Archive of Our Own

Contrary to popular belief, Katsuki noticed everything. Especially everything to do with Izuku. Even back when he wanted nothing to do with him, Bakugou noticed things. He noticed the slump in Izuku’s shoulders, the shake in his voice. He noticed that one time in middle school when Izuku tried to change his hairstyle, cutting it slightly shorter, combing it a little further to one side rather than just letting it fall in a feathered mop over his forehead. Katsuki noticed what triggered his muttering, noticed his work ethic, noticed how much effort he was putting into himself in their first year at U.A even though Katsuki hated him for it.

He thought he was past paying that level of attention to Izuku.

But here he was. Noticing things. 

That’s how he notices, sitting in the dorm’s common room in second year with his feet up on the coffee table and Izuku sitting across from him, that something is not quite right. Izuku is on the opposite sofa, sandwiched between Uraraka and Todoroki, his expression tight and forced. Katsuki has done an awful lot of noticing over his life, and what he’s noticing now is that Izuku’s smile is incredibly forced.

Uraraka and Todoroki don’t seem to notice—or if they do, they don’t mention it. Katsuki wonders if they know. He wonders just how well these extras can really read Izuku, how their perceptions of him after a year of being classmates hold up against Katsuki’s lifetime of attentiveness.

Katsuki isn’t particularly listening to what they’re talking about, he doesn’t particularly care. But he is watching intently. Izuku nods at something Uraraka is saying, but his heart isn’t in it and he’s shifting uncomfortably where he’s sitting. 

“Tea’s ready!” Yaoyorozu calls as she rounds the corner, carrying a tray with four mugs of tea balanced upon it. Each mug is a perfect distance away from its neighbour, clearly placed with far more caution and care than the situation calls for.

“Oh! Thank you, Yaomomo!” Uraraka claps her hands together and leans backward as Yaoyorozu places the tray down on the coffee table. 

“Sorry, Bakugou. I didn’t prepare any tea for you,” Yaoyorozu says as she hands the tea out, the mugs thudding quietly against the cork coasters Todoroki lines out along the table’s edge. “Would you like mine? I can make some more.”

“Nah,” Katsuki says gruffly. He doesn’t particularly care for her fancy tea. And even if he did, he wasn’t in the room when Yaoyorozu made the offer, so he doesn’t really understand the guilty look she’s giving him. 

Katsuki quickly pulls his phone out of his pocket to effectively cut the conversation off. Izuku is looking at him, and Katsuki would really rather he didn’t. It’s a lot harder to observe when the subject in question is goggling right back.

He scrolls through a couple of social media feeds, checks his emails, flips back and forth through his apps a couple times, letting the others fall back into conversation. Katsuki listens with half an ear this time. They’re talking about homework, which, in itself, isn’t particularly riveting. Katsuki’s already finished his. But what catches his attention is Izuku’s lack of participation.

“I haven’t really done that much of it yet,” Izuku admits. Katsuki watches over the bezel of his phone as Izuku presses a hand to the back of his neck and winces.

“How come, Deku? Are you stuck?” Uraraka asks, reaching to lift her mug from the table. She blows gently on her tea as she waits expectantly for his reply.

“I can help you if you want,” Todoroki adds from Izuku’s other side.

“We could meet for group study if you like!” Yaoyorozu suggests. Izuku thanks them, tells them that it isn’t necessary, that he’ll be fine. That he knows all the answers, he just hasn’t had the time to work on it. 

Izuku reaches out, then, for his tea. He wraps his right hand around the handle, begins to lift it up off the coaster, but tea sloshes over the side and splashes Izuku’s hand. Katsuki knows Izuku’s hands. Knows how they tremble and shake. But this isn’t like that. This isn’t nerves, there’s no reason for them. This past week has been as mundane as is humanly possible—no villains attacked U.A, no one’s been maimed, no one’s made any particular progress in training but nor has anyone fallen behind.

So, Katsuki notes, this is fucking weird.

Izuku quickly places the mug back down, hissing at the hot tea on his hand. He pulls one tattered hoodie sleeve over the thumb of his other hand and wipes it off. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, laughing flatly. 

“Are you okay, Deku?” Uraraka asks, placing her own mug down and reaching across the table for the tissue box. Katsuki shuffles forward a little on the sofa, uncrossing his ankles to stretch and kick the box closer to her. She meets his eye, briefly, a silent thank you, before plucking a tissue and turning back to Izuku. 

“Ah, there’s no need for that, Uraraka!” Izuku takes the tissue from her as she tries to dab at his hand and holds it awkwardly in a loose fist over his thigh. “I’m okay, really! There’s nothing to worry about!”

Izuku pushes the tissue up his sleeve, dips his head sheepishly, and reaches, with both hands, for his tea. Katsuki watches as Uraraka eyes Izuku warily, as Todoroki glances furtively, and Yaoyorozu’s eyebrows pinch as her own hands tighten around her mug.

Katsuki notices how Izuku’s hands continue to shake though, and he notices the uncomfortable shade of red they’re turning the longer he holds the hot drink. Katsuki can’t remember ever seeing Izuku’s hands go quite that shade before; they’re such a luminous red you could land a plane with them.

Izuku looks over at him, and Katsuki finds himself forced to meet his eyes. Then, Katsuki sighs, gets to his feet, and decides he’d rather contemplate in peace in his room.

.x.x.x.

It’s a few days later that Izuku’s hands are brought to Katsuki’s attention again. They’re sitting in the classroom, freezing because the heaters have blown and they’re waiting for them to be fixed. If Katsuki had a coin for every time he’d jokingly heard someone ask Todoroki if he’d start a fire at the front of the class for them to huddle around, he’d be a very rich man.

Aizawa isn’t here yet, but Katsuki can’t blame him for not being as early as the rest of them are with the ice outside—it must be hell on his leg. Most of 2-A are here already, if only because Todoroki melted the ice to clear a path and most of his class wanted to make use of that before it froze back over again. 

But that isn’t why Katsuki walked with them. He was more interested in watching the way Izuku kept clenching and unclenching his fists, just as he is doing now in the seat behind him. 

Katsuki is sat sideways in his seat, his elbow propped up on his desk, his jaw resting on his hand, watching Izuku carefully out of the corner of his eye. There is definitely something wrong—but there’s no way Izuku will admit that without a fight. 

“Oi,” Katsuki calls, keeping his voice quiet, but not any less rough, so as not to draw attention to them. He figures it’s worth asking Izuku anyway. They’re friends now, right? Or getting there. After all that happened in first year, Katsuki isn’t quite sure where they stand with each other. Friends? Rivals? Both? Their relationship is a murky quagmire that Katsuki feels more than a little uncomfortable wading through.

“Kacchan?” Izuku replies, his eyes jumping up from his hands to meet Katsuki’s. 

“You good, nerd?” He tries his best to sound as unbothered as possible, but he knows his face gives himself away to anyone that can read him.

“Yep!” Izuku says with a single nod. “I’m great, Kacchan! Why do you ask?”

Katsuki scoffs. “No reason. You’ve just got a stupid look on your face.” 

Izuku purses his lips, bites down on the corner of the bottom one, and clenches one hand over the top of the other. Katsuki glances down, following the movement, and notices the faint mottled purple spreading over the back of Izuku’s hands. 

“There’s nothing wrong,” Izuku says, attempting to smile. There are bags beneath his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed, and Katsuki can see, plain as day, that Izuku is lying to him. What he can’t work out is why.

“Your hands bothering you?” Katsuki asks, nodding down to them. 

“It’s just a bit cold is all,” Izuku replies. “They get like this sometimes now.”

“What, purple?”

“It’s—”

“In your seats,” Aizawa calls as he pushes open the door, sounding as tired and bored as ever. Around them their classmates fumble to return to their desks, opening their notebooks and clicking their ballpoint pens and mechanical pencils into place.

Izuku grimaces. Katsuki catches it just before he turns around to face the front, and his hands fumble to unzip his pencil case. 

In another universe, Katsuki would probably offer to help. But that isn’t this one, and so he doesn’t. 

Class passes slowly; Izuku barely contributes. Their seating arrangements are still the same as they were in first year, with Izuku sat directly behind him, and so Katsuki is always very aware of Izuku’s participation. Or lack of. Katsuki glances over his shoulder at some point in the lesson, under the guise of looking to one of their classmates behind him as they answer a question, and Izuku has barely made any notes. 

The notes he has made are clunky, not his usual handwriting. The kanji strokes are messy, too large, too wobbly, as though Izuku has lost all sense of motor control.

That thought is particularly sobering and has Katsuki’s heart dropping into his stomach. It’s no secret that Izuku has repeatedly fucked his hands up, for lack of better words. Katsuki has seen him doing it repeatedly over the last year. Constantly breaking and repairing his bones, his joints, tearing the skin open and barely letting it scab across before he lets the bone rip through the tender wound once more. 

Self-sacrificing shit, that’s what Izuku is. He needs to learn to take care of himself. 

But how do you force someone to do that? 

At the end of the lesson, Katsuki throws his things roughly into his bag and turns in his seat once more with the complete intention of getting to the bottom of whatever is going on with Izuku’s hands. Somehow, though, Todoroki has beaten him to it, already standing leaning over Izuku’s desk as he packs his belongings away.

“You coming with us for lunch?” Todoroki asks, handing Izuku his pencil case. Izuku takes it, drops it in his bag, and fumbles for the zipper to close it. 

“Yeah, sure!” Izuku replies, his voice light and bright and forced. Katsuki wonders if Todoroki can tell or if only he has that sort of power over Izuku. 

Katsuki considers joining them. It wouldn’t be that weird of him to do that, he’d become far more amiable with people since first year—Katsuki prides himself on this development. 

“Hey, Bakugou!” Kirishima calls from across the classroom, his arm around Kaminari’s shoulder. Mina stands behind them, her arms around them both and her face pressed between theirs. 

“You coming, Bakugou?” Mina asks, bouncing in place.

That decides that, Bakugou thinks. 

.x.x.x.

The weather refuses to warm over the following weeks and Katsuki hates it. Though the sticky heat of summer can make his quirk hard to manage, the biting cold of winter is ultimately far worse still. In summer, at least Katsuki can use his quirk right off the bat, at least he doesn’t have to wear such scratchy insulating fabric to lock the heat in and make him sweat. 

Katsuki pulls at the cuff of his winter hero costume, scowling and short-tempered and waiting for Aizawa to hurry and let them start their training exercise. 

They’re practising cold weather rescue—there’s been a number of avalanche-related incidents in the news as well as an increase in villain attacks from those whose quirks thrive in this sort of climate. So, as unhappy with it as Katsuki is, he understands the necessity. 

He also understands that Izuku looks absolutely miserable where he stands opposite him with Iida. 

Katsuki is noticing a trend. He notices that cold weather and Izuku’s hands no longer go together; it’s becoming clear that Izuku is in pain. Katsuki watches as Izuku listens to Aizawa list off the order of jobs—who’s rescuing who, who will go first, who will go last—for the second time since Mineta (who was standing directly next to Yaoyorozu and staring shamelessly upwards) had not listened the first time. Absently, Katsuki decides he’s going to kick his ass at the first given opportunity. Rescue mission or not; Katsuki will find a way.

First and foremost, though, is Izuku. Katsuki watches as he slowly clenches and unclenches his fists as he’s been doing repeatedly for weeks now. He watches the slight tremor in his gloved hands as Izuku squeezes the fingers closed, or as close to closed as he can get. 

Katsuki notices that Izuku’s hands won’t quite close all the way; once they get close to closing Izuku’s fists shake and he loosens his grip once more. Katsuki’s stomach feels uneasy, a steady coiling in his gut that drags at his heart. He thinks he’s not sure what it means and tells himself he’s less sure he wants to find out. 

“Right, group A, you’re up first. Bakugou, Midoriya, Todoroki; you’re the victims. Go and hide under a snowbank somewhere and give group B time to figure a rescue strategy.” Aizawa drones, bored and shivering as he sets up a folding chair and sits heavily down. “Group B is Mina, Uraraka, and Kirishima, remember.”

“You coming, Bakugou?” Todoroki asks right at the same time as Izuku’s cautious “Kacchan? ” and Bakugou clicks his teeth, following them out into the training grounds. 

They walk in silence for what feels like a lifetime but is likely only five minutes, picking their way around large mounds of snow, looking for a suitable overhang to pretend to be in need of rescuing under.

“You got any ideas?” Bakugou asks as the three of them trek further into the grounds, clambering over and squeezing between the snow-covered rubble strewn in their path.  

“Not really,” Todoroki replies flatly. Bakugou watches as he glances to Izuku, eyes dipping down to Izuku’s hands and then back up again. “Probably shouldn’t take too long, though. Mido–”

“That overhang looks good!” Izuku cuts in, blinking quickly and pointing a few paces ahead to where an alcove sits at the base of a steep snowy bank, the entrance hidden from view from behind.

Well. That was weird. Something is definitely wrong and Katsuki’s cheeks heat with the rush of adrenaline he gets upon realising that Izuku has told Todoroki whatever it is that’s going on and not him .

But that in itself is a weird thought. Why would Izuku need to tell Katsuki of all people? Sure, they’ve gotten closer. Sure, things are better between them now than they’ve ever been. But, really, they still aren’t at this level. Things aren’t exactly tense between them, but there is still this charged air, still a slight discomfort that pervades most of their interactions.

Katsuki doesn’t know who he is outside of his anger. But he’s working on it. 

“Nerd,” Katsuki says, reaching out for Izuku’s shoulder before he gets too far out of reach. Though he isn’t looking, Izuku dips out from underneath Katsuki’s hand at the last minute and half turns to look at him.

“Kacchan?”

“What’s up with you?” Katsuki runs his tongue over his teeth. He could’ve gone about this a different way, he realises. Katsuki doesn’t understand these interactions, doesn’t know how to communicate in words that say I care about you, let me help without speaking them. 

Izuku’s eyes dart quickly to Todoroki, a silent admonishing that likely goes straight over his head, and then to Katsuki. “What do you mean?”

“Look, I know something’s up with your hands.” Katsuki comes to a halt, crossing his arms one over the other and glaring. Izuku turns to face him fully, Todoroki standing on his right.

“It’s just the cold, Kacchan, honestly. It’s no big deal, they just get like this sometimes.”

“Get like what?” Katsuki presses. “That’s the same thing you told me in the classroom the other week but it doesn’t explain anything.”

Izuku sighs, pushes a gloved hand through his hair, and Katsuki fights to stay focused on Izuku’s eyes and not on the way his curls part into soft tufts between his fingers then bounce gently back into his face. 

“It’s just—Let’s talk about this later,” Izuku tells him firmly. “Let’s just focus on the exercise for now.”

“I’m holding you to that, you know,” Katsuki replies, low and warning. He tilts his head downwards, eyes holding Izuku’s. Izuku doesn’t look away, doesn’t cower, doesn’t splutter apologies.

Sometimes it’s strange to see how much Izuku’s grown. It’s strange to consider him an equal. Katsuki enjoys the way Izuku owns his space now, he’s proud of the self-respect Izuku has for himself in standing up against Katsuki, even if his taunts are empty of real threat and his anger is only hot air. 

Katsuki won’t think about why Izuku needed to develop his confidence in the first place. He won’t. He’s apologised, he’s let the festering guilt free, he’s—

“Get moving, group A!” Aizawa snaps over the intercom. Katsuki almost forgot this was recorded. The class is likely waiting for them to get into position so that they can start in full. It’s no wonder Izuku is more reluctant to talk than usual, Katsuki can’t really blame him. 

“So. This overhang, then?” Todoroki asks, first looking down the slope to its entrance, and then up at the precariously balanced heap of rubble resting haphazardly atop it. They turn around to continue walking towards the overhang, the thick snow crunching beneath their feet. Katsuki can feel the cold of it seeping through his boots, each step sinking into the snow, covering his feet with it. 

“Yeah,” Izuku replies, nodding. “I’m pretty sure we can all fit beneath it. It’s far enough away that group B will have to search for us—there’s that rubble, too, a little while back that they’ll have to sift through before moving on.”

“Sounds good, then,” Todoroki says, patting Izuku easily on the shoulder as he ducks beneath the ice-capped lip of the overhang and trudges to the back. His stomach twists, but it would be wrong to expect Izuku to be comfortable if Katsuki’s position was switched with Todoroki’s.

Todoroki’s hand fits over Izuku’s broadening shoulders like a friendly comfort; Katsuki’s fits like a puzzle-piece over the five-fingered burn scar he left there when he was fourteen.

“You sure there’s enough room for us all in there?” Katsuki asks as Izuku bends at the waist and shuffles in to join Todoroki. As Katsuki gets closer, he can see that the overhang is actually a pile of rubble, much like the one they passed earlier, but covered in a thick coating of snow, crisped at the edges with ice.

It looks secure enough, but Katsuki feels uneasy. His skin prickles uncomfortably beneath his tight top, hypersensitive of everywhere his clothing touches, the pressure of the turtleneck around his throat.

Izuku is squatting down beside Todoroki, the two of them pressed shoulder to shoulder, and he nods as he glances over at Katsuki.

“Yeah. It’s fine, Kacchan.”

“Want me to start a fire?” Todoroki asks, looking from Izuku to Katsuki then back again.

Katsuki scoffs as he pushes his way into the overhang, hunching his shoulders inwards and clenching his jaw against the cold. 

“I’m pretty sure Aizawa told us to act like civilians here,” he says as he seats himself on Izuku’s other side, careful to keep as much distance between them as possible for reasons he’s not entirely sure of. Being this close to Izuku makes his skin feel … weird. 

“The civilian might have a fire quirk,” Todoroki reasoned. “Civilian doesn’t mean quirkless.”

“It’s fine, Todoroki,” Izuku says quickly, his eyebrows raised and hands placatingly in front of him. “If you start a fire the heat might melt the snow, then we’ll be trapped in here.”

“Oh, right. I guess not, then.”

“Idiot,” Katsuki mutters under his breath, though there’s no real bite to his words, no venom. 

“Kacchan. That’s mean,” Izuku stresses. But that, too, lacks any of the real weight he used to give it. 

Izuku seems a little spacey, not entirely focused. With his face turned slightly towards him, Katsuki can see the distant glaze over Izuku’s eyes, can hear the faint catches in his breath. 

Over his head, Katsuki catches Todoroki’s eyes and looks quickly away, his stomach clenching with embarrassment at being caught.

It’s awkward in their tight alcove without Izuku’s mumbling. Katsuki is more than capable of holding a conversation with Todoroki, but there just isn’t anything to say. Todoroki himself is staring unashamedly down at Izuku, at his hands, at his face, and it makes something in Katsuki’s chest twist that Todoroki can be so blatant in his concern when Katsuki can’t even peel the pinch from between his eyebrows and lift the scowl from the corners of his mouth.

Katsuki had promised himself, promised Izuku, that he was going to start being kinder. More true to his own feelings. That he wasn’t going to hide behind his attitude or yell in place of care. 

But it’s just so difficult. 

How do you unlearn a lifetime of behaviour? It’s barely been half a year since that promise from when they’d dragged Izuku back, broken and bleeding, off the streets. After Katsuki had carried Izuku, even with the stitches holding the partially-healed puncture wound in his shoulder tearing through his skin, dampening the bandages. He’d carried Izuku until his arm had damn near given out and Shoji had taken over. 

So why is talking so hard after all of that? Why is looking at Izuku with his face bared naked, unguarded, concerned, so fucking difficult? 

Katsuki doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand it and doesn’t know how to get around it. 

“How long are those extras gonna take?” Katsuki says in lieu of anything genuine. 

“I haven’t heard anything for a while,” Todoroki replies, leaning forward over his knees to crane his neck and peer further out under the lip of the alcove. “Can you use your quirk to feel out where they are, Midoriya?”

Izuku shakes his head. “Nah. Danger sense won’t work for this—there’s not actually any real evil intent, so it won’t be picked up.”

“Makes sense,” Todoroki hums. Katsuki is almost positive they’ve had this conversation before. “I guess we’ll just have to—”

“I bet they’re under that rubble!” Kirishima calls distantly from somewhere above and behind their alcove, and Katsuki’s stomach sinks when he realises, latently, what is about to happen. 

“Wait—!” 

The ground shakes, reverberating with the impact of Kirishima’s hardened fists attempting to punch through something. Katsuki can’t really blame Kirishima, all the rubble is in large, uneven piles and covered with layers of snow and ice. It’s easy to mistake overhangs for heaps from behind. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s happy as the thick pile of rubble above them creaks precariously, shifting from its settled position with a low groan. Whatever Kirishima is trying to punch his way through must be resting over the top of their alcove. Izuku’s head whips up, eyes wide, as chunks of snow begin to fall down in thick clumps, a pile of it landing on Todoroki’s shoulder and sizzling to water beneath the heat. 

“Fucking stop it!” Katsuki calls out.

He hears Kirishima yell that he can hear them, they’re nearby, guys! and Mina and Uraraka cheer. He almost dreads whatever it is that they’re planning on doing next. 

But that’s secondary, because this ceiling does not look like it’s going to hold for much longer.

Then, without warning, it caves.

Izuku is up in an instant, blackwhip out on instinct to catch the rubble as it falls to avoid it hitting anyone. But there’s a piece behind him, just out of vision, from where Izuku is looking to the other side and Katsuki jumps to blast it out the way at the same time as Todoroki notices it and lurches forward.

Katsuki aims to explode it, but stops at the last second. This space is way too cramped for that. Instead, he knocks into Izuku—not noticing that the edge of his gauntlet has caught on Izuku’s glove and torn open the seam down the side of his thumb—at exactly the moment Todoroki tries to knock the falling debris out the way with his ice, only for it to miss and encase Izuku’s hand instead.

Izuku jolts, yelps, and bends at the waist at the contact, the momentum of it weighing his arm to the ground. Izuku lowers the debris still encased by blackwhip and allows the quirk to retract.

“Can—can you melt this?” Izuku asks, strangled. He’s breathing heavily, a whimper catching the edge of each exhale. This isn’t right. Katsuki’s heart is pounding; this isn’t right. 

Izuku has been stabbed straight through to the other side of his stomach and still gotten up and carried on fighting; a bit of ice shouldn’t be bringing Izuku to his knees like this. 

“The fuck—Izuku, what’s wrong?” Katsuki sinks to a crouch, one hand on Izuku’s shoulder and bypassing everything he thought he couldn’t do earlier. 

“Please, can you just—” Izuku cuts off with a low groan, deep in his chest, and Katsuki’s ribs feel too tight for his lungs. “Fuck. Just—the ice. Melt the ice … Please.”

“I’m sorry, Midoriya,” Todoroki splutters, reaching for the ice block with his left hand.

“Hurry and fucking melt it, Icy-hot!” Katsuki snaps, his own hand tight around Izuku’s forearm. He’d blast it off himself if he could, but that would be dangerous in a space like this. Not to mention he doesn’t want to accidentally blast Izuku’s hand off. 

“Hang on, I’m going to.” Todoroki spreads his fingers over the ice on Izuku’s hand and Katsuki watches as it starts to melt away beneath the heat. “It won’t take long, hang on, Midoriya.”

“It’s—it’s okay,” Izuku gasps out, eyes squeezed closed, his arm tensed solid beneath Katsuki’s grip. “I know you didn’t mean to. It’s okay.”

“There’s no way this is normal,” Katsuki says, pulling at the loosening, melting chunks of ice with the hand not around Izuku’s arm. “The fuck is wrong with you, Izuku? You injured?”

Izuku chokes around his next breath and Katsuki figures he can wait until later for explanations. The last of the ice melts away beneath Todoroki’s hand as Katsuki runs his own down Izuku’s arm to brush all the last crystals of it off.

“Let me dry his hand,” Todoroki says, nudging at Katsuki with his shoulder. But Katsuki ignores him. His glove is waterproof, it should be fine.

Except it’s ripped. Katsuki’s thumb catches in the tear from where his gauntlet ripped through it, and although he can’t feel Izuku’s skin through his own gloves, he can see its blue-purple stain. He pulls the glove quickly off.

“Kacchan, what are you—”

“Shut it, Izuku,” Katsuki snaps, running his hand over Izuku’s bare one. He presses his thumb down on the mottled skin and watches the yellow imprint of his thumb left behind when he moves away. “What’s this? What’s wrong with them?”

“I—” 

“Are you injured?”

“No, it’s not an injury. It’s more like … complications,” Izuku tells him, still wincing and breathless. Todoroki pushes Katsuki’s hand away from Izuku’s gently and places his own over the top. Logically, Katsuki knows he’s warming it back up. But his body doesn’t get the memo, and something ugly twists in his gut as Izuku sighs and leans into the warmth.

“Complications?” Katsuki echoes. “From fucking your hands up?”

“I mean. Pretty much. It’s not anything to worry about, it’s just a condition I got as like—a secondary thing from breaking my bones so many times.”

“What’s it called?”

“I don’t know. The circulation in my hands, feet, that sorta thing is kinda messed up now from all the breaks and my hands shake all the time.”

“You don’t know? So you haven’t seen a doctor or anything for this shit, then?” Katsuki snaps, his heart still pounding. 

Izuku sighs and looks down to where Todoroki’s hand warms his.

“Is this okay?” Todoroki asks, adjusting his grip on Izuku’s hand. 

Izuku nods. “It’s great. Thanks, Todoroki.”

“Does it hurt?” Katsuki asks.

“Yeah,” Izuku says quietly. 

“Move your hand a second, Todoroki,” Katsuki orders. Todoroki does. “Can you bend your fingers? Make a fist.”

Izuku’s fingers twitch into a loose curl. 

“I can’t,” he says, defeatedly. “They’re too cold.”

Katsuki hums gruffly, grabbing Izuku’s wrist with one hand and with his other bending the fingers. Izuku grunts, shifting where he sits in the snow, and Katsuki, without thinking too deeply about it, pulls off his own glove and begins to slip Izuku’s hand into it, guiding him by the wrist.

“What are you doing?” Izuku splutters.

“What’s it look like, nerd? My gloves are made specifically for heat retention. Wear these and let’s go.”

“Go where?” Todoroki cuts in before Izuku can, who is looking dazedly down at his hands as Katsuki grabs for Izuku’s other arm, drapes it over his thigh, pulls off Izuku’s other glove, and replaces it with his own. 

“To Aizawa. He can’t carry on like this in the cold.”

“Kacchan, I’ll be fine,” Izuku rushes out, already moving to pull Katsuki’s gloves off and hand them back to him. “You need these for your quirk, take them back.”

“Don’t be difficult, Izuku. Just take the damned gloves. I’ll have them back off you later.”

“But, Kacchan—”

“Shut it. C’mon.” Katsuki grabs Izuku’s arm, tugs him to a crouch, and then to his feet. “Todoroki, you go tell group B we’re cutting this short.”

“Kacchan, what are you doing?” Izuku yanks his arm free, standing, glaring, with Katsuki’s too-big gloves pulled up over the cuffs of his hero costume. “We can’t just cut class short! I can’t just refuse to do hero work in the snow! What happens when I need to work in winter as a pro?”

“I’m not saying—” Katsuki bites himself off, takes a deep breath and forces it out through his nose. He reaches for Izuku’s arm again and, when Izuku takes a step backwards, Katsuki is ready for it. He pushes forward quicker than Izuku can move away and gets a firm grip back around his arm, hauling him from just beneath his armpit. 

“Will you just let me—” Izuku starts, but Katsuki interrupts. Why can’t Izuku just let himself be cared for? 

“I’m trying to look out for you here,” Katsuki grits out, face flushing, grip tightening, heart hammering. 

Izuku stares blankly at him, mouth slightly parted before it snaps shut and Katsuki watches as he swallows, clenches his jaw, and nods. 

“Fine,” he says. 

“Fine?” Katsuki repeats.

“Midoriya, I think you should go with Bakugou for now,” Todoroki interrupts, watching the two of them closely. 

“Did you know about his hands?” Katsuki asks, eyebrows furrowing. He tries to keep the edge out of his voice, but he can’t stand that anyone else might have noticed these things before he did.

Todoroki hums. “Sort of.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” Izuku affirms for what feels like the hundredth time, and Katsuki really is tired of hearing it at this point. “I really don’t wanna disrupt class with this.”

“You’re gonna get frostbite at this rate, Izuku,” Katsuki presses. “We’ll go and talk to Aizawa, sort your hands out, and then we’re talking about this properly. Have you told All Might about this?”

Izuku looks down and shakes his head. 

“Let’s go,” Katsuki repeats, tugging at Izuku’s arm until he follows. As they dip out from the alcove, Uraraka spots them from where she’s floating a few feet up. She calls out for Izuku, but Todoroki intercepts behind them to do as Katsuki had asked.

Beside him, Izuku trudges up the slope with his head down, his expression pinched, and his hands twisted together in front of him. At this point, Katsuki could easily let go of his arm, but he finds he doesn’t want to. Ironically, Izuku is warm where Katsuki’s bare hands hold him, the body heat seeping out from Izuku’s hero costume. 

.x.x.x.

Aizawa was concerned when they’d finally trudged through all the rubble and got within eyesight of him. He’d pushed up out his folding chair and called to them, but Katsuki had quickly explained the situation to him. Izuku had kept surprisingly quiet, which Katsuki hadn’t expected, not really.

Katsuki had been expecting to fight Izuku on even this. Instead, he was quiet, subdued, replying gently and only when spoken to directly. This was clearly weighing on his mind more than he was letting on. 

“Get out of your clothes,” Katsuki murmurs as he pushes the changing room door open and steps inside. He holds it there with his foot, waiting for Izuku to shuffle slowly, defeatedly, inside before letting it thud shut behind them. 

“What?” Izuku says flatly, turning away from his locker to where Katsuki is standing behind him, arms crossed, gaze focused squarely on Izuku’s face. “Are you going to watch me?”

“If that’s what it takes to get you to listen to me then yeah, I will,” Katsuki counters, leaning his weight into one leg.

“I’m listening aren’t I?” Izuku snaps, pulling Katsuki’s gloves off and holding them out to him. Katsuki half expected Izuku to just throw them, but he supposes no matter how pissed off he is, Izuku has always had more respect for hero costumes than that. 

“I’m trying to help you here,” Katsuki grits out, looking away as Izuku kicks his heavily-reinforced shoes off and yanks at his chin guard. He doesn’t understand this or why Izuku’s acting this way. He’s winding himself up more and more, closer and closer to a snapping point. 

“I don’t need help! I don’t need to be babied!”

“For fuck’s—Did anyone say that?” Katsuki looks back to him, grabbing Izuku by the shoulder and turning him roughly to face him. To his credit, though Izuku lets himself be manhandled (Katsuki is startlingly aware of Izuku’s real strength), he maintains eye-contact; burning and bright and so much angrier than Katsuki feels he has any right to be.

“I’m trying to support you,” Katsuki tries again, attempting to force his voice into something quieter and gentler and wincing at the rasp he produces instead. 

Izuku glares at him for a few seconds, the tension mounting so quickly, so thickly, that Katsuki can hardly stand it. Then, Izuku pushes past him and throws himself heavily down onto the bench in the centre of the room. He pulls one leg up, resting the side of his ankle over his thigh as he begins to fumble with the buckles and fastenings of his shin guards. 

His hands, almost blue as they are, slip from the fastenings, struggling to keep any grip for long enough to undo anything. Izuku, aware that Katsuki is watching him, only seems to struggle harder, refusing entirely to ask for help. 

But Katsuki aches with the need to help. He knows that Izuku can sense this; Katsuki can see it in the tension at the corner of his jaw where he’s clenching his teeth tight, he can see it in the scrunch between his eyebrows.

“Let me help,” Katsuki says, unfolding his arms and stepping forwards.

Izuku ignores him, but his hands begin to shake harder, his breathing a little heavier.

“Izuku.” 

Nothing.

“Izuku!”

Katsuki pushes a rough hand through his own hair, clenching his hand into a fist and pulling on it to keep focused, to keep calm. He needs to stay calm. If he flies off the handle now then he’ll be no use to Izuku and he’ll regret wasting this chance he has to prove he can do this. Can handle feelings, caring; can push down his knee-jerk reactions long enough to be helpful to someone. 

Kneeling before Izuku, Katsuki reaches toward Izuku’s leg, aiming for the fastenings. Izuku pushes his hand away, both the first time Katsuki tries to take over and the second, and Katsuki is getting so frustrated but there’s tears glazing Izuku’s eyes and his chin is starting to wobble and he is not going to give in now.

“You don’t understand,” Izuku says wetly, his voice uneven and low. He blows out a harsh breath and Katsuki feels it against his forehead as he leans forward and encases both of Izuku’s hands in his. When Izuku tries to fight it, tries to pull halfheartedly away, Katsuki holds tighter, holding Izuku’s hands together—palm to palm—with his own pressed over the backs of them. 

“What don’t I understand?” Katsuki asks, feeling sweat soak into the back of his shirt but steadfastly ignoring it. His palms are sweating too, with the stress of the situation or the stifling heat of the room he isn’t sure, but he concentrates carefully on not detonating it all the same.

“I—” Izuku chokes off, head hanging. Katsuki presses his hands closer over Izuku’s, resting his forearms on Izuku’s legs. He wonders if this is too close, too intimate, but Izuku hasn’t said anything, hasn’t pushed him away, so Katsuki stays. “They won’t get better.”

Katsuki pauses, waits to see if Izuku will elaborate. He doesn’t.

“Your hands?” Katsuki clarifies. 

“It’s so stupid.” Izuku shakes his head, then turns so he can press his shoulder to his eye. He breathes deeply, in and out, but it catches on something half sob, half hiccup and Katsuki’s chest squeezes.

“It’s not stupid, Izuku.”

“It is!” Izuku stresses, staring straight at him with his red-rimmed eyes and pink cheeks. “ God it’s—it’s stupid. I—This shouldn’t be affecting me like this, I don’t know why—”

“It’s not stupid, you nerd,” Katsuki affirms again. “Of course you’d feel bad over something like this, it’s a whole fucking change to your body. But it won’t affect your hero work. You don’t need your hands necessarily—you have things like blackwhip to get around that.”

“That’s not—” Izuku breaks off with a groan, doubling over so that their hands press into his stomach before sitting up straight again, though decidedly not looking at him. “Kacchan, I can’t even hold a mug half of the time. I can’t even write. This is ridiculous.”

“So what? You’ll adapt.” Katsuki jolts at the harshness of his own words. That came out wrong, but Izuku seems to overlook it.

“I’m so weak,” he whispers. 

Katsuki sucks his teeth, loud and sharp, pressing his forearms harder into Izuku’s legs as he leans forward, getting in Izuku’s face and forcing him to look at him.

“You aren’t fucking weak. I’ve seen you stabbed clean through and still get up to kick ass. Sure, you’re weaker than me maybe, but I set high fucking standards. You’re not weak.”

Izuku laughs, short and dry. 

“Can you help me take my stuff off?” Izuku asks quietly after a pause.

Katsuki grunts, nods, smirks, then, “That’s more like it,”

He lets Izuku’s hands go and pushes his arms away from his legs, resting his wrists instead on Izuku’s shin guard as he unbuckles the fastenings and pulls it, at last, away from his leg. Katsuki waits as Izuku lowers the leg across his thighs back to the floor once the armour is gone, though he doesn’t wait for Izuku to lift his other. Instead, Katsuki takes him by the ankle and guides Izuku’s foot onto his own thigh.

Katsuki swallows at the weight of it, and looks up at Izuku as he unfastens this second guard. He looks up Izuku’s leg, up the expanse of his body, and further up yet until he reaches Izuku’s face. 

Heat flushes through Katsuki’s body, burning him up from the inside out.

“Are you okay?” Izuku asks, and Katsuki, suddenly, feels incredibly flustered.

“I’m fine. Why?” He replies shortly, pushing Izuku’s foot off his thigh and getting quickly to his feet.

“You’re bright red.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, Kacchan.”

“It’s hot in here, what do you expect?” Katsuki pulls at his own shoulder guards, yanking them off and throwing them down on the bench next to Izuku. 

Izuku hums, opens his mouth as though he’s about to say something, then thinks otherwise. Katsuki hates it when he does that—when he closes a thought off and locks it away, never to be spoken of.

Rather than replying, Izuku begins to unzip his hero suit and Katsuki goes over to his locker on the other side of the room to start changing out of his own clothes and back into his school uniform. He can hear Izuku rustling behind him, hear him rummaging around his locker, but he doesn’t turn around.

The idea of turning around and seeing Izuku half-dressed makes his skin crawl with discomfort, though he doesn’t know why. It’s not like they’ve never seen each other like that before. Hell, they’ve seen each other naked more times than he can count and Katsuki’s never bat an eye before. Why are things changing now?

Katsuki sighs as he shrugs his shirt on, his trousers, buttons and zips himself up before hanging his tie over his shoulders. 

“Kacchan?” Izuku says softly, uncertainly.

“What?” Katsuki asks, not yet turning around.

“I can’t—My buttons. Sorry, but—can you help me with my buttons?”

Katsuki sighs again, louder, and turns. Izuku is standing there, his trousers zipped but not buttoned, and his shirt hanging open. He’s not looking at Katsuki, he’s trying to force the buttons through the buttonholes, but his hands are shaking, trembling even, and his face is twisted into a scowl.

It melts Katsuki a little, makes him remember why he pushed so hard to get to this point in the first place. He almost feels disappointed in himself for getting so worked up over … well. He doesn’t even know what. Knowing would make this easier. 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Katsuki says, jumping up onto the bench and back down the other side rather than walking around it. 

Katsuki brushes aside Izuku’s hands and tries not to worry over how they tremor even now at rest. Instead, he attempts to focus on the task at hand (which is difficult enough as it is with the way his knuckles brush Izuku’s bare stomach ever so lightly as he works his way up the shirt), hesitating when he gets to the few before the top.

“You want it buttoned all the way?” Katsuki asks. 

Izuku nods. “Yeah, same as always.”

“It looks better with the top ones unbuttoned,” Katsuki challenges.

“I’m not a delinquent, Kacchan,” Izuku counters. 

Katsuki squares him with a deadpan stare, a raised eyebrow. If anyone is a delinquent, it’s Izuku. For all his dedication to school and work, Izuku breaks rules like twigs under a steamroller. He’s strong-headed, tenacious, and completely fucking stupid.

“Whatever,” Katsuki says as he finishes the shirt and reaches over Izuku’s shoulder to grab his tie from his locker. “At least let me tie this properly for you.”

“What do you mean ‘properly’? There’s nothing wrong with how I tie it.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“It is not! Kacchan, you really ought to stop swearing so much at school.”

“Fuck off.”

“You’re hopeless.”

Izuku lets him fasten his tie regardless. Then, once that’s done, Izuku turns away and fights to button his trousers up. It’s undignified at best, how Izuku has to force his shaking hands into submission, but Katsuki doesn’t say anything.

Eventually, he succeeds, for which Katsuki is grateful, and they grab their bags, their school shoes, and head back to the dorms.

.x.x.x.

The rest of the class is still at the training exercise and will be for at least another hour and a half most likely, so the dorms are almost eerily quiet when they step through the door. The last time he and Izuku were completely alone like this in the dorms was when they got suspended for fighting, and the memory of it stirs something unrecognisable inside him. 

“You want a drink or something?” Katsuki asks as he unties his shoes and puts them away.

“You don’t have to wait on me, Kacchan,” Izuku says quietly as he puts his own shoes away and shrugs his bag off his shoulders. 

Katsuki wishes Izuku wouldn’t point these things out; would just take the offered help. This is all new to Katsuki, and he hates when his attempts at care are questioned. It’s uncomfortable and he wants nothing more than to snap, to shout, to brush it all off. But he doesn’t. He’s better than that now. He won’t let his emotions, his discomfort, dictate him any longer.

“Do you want one or not?” Katsuki asks, voice tight. 

“I guess some water would be nice, then.” Izuku says it like a question, like he isn’t entirely sure it isn’t a joke, and it makes Katsuki’s head hurt that he ever made Izuku feel so badly in the past. 

The kitchen is still a little messy from breakfast; Kaminari tried to make pancakes. It went about as well as could be expected. Katsuki will make no further comment. Picking his way through the dusting of unswept flour on the tiles, Katsuki grimaces at the state of it. Once at the counter, he pulls two glasses from the overhead cabinet, gives them a cursory examination to check for any dirt, swills them both twice for good measure, then fills them with water.

Izuku is hovering near the counter on the other side and Katsuki goes around to stand next to him, offering the water as he tips back his own. As Izuku raises the glass, his hand shakes and sends a little water over the sides. Next time, Katsuki thinks, he won’t fill the glass up quite so high.

“Have mine, there’s less in it.” Katsuki holds it out,  turning it tactfully so that Izuku drinks from the side that he didn’t. 

Clearly tired of fighting, Izuku takes it, making to set his original glass on the side before Katsuki intercepts and takes it from him, downing the water in a few big gulps.

With less in the glass, Izuku doesn’t spill any this time, but waves of frustration roll off him nonetheless. After a few sips, Izuku pauses and looks down into the remaining water, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed.

Katsuki is quiet as he watches, waiting to see if Izuku will say anything, unsure whether he should say something. These situations are hard to navigate. Katsuki is more than used to being the person people tiptoe around; he doesn’t know how to handle it when it’s someone else. But he doesn’t want to scare Izuku off—not when they’ve made so much progress. Not when Katsuki is so close to breaking through with him. 

So, he waits. Not pushing, not expecting, respecting the space Izuku has put between them.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Izuku says finally after an indeterminate pause. He places his glass onto the side and Katsuki tries not to wince at the fast-paced tapping as Izuku tries to sit the bottom of the glass solidly down on the counter. 

“About what?” Katsuki asks, even though he already knows the answer. He finds that he doesn’t want to make Izuku think he’s presuming anything; Katsuki is too wary of being shut out and rejected if he says the wrong thing.

“It’s just frustrating ‘cause I’m pretty sure my hands are permanently damaged now,” Izuku murmurs, staring down at his trembling palms. 

Katsuki takes a step closer, clenching his own hands firmly around Izuku’s wrists.

“I mean … it’s basically like a scar right?” Katsuki tries. Izuku’s breath hitches, and Katsuki can see, from his peripheral vision, that Izuku is staring at him. “It’s like my scar. The big one on my shoulder. That shoulder is never gonna be as strong as it was before ‘cause I fucked the muscle up so bad and sometimes it still hurts even now. But we just have to find ways to work around these things.”

“Kacchan …” Izuku says quietly, and Katsuki knows what he’s thinking. Knows that Izuku will take any opportunity to worry about someone else’s well-being over his own, but this isn’t the time for that. It’s time for Izuku to take his own issues seriously.

“This isn’t about me,” Katsuki says firmly. “You’re allowed to feel frustrated about these things, Izuku. You’re allowed to get pissed off or upset or whatever and it doesn’t make you any less of a hero.”

Izuku tries to pull his arms out of Katsuki’s grip, but the attempt is loose and weak and it doesn’t take any effort at all for Katsuki to pull him closer instead.

“I just feel so useless.” Katsuki hates the emphasis Izuku lends to that last word; hates how his mouth curls around it. Katsuki is all too painfully aware that he’s the one who branded that word onto Izuku in the first place.

“You’re not. Fucking. Useless. You got that, Izuku?” Katsuki grits out pointedly, shaking Izuku once, forcefully, with each word to drive it home. 

Izuku doesn’t reply, but his eyes are glassing over, watering, bloodshot and distant and Katsuki knows that Izuku isn’t buying his words. They’re going to have to have this conversation again later, and probably again after that, too. But Katsuki doesn’t care. He’ll keep telling Izuku as many times as it takes.

“You’re not useless,” he says again, just for good measure, but it tips Izuku over the edge as the first tear drops over his cheek and down off his jaw. 

Katsuki has watched Izuku cry a thousand times before, he cried barely fifteen minutes ago, but somehow this feels so much chest-wrenchingly worse.

It’s the way Izuku’s hands tremble and tremor as Katsuki holds onto his wrists, the way his body hunches over like he’s been punched in the stomach. It’s the way he sobs once, stifled, then twice, more forceful, until he’s crying everything he’s bottled up inside out.

Though they’re alone, Katsuki feels too exposed standing in the middle of the room, between the kitchen and communal lounge areas, so he uses the grip he has on Izuku to coax him over towards the sofas. Izuku’s legs are beginning to shake and Katsuki would far rather they sit somewhere more comfortable than the carpeted floor.

Izuku lets himself be led and, when Katsuki releases one of his wrists, immediately clenches a fist in the fabric over his chest, catching his tie and scrunching it in the process.

“C’mon, sit down,” Katsuki coaxes, pushing down on Izuku’s shoulders until he lets himself drop heavily onto the sofa below. “That’s it.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku splutters out, choked and broken. 

“I’m here, you nerd. Don’t worry.” Katsuki places his hand between Izuku’s shoulders, feeling out his shoulder blades as he rubs between them. Izuku is warm and solid beneath his hand, his back hitching with sobs and half-caught breaths.

Izuku leans further forward, his forehead almost to his knees as he continues to sob, but Katsuki knows that’s no good for him. He won’t be able to breathe properly if he scrunches himself up like that. 

So Katsuki lets go of Izuku’s wrist, presses a firm palm to his chest, and begins to guide Izuku upwards despite his resistance.

“Sit up, Izuku. You’ll be able to breathe better if you’re not all fucking hunched up like that.”

Izuku nods, and Katsuki feels something he hadn’t known was there loosen in his chest at the recognition. It’s a relief that Izuku is still aware of his surroundings. 

Katsuki, however, decides that just sitting up isn’t enough and moves to first pull Izuku’s hand away from the front of his shirt, and then undoes his tie. Izuku doesn’t look at him as Katsuki pulls it free, slowly, from under his collar, but instead presses a hand over his eyes, his other clenching over his knee.

Once the tie is gone, Katsuki works at popping open the first couple of buttons to loosen Izuku’s shirt a little. 

“I told you not to have it done all the way to the top,” Katsuki scoffs, not meaning anything by it. “Never fucking listen to me.”

Izuku laughs, short and wet and punctuated by a sob, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. 

“Kacchan’s always right,” he says as he lowers the hand from his eyes and stares straight into Katsuki’s. 

Somehow, Katsuki can’t stand this direct eye-contact. Not with Izuku so close. It feels like too much and still not quite enough. 

“Too right I am,” Katsuki says gruffly, his eyes glancing briefly down to Izuku’s lap and then back up to his face. 

“I feel like an idiot,” Izuku groans miserably and Katsuki can’t help but scoff. 

“You’re not an idiot.”

“I know. But I feel like one. Todoroki is probably worried. And we left him all alone in the middle of the training exercise.”

“Izuku, you’re worrying over completely the wrong things. You know that, right?” Katsuki raises an eyebrow, pointedly.

Izuku hums, his lips thinning into a wobbly attempt at smiling even as tears continue to fall. Katsuki wants to wipe them, wants to hold Izuku’s face in his hands, push his hair away from his face and press their foreheads together.

Katsuki wants to say he doesn’t know what this means, that he hasn’t known what this means for the longest time. But that would be a lie. Katsuki knows exactly what this is, what he’s feeling, what he’s been feeling for a while now but he’s too scared to acknowledge it.

If he acknowledges it, what then? Where does he go? 

If he tells Izuku he loves him after all that fucking shit he put him through … what happens then? 

Katsuki doesn’t think it’s fair for him to do that, to drop something like that on Izuku considering not only their history but their trajectories as future heroes. 

Instead, Katsuki thinks he’ll keep denying it, he’ll keep internalising it, pushing it down and locking it away and only letting himself as close to Izuku as he’s allowed. He won’t take more, he won’t push. 

Though, Izuku really does challenge Katsuki’s self-control. He’s never particularly exercised it around Izuku, never had to think before he speaks or acts. But with Izuku leaning forwards to press his forehead into the crook between Katsuki’s neck and shoulder, stifling sobs and hitched breaths into the fabric of his school shirt, Katsuki is given the biggest crash-course in self-restraint he thinks he’s ever experienced. 

And, he fails. At least partially. Because Katsuki immediately shifts to wrap both arms around Izuku, one around the breadth of his shoulders, with his hand cradling the back of Izuku’s head, and the other tightly around his waist. 

Izuku freezes, as though his brain has caught up with what’s happening, but when he tries to lift his head Katsuki holds it firm against him. 

“It’s fine,” Katsuki says, bowing his face and pressing his cheek firmly to the top of Izuku’s head. 

Izuku warbles something that sounds an awful lot like his name, though Katsuki can’t be sure, before turning his body further into Katsuki’s and continuing to cry. 

As he turns, Izuku’s hands drag over Katsuki’s thighs until they’re resting limply in his lap. Though the weight of them is comforting, Katsuki can’t help but be hyper-aware of every point of contact between them. His hands aren’t trembling much now outside of the occasional twitch of a finger, which Katsuki supposes is good, but he wonders why Izuku hasn’t sought help before now.

Katsuki can see where he’s coming from, especially with feeling weak. But that’s no reason to suffer alone—especially not with something like this that Katsuki is sure the support course could help with. Surely Izuku can get some custom support gloves made to help in the same way he has compression sleeves for his arms.

It’s best to let Izuku cry himself out for now though, Katsuki decides. He doesn’t think he’ll get much sense from Izuku if he tries another serious conversation. 

Katsuki shuffles further back into the sofa and gets comfortable, dragging Izuku with him as he goes. Izuku is pliant, letting himself be manhandled, staying exactly where Katsuki puts him. The only movement he makes is to pull his legs up onto the sofa, tucking them beneath him as he leans heavily onto Katsuki. 

He’s not sure how much time passes but Katsuki is becoming increasingly conscious of the fact the rest of the class will be back before too long, then there’ll be no avoiding being the centre of attention.

“Oi,” Katsuki says, ruffling Izuku’s hair to get his attention. 

Izuku hums, hiccups, then hums again in response. 

“The extras will be back soon. You wanna go upstairs?” 

Izuku is still, quiet, pausing for a moment before nodding with a wet-sounding sniffle. 

“Right,” Katsuki says. “Let’s go, then. My room or yours?”

Izuku shrugs. For someone so verbal Izuku is incredibly withdrawn. Katsuki finds himself feeling on-edge, disconcerted by the silence. This is so far away from their usual dynamic that Katsuki isn’t sure what to do with it, or how to act.

“My room. Everyone’s always loitering around your shitty room. You’ll probably be left alone in mine.” 

.x.x.x.

Izuku stares at the ground the whole way to Katsuki’s room, not looking where he’s going much less at Katsuki himself. Katsuki walks slightly ahead but glances over his shoulder more often than is probably necessary to make sure Izuku hasn’t suddenly made a break for it. 

Katsuki would not put that past him.

Once they reach his room, Katsuki lets them in and Izuku stands there, his shoulders hunched almost to his ears, moving only to roughly wipe at the stray tears that continue to fall.

“Sit down,” Katsuki tells him gruffly as he locks the door. 

Izuku does, gingerly. He lowers himself down onto the edge of Katsuki’s bed, perching with his hands squeezed between his knees.

Sighing, Katsuki marches over and sits heavily down beside him. Izuku is by no means light, but he bounces all the same with the force Katsuki uses to throw himself down.

“Sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku says quietly after a moment. Katsuki glances at him and fights the urge to look away. 

“How many more times do I have to fucking tell you?” Katsuki nudges Izuku’s shoulder with his own. “You don’t need to be sorry. What the fuck would you even be sorry for ?”

Izuku shrugs. “I just feel kinda path—”

“If you call yourself stupid or pathetic one more time, I swear to god, Deku,” Katsuki warns lowly.

“Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“What? ‘Deku’?”

Izuku nods, hums, “Yeah.”

“Yeah, well. You deserve it, shitty Deku.”

Rather than replying, Izuku groans and throws himself backwards, laying on his side across the bed with his hands tucked beneath his chin. Katsuki looks down at him; from this angle Izuki can’t see him staring. 

“Stop looking at me.”

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop Izuku from being able to sense his staring. Katsuki’s cheeks sting with embarrassment and he looks quickly away, scoffing to cover himself as best he can. 

“Who’d wanna stare at you?” He sucks his teeth sharply, folding his arms behind his head and lowering himself down to lay on his back next to Izuku.

Still, though, Katsuki can’t help but keep glancing over at him. At the broad slope of Izuku’s shoulders and the way his school shirt stretches to accommodate him.

Izuku sighs, rolling over to lay on his back, too, and his arm presses warmly into Katsuki’s. Katsuki swallows as his heart rate picks up, ever so slightly. They’re close enough that Katsuki can smell him; he can smell the snow and the outdoors, crisp and clean. And below that, Katsuki can smell his shitty shampoo, almost cloyingly sweet and fruity but mixing with the deeper, heavier smell of his skin. 

Katsuki wants to turn and press his face into Izuku’s neck, breathe him in and swallow him whole. Just the idea of it humiliates him.

“Remember when we used to lay like this as kids?” Izuku says quietly, gaze trained on the ceiling before he tilts his face to the side and catches Katsuki’s eye. His voice is rough and thick from crying but Katsuki finds he doesn’t mind. 

“Yeah,” Katsuki replies, smirking. “You always used to lie on my favourite side of the bed to piss me off.”

“But that was my favourite side!”

“No it wasn’t. You’d sleep anywhere, you weren’t fucking fussy.” 

“I don’t get why you always wanted to be on the edge of the bed when I was the one constantly getting up and down all night,” Izuku says tartly. “If anything, I was doing you a favour.”

“Right,” Katsuki scoffs. “A favour. What about when you insisted on wearing my All Might pyjamas?”

“But they were limited edition!”

“Yeah! My limited edition pyjamas!”

“You’re no fun,” Izuku laughs, and Katsuki’s glad to hear it. Especially a laugh like this, private and soft and meant only for him to hear. He can’t help but smile too.

“I’m shit loads of fun.”

Izuku’s quiet for a moment. And then: “I always missed this.”

Katsuki’s stomach jolts.

“Missed what?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

“Missed … Being like this. With you. I-I mean, like, it’s so easy like this. Y’know?”

“I—”

“Please don’t apologise,” Izuku rushes out before Katsuki can get any further. “I don’t—I didn’t mean anything …”

“It’s fine,” Katsuki reassures him, pressing his shoulder more firmly into Izuku’s where it rests almost half on top of his own.

Izuku shakes his head. 

“You know what I mean though, right?”

Katsuki hums. “Yeah. I do.” 

After so many years of complete misunderstandings, it’s refreshing that the two of them can be on the same wavelength now. It’s nice that they can be comfortable together. Even if Katsuki is harbouring some frighteningly deep feelings on his side. 

“Do you really think it’s okay with my hands being how they are now?” Izuku asks, holding his scarred right hand up in front of him, stretching his arm straight out and turning it this way and that to inspect himself. 

“I mean, it’s not ideal,” Katsuki allows. “But it’s not like you’re incapacitated. The support course can probably help you.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You mean you didn’t once consider the support course could help you?”

Izuku looks sheepish. “I mean. I haven’t really been doing much thinking lately.”

Katsuki pushes himself up on one elbow, jostling Izuku off him and staring down with an eyebrow raised. 

“I think I was … probably feeling sorry for myself,” Izuku admits, glancing from Katsuki’s unimpressed face and then back up at his hand, which he then brings back down to his chest. 

“You’re such a fucking moron, Izuku.”

Izuku shrugs, smiling up at him. 

“I’ll go and ask Mei about something tomorrow. That’s made me feel better. I can get some gloves or something that improves my grip, or at the very least supports it. Maybe fingerless gloves? I guess that would be easier for—”

“Stop mumbling, shithead,” Katsuki groans, but there’s no real malice behind it. Then, before thinking, he grabs one of Izuku’s hands from his chest and holds it up to his face.

Katsuki uses his other hand to test the fingers, manipulating Izuku’s hand this way and that and becoming increasingly aware of the colour Izuku’s cheeks are turning beneath him.

“What?” Katsuki says flatly. Izuku splutters.

“My—You—I can feel you breathing on my hand,” he blurts.

“What? Am I not allowed to breathe now?” Katsuki snaps, throwing Izuku’s own hand back down at him. His heart is racing, chest tightening, hyper-aware of how close they are to one another. 

Izuku’s face is bright red, his eyes wide and lips pressed tightly together, and maybe there’s more to this than Katsuki realises.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

Izuku doesn’t reply. Katsuki can’t think of anything else to say. The air weighs on them both, charged and thick with some indescribable energy. Katsuki is sure that Izuku can feel it. Whatever it is. There’s no way he can’t with how forcefully the air has been pulled from his lungs. 

“Sorry,” Izuku murmurs, staring straight at the wall ahead of him.

“Shut up,” Katsuki replies flatly. He’s had enough of hearing that fucking word.

There’s another pause. 

And then; “You can trust me with this shit, you know.”

Izuku’s shoulders tighten and Katsuki watches from the corner of his eye as he rolls over to face him. Katsuki resists the urge to do the same, just for a moment, before mirroring him.

Izuku is staring straight at him, into his eyes, earnest and unabashed and Katsuki feels seen in a way he hasn’t been in a very long time. Seen in a way that only Izuku can manage.

“I know,” Izuku says, so simply and with so much quiet conviction that Katsuki doesn’t quite know how he’s supposed to reply. How do you reply when someone so important trusts you with all the soft and tender parts of themself? How can he, so abrasive, be trusted to cradle Izuku’s vulnerability in his hands when he so thoroughly fucked it up before?

“You—” Katsuki starts. Then breaks off and shakes his head. Izuku folds one arm beneath his head to cushion it and presses the other to Katsuki’s chest, who can’t help but startle a little at the suddenness of it.

Katsuki takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly through his nose, then tries again. “I won’t fuck up this time.”

Izuku smiles at exactly the moment a sliver of sunlight seeps through the curtains and throws itself over his face, catching the flyaways of Izuku’s hair in a sort of molten glow. His skin shines beneath it and Katsuki finds it hard to look away.

“I know,” Izuku repeats. 

Carefully, slowly, Katsuki presses one of his own hands over Izuku’s—over the hand Izuku has pressed to his chest—and tries to swallow down what this might mean. That maybe his feelings aren’t so hopeless. 

“You’re gonna go down to the support department and sort those gloves out tomorrow, yeah?”

Izuku nods. “I am,” he says lightly. “Will you come with me? You’re good with designs.”

“It’s a date.”