifted. A lingering glance too long. A wordless understanding too deep.

But you didn’t know what to do with that.

And if Mina didn’t keep pestering you, you probably would’ve never noticed. 

“I should go check on them,” you said suddenly, rising to your feet.

Mina raised a brow. “You gonna pretend it’s for both of them?”

You ignored her and moved quickly, slipping through the rows of seats, your heart already ten steps ahead of your body.

Down the corridor, past the medical wing entrance, you caught the sound of grumbling.

“-didn’t need your damn help walking, nerd-”

“And yet, here we are,” Izuku wheezed, voice hoarse but still smug. “Like always.”

Katsuki muttered something low and indistinct, and then: silence.

You turned the corner just as Katsuki stepped back from Izuku’s cot, arms crossed, scowl set-but his eyes, when they flicked to you, softened in that microscopic way you’d learned to read over the years.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

You stood in the doorway, arms folded, one brow raised. “Thought you didn’t believe in dramatic entrances?”

He scoffed. “Didn’t know you were counting.”

“I always count.”

Izuku, from the bed, raised a weak hand. “Hi. Hello. I’m dying, if anyone cares.”

You and Katsuki both shot him identical flat looks. He blinked. “Okay. Not dying. But like… sore. In a symbolic way.”

“Shut up,” you both said at the same time. Then blinked.

Izuku grinned. Katsuki looked like he was about to explode again but you stepped forward before he could retreat into his shell of fire and pride again.

“Come on,” you said gently. “At least let him heal a bit before you try to explode him again.” 

He stared at you, searching for something. Then gave the smallest nod. Almost imperceptible. Almost. But instead he just scoffed and brushed past you moving into the hall.

Izuku raised a brow from his cot. “You two ever gonna stop circling each other?”

You didn’t look at him. “You gonna stop pretending you’re not grinning through a cracked rib?”

“Touche.”

You lingered a second longer, then turned to follow Katsuki.

The hallway outside was mostly empty now. He collapsed onto the bench. His breathing rough, head down, fists jammed into his pockets like he was holding something back. You followed. Sat down beside him.

No words. Just presence.

You handed him a cold bottle of water, and for a moment, your fingers brushed. His hand was hot-residual heat from his Quirk still radiating through his skin.

But he didn’t pull away.

“You saw it?” He muttered.

You nodded, signing softly with your fingers against your thigh.“I saw everything.”

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak. Just sat there. Breathing. Unmoving. Shoulders tight like a bowstring that hadn’t fully relaxed.

You watched the edge of his profile-the way his jaw clenched every few seconds like he was grinding down a thousand unspoken things. His hands rested on his knees, shaking faintly, stained with smoke and dust. He looked like he’d just walked out of a warzone. In some ways, he had.

Still, he didn’t pull away.

A breeze stirred through the underground corridor, carried from the open tunnel to the field. It smelled like scorched earth and ozone. You leaned back slightly on the bench, letting your fingers brush against his knuckles again-not by accident.

He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t say anything.

But after a few seconds, his fingers twitched-just once-then stilled under yours.

You didn’t need to speak.

Not yet.

The silence between you wasn’t empty. It was full-of the fight, of everything he wouldn’t say out loud, of everything you already understood.

Eventually, you glanced at him again, voice low. “You didn’t lose yourself out there.”

His eyes flicked to yours at last. Barely. Just a glance from the corner. “Didn’t win either,” he rasped.

You shook your head once. “That wasn’t the point. You know that.”

A beat passed.

Katsuki leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, head ducked low. The bottle of water still crinkled slightly in his hand. “…He still got to me.”

You smiled softly. “He’s supposed to.”

He was quiet again. 

Then, finally-voice quieter than you’d ever heard it-he asked, “Do you think I’m weak?”

The question sucker-punched you in the chest, but you didn’t show it.

You turned slightly, letting your shoulder press gently into his. “No.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t argue. Didn’t snap at you.

He just sat there.

And for now, that was enough.

There was no backup.

No hand signs. No silent codes. Just the truth. 

Fire and blood.

And whatever was building between you and Katsuki-it wouldn’t stay buried much longer.

Not with everything on the line.

Not with both of you standing so close to the edge.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

- 10900 words

Chapter Text

The hallway to the medical ward was quiet- unusual, considering how loud the rest of the arena had been all day.

You paused outside the door, hand hovering over the panel before you finally pushed it open.

Izuku sat on the bed, ribs wrapped, a small bloodstain peeking through the gauze. He turned as you walked in, eyes tired but still lit with mischief. “You’re late,” he grinned.

You raised a brow. “I haven’t even started.”

He snorted. “He’s pissed, y’know. Even more than usual.”

You leaned against the wall. “He always is.”

Midoriya tilted his head, studying you. “You two gonna kill each other out there?”

You shrugged. “Probably.”

There was a pause. Then he spoke again, softer this time. “You don’t have to hold back.”

You glanced over.

“I mean it,” he continued. “Even if he doesn’t say it-he respects you enough to want your full strength. No codes. No signs. No saving him.”

You stared at the floor for a long moment. Then nodded once. “I wasn’t planning on holding back, Zuku.”

“Good,” Izuku said, grinning again. “Because if you win and he finds out you were pulling punches, he’s going to explode you into orbit.”

You laughed, looking up at him. “Probably. But if I find out he’s holding back on me- my blood won’t be the only thing that’s spilled today.” You smirked.

Izuku chuckled, then winced, pressing a hand to his ribs. “Careful. I’m still half-broken.”

You crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the neighboring cot, arms folded, the hum of the lights above low and distant like background static. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You could still feel the leftover heat from the arena-like Katsuki’s presence was still radiating off the walls.

“He hasn’t said a word to me since they called your match,” Izuku said finally, breaking the silence. “Didn’t even look back when they announced your name.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, fingers curling slightly against your arm. “That tracks.”

Izuku leaned forward a bit, eyes narrowing. “So, what’s the plan? Wait for him to set the whole stadium on fire before you maybe talk about it?”

You blinked. “Talk about what?”

He gave you a flat look.

You looked away.

There it was again-that unspoken thing everyone else seemed to understand. You could lie to Mina, maybe. But Izuku? He’d known you both too long. Known what you looked like when you were trying not to look at Katsuki too long, known what he looked like when you were hurt and he couldn't stop himself from burning everything in his path just to find you.

Izuku lowered his voice, quieter now. “Y’know… he used to tell me no one would ever understand what it’s like to be him. Not really. And for a long time, I believed him.”

You glanced back, brow furrowed.

“But then you,” he said, with a small smile. “You didn’t try to fix him. You didn’t chase him. You just… stayed. Even when he didn’t know what to do with that.”

A lump formed in your throat.

Izuku tilted his head again. “That pisses him off, you know. The way you see through him. The way you don’t flinch.”

You looked down at your hands. “I flinch sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But never at him.”

Silence settled between you again, a little heavier now. The kind that came before a storm. Before a choice.

You exhaled slowly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen out there.”

Izuku smiled faintly. “That’s the thing about Kacchan. No one ever does.”

Your gaze met his. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But he’s afraid of you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“He’s afraid of what you mean. Of what it means if he lets himself need someone like you. After everything… needing someone feels like weakness to him.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“He’s not scared of losing the match,” Izuku added, voice almost a whisper now. “He’s scared of what happens if he doesn’t hold back-and you still walk away.”

The words hit deeper than you expected. You looked away again, trying to hide the way your chest ached under the surface of your calm.

After a long pause, you stood.

“I won’t walk away,” you said.

Izuku smiled again. “I know.”

You stepped toward the door but paused, hand on the frame.

“I’m going all in,” you said without turning around. “No hesitation.”

He nodded. “So will he.”

You looked back at him, eyes narrowing slightly.

“If this ends with one of us in the ground, just make sure Recovery Girl doesn’t try to retire before she patches us up.”

Izuku snorted. “I’ll have the IVs ready.”

You smirked again-smaller this time, heavier. Then turned and walked out, the door hissing shut behind you.

The hallway was still empty, still quiet. But the weight of what came next was deafening.

Out there, Katsuki was waiting.

And this time, you weren’t going to meet him as his best friend.

You were going to meet him as his equal.

Maybe more.

Maybe less.

But definitely not as someone who’d hold back.

Not now, not ever.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… THE MOMENT YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!” Present Mic called from above. “On one side- the blood-forged tactician of Class 3-A, master of battlefield manipulation and mental warfare!And on the other-the firestorm, the living bomb, the blunt-force trauma incarnate…”

“IT’S Y/N L/N vs. KATSUKI BAKUGOU!”

{Now playing: So Far So Fake by Pierce the Veil}

The tunnel walls swallowed the roar of the crowd, but your boots still echoed like the beat of a war march. The air grew hotter with every step-dry, sharp, electric. Like lightning waiting for a reason.

You stepped into the light.

The stadium erupted. But you barely heard it.

Focus.

You could feel him already-not just the heat of his Quirk, but the gravity of his presence. A pull you’d gotten used to over the years. Familiar. Dangerous. Irresistible.

​​Katsuki stood dead center, waiting. His shoulders rolled loose, his hands crackling faintly, and his red eyes locked on you like a god staring down the only mortal that ever dared bite back.

You stopped across from him.

The noise faded. Time thinned.

And then-

He smirked. “Come on, princess,” Katsuki said, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s see what that blood can really do.”

You raised a brow, grinning as your canines flashed, and without hesitation, you bit into the center of your palm- crimson blooming immediately, thick and fast.

 “Don’t go easy on me, Kat,” you muttered, crimson veins swirling around your arms like rolled serpents. “And stop calling me princess!”

In the stands, Izuku dropped into a seat beside Ochaco, one hand still pressing his ribs.

“You should be resting,” she said, concerned.

He scoffed, shifting in his seat . “You think I was going to miss this?” He crossed his arms tight across his chest, wincing slightly with every sudden movement. “She’s going to push him,” he muttered. “She always does.”

Ochaco smiled faintly. “She’s the only one who can.”

“I don’t know who’s more stubborn,” he said, shaking his head. “Kacchan for pretending he’s fine, or Y/N for never knowing when to quit.”

The buzzer sounded.

Neither of you moved.

Just silence.

Just tension.

Just years of knowing how the other moved, breathed, bled.

And then

He lunged.

You spun left, a blade of blood forming along your arm like a ribbon. You lashed out, but he deflected it with a burst of heat, the blast sending dust and grit flying.

He came at you again- a punch straight for your ribs-but you caught his wrist mid-air, blood wrapping instantly around his forearm like a vice. You yanked him forward, twisted, and drove your knee toward his chest, but he blasted backward at the last second, breaking the tether.

“Sloppy,” he barked, already mid-air.

“Shut up.”

He came down on you like a meteor- both hands blazing- intent blazing in every line of his body.

You dodged, right.

Blood shards launched mid-spin, tracking his movement like homing missiles. One clipped his bicep, slicing the skin clean. He didn’t even blink.

You circled.

He mirrored.

A hundred training sessions lived in your muscles. You’d fought beside him. Against him. Saved him. Hurt him. You knew every tell, every twitch, every fucking breath he took before he exploded.

“Not talking much, huh?” you said, taunting lightly. He didn’t answer. You narrowed your eyes. “Is it your ears again?”

He stopped cold. 

“You’re not reacting to sound cues. You didn’t hear the snap behind you earlier-”

“SHUT UP.” He blasted forward, hard and angry. A wide, reckless swing- enough to break through your guard if you mistimed your defense by a second. “You and Deku with these stupid ass lectures! Do either of you ever shut up?”

You ignored him, spinning beneath it and moving under him, cutting his thigh-precision born from muscle memory.

“You can’t keep pretending nothing’s changed.”

“Keep talking, freak,” he growled, hands hissing. “Won’t stop me.”

“Didn’t say it would.”

You pivoted on your back foot, momentum snapping your blood whip outward with a crack that echoed through the arena. Katsuki barely ducked in time-the tip slicing through the air just inches from his face.

Dust. Smoke. Fire. Blood.

But this wasn’t new. This was a language. One you’d both learned by bleeding for it.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. He exploded forward again, faster this time.

You backstepped once, twice-then suddenly dropped low, driving your palm into the concrete and summoning a crimson wall that jutted up like a jagged barricade.

BOOM. 

He tore straight through it, shards of blood scattering like broken glass.

But that was fine.

You wanted him close.

As he emerged from the destruction, fist cocked back for another detonation, you moved inside his guard-too fast. Blood slicked beneath your feet, giving you the slide you needed. Your elbow slammed into his ribs, followed by a knee to his hip, followed by another coiled ribbon of hardened blood catching his ankle and pulling his foot out from under him.

Katsuki fell-caught himself mid-air-and blasted downward to vault back upright.

“Fucking trapper,” he spat, shaking blood from his arm where another thin cut leaked red.

“That’s ‘tactician’ to you.”

He moved again, heat rolling off his body in thick waves. The air between you shimmered-almost too hot to breathe. The arena cracked beneath his feet from the sheer pressure of his Quirk.

You took a step forward, and blood peeled off your skin like liquid armor, dancing in midair, orbiting around your limbs like tethered blades.

He rushed you.

You didn’t dodge this time.

You met him.

His explosion met your barrier-raw force against precision, fire against razor wire. Raw power collided with calculated violence. The shockwave cracked the arena floor, a thunderclap of heat and pressure that sent the front rows of spectators staggering.

You drove him down, weight behind every movement.

You had him-pinned.

Blood locked tight around his wrists and ankles like crimson chains, pressing him down against one knee. Your breath came in ragged pulls, your arms trembling with the effort of holding him.

“Yield.” Your voice was a growl.

His glare burned into you, sweat dripping from his jaw. “Not happening.”

And then-

BOOM.

The tether snapped.

He caught you mid-step, gripping your jacket and yanking you forward so hard your feet left the ground-then he slammed you into the earth, an explosion coating the motion like punctuation.

Pain bloomed through your back. Concrete cracked beneath you. You barely had time to react before he was on top of you, hands braced on either side of your head, palms glowing bright.

“You gonna yield?” he growled.

You smiled up at him, lip bleeding. “Nah.”

You spit-blood straight into his eyes. He flinched. And you moved. You formed two wicked spikes from the blood around your arms and drove them upward, one toward his side, the other at his shoulder.

He twisted-one spike grazed him, the other missed-but it was enough.

He stumbled back.

You rolled to your feet, arm shaking, jaw tight.

This was the dance.

He was grinning. “Now that’s the freak I know.” he flicked his fingers tauntingly, curling two. “Come on princess, show me what you got.” 

You huffed, chest heaving. “You know, you talk a lot of shit for someone who almost got skewered.”

He tilted his head. “Almost doesn’t count. You either win or you don’t.”

You took a half step forward.

He mirrored it.

Blood circled your wrists.

Heat shimmered from his palms.

The crowd was screaming now. But neither of you heard it anymore.

This was the center of a storm.

Just the two of you.

Above, in the announcer's box- Present Mic had stopped talking for once.

Aizawa leaned forward slightly, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “They’re not just fighting,” he muttered. “They’re testing each other. Pushing each other to the edge… not to win. To be understood.”

Present Mic blinked. “That’s… terrifyingly poetic, actually.”

Back in the ring, you and Katsuki charged again.

No hesitation.

You feinted low. He countered high. You slashed his arm, he blasted your shoulder.
You twisted mid-air, wrapped a line of blood around his wrist and threw him like a ragdoll-but he tanked it, caught himself, and vaulted straight back.

The two of you collided mid-air again-

BOOM.

Blood and fire. Smoke and teeth.

You both hit the ground hard, skidding in opposite directions, rolling into crouches.

You panted. He grunted.

A single beat passed.

Then you both smiled.

Not because it was over.
Because it wasn’t.

“Come on, Katsuki!” you yelled, charging at him, blood swirling in your palms like a storm in orbit. He lunged to the side, trying to get a blast off- but you feinted, pivoted, then cracked your arm forward with vicious precision. A sharp arrow of hardened blood shot clean through his forearm.

He hissed, staggering - and that’s when you moved. You closed the distance in a flash, leg swinging up in a brutal arc, your boot slamming into his shoulder with a bone-rattling CRACK. The force sent him flying back, crashing to the ground hard enough to make the arena floor quake. 

THUD.

The arena floor cracked under the impact.

You didn’t give him a second to recover. You landed on top of him, straddling his hips with perfect control. Your knees locked against his sides, and your hands caught his wrists before he could retaliate. In a blink, glowing strands of blood coiled around his wrists, tethering them to the cracked stone beneath. He twisted against them instinctively-but they held firm.

His fingers flexed against the restraint, palms already crackling. You felt the heat pulse between your bodies.

“Don’t even try it,” you panted, eyes narrowed. Your chest was heaving with exertion, and his wasn’t doing much better.

“Get the fuck off me, Y/N,” he snarled, bucking violently to throw you off. His hips lifted under you with a surge of raw strength- but your thighs clamped down tighter around his waist, anchoring you in place.

He groaned, frustrated, slamming the back of his head into the stone platform. “Tch-don’t do that-”

You paused. You’d never heard him sound like that before. There was something off in his voice. Not anger- or not just anger. You knew Katsuki. You’d fought him a hundred times, seen the fury, the focus, the fire in his eyes.

But this? This was… different.

“What-?” you began.

“Let go of me, you freak,” He barked, chest rising and falling faster. Shaking. His voice cracked slightly on the last word. His breathing was shallow now. Not from the fight- no, something else.

And then it hit you.

Not just the way his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle in it ticking, and his eyes- those wildfire red eyes- locked with your like he was daring you to say one more thing. Not the tremble in his hands, the flush in his ears. Not the shallow, uneven rise of his chest.

No, it was the way he was looking at you.

Like you were the match and he was the gasoline. Like if you moved even a millimeter closer, he wouldn’t blast you- he’d pull you down. 

And you could feel the heat radiating off him. Not just his Quirk- him.

You leaned in slowly, your face hovering just above his. His skin flushed beneath you. His pupils dilated. The blood swirling around your body slowed, shifting from sharp whips of power to soft, floating tendrils of red light- like fireflies orbiting you both. “…Are you embarrassed, Kat?” You murmured, a slow smirk tugging at your lips. Your voice dropped, teasing, your words curling warm against his cheek.

His eyes darted away from yours-just for a second-but it was enough.

Your smirk deepened. You could feel the tension rolling off of him now. Not just frustration. Not just competition.

Heat.

Your hands tightened slightly around his wrists. You leaned in closer, your nose brushing his. “I can't tell if it's 'cause I’m about to beat your ass on national television... or if it’s because of other things,” you whispered, your voice lilting with mock-innocence.  “I mean… it’s a lot of pressure, don’t you think?”

 You rolled your hips again- just slightly, and he definitely noticed. 

Then you felt it. 

Hard.

Oh.

Oh, shit. 

Your lips parted just slightly, a fresh wave of heat crawling up your neck, but it wasn’t from exhaustion. Your pulse thudded harder now, in your chest, in your fingertips, between your legs. 

His entire body tensed. You felt it all: the way his muscles seized beneath you, the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes fluttered shut for a fraction of a second- like he was willing himself not to react.

“And pressure tends to do things to people.” you murmured, barely above a whisper now.

His eyes flew open-wide, wild.  “Shut the fuck up, Y/N,” he rasped, almost too quiet. His voice was strained now, thick with something heavier than rage.

“What?” you said, tilting your head, eyes dancing. "It’s not like I haven’t put you in this position before-what changed?"

The arena erupted with noise-some of it excited, some confused, most just in stunned disbelief.

Up in the stands, Class 3-A had all but exploded into commentary.

“Yo-what the hell is happening right now?” Kaminari half-laughed, half-gawked. “Is she… is she flirting mid-fight?”

“Bakugou looks like his brain just blue-screened,” Mina said, covering her mouth with a mix of delight and concern. “I can’t tell if he’s going to pass out or propose.”

Sero laughed into his hands. “This is why we don’t let two emotionally constipated war gods become best friends.”

Even Aoyama- dramatic as ever-gasped, “The tension! It is… intoxicating!”

Near the edge of the bleachers, Ochaco leaned in toward Izuku. “What is she doing? Why doesn’t she just finish it?” she muttered.

Izuku sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Oh, for the love of-she’s messing with him.” He shook his head, an exhausted laugh slipping out. “She doesn’t know when to quit.”

Katsuki snarled beneath you, wrists still pinned, explosions flickering dangerously in his palms. His breath was heavy- not just from exertion, but from restraint.

You saw it in his eyes. That flicker. That twitch of his jaw. You were pushing him in more ways than one.

But it was so much fun.

Touching a wire you knew you shouldn’t.

And damn if you didn’t want to watch him short-circuit.

You leaned in again, voice a low hum. “Tap out, and I’ll let you go,” you said, wrapping blood tendrils around his ankles now, pulling them together and tying them off with a swift, precise flick. “Unless… you want me to keep going?”

His chest rose violently beneath you. 

“Y/N, I swear to god-if you don’t let me go-” he growled, voice raw, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. Sparks ignited along his knuckles, jumping erratically, like his Quirk couldn’t decide what to do with itself.

“Or what, Kat?” you taunted sweetly.

“I’ll explode that pretty face of yours so badly Aunty won’t be able to recognize you.”

You raised a brow, unfazed. “Ohhh, that’s not very heroic, Kacchan.”

He growled deep in his throat-more animal than man- and tried to twist out from under you again, hips jerking up. But your blood bindings cinched tighter around his limbs, and your thighs clamped down in warning, pressing him back into the ground.

That groan he let out- low, strained, frustrated- didn’t sound entirely like pain.

“Just tap out. Give up. It’s simple really,” you smirked, leaning in even closer now. Your breath ghosted over his neck, and you felt the way his skin prickled beneath it. You pressed your hips down harder, rolling them slightly against his- just enough to remind him how closely you were pressed together. 

How little was between you.

His entire body jolted like a live wire. His eyes blew wide, but not just with rage. Not just with shock.

There was something deeper in them now- darker. Something he didn’t want you to see.

“You’re fucking insane,” he grit out, eyes wide and wild, flickering from your mouth to your eyes and back again. His voice was lower now, rougher, like gravel dragging across concrete.

“You like it,” you whispered. Not a question.

He didn't answer.

But his hands curled into fists in your grip. His jaw flexed again. The way he was looking at you now- like you were the fight and the reward- made something flip low in your stomach.

“You always do this,” he snapped suddenly, voice cracking with frustration. “You get too close. You don’t fucking fight fair.”

“And yet you haven’t complained about it once,” you said softly. “Till now.”

He looked like he wanted to bite back- to throw some insult that would land like a grenade between you- but when your hips shifted again, his mouth just parted, breath catching.

You leaned in so your nose brushed his. “You gonna keep pretending this is just about the fight?”

His lips twitched. “Shut the fuck up.”

But the way he said it- low, desperate- was anything but commanding. His eyes locked on yours, wild and wide and confused, like he didn’t know whether he wanted to pin you down or pull you closer. Like he couldn’t decide.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips near his cheek- not touching-just barely there. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, chest rising sharply, then- “I’m not tapping out,” he said finally, voice hoars. “You’ll have to hurt me first before I fucking tap-”

SNAP.

There was a horrific pop- his right shoulder shifted violently under your grip. The sound echoed across the arena floor.

“FUCK-!” he howled, head slamming back against the stone platform.

You froze, startled, heart skipping- not because of fear. Because of what you did.

Present Mic wheezed in his seat. “HOLY-okay, okay, folks, that was a little too real!”

“She dislocated his shoulder.”Aizawa deadpanned.  “Took her longer than I expected.”

Present Mic stilled. “THAT’S NOT-WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!”

“This isn’t even close to the worst I’ve seen between them.”

Katsuki writhed under you, jaw locked in pain, sweat beading down his temple.​​The blood cords tightened, he still glared up at you -furious, defiant, wild-eyed. Shoulder clearly dislocated now- the socket visibly shifted, muscles twitching with unspent fury. Sweat dripped down his neck, jaw clenched so tight you could see the outline of every tendon in his throat.

You didn’t let up. Didn’t flinch. Not even when he glared at you like you’d just set the whole world on fire and blamed him for watching.

You leaned down, hovering just above his flushed, furious face. “Don’t ask for something you can’t handle, Kacchan.”

His nostrils flared. “You think I can’t handle you?”

You grinned slowly, wickedly. “You’re currently tied to the ground with blood ropes, Kat. And I just popped your shoulder out of place like a doll’s arm.” You tilted your head. “So, yeah. I think you might be a little out of your depth.”

His body tensed, the veins in his neck pulsing. His palms flared again- dangerously close to shorting out the barrier at the edge of the arena.

And still-you didn’t back off.
You stayed right there, pressed flush against him, not as a threat… but as a mirror.

Up in the stands- Kaminari leaned forward with a horrified grin. “Bro. Bro. Is this a boss fight or a breakup?”

“She’s baiting him like she wants to die,” Jirou muttered, watching the match with wide eyes and her earbuds coiled tightly around her fingers.

Mina was halfway across her seat, vibrating. “They’re both lunatics. Like. Grade-A delusional, emotionally stunted, dangerously sexy lunatics.”

“You guys think this is weird, right?” Sero asked, looking around. “Like… objectively weird?”

“Do you want to interrupt them?” Tokoyami asked gravely. “I certainly don’t.”

Even Shoji looked mildly alarmed. “At this point, it’s psychological warfare.”

Izuku just sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “She’s trying to get him to tap out without pushing him past his limit,” he muttered. “But she’s doing it in the most chaotic, feral way possible.”

Ochaco blinked. “You mean… by sitting on him and dislocating his shoulder?”

“Yes.” A pause. “And also emotionally undressing him on live television."

Back in the ring- Katsuki’s breathing was ragged now. You could see it in the way his ribs expanded, every inhale shuddering with pain and pride. He hissed through clenched teeth, chest heaving, sweat beading on his brow. His body still writhed beneath yours, less in rage now and more in a frenzy of tension- pain and adrenaline and something he couldn’t swallow down fast enough.

His eyes snapped up to yours again, blazing- not just with fury, but something sharp. Hot. Barely caged.

“You’re gonna fucking regret that,” he snarled.

You leaned in slowly, mouth hovering just above his. You could feel his breath shaking against your lips.

“Then make me.”

He didn’t respond, so you kept going. 

“Tap out,” you said softly, like a dare. “Say it.”

He glared. “Go to hell.”

“You first,” you smirked.

His hands lit again-flaring with heat- but you leaned forward and brushed your nose against his, and just for a second… the fire stalled.

He stared at you.

Not in rage. Not entirely. Something else flickered there.

Exhaustion.

Resentment.

Need.

“…You can’t do this forever,” you whispered.

“Watch me.”

“You’ll break something worse next time.”

He laughed-a broken, breathless sound. “Wouldn’t be the first time you did that either.”

You blinked once. Something behind your chest pulled tight. The fight. The crowd. The blood. The fire. It all felt very, very far away.

Then he moved.Fast.

He snapped his legs, wrenching them from the blood cords just long enough to flip the two of you - you gasped as your back hit the arena floor, the breath knocked from your lungs.

His hand braced beside your head, the other limp from the dislocation- but he was grinning now, teeth bared.

“Gotcha,” he whispered.

You grinned right back, blood already wrapping around his ankles again. “Did you?”

Then- before he could blast again- you raised your hand, palm glowing red, and slammed a compressed ball of blood directly into his abdomen.

BOOM.

It wasn’t lethal- it was calculated. A controlled concussive hit right to his diaphragm.

Katsuki choked-air flying out of his lungs-and dropped.

You caught him mid-fall-arms already moving before thought caught up to instinct-and used his momentum to flip the two of you again. His body hit the ground with a dull, broken thud, the air knocked clean from his lungs.

And you were on him.

Again.

Blood ropes lashed out with surgical precision, locking his arms and legs flat against the cracked earth. His limbs twitched once, spasmed with resistance-but it was over. He didn’t have the oxygen. Didn’t have the leverage.

Didn’t have the will to fight you off anymore.

He couldn’t even breathe.

Your legs straddled his waist, sweat dripping from your temple onto his chest. Your blood bindings tightened, cinching with a final tug that sealed the outcome.

You were both trembling.

Not from fear.

Not even from pain.

From the high.

From everything you didn’t say, pressed between your bodies like the air itself was holding its breath.

You hovered above him, hands planted beside his head. Blood dripped from your knuckles to the platform. Your chest heaved. Your muscles spasmed. But your grin? That never wavered. “I win.”

It wasn’t smug. Wasn’t taunting. It was just true. Like gravity. Like fire.

And for the first time in the entire fight-Katsuki didn’t argue.

Didn’t sneer.

Didn’t snap back.

He stared up at you, his eyes fluttering-barely open, lashes stuck together with sweat and soot and blood. His lips parted, chest rising in shallow, uneven jerks. His Quirk flickered faintly against your skin, barely a spark.

Then-

The light went out.

His eyes slipped shut. Exhaustion took him like a wave dragging him under.

And then-

The buzzer sounded.

“Oh myyy- WINNER-Y/N L/N! BY TECHNICAL SUBMISSION!” Midnight’s voice cracked through the speakers, almost breathless herself.

The crowd didn’t cheer.

It erupted.

A wall of sound slammed into the stadium as the audience collectively lost its mind-some screaming in triumph, others in stunned disbelief. Phones flashed. Voices shouted over each other. The sheer volume was earthquake-level.

Aizawa just stared at the arena. “…At least she didn’t break his other shoulder.”

Present Mic nearly choked. “THAT IS NOT THE TAKEAWAY, SHO.”

Back below, the dust had barely settled.

You sat back slowly, legs shaking as adrenaline crashed in your bloodstream like a drug wearing off. Your knees ached, your palms were slick with blood-some his, some yours-and your shoulders twitched from the effort of every restrained, calculated strike you’d had to land to bring him down without ending him.

The stone beneath you was cracked in all directions, fissures spiderwebbing out from where he’d impacted. Smoke still hissed faintly from the floor. The entire arena smelled like fire and iron and ozone.

And Katsuki Bakugou-God of Blunt Force and Fury-was still beneath you.

His chest rose in shallow, uneven breaths. You could see the hitch in every inhale, could hear the groan in the back of his throat when your weight shifted slightly on his waist.

You looked down at him.

His eyes were cracked open now-just barely. Enough to see the sky above you, and then flicker weakly toward your face.

“Told you not to ask for what you can’t handle.”you said, your voice low, rough-edged from effort but still smug around the corners.

He muttered something you didn’t catch.

You leaned in, frowning slightly. “What?”

His gaze met yours. Red. Raw. Tired. Somehow still defiant.

He met your gaze, half-lidded, chest still heaving. “…You’re such a pain in my ass.”

You exhaled a laugh, your lips curling in spite of yourself. “And you like it.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because his eyes were still on you-locked. And for all the heat and fury that had flooded this fight, there was something quiet in him now. Something that wasn’t surrender. Something else.

Up in the booth, the class just stared in stunned silence for a few seconds- three full seconds, no one moved. No one breathed.

Then-

“Holy shit,” Kaminari whispered.

“I feel like I should be paying for therapy,” Sero muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Or popcorn,” Mina added, eyes wide. “Maybe both.”

“Is… is this how you win against Bakugou?” Ojiro asked faintly. “You… sit on him until his soul leaves his body?”

Aoyama was practically vibrating. “Magnifique…! The romance! The tension! The full-body submission!”

Mina half-laughed, half-gasped. “I swear to god, I saw her grind.”

“I’m ninety percent sure she did,” Sero muttered, “and I’m one hundred percent sure I’m scarred for life.”

At the back of the row, Jirou had both earbuds coiled tightly around her fingers. “If this is what their sparring sessions look like, I am never volunteering for combat drills again.”

Shoji nodded solemnly. “That was psychological warfare. On a biblical level.”

Izuku just sat next to Ochaco letting out a long sigh. “Told you,” he muttered.

She blinked, still stunned. “They’re both… insane.”

He nodded. “Like… insane-insane.”

She hesitated. “Do we… need to intervene?”

“No,” he said flatly, eyes still on the ring. “You’d just get caught in the crossfire.”

Back in the arena, you finally let yourself breathe.

Fully.

The kind of breath that only comes after a battle you trained a lifetime for.

You looked down at Katsuki one last time, sweat dripping from your jaw onto his collarbone.

His head lolled to the side, eyes closed again-but you didn’t miss the faintest curl of a smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Because you knew him.

And he knew you.

And this?

This was far from over.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The sterile white lights buzzed quietly above, cold and constant, casting long shadows against the tiled floor. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air like static-sharp, bitter, and impossible to ignore. Machines hummed softly. The curtain next to Katsuki’s bed swayed with the movement of some distant nurse.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, back hunched slightly, tension still simmering under every motion like his body didn’t quite know the fight was over.

His right arm was in a sling-black and high-grade, wrapped expertly around his shoulder. His shirt was half-peeled off, soaked with sweat, blood crusted on the collar. His collarbone was swollen, skin mottled purple and yellow where your hit had landed. Thick white tape ran down his side in jagged lines. Bandages covered his left temple and two knuckles.

He looked like a wreck.

And still-somehow-he looked proud of it.

You paused in the doorway, weight shifting on your heels. There was a beat of hesitation-just one-unsure if he'd throw something the second he saw your face.

He didn’t.

Didn’t even glance up.

“Back again,” you said casually, stepping in. “You’re becoming a regular.”

“Not my fault you fight like a psycho,” he muttered, his voice rough from yelling and smoke, eyes still fixed on the floor.

You pulled up a stool, the metal legs scraping against tile, and sat beside him. The heart monitor behind him let out soft, steady beeps. You could still feel your own pulse in your ears.

“You gonna explode me again?” you teased, nudging him gently with your shoulder.

“Tch. Not with one arm,” he muttered. The corner of his mouth twitched-almost a smirk, but not quite.

There was a beat of silence. Not heavy. Just quiet.

Then, softer:

“…Didn’t mean for it to go that far,” you said, eyes fixed on the tape crisscrossing his shoulder. “With your arm.”

“You meant to win,” he shot back,voice low but even.

“Yeah, but not like-”

“I’d do the same to you,” he interrupted, turning toward you finally. His eyes-still bloodshot at the edges-were sharp, steady. No heat. Just truth. “And you know it.”

You stared at him. Met his gaze. Nodded once. “...Yeah.You would.”

He looked away again, down at his lap. His fingers twitched, testing range of motion. He winced. Gritted his teeth.

You leaned in, resting your elbow on your knee, voice quieter now. “You alright?”

“I’ll live.”

More silence.

But not an awkward one. Just shared.

Like something had settled between you. Some new, unspoken line crossed, but not regretted.

You watched him, eyes flicking to the bruises lining his ribs, the faint tremble in his fingertips.

Then-just to stir the pot:

 “You embarrassed?” you asked, raising a brow, tilting your head, smile curling. “Because that was kind of a national TV moment.”

He shot you a look. Murderous.

“You, under me. Tied up. Flushed.”

He growled.

You smiled wider.

He glared at you. “Don't make me use my good arm.” He threatened.

You leaned in a little closer, just enough that your breath ghosted across his cheek, voice dropping an octave. “You tapped, you know.”

“I didn’t tap.”

You blinked innocently. “You screamed, Kat.”

“I WAS IN PAIN!”

You shrugged. “…You still screamed.”

He shoved you with his good arm. You didn’t move.

“Asshole,” he muttered, though there was no real venom in it.

“Loser,” you shot back, sticking your tongue out at him.

And yet, he didn’t shove you again.

Katsuki leaned back slightly, exhaling slow through his nose. The motion tugged at his sling, and he grimaced again, brows furrowing. You could see the twitch in his jaw-pure frustration.

Not just at the pain.

At losing.

At you.

At not hating that it was you.

You watched him quietly, letting your smirk fade just a little. Not gone. Just softened.

“Hey,” you said, voice quieter. “I don’t think anyone’s ever pushed me that hard before.”

He glanced at you, sidelong. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You always do.”

Another beat.

Then, like a confession:

“I was scared for a second.”

That surprised him. You saw it.

His brows lifted a fraction, eyes narrowing. “…When?”

“When I heard the pop,” you said, nodding at his shoulder. “Didn’t feel like winning anymore. Just felt like shit.”

Katsuki looked at you for a long moment.

Then looked away again.

“…You didn’t hesitate.”

“No,” you said. “But I still gave a shit.”

He didn’t respond. But his hand-his good one-settled between you on the bed. Not touching. Just… close.

Close enough to feel the heat of your thigh next to his.

Close enough to say something without saying it.

You glanced down.

Then slowly, quietly, let your pinky brush against his.

His fingers twitched. Just once.

Then stilled.

The monitor behind him kept beeping, calm and even.

“I meant what I said,” you murmured.

“Which part?” he muttered, not looking at you.

“You like it.”

His jaw clenched.

But he didn’t deny it.

Didn’t shove you away.

Didn’t pull back.

Instead, he finally looked at you again-expression unreadable. Raw. Stripped down. Not angry. Not even annoyed.

Just… him.

And in that silence, where every word would’ve ruined it-

You both understood something had shifted.

Not broken.

Not bent.

Just… evolved.

Like the fight didn’t end in the arena.

Like it never really ended at all.

You cleared your throat, pulling your hand back just slightly.  “I had the bracket mapped. I knew you’d fight dirty.” You said. “... and I still kicked your ass,” you said, smiling faintly.

That earned a twitch of his lip. Just barely. But it was there. “…You caught me off guard,” he muttered.

“Oh? When I flipped you on your back, or when I made you blush?”

His nose wrinkled. “When you pulled my shoulder out, you psycho bitch.”

You grinned. “Ah. Romantic.” 

He groaned and dragged a hand down his face.

Another pause.

Then-quietly, like it wasn’t for you to hear. 

“…You could’ve finished me sooner,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” you admitted, “but then I wouldn’t have gotten to mess with you.”

“You dislocated my shoulder.”

“And your dignity.”

He glared at you.

You grinned.

Then-you stood.

He watched you silently as you picked up a cup of water from the counter and brought it to him, holding it steady.

He hesitated-then leaned forward slightly to drink from it, not bothering to thank you.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re welcome, your majesty.”

He swallowed and muttered, “Wasn’t gonna say thank you, princess.”

“Would’ve been weird if you did.”

You set the cup down.

Started to turn for the door.

But his voice stopped you.

“Oi.”

You looked back.

His expression was unreadable-brows furrowed, mouth set firm, but eyes softer than they’d been all day. “…You coming up to the roof later?”

Your chest tightened, just a little.

You remembered the night before the festival. The three of you-Izuku, Katsuki, and you-sitting under the stars, pretending the next day wasn’t the last one.

Your voice came quiet. “Yeah.”

Katsuki nodded once, like that was the answer he’d expected all along.“…Bring snacks.”

You smirked. “You think I’m your maid?”

“I think you owe me after publicly castrating me in front of the entire country.”

You laughed. “Okay, fair.”

You paused at the doorway. Turned back one last time.

He was watching you. Not glaring. Not smirking.

Just… watching.

Your grin softened. “Rest up, Kat.” You signed.

His voice was low. “…Don’t be late.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The evening sky had turned molten gold as the final sunlight slanted through the towering windows of the arena’s ceremonial platform.

The stadium was still packed- audience buzzing with anticipation, though now quieter, more reverent.

A raised podium had been rolled out, with three steps for the top three winners.

At the top, you stood tall, arms crossed behind your back, fresh bandage wrapped around your palm, hair wind-swept from the battle.

To your right on the second step stood Katsuki, arm still in a sling, expression stormy but still holding his chin high.

On the left, standing on the third-place step, Izuku offered a soft smile, a few fresh bruises and gauze patches over his temple. But his pride showed. Not for himself-for you both.

The three of you- U.A.'s Big Three. Unbreakable. Unstoppable. Unforgettable.

The crowd roared as Ms. Midnight strutted onto the platform in her full ceremonial outfit- cape fluttering, heels sharp enough to kill. “WHAT A DAY!” she purred into the mic. “We’ve witnessed strength, strategy, heart- and just a little too much tension if you ask me~”

She stepped up to Izuku first. “ Izuku Midoriya-always the calm before the storm. Third place, and still terrifying.” She placed the bronze medal around his neck with a wink. “Try not to analyze this moment too hard, sweetheart.”

He smiled sheepishly.

Next, she moved to Katsuki. “Katsuki Bakugou- second place. Somehow still in one piece. Mostly.”

She leaned in and whispered something only he could hear. He scowled.

Then, the silver medal clicked into place around his neck. He didn’t smile-but he didn’t explode her either, which said a lot.

Finally, she stepped in front of you. The gold medal shimmered in her hands like sunlight on steel. “Y/N L/N- a battlefield queen, with blood and brains to match. First place, undefeated, and unrelenting.” She draped the medal over your shoulders and gave you a playful wink.

“Also, please don’t dislocate my shoulder if I say something you don’t like.”

You gave a small smile-not smug, but sure of yourself.

The crowd erupted in cheers, camera flashes bursting like fireworks across the stadium.

The three of you turned to face the cameras as the fireworks began behind you.

You, at the center- golden, unbowed, unbroken.

Katsuki, at your side-bloodied, bruised, and burning with silent promise.

Izuku, beside you both-proud, soft-eyed, and grinning through the ache.

You were the best of your class.

The best of U.A.

And the world had just seen it.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The night air bit gently at your skin as you pushed open the rooftop door. It groaned on the hinges, the familiar creak echoing into the dark, empty sky.

The city lights shimmered in the distance like constellations flipped upside down, and the stadium far behind you, now just a skeleton of chaos-quiet, still, recovering.

Katsuki was already there.

Of course he was.

He stood at the edge of the roof, right where the shadows cut across the concrete. His silhouette was rigid, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he was trying to hold himself together from the outside in. The silver medal around his neck glinted faintly in the moonlight, a dull flash every time the wind nudged it against the fabric of his shirt.

He wasn’t wearing his jacket. Just a black t-shirt, worn and clinging to him with the kind of familiarity that suggested he hadn’t changed since the match. You could see the bruises starting to bloom down his spine, faint purples and yellows etched across the muscles of his back and the shoulder you’d dislocated when you'd slammed him to the ground. A white line of sports tape ran from his bicep to his wrist, catching the light as he shifted his grip on the railing.

He didn’t turn when he heard you.

But you saw it-the way his shoulders lifted, just barely, like he was holding in a breath that never quite came.

“…You’re late,” he muttered.

You stepped forward, letting the rooftop door fall shut behind you. “Yeah, well,” you said, tugging your jacket tighter around your waist, “I figured you’d need a minute to sulk.”

He snorted. “Didn’t come up here to sulk.”

“Right. You came up here to brood.”

“I don’t brood.”

“You’re literally doing it right now.”

Katsuki finally turned, eyes narrowing.

He finally turned then, slow and deliberate, his eyes narrowing like the effort cost him something. The rooftop floodlights hummed quietly above, casting a pale halo around him that flickered at the edges. You could see the scrape on his jaw now-raw and red, the kind of wound that would sting worse than it looked. His hair was still damp with sweat, matted at the base of his neck. Bandages trailed down one arm, and his eyes-red and rimmed with exhaustion-cut through the dim like they always had: sharp enough to hurt, even when they softened.

And the expression on his face: half-exhausted, half-exasperated, and all Katsuki.

He looked like hell.

But you didn’t say it.

“You always this annoying when you win?” his tone trying and failing to land somewhere near playful.

You walked to the railing beside him, the concrete cool under your palms as you leaned forward on your elbows. “Only when I win against you.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

A quiet breeze pushed through the silence, tugging at your clothes and the ends of your hair. It carried the smell of dust and scorched pavement, the remnants of battle still clinging to the air like ghosts that hadn’t figured out they were dead yet.

You both stared out over the campus for a while-shoulder to shoulder, your arms just barely brushing, the tension between you slow and constant, like a wire drawn too tight but never snapping. The lights of the city blinked steadily in the distance, little anchors of normalcy in a world that never quite stopped spinning.

You reached up and brushed your fingers over the gold medal hanging from your neck. It was warm from your skin, heavier than it looked.

“Izuku passed out,” you said quietly. “He tried to break down every single fight in a notebook. Didn’t even make it past his own match with you.”

“Tch. Nerd.”

You smiled a little. “He got bronze.”

“Still beat his ass.”

“And I beat yours.”

He glanced at you, mouth twitching at the corner. “You cheated.”

You smirked. “I don’t think it counts as cheating if you got a hard on.”

His jaw clenched immediately. His eyes flicked away again, hot color rising faintly across his neck. “Tch. Shut up.”

You let the silence stretch again, this time easier, looser. Like exhaling for the first time in hours.

You weren’t just standing beside him. You were standing in the aftermath-of the match, of the festival, of everything you two had almost lost two years ago. You were still standing. That had to count for something.

The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. Not with him. Never with him.

A gust of wind tugged at your sleeves, colder now that the adrenaline had worn off and the bruises underneath your clothes had started to ache in earnest. You shifted slightly, arms brushing. Neither of you moved away. 

“You scared the hell outta me,” you said finally, your voice low and unsteady. “In the arena. Just for a second, but-” You shook your head, the words catching in your throat. “I knocked the wind out of you, and it just took me back.”

Katsuki didn’t answer right away. His gaze was locked on the skyline, unmoving, and you saw the way his grip on the railing tightened. His knuckles were pale with strain.

You didn’t have to say it.

He knew what you were talking about.

“I had it handled,” he said eventually, but there was no bite to the words. No heat. Just quiet defiance, worn thin by fatigue. It wasn’t sharp-not like he usually was. It was softer. Hoarse. Like maybe, deep down, he wasn’t so sure he had.

You turned your head, watching him instead of the skyline. His hair was still damp with sweat, wild and uncombed, catching the faint light like a crown of sparks. There was a scrape on his cheekbone you hadn’t noticed earlier, and a darkening bruise under his jaw where your knuckles had landed.

“I know you did,” you murmured. “I just... hate how close it felt.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t pull away either. The silence held-not awkward, not stifling. Just full. Of things neither of you had said out loud. Of things maybe you didn’t need to.

“I wasn’t gonna let it happen again,” he said finally, voice rough. “Not to you.”

You exhaled, shaky. “That’s not your job.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

You turned toward him fully now, shoulder pressing into his, and he finally looked at you. Really looked. His eyes were darker than usual, not from anger, but exhaustion. Grief. Relief. All tangled together.

“You think you’re the only one who gets to protect people?” you asked, a small, incredulous smile pulling at your lips.

He didn’t answer. But his gaze didn’t drop this time.

“You think I didn’t train just as hard?” you pressed, softer now. “Didn’t crawl my way back up just like you did?”

There was a flicker in his expression-like something cracked, just barely. “I know.”

“Then stop acting like I’m glass.”

“I’m not,” he said, almost too quickly. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

And that was the truth of it. You weren’t fragile. Neither of you were. But some part of you both still remembered being broken. Remembered what it felt like to bleed out in the dirt while the world kept turning.

“I’m still here,” you said, quiet but certain. “We both are.”

He huffed through his nose, something almost like a laugh. “Unfortunately.”

You bumped your shoulder against his, a half-hearted nudge. “Dick.”

“Cheater.”

Another beat passed between you. This time, it felt different. Not just relief, not just survival-but the slow realization that maybe the worst of it was finally behind you.

You laughed once, dry and humorless. “We’re a mess.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Always have been.”

The wind carried the distant sounds of the city-sirens, cars, the low hum of life moving on, unaware of how close it had come to breaking. How close you had come to breaking.

Then he looked at you- really looked at you. The heat in his gaze was different now. Less fire, more gravity. Heavy. Real.

“You didn’t hold back,” he said.

“No.”

“You could’ve.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“…Why?”

You swallowed once. “Because you wouldn’t respect me if I did.”

The answer hung between you like a suspended breath.

Katsuki stepped forward, slow, like gravity was pulling him toward you. His hand came up, hovering near your jaw-not quite touching. His voice was lower now, rough around the edges.

“You really don’t know when to quit, huh?”

You smiled faintly. “You love that about me.”

His smirk was tired, but real. “Yeah. Unfortunately.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Don’t go gettin’ a big head about it.”

His fingers finally brushed your cheek.

Just barely.

Warm and calloused and trembling slightly from the pain still buzzing through his arm.

You reached up and laced your fingers through his.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t need to.

The wind blew across the roof again, catching the edge of your medals and the loose ends of your jackets. And in that quiet-not filled with explosions or screaming crowds or victory chants- there was something softer.

Something more important.

Stillness.

You leaned into his palm, gold brushing against silver.

And for the first time all day, Katsuki exhaled.

The quiet held you both there, suspended in a moment neither of you wanted to break. His thumb traced a line down your cheekbone, more instinct than thought, and you leaned into the touch like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

And for once, the world didn’t feel like it was falling apart.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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