axis

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/28395321.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Major Character Death
Category: F/M, Gen, M/M
Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero
Academia
Relationship: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou, Midoriya Izuku/Uraraka Ochako,
Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki & Uraraka Ochako
Character: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Uraraka Ochako
Additional Tags: Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Trans
Bakugou Katsuki, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, accidental tho,
Hard of Hearing Bakugou Katsuki
Series: Part 2 of i swear i don't write angst
Stats: Published: 2020-12-29 Words: 16911

axis
by rae_tnub

Summary

“Katsuki?” she asks, her head cocked to the side and her face taken over by a confused
expression. “It’s four in the morning. Deku isn’t home, you know that, right? You were on
patrol with him, weren’t you? But—what’s going on? You have a key, you don’t need to
knock…”

Her voice trails off as her eyes finally catch the envelope he’s pulling out of his pocket.
Katsuki doesn’t say a word, hand tightening on the envelope. He’s wrinkling it, he knows,
but it’s already bloodstained and soot-covered and it won’t matter once the envelope is in
her hands because he knows Ochako well enough to know she’s going to lose her shit.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes

Katsuki recognizes the door well enough—he’s slammed it in random fits of anger enough times
that Ochako’s just started sending the neighbors’ complaints to him. He knows the story behind the
burn mark on the other side, just under the peephole, he knows why Ochako’s changed the locks
four times in as many years, he knows the reason behind the shallow claw marks on the wood that
forced Katsuki to hand over ninety-five thousand yen to replace the security deposit Ochako and
Deku would never get back.

Hands buried in his pockets, his fingers clutching onto a keyring and letting the metal dig into the
meat of his palms, focusing on the sting there instead of the one in his eyes, he stares at the door
knowing that the second it opens he’s not going to know what to do.
And there’s a key on his keychain marked with two dots of nail polish, one pink and one green
because Eijirou is so goddamn cheesy like that, and he knows he could just walk in because You’re
always welcome here, Kacchan!, but the idea of entering now without knocking twists his stomach
in knots and he’s going to fucking throw up—

The door swings open to Ochako’s grinning face and he almost winces when he sees the smile
slide off her face, replaced by a look of total disbelief as she stares at him. He’s still in half of his
hero costume, just with one of Eijirou’s old, ratty Crimson Riot sweatshirts he’d found buried in
one of the locked drawers of his desk in his office at his agency thrown over himself and a hat to
conceal his somehow very recognizable hair. He hadn’t taken the time to clean up, because he
needed to get to her now and he should probably be disgusted that he’s covered in soot and debris
and what might not even be his own blood and he definitely hadn’t taken the time to get healed. 

Katsuki can deadlift Eijirou and he used to fuck with Lips and Hentai and assert his dominance
back in high school by throwing them around the training grounds, but nothing has ever felt as
heavy as the envelope in the broken fingers of his right hand.

“Katsuki?” she asks, her head cocked to the side and her face taken over by a confused expression.
“It’s four in the morning. Deku isn’t home, you know that, right? You were on patrol with him,
weren’t you? But—what’s going on? You have a key, you don’t need to knock…”

Her voice trails off as her eyes finally catch the envelope he’s pulling out of his pocket. Katsuki
doesn’t say a word, hand tightening on the envelope. He’s wrinkling it, he knows, but it’s already
bloodstained and soot-covered and it won’t matter once the envelope is in her hands because he
knows Ochako well enough to know she’s going to lose her shit.

“No,” she whispers, her voice cracking on the single word, because they learned the protocol for
reporting a hero’s death to their family together and she knows what the letter in his hand means,
some generic copy-paste signed by the prime minister and the head of the HPSC and faxed to the
dead hero’s agency.

Normally this job is done by a random member of the HPSC who’s always trained to be as
emotionally distant as humanly possible but Deku had been number one and Katsuki’s partner and
Katsuki needed to do this for himself. He made Deku a goddamned promise and if Katsuki’s good
for anything, it’s keeping his promises.

“You’re fucking with me. This is a goddamn prank!” Ochako declares suddenly, shaking her head.
“How the hell did you get him to agree to this?”

“Ochako,” he lets out, his left hand squeezing the keys harder and harder because he needs to focus
on Ochako right now. He can’t let himself get distracted. He can’t let the rage burning in his chest
overtake him.

“Katsuki,” she says, her voice dripping with dangerous poison. “Where the hell is my husband?”

Katsuki has no idea what to say, broken fingers flexing around a manila envelope and dripping
blood onto the linoleum beneath him.

He sees Ochako lift her hand and he knows what she’s about to do, but he doesn’t move to dodge
it. He hears the crack of her hand against his cheek before he feels the pain blossom and spread.
She’d landed right on the bone-deep bruising of his cheekbone, nearly forcing a grunt from his lips.

“I cannot fucking believe this, Katsuki! I don’t know what the hell you two were thinking but this
isn’t funny! Tell Deku he’s staying with you and Eijirou tonight!” she spits at him, taking a step
back and slamming the apartment door in Katsuki’s face.

Katsuki lets it happen, stepping forward to lean his forehead against the painted pale wood door,
fingers trailing over the groves Eijirou’s fingers had dug one night when the two of them were too
drunk to make it back to their own apartment and Ochako and Deku’s was so much closer.

“Ochako,” he says softly, dropping the letter to the ground. He silently kicks the manila envelope
under the door and raps his knuckles against it to grab her attention.

“It’s not fucking funny, you colossal asshole!” she screams through the door. “Get lost, Katsuki!”

Katsuki sighs to himself, turning around and pressing his back against the door, letting the noise
echo around the house so Ochako knows he’s here. He silently slides down the door to sit, his
knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them, back against the door. He shuts his eyes, leaning
his head back against the door, and waits.

His hearing aids barely pick up the sound of the envelope being ripped open, but he definitely
hears Ochako’s loud curse and the sound of her sob, right behind the door. He bumps the back of
his head against the door twice, loud enough to alert her that he’s still here.

It’s a long time before the door behind him opens, nearly sending him falling backward and
Katsuki tilts his head back to look up at Ochako’s tear-stained cheeks, the rumpled, blood-stained,
open envelope clutched in her hand, her other hand on the door and a twisted expression on her
face.

Ochako glances down at him. He knows she’s not going to apologize. The two of them don’t work
like that. Katsuki says awful shit to her, he doesn’t apologize, Ochako says awful shit to him, she
doesn’t apologize. It always annoyed the shit out of Deku and Eijirou, but it was just the way they
worked.

“Let me wrap your hand, Katsuki.”

Ochako sets a bottle of soda down in front of Katsuki and a mug of tea down where she’s going to
sit, sliding into her seat across from him. “Has someone gone to talk to Inko yet?”

“Icyhot’s over there now.”

Katsuki should be there. He’s known Auntie Inko for his entire life. She changed his diaper as a
child. She picked him up from school when his parents couldn’t. He should be telling her this news
in person. And Katsuki knows that the woman’s heart is too big for her home and her wallet, and
before anyone told her anything, she knew something was wrong with Icyhot’s family and
practically adopted the dickhead.

It seemed to be a common theme with Inko.

Fuck, he should be there.

He should be there but Katsuki’s never been able to handle emotions, especially not when it came
to the Midoriya family’s recessive quirk, the ability to flood a room with tears. Inko’s always
treated him like another son, even when he definitely didn’t deserve it. How could he even look at
her? How could he stand at her door with the envelope and tell her that he wasn’t fast enough,
strong enough, good enough to save her actual son?
“Why are you the one telling me?” Ochako asks.

Because Ochako doesn’t deserve to be told by some nameless, disinterested HPSC grunt. Because
she deserves to be told in person. Because Katsuki was holding Deku’s hand.

“Because he asked me to,” Katsuki settles on eventually, wrapping the fingers of his right hand
around the soda bottle, the cold glass soothing his carefully wrapped broken fingers. He knows
eventually Ochako will force him to get healed, but right now he’s fine.

Ochako stares at him for a long moment, a small frown on her face. It clashes horribly with the
framed wedding photo on the wall behind her, of her and Deku grinning brightly at each other with
Mina in the ugliest fucking maid of honor dress—seriously, Katsuki’s parents were fucking fashion
designers and Ochako chose that shit?—and Katsuki, looking vaguely annoyed but Eijirou says
that’s just how he looks, on either side of them.

“You were with him,” she says.

Katsuki nods, shutting his eyes against the memory of Deku’s slumped, pale figure, coughs
wracking his chest and spraying Katsuki with the same blood that bubbled over blue lips every
time he spoke, the last words he choked out before his eyes shut forever, Tell my wife I tried to
come back to her, and Katsuki could’ve said anything, could’ve told Deku that he’d tell her
himself, could’ve said that everything was going to be fine and that he’d make it out of this,
could’ve said that he was going to live and that Katsuki was only holding onto the quirk for a few
hours, but Katsuki had never been a liar, especially not to Deku, and he wasn’t going to let the last
words he ever said to him be a lie. So Katsuki promised, and he wouldn’t let anything make him a
liar.

“He wanted me to tell you that he tried to come back to you.”

Ochako chokes on another sob, her hand flying to her mouth as she sets the tea down and stands
up, moving into the kitchen. She grips the edge of the kitchen sink, her thumbs carefully lifted as
she stares down at the metal. Katsuki’s always been impressed by the control she’s had since they
met, the way she never touched anything with five fingers unless she’s in a fight or training or
messing with her friends, and he knows that she’s feeling the same thing he is, that their entire
fucking world has shifted off its axis and the balance they relied on has been taken from them, but
Ochako’s still in so much control while Katsuki can smell the smoke wafting from his hand and he
can’t stop it.

It’s been so goddamn long since Katsuki’s seen that look on her face that he almost doesn’t
recognize it, but she looks the same way as she used to back in first year when she overused her
quirk, before turning into the powerhouse she is today.

Katsuki winces at the sound of her throwing up, tightening his grip on the bottle, just enough to
feel the stings of pain shooting up his arm. He turns his head to stare across the living room, his
eyes immediately drawn to the wall of framed photos. The one that sticks out most to him is a
photo taken only weeks before they graduated U.A., the entire class and Aizawa in front of their
dorm. He can see Deku and Ochako with their arms wrapped around each other and bright grins on
their faces, both of them lost in their own little world, and him and Eijirou wrestling on the ground,
Katsuki annoyed and Eijirou in the middle of a laugh, and he hates that it was only seven years ago.

Ochako runs the water for a moment, washing her hands and rinsing her mouth out, before silently
moving over to sit back down across from him.

Her mouth opens, and Ochako’s words slam into his chest and steal every breath from his lungs.
There’s a ringing in his ears that reminds him of the noise that his hearing aids let out when the
batteries are low, but they’re not. He changed the batteries this morning at Deku’s insistence, even
though the batteries wouldn’t need to be changed for another week. As much as he hated it, it had
been Deku who was always been on top of that where Katsuki forgot.

Who the fuck was going to remind him now?

Katsuki heaves a breath and tries to bring air into his lungs but it doesn’t work. His chest rattles
and his vision is swimming and Ochako’s words are repeating themselves in his head.

Fuck.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t focus on the woman seated across from him. She’s the one who should be reacting like
this, not him.

I’m pregnant.

Holy shit.

Fuck.

“D-did he know?” Katsuki whispers, and he hates it. His voice is raw and split and he can hear the
pain in it. He feels weak, stuttering like this. He’s supposed to be the Symbol of Victory, the man
who’s always left standing at the end of a battle, the man who’ll win no matter what. He doesn’t
feel victorious now. Katsuki’s never been good with emotions, but he knows he feels sick, he feels
lost, he feels...fuck. He doesn’t know how to even describe the emotions swirling in his chest.

“I was going to tell him tonight,” she tells him quietly, reaching over to the counter for a small box
and sliding it over to Katsuki.

His fingers tremble, resting on the cardboard. It’s plain. There are no decorations, nothing to show
what’s inside. Just some boring plain cardboard box. This little box doesn’t look like something
that was going to change someone’s life.

Oh, fuck.

They’re baby shoes. Not just any baby shoes, but red knock-off Jordans sneakers, the same ones
Deku’s been wearing since they were fucking toddlers, and Katsuki had been making fun of them
since then. Ochako glued some cutesy note on the lid of the box—“Positive proof you’ll be the
best dad around!” with the positive pregnancy test taped to the note and doodled hearts—and
Katsuki aches. It’s so fucking sweet that he can feel the cavities forming on his teeth and he wants
to throw up because of how perfectly it fit those two.

Fuck, the nerd would be so goddamned thrilled about this. Katsuki can see it now, Deku’s eyes
welling up with tears as he opens the box and realizes what Ochako’s saying. The dipshit nerd
looking up at her to confirm that it’s real, the tidal wave of tears as she confirms it, the phone call
Katsuki would have to answer because the nerd was so fucking happy he just had to share it with
someone.

Deku would be an amazing dad, Katsuki knows. He’d be so goddamn perfect as a father, in spite of
his own shitty asshole of a father, the same dipshit who abandoned him when Deku was officially
diagnosed quirkless (the same thing you did to him, Katsuki’s brain whispers). He’d take the cues
from Katsuki’s father, and Katsuki had always been a shitty kid who didn’t want to share but
Masaru had been Deku’s father too.

Fuck!

This box is supposed to be for Deku. Ochako put time and effort into this cutesy little thing to
announce to her husband that they’d be parents, and Katsuki will admit that even though he’s
disgusted by it, the idea was adorable, something pulled straight from a Pinterest board.

Katsuki’s the first person to know, he realizes suddenly, something that feels like one of Deku’s
full-percentage punches slamming into his chest. In a normal situation, the baby’s dad is the first to
know and Katsuki isn’t the father. Katsuki’s the person who didn’t save the baby’s father.

Because Katsuki wasn’t fast enough.

This baby doesn’t deserve an oji who’s responsible for their father’s death. 

“Katsuki,” Ochako says, her hand landing on his now-patched up fingers, with her pinky stuck out
like she’s some goddamn snob drinking fancy fucking tea, “will you be the baby’s godfather?”

Katsuki feels trapped in one of Icyhot’s attacks, his sweat glands shrinking from the chill,
defenseless and unmoored in the storm. She can’t be asking him that. She can’t.

“Ochako—”

“It’s what he would’ve wanted,” she interrupts, her free hand coming to rest on her stomach as
Katsuki stares down at the table in front of him. “You were more than just his best friend, Katsuki.
You were his brother. There’s no one else he’d ever ask, you know that.”

Katsuki doesn’t even remember when Ochako started using his given name and he doesn’t know
when she became Ochako and not Round Face, maybe sometime after he took Eijirou’s name, but
his name falls from her lips and he wants to scream, to destroy the table between them, to burn the
whole fucking world down because Deku’s not fucking here anymore. Katsuki had been so
annoyed the first time Deku had referred to “my brother, Ground Zero” in an interview but he
knows it’s true.

He’d doodled some stupid fucking chibi versions of himself and Deku fighting on the table weeks
ago, after Eijirou dragged him over for a double date night and Deku had pissed him off about
something Katsuki doesn’t even remember, but Deku had just laughed brightly with sake-flushed
cheeks and told Katsuki that he loved it. Ochako had been pissed at him and threatened to make
him scrub it off but ultimately left the drawing there.

He knows it’s a shitty drawing and he knows that it means nothing but he can’t help but think back
to the fucking box of preschool work his parents left in their garage and the drawings of him and
Deku before he was Deku, when he was just Izuku, and the drying green marker that left Deku’s
hair half-finished and the orange marker he’d been forced to use as their skin tones and the stained-
black yellow marker he used as his own hair.

Deku’s kid, the shitty little nerd junior growing in Ochako’s fucking stomach, is going to see this
drawing because Ochako never throws anything away until it’s damaged beyond repair and it’s not
going to mean the same things as the photos they have hanging around the apartment but it’s going
to mean something and that’s better than nothing and Ochako’s going to tell that kid that their oji
drew that picture.

Fuck.
He knows Ochako’s right, because Deku is—was—a predictable, sentimental little shit and Deku
had cried for a whole fucking hour when Katsuki begrudgingly said yes to being the best man at
his annoyingly long fucking wedding. And Deku made him fucking promise to take care of
Ochako, and Katsuki knows it extends to the fucking baby growing in her stomach even if Deku
never fucking knew about them.

Deku never knew.

He’s never going to know.

That baby is going to grow up without him. Deku’s never going to get to cheer on this kid’s first
steps or play catch with them on the lawn or take them to school or argue with them about cleaning
their room or ground them for sneaking out or fucking cry at their graduation.

Katsuki was never going to be a parent. He and Eijirou talked about this before they eloped in Gifu
and they decided they’d be the fun uncles to all of their friend’s children. Because Katsuki didn’t
have the patience or emotional control to raise children and Eijirou had too many bad memories of
his birth parents. Because they both refused to put children through something like that. Because he
and Eijirou had always been on the same page.

He was never supposed to be a father but he can’t leave this baby without one. He’s going to be the
closest thing this baby has to a father. This baby who’s going to have huge eyes and a rounded,
chubby face and a splattering of freckles and is going to be the perfect fucking combination of two
people who loved each other so much Katsuki was almost jealous of it.

This baby is going to be his niece or nephew or neither, if the baby tells them that at some point,
and Katsuki knows what he has to say.

“I know,” Katsuki says, curling his fingers against the scuffed wooden table as Ochako slides her
hand upwards and wraps her index finger and her thumb around his wrist, her damned pinky still
out. He still doesn’t like when people touch him and he still has days when he can’t let Eijirou
tangle their pinkies together because he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin but he knows
Ochako needs this.

She lost her husband, the father of her goddamn child, and all Katsuki lost was his goddamn rival
and he’s acting like this. He has no fucking idea what the fuck Ochako’s going through right now.

But he knows she has no idea what he’s going through. Deku hasn’t ever just been his rival.
Deku’s always been a minor annoyance at best and the bane of his existence at worst and Eijirou
talks about his adoptive siblings enough that Katsuki knows Deku is—was, god fucking dammit—
his brother.

It’s why Deku chose him. He chose him when they were kids on an underfunded public school
playground, he chose him when he ran quirkless to fight the sludge villain, he chose him when he
organized the escape route at Kamino, he chose him when he asked Katsuki to be his best man, he
chose him when he needed to pass on One for All, he would’ve chosen him to be the godfather of
his baby. Deku had always chosen Katsuki, even when Katsuki had done nothing to deserve being
chosen.

“He made me promise to take care of you, like you’d fucking need it,” Katsuki eventually grits out,
snorting despite himself at the idea that Ochako needs protection, trying to even out his breathing
with the methods his therapist had given him. He can feel himself slipping back into a panic attack
but he refuses to let it happen. He needs to explain this to Ochako. “And that includes your little
round-faced nerd baby, too.”
Ochako doesn’t ask the questions he knows she wants the answers to. She doesn’t ask him what her
husband’s last moments were like. She doesn’t ask if the blood on his skin is Deku’s. She doesn’t
ask anything, and he’s so fucking grateful he’ll almost admit it. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to
be ready to answer them. Katsuki’s been in therapy since the end of his first year and he’s talked in
depth about his childhood and the sludge villain and Kamino and the first time he saw a civilian
die, but the idea of talking about this to anyone ties his stomach in knots.

“Please don’t call my baby a nerd,” Ochako says, a sad attempt at humor in her voice and a tiny
smile on her face. It doesn’t reach her eyes, but Katsuki can forgive her for it.

He rolls his eyes. “’s your fault for having a kid with a nerd.”

Ochako lets go of his hand, smiling sadly. “We were, uh, talking about having kids soon, you
know. We didn’t actually decide to start trying, but we did talk about it, before,” she tells him,
lifting up her mug with both hands to take a long sip of her tea, both index fingers pointed out. She
pauses, settling the tea down and noticeably doing breathing exercises to calm herself down.

“He told me,” Katsuki responds, glancing down at the soda bottle between his hands, counting the
ticks of the clock in his head. Deku had mentioned it once, weeks ago, and Katsuki hadn’t really
been surprised. They were both the stereotypical, optimistic, lovey-dovey type, after all. The two
of them were the perfect little story for the tabloids: heterosexual high school sweethearts who
turned heroes together, and now that there’s the added tragedy to it—god, the internet is going to
be fucking disgusting once the news breaks.

Ochako nods, moving her hand to rest on top of her stomach, glancing down with a pained
expression on her face. “I’m not surprised. He wanted to have more than one, insisted on it, really.
I didn’t mind—I don’t have any siblings and I would see you and Deku together and it made me
sad that I never had anyone who loved me like the two of you loved each other and I thought I’d
like to give my children something like that.”

She’s not showing yet but Katsuki’s stomach rages anyway. He feels weighed down and weightless
all at once, something rolling around and forcing him to hold back heaves. He takes a sip of the
soda in his hands, trying to find something to settle his stomach.

He has to stay on top of this. Ochako needs him to be strong here. She can’t fucking see him break
down like that.

“He always said he wanted to name a kid after the most influential person in his life,” Ochako
comments, another sad smile crossing her face.

Katsuki nods. “Toshinori’s a good name,” he responds blandly. It makes sense—Deku had been
obsessed with All Might before he’d even known what the word obsessed meant, and All Might
was the one who gave him the chance to actually be a hero and trained him personally... It is a
good name. Strong. He’s not quite sure what’s going to happen if the nerd baby in Ochako’s
stomach is born female. Maybe a version of it? Not that the baby can’t have that name, the
Americans give their daughters stereotypically male names all the time. Huh, it would be kinda
cool to see them do something like that.

“He chose the name Natsuki.”

What?

No.
Fuck, no.

This isn’t happening. He heard that wrong. Ochako didn’t just fucking say that. She couldn’t have.
It’s not real. Nope. Didn’t fucking happen.

Natsuki.

It’s a unisex name, though it’s more common for girls, the same way Katsuki is unisex but more
common for boys. That’s not a fucking coincidence, is it? With that fucking idiot, it probably
completely is. Fucking hell.

The hag’s going to love it, he thinks, instead of thinking about what the name actually means,
because she’s still pissed off at him for telling her that he and Eijirou decided they weren’t having
kids. Wanted to continue the tradition and all. The insane old bat didn't care when he came out, she
only asked that his name fit her little theme, and Katsuki it was.

Natsuki.

It’s not like Katsuki’s unaware that he had a big influence over Deku’s life. He was the kid who
made Deku’s entire childhood hell, after all, and somehow they made it to brothers and partners.
And he’s seen enough of Deku’s stupid fucking interviews where he constantly admitted that he
“always looked up to my brother, Ground Zero” (and yelled at him enough times for them but
Deku would just fucking smile, and But Kacchan, what else would you be?, and it hurts to even
fucking think about) for it to be impossible not to know that Deku still admired him, but—

For Deku to think of him as more influential to him than even All Might? Out of everyone in the
fucking world, him?

His throat burns with a sob and he wants to fucking let it out because what the fuck, Deku?, but he
fucking can’t because he needs to be the fucking Symbol of Victory and he can’t let Ochako see
him this way. She never fucking has and he’s not going to let her.

The door of Ochako’s apartment opens suddenly, and they’re both in defensive stances within
seconds, and Katsuki knows she can handle herself but she’s also fucking pregnant so he pushes in
front of her, slamming the bottle in his broken hand on the table to break it and use it as a weapon,
sticking his other palm out.

Sparks are running under his skin—something completely different than what it feels to use his
own quirk, a rush of almost uncontrollable energy he’s never felt before, something that’s so
strikingly similar to the times he got hit with Pikachu’s quirk, but instead of the power hitting him
it’s flowing through his veins and he feels like it’s going to burst outward—

Katsuki recognizes it immediately. How could he not? He’s spent years figuring out the ins and
outs of this stupid fucking quirk.

He has Deku’s quirk running through his blood, one of the last favors he’d promised his brother.

”Please, Kacchan, you can’t let One for All die with me.”

Fuck!

Eijirou is a mess, panting with his hands on his knees in the doorway, his hair pulled up in a messy
bun. He’s still in his fucking pajamas, covered in sweat, and Katsuki’s pretty sure he forgot entirely
about the existence of trains and ran all the way here. Probably tripped over those stupid fucking
crocs on his feet, too. His eyes are wide and his face bright red, throwing his hands up in surrender
as he stares at them.

It’s his fucking day off. Eijirou’s supposed to be home.

“‘Tsuki,” Eijirou says—and it’s a nickname Eijirou knows he can only get away with calling him
in front of two fucking people, and one of them isn’t fucking here anymore—, his gaze flicking
between Katsuki’s smoking fist around the neck of the soda bottle and Ochako’s hand on her
stomach and the way he’d put himself between her and the potential threat and the box of baby
shoes on the table, a look of horrific realization flashing across his face.

The HSPC must’ve just sent the all-agency bulletin already, which means that by tonight the whole
world will know. In a few short hours, Katsuki will officially be the number one hero.

It’s exactly what he’s spent his entire life working towards. He spent his entire childhood in martial
arts classes and quirk training and gymnastics, anything that could help him improve and be the
best hero he could be, and he’s finally going to be number one.

Except.

The pit in his stomach, filled with emotions he can’t recognize and won’t name, deepens. He
doesn’t want it like this.

Deku’s dead. His brother is fucking dead and it’s all Katsuki’s fault and he knows Deku wouldn’t
blame him and neither would Ochako and Eijirou definitely won’t, but they’re all fucking made of
sunshine and starlight and whatever the fuck else poetic shit made them such good people. Katsuki
doesn’t deserve them, he knows this. He knew it when he and Deku were kids, he knew it when
they were fighting at Ground Beta first year, he knew it every day after. And Katsuki knew it was
selfish to keep them, selfish to let them near him when all he ever does is destroy, when all he’ll
ever do is break them.

“‘Tsuki,” Eijirou repeats, and suddenly his voice is right next to his ear, an arm over Katsuki’s
shoulders, his hand gently tugging the bottle out of his hands.

“Eiji,” Katsuki breathes, closing his eyes for a moment as his hearing aids pick up the clink of the
glass bottle against Ochako’s table.

“It’s okay, ‘Tsuki, I’m here,” Eijirou whispers, as he places both of his hands on Katsuki’s cheeks,
leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. He leans back slightly, forcing Katsuki’s
eyes to open in confusion, examining Katsuki’s face for a long moment, eventually deciding he
didn’t find what he was looking for and pulling Katsuki into a tight embrace. 

Katsuki forcibly holds back the sob threatening to rip from his body, burying his head in his
husband’s shoulder, letting Eijirou quietly mumble soothing words as he gently runs his hand
through Katsuki’s hair.

His skin feels too tight around his muscles and his body tenses and his lungs are seizing up and he
can’t fucking breathe and he fights the urge to violently shove Eijirou away from him. He’s in
control. He’s not too far into his panic that he doesn’t have control. He can do this. He can use the
signal.

His hand shakes as he reaches up to the closest part of Eijirou’s body, his fingers closing on his left
ear, tugging harshly twice. It means he needs to be let go, that the physical contact is too much,
that he needs his space.

Eijirou lets him go immediately, taking a long step back to give him space and raising both hands
to keep them in Katsuki’s line of vision. “Tsuki, baby,” he starts, clearly meaning to say something
else, probably to ask about his feelings or say he’s proud Katsuki used their signal or some shit.

Katsuki shakes his head violently.

He’s not going to do this here.

He’s not going to do this at all, if he can help it.

“Okay,” Eijirou says softly, nodding. “Not now, alright? Later, yeah?”

Later.

Katsuki knows that he can’t put whatever this is off forever, because Eijirou can be just as stubborn
as he is, but he’s going to postpone it for as long as possible.

He doesn’t need to talk about it. He’s going to be fine.

“Katsuki,” Ochako says suddenly, “why don’t you go take a shower? Some of Eijirou’s stuff is still
in the drawer in the guest room from last time you two stayed the night, you know.”

Fuck, Katsuki had forgotten she was fucking here. His focus had been too much on Eijirou, on his
husband’s strong arms wrapped around him, on the quiet words Eijirou had whispered in his ear.

Of course she offered, because as much as Katsuki hates it, Ochako knows him almost as well as
Eijirou does, almost as well as Deku did. She’s not just telling him to clean up all the grime on his
skin, she’s giving him an out, a chance to get back in control, a chance to take a few minutes to
himself because she knows he needs time away from other people when he gets like this.

It’s the same thing he used to do when they lived in the dorms.

Eijirou glances back at Katsuki, his hands still awkwardly placed as “naturally” as possible, one
pulling his hair out of its bun and the other fiddling with his wedding ring on the chain around his
neck. “Do you feel okay with that, ‘Tsuki?” he asks. “I can get the clothes for you if you want.”

Katsuki hates it when people treat him like some fragile fucking object, but he’ll make an
exception for Eijirou. 

Eijirou is the exception to his every rule, anyway.

“I got it,” he says tersely, turning on his heel and storming down the hallway towards the guest
bedroom. The room looks almost exactly the same as it had three days ago, at the stupid fucking
double date night Eijirou, Ochako, and Deku kept insisting the four of them have and Eijirou drank
too much and Katsuki wasn’t in the mood to drag him home.

Three fucking days.

It’s only been three fucking days since that night.

He shakes his head harshly in an attempt to clear his thoughts, reaching up and tugging his hearing
aids out of his ears. The world around him quiets, and he can’t hear the indistinct conversation
Eijirou and Ochako are having in the living room or the fan across the room anymore.

Katsuki doesn’t need to hear anything right now. He needs to stop paying attention to the world
around him. He needs to be by himself.
He needs to shower, is what he needs to do.

The dresser is on the other side of the room, tucked under the window overlooking the park. It’d be
a great room for a nursery, Katsuki realizes, freezing in place, his hands stuck on the drawer pull.

Little Natsuki would have a perfect fucking room here.

Fucking—Natsuki.

He can feel the anxiety bubbling in his chest, his throat closing up on him, tightening his broken
hand on the drawer pull in an attempt to stave off the nausea threatening his stomach. He almost
doubles over, his stomach cramping and body heaving, squeezing tighter, clamping his mouth shut.
Fuck, the anti-nausea pills he takes when his migraines are particularly bad are at his home with
Eijirou, the pill bottle stuffed into that one extra drawer in the kitchen they didn’t know how to use,
right next to his anxiety medication and the actual migraine medication.

He tries not to take the medication unless he desperately needs it, and he thinks now is one of those
times.

No.

He’s not going to let this happen. He’s going to snap himself out of this, take a shower and wash
the grime and blood off of him, and he’s going to get back into that living room.

He finds a pair of Eijirou’s grey joggers and an old Fatgum Agency t-shirt in the first drawer he
opens, and the clothes are likely going to be too big on him but at least they’re Eijirou’s clothes and
they—

They don’t smell like Eijirou’s cologne, they smell like the fucking detergent Ochako insists on
using because it’s “cheap and works amazing”.

Katsuki hates it. He hates the smell and the way it makes clothes feel and it’s the exact reason he
spent hundreds of dollars on a supply of the detergent he prefers for Ochako’s birthday.

Mostly, though, right now he wishes the clothes weren’t washed. That he could bury himself in the
smell of Eijirou’s cologne without looking like a needy bitch.

He swallows the thought—refusing to let himself be that fucking sappy and gross right now, even
just in his head—and heads into the guest bathroom, already stripping off his grimy, dirty hero
costume and shoving it into the sink. He turns to the shower stall and reaches to turn the knob.

The showers in this apartment suck—the water pressure sucks and it takes too fucking long for the
water to heat up. Ochako’s always been a cheap bitch, and this entire apartment proves it. She had
insisted on staying in this shithole because it was cheap and Deku never gave enough of a shit
about his surroundings. Katsuki had always been annoyed by their satisfaction living in a place like
this, especially with their paychecks—he and Eijirou had bought their own house a few years ago
and Katsuki kept trying to bug them into doing the same.

He’s gonna force her to get a new apartment soon enough. That baby deserves better than this
shithole, and it’s not like she’ll be wanting for money once the HSPC signs off on the life
insurance payout—fuck.

Katsuki shakes his head, stepping into the shower stall and under the spray, shutting his eyes and
leaning his head against the tile. He shuts his lips tightly, breathing deeply through his nose,
refusing to let himself think.
If he thinks he’ll send himself into the same fucking panic spiral he’s refused to fall into all day.
He has to take care of Ochako. Sure, he’s the fucking worst when it comes to emotional comfort,
but he made a fucking promise.

He made a fucking promise.

Katsuki lets out a breath, reaching for the bottle of soap. He cleans his body methodically, the same
way he showers back at the agency, quick and efficient, his arms and legs first, then everything
else. It’s not his house. He can’t use all the hot water.

It’s easy to go through the motions from there, shutting off the water, toweling himself off, getting
dressed.

Eijirou’s taller than him, with bigger shoulders and a wider body, so the Fatgum Agency t-shirt
hangs slightly off one shoulder and falls lower on his legs than it should, and he has to roll the
waist of the joggers down a few times to secure them on his hips before he reaches down to roll up
the legs, too. He’s almost comforted by the material around him—they’re Eijirou’s clothes, his
husband’s clothing, and even though it doesn’t smell like him, Eijirou’s just in the other room.

He wants his husband.

He’ll admit to being a needy bitch quietly, in his head, but never out loud and in public. He’s too
good for that mushy shit.

Katsuki takes a breath, toweling off his hair, turning to look at himself in the mirror. His hands grip
the sink, ignoring his clothing in the bowl, staring. He looks exhausted, and it’s no surprise, after
the shitshow of the fucking day he had.

His cheek is marred by a purpling bruise and there are scrapes across his neck and shoulders. His
shoulders and arms are sore, the same way they always are after a long fight, but he can handle it.
His hand is broken and he knows he needs to get it fixed.

He takes another steadying breath and shoves himself away from the sink, shaking his head
violently. He needs to get his shit together.

Stop being a fucking narcissist, shithead.

There’s a bag full of plastic bags in the cabinet under the sink, and he tugs one out. He folds the
clothing as neatly as possible before putting them in the bag, tying the ends together. Washes his
hands one more time before picking his hearing aids up off the sink, depositing them back in his
ears. Slips his wrist through the straps of the plastic bag, swallowing the lump in his throat, and
heads back out to the living room.

Eijirou looks like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, his bleeding heart on full display in his
expression, sat on the couch next to Ochako with an arm around her shoulders and the other gently
on her knee, her body pressed closely into his. If it were anyone else in any other situation, his
chest would be burning with jealousy so hot he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

But it’s Ochako.

Ochako who helped Eijirou plan out the way he was going to propose to Katsuki. Ochako who
went with Katsuki to find the perfect ring for Eijirou, because while Deku was great emotional
support, he had the worst fucking taste. Ochako who took time off of work to follow them up to
Gifu to be their witness as they signed the marriage certificate when Deku couldn’t.
Katsuki was the one who picked out the ring Ochako’s wearing on her left hand, because Deku
was an indecisive disaster and had no idea what to get her. Katsuki was the one who bullied her out
of pulling a runaway bride on her wedding day. Katsuki was the one who drove her and Deku to
the airport for their honeymoon and picked them up when they got back.

Katsuki’s the one who told her that her husband died.

“And he just looked so destroyed, Eijirou. That’s his brother. I hate seeing him like that,”
Ochako’s saying.

“Hey, stop that,” Eijirou is telling her, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about Katsuki, Ochako, I
have him, okay? I’m gonna take care of him. What we need to focus on is you. How do you feel?
What’s going on in your head? I know this is a lot to deal with.”

“I just don’t know what I’m gonna do, Eijirou. How am I going to do this by myself? Balancing all
of this... Raising a kid, keeping up with my career, taking care of my parents…?” Ochako asks after
a long moment, burying her face in her hands. “I know Katsuki said that Deku made him promise
to take care of me, and I know he’s going to do everything he can to make sure he keeps that
promise, but I can’t just let him—”

“Hey, Ochako, stop that. No one lets Katsuki do anything. Katsuki is going to do whatever Katsuki
wants to do, because he’s a stubborn little bitch, especially when he makes a promise, especially if
he promised it to Izuku, you know that. No one can stop him when he decides he’s going to do
something. Trust me, I know that better than anyone, and you’re better off just letting him support
you, because if you try to fight him on this you know he’s going to out-stubborn you. And you
aren’t going to be by yourself for any of this. Katsuki and I are here for you, same as always, and
Mrs. Midoriya, and Todoroki, and Tsu and Hagakure and Kaminari and Mina love babies, so
they’re not even going to leave you alone when this baby is here, and everyone else in our class is
going to be here for you,” Eijirou says, letting a comforting smile spread across his face as he rubs
comforting circles over her back. “It takes a village to raise a kid, right? You have people who love
you and people who loved Izuku, and we’re all here for you. This kid is gonna know exactly who
their daddy was and how much we all loved him, I promise.”

Katsuki coughs pointedly, forcing them both to look up at him. Eijirou offers him a small smile
while Ochako pointedly wipes her eyes before straightening her back, looking at him with the same
carefully blank, powerful expression she saves for reporters on the scene after villain attacks.

“Mina’s on her way here, ‘Tsuki, so we’re just gonna stay ‘till she gets here, alright?” Eijirou says,
his hand still rubbing Ochako’s back.

“Yeah, whatever,” Katsuki responds, dropping the bag next to the couch and turning to the kitchen.
“I’m going to make breakfast.”

Ochako frowns. “You don’t need to—”

“Shut the fuck up, Ochako,” Katsuki replies, glaring at her. “I’m fucking making breakfast.”

Eijirou sighs, patting Ochako’s knee, frowning. Katsuki can feel the worried look in Eijirou’s eyes
as he turns and leaves the living room. He isn’t good at emotions and shit. That’s what Eijirou’s
for. Eijirou has always been better at this kind of thing and Katsuki knows he won’t be any help to
Ochako if he stays in the living room with them.

He doesn’t know if Ochako even has anything good in her fridge. She and Deku are fucking
disgusting—always ordering food in and picking up takeout and microwaving breakfast like they
don’t have a perfectly good fucking kitchen. He doesn’t even want to look in the fridge because he
knows there’s only going to be too many boxes of unhealthy food that are going to raise his
cholesterol just by looking at it.

He starts with the cabinets, praying that they weren’t such lost souls that they don’t have at least a
bag of rice and the basics in their pantry. They’re not that hopeless, are they?

He keeps using they, like it’s still plural.

Like the last few hours hadn’t happened.

Like Deku’s just in the hospital.

Like this place isn’t just going to be Ochako for the next few months.

Like Deku’s coming home.

Fuck, he really isn’t coming home.

Deku’s never going to be here again.

Katsuki sees traces of Deku in this entire place, from the cork board up on the wall with papers
pinned on it from his stupid fucking notebooks to the bookcase filled with only All Might merch to
the bookmarked copy of some history of heroics book left on the kitchen counter.

He can’t help but think of the sleepovers he’d have at Deku’s house when they were kids, when his
parents weren’t in the country and he had nowhere else to go, and the All Might-themed futon
cover Inko had specifically bought for him, and of watching the really shitty movies from back in
the beginnings of All Might’s career.

The sleepovers stopped pretty soon after they turned six.

They started up again towards the end of their first year. Katsuki had started falling asleep at
Deku’s desk after a long night of figuring out parts of One for All and researching potential
previous users. The day after first time it happened, Katsuki had complained for the entire day
about his neck hurting, and the next time he’d gotten tired in his room, Deku had pulled out a futon
and that All Might-themed futon cover. As much as Katsuki pretended he hated it, he really didn’t
mind spending nights in Deku’s room, and Eijirou was just happy that he and Deku were working
things out.

And then he and Eijirou got their own place and Deku and Ochako got theirs, and they had keys to
each other’s places and whenever Katsuki was too angry at Eijirou, or when he and Eijirou were
drunk, or when they were too tired after patrol, Katsuki would spend the night here.

No.

Thinking too much or reminiscing about anything opens up the potential for him to have a panic
attack, and those panic attacks can sometimes lead to one of his “episodes”, as Eijirou and his
therapist call them, and he’s not going to let himself go that far. This isn’t his home, even if he
spent almost as much time here as he did at his own home, and he’s not going to let Ochako see
him like that. Even if Katsuki knows that Eijirou has mentioned his issues to them offhandedly. He
won’t let Ochako see him that way.

He ignores the packages of instant ramen—the amount of sodium in those are absolutely
disgusting, why the hell did anyone eat them?—and digs out an unopened bag of rice, some flour,
baking powder, katsuobushi, and dashi powder before turning to the fridge.

Hopefully, he’ll find something to cobble together some sort of breakfast.

There’s an unopened carton of eggs just behind a box of what looks like leftover ramen from the
shop Katsuki dragged the two of them and Eijirou to one night for their stupid little date night.

He finds some of the things leftover from three days ago, when he’d demanded to use their kitchen
to cook dinner if he was forced into attending the usual double date, some cabbage and spring
onions and mushrooms.

He can make a really basic okonomiyaki with this. They have some sauce here somewhere, he
hopes. If not they’ll just have to fucking deal with it, he supposes.

Cooking is something easy and repetitive that keeps him from thinking. He’s had a shitty fucking
night and today’s already shaping up to be even fucking shittier, and he needs to focus on anything
other than his emotional state because that never ends well for him.

It’s easy to shut his brain off and focus on the math, measuring out exactly what he needs to feed
him, Eijirou, Ochako, and Mina. He has to double the recipe because Eijirou will eat three by
himself if he’s hungry, and he probably is because Eijirou is a disaster in the kitchen and Katsuki
had promised last night that he’d make him breakfast when he got home, so Eijirou hasn’t eaten
since last night. Plus there’s a baby growing in Ochako’s stomach, and Katsuki promised to take
care of her, and he’s not letting her use her financial fears to starve herself anymore.

Katsuki isn’t fucking hungry but he’s well aware that he needs to feed himself because he’s
officially the number one hero now and he’s spent enough time with All Might and Deku over the
years that he knows that there’s so much fucking responsibility involved in it and he can’t let
himself fuck up. Not fucking up starts with making sure he’s healthy.

He’s carrying both All Might and Deku’s legacy on his shoulders and their quirk in his blood now
and he needs to be the person that deserves to. He knows he isn’t, not right now, not after
everything he’s done, but he’s going to be. He’s going to be number one and he’s going to be
someone who deserves it.

The repetitive actions soothe him in a way few things can, letting him lose time as he chops
vegetables and fries his eggs and piles everything onto a serving dish, and he isn’t sure how long
he’s been cooking before the doorbell rings, dragging him out of his distracted state.

Right on time, because he’s almost finished making the food.

He takes another grounding breath before pulling a stack of four plates and the serving dish with
the okonomiyaki on it into his hands and heading out to the main room.

Ochako’s sitting back at the dining room table, her fingers tangled in the short little shoelaces of
those stupid fucking red Jordans, staring down at them with an unreadable look on her face.

Katsuki sets the serving dish down on the table, glancing back at the genkan, where he’s sure
Eijirou and Mina have stepped out into the apartment hallway to discuss something. “You want
another tea?”

“Just water, thank you,” Ochako says, glancing up at him as he places a plate down in front of her,
reaching up to grab his wrist. “Thank you for everything you’re doing, Katsuki.”

He grunts his response, not in the mood to even talk right now, gently pulling his hand away from
her as the door to the apartment opens.

Mina’s across the room before he can even react, her arms wrapped around him in a tight hug and
her lips against his cheek for a moment. The hug lasts only a few seconds, Mina knowing him well
enough to let him go almost as soon as she’d wrapped her arms around him, before she slides into
the seat next to Ochako, an arm over her shoulder and a hand on hers.

“Oh,” Mina breathes as soon as her eyes find the cardboard box on the table, her hand reaching out
to run her fingers over the shoes. “Ochako, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Katsuki immediately turns to head back into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of ice water for Ochako
and a glass of orange juice for Eijirou.

“Hey, ‘Tsuki,” Eijirou’s voice says softly from behind him, and Katsuki turns to stare at him. His
husband’s hands reach out to him, taking both glasses.

“That’s yours,” Katsuki says plainly, nodding at one of the glasses in Eijirou’s hands. “Go eat
breakfast, Eiji, I know I told you not to touch the kitchen this morning so you haven’t eaten since
last night.”

Eijirou sighs, frowning as he looks Katsuki over. He still doesn’t seem to find whatever he’s
looking for. “I guess we’ll talk about this later, then, yeah, ‘Tsuki?” he asks, leaning forward and
placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Can you grab another glass of juice for Mina and something for
yourself? I’ll meet you out there, okay?”

Katsuki turns away from him, pouring another two glasses of orange juice before heading back to
sit with them and eat breakfast.

It’s a quiet affair, the only sounds being the clink of silverware against their plates and the shitty
air conditioning’s buzzing. It’s odd because Katsuki has never known Mina—or Eijirou, for that
matter—to be particularly quiet. Mina’s always been louder than her fashion sense and Eijirou’s a
five-month-old puppy in human form, but he understands why no one’s talking. No one wants to.

“I’ll start cleaning up,” Mina offers a little while later, when everyone’s plates are clear. She stands
up, reaching for Katsuki’s plate and Katsuki shoves it closer to her, ignoring the look in her eyes.

Eijirou nods, smiling kindly. “Thanks, Mina. I think I’m gonna take Katsuki home now, Ochako.
You know how he gets when he’s tired,” he says, placing his utensils down on his plate and taking
a last sip of his orange juice. Katsuki glares across the table at Eijirou, kicking him gently in the
leg, feeling hardened skin underneath his toes.

Ochako swallows the last of her water, nodding. “Yeah, I do. Let me walk you two out, then,” she
says, standing up.

Katsuki stands, pausing by the couch for a moment to grab the bag containing his dirty hero
costume, then makes his way over to the genkan, where he shoves his feet back into his hero
costume’s boots, because he doesn’t have anything else, as Eijirou slips back into his crocs.

“Hey, before you go,” Ochako says suddenly, drawing Katsuki’s attention and forcing him to turn
around to face her. She reaches up and pulls him into a tight hug, pressing a lingering kiss against
his cheek. “He gave you his quirk, didn’t he? He made the right choice,” she practically breathes in
his ear, holding him for longer than she should, before she takes a step back, placing her hands on
his shoulders and reaching up to fix his hair. “Thank you, again, for everything. I—I'm glad you
were with him when...”
“Ochako,” he says, his voice getting caught in his throat. He can’t even stop her from touching
him, stuck staring at her. He hadn’t even fucking known that Deku told her about One for All.

“It’s alright, Katsuki,” she tells him, nodding with tears sparkling in her eyes. “He loved you, so
much. If anyone had to be there, I’m glad it was you. He deserved to have his brother there.”

Katsuki swallows, trying to keep himself from choking on a sob. Why the hell is she treating him
like this? Her fucking husband is dead and it’s all Katsuki’s fucking fault and she’s a fucking
angel, apparently.

He nods instead of speaking. Ochako smiles softly at him, hugging him one more time before she
turns to Eijirou, pulling him into a hug. She leans up and whispers something in his ear. Eijirou’s
eyes flick over to Katsuki for a moment as he hugs her back.

“If you ever need anything, Ochako, let us know. We’re here for you,” Eijirou tells her once she
pulls away, both of his hands on her shoulders. “I mean it, anything.”

Ochako nods, leaning forward to kiss Eijirou’s cheek. “Thank you, Eijirou,” she says, her hand
resting on his chest for a long moment, glancing over at Katsuki with a sad smile. “Take care of
him, won’t you?”

“Always,” Eijirou says, wrapping his arm around Katsuki’s waist and leaning over to kiss his hair.

Katsuki’s hands twitch at the touch, his lungs seizing up and he reaches down and tugs on Eijirou’s
hand twice. Eijirou immediately takes his hand away from Katsuki’s body, awkwardly reaching up
to rub the back of his neck and taking a step to the side to give him more space.

“Get home safe, you two,” she instructs as the two of them step out of the apartment. Katsuki nods,
and Ochako shuts the door on them, leaving the two of them alone in the hallway.

Eijirou turns to look at Katsuki, his expression carefully unreadable. “Let’s go home, ‘Tsuki,
yeah?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki responds quietly.

Eijirou slips off his crocs in their genkan, quietly shutting the door behind him before stepping
forward, reaching out for Katsuki, pausing just before he makes contact, his hands hovering just
over Katsuki’s shoulders. “Can I touch you?”

Katsuki takes a step back, his skin still buzzing from earlier. “No.”

Eijirou nods, pulling his hands back to himself. “Okay,” he says, stepping further into their home
and nodding towards the bag of his dirty hero costume. “Do you want me to put that in the wash
for you?”

“I’m not gonna make you fucking clean D—his blood out of this shitty fucking costume,” Katsuki
snaps defensively, pulling the bag closer to his chest. “He’s my fucking—”

He freezes, his voice dying in his throat. He can’t say this shit out loud—that makes this real. He
knows it’s real and he knows he’s never going to see Deku again, but he’s not going to say it out
loud. Not yet.

“Your brother,” Eijirou says quietly after a few moments.

“Stop talking, Eijirou,” Katsuki says, a threat in his voice. “I don’t want to hear jack shit from you
right now.”

Eijirou sighs, glancing away from Katsuki and towards the kitchen before he turns back to look at
Katsuki. “’Tsuki, you don’t need to put on this act anymore,” he says plainly. “It’s just us here.”

“I fucking told you to stop talking!” Katsuki yells, storming away from him. He’s not listening to
this right now. He has to wash his hero costume before the blood permanently stains the fabric. He
wears black for a reason, but he has to make sure.

Eijirou doesn’t follow him to the laundry room, and it’s a fucking relief. He can’t be near Eijirou
right now, not when he’s in this mood.

Years ago, back when he was still at U.A., his therapist had told him that he needed to remove
himself from situations that could trigger his anger. He’d doubted that it would help him, but it’s
worked so far, especially with people who knew him well enough to know why he was walking
away from them. It’s also something he tries to stick to as much as possible, especially with Eijirou
because he has too much respect for his husband and their relationship to blow up at him all the
time. He doesn’t deserve that.

He sets the bag on the counter, tearing it open and pulling his hero costume out, wincing at how
stiff from the blood it still is. He has so much experience taking bloodstains out of clothing. He
shouldn’t be affected by this. He shouldn’t be nauseous from just this.

It isn’t even his fucking blood.

The bubbling anxiety in his chest is back as he drops the clothing like it’s burned him, throwing
himself backward and slamming into the door.

How fucking loud was that?

Eijirou’s going to come fucking check in on him now, isn’t he?

God fucking dammit.

Fuck, he should’ve stopped off in the kitchen and forced down his anti-anxiety and anti-nausea
pills. Then he could’ve avoided this whole fucking thing. He’d be passed out asleep by now if he
had.

Fuck.

It’s not his fucking blood.

No, he’s not doing this. He’s not going to let this bullshit defeat him. He’s going to shut off his
brain and get those piece of shit clothes into the wash. He’ll fucking do it.

He brings his hand to his face, covering his mouth and nose to force himself to hold his breath,
then takes a long moment to force his breathing to even out until he’s sufficiently shoved the
anxiety out of his body.

Good.

Katsuki bends down to pick the clothing up, moving to the laundry sink. These need to soak for a
bit because the universe fucking hates him and wants him to fucking suffer and spend more time on
this shit. He runs some lukewarm water for a moment before pulling the stopper, letting the sink
fill a bit before shutting the water off and pouring a small amount of stain remover in.

He tosses the clothes into the sink and swirls them around a bit, making sure they’re submerged
completely before pulling his hands out of the water and turning to the second sink in the room to
wash his hands.

He doesn’t think he’s been away from Eijirou for enough time to be sufficiently calm enough to go
back to him, but he can’t sit in the laundry room for too long without Eijirou getting worried and
coming to find him, and Katsuki doesn’t want to be stuck in such a small room with anyone when
he feels like this.

It just means Katsuki has to keep himself in control when he leaves. He can do this. He’s been
controlling himself all day. He’s got this.

Katsuki takes a deep breath, clenching his fist, and leaves the room.

Eijirou is still in the living room, sitting on the couch, both hands gripping his knees. He stands up
as soon as he sees Katsuki in the hall. “Baby,” he starts, taking a step forward, “please, we need to
talk about this.”

“I fucking told you no, Eijirou,” he states simply. Enforce his boundaries, another piece of advice
from the therapist. Be firm but not rude about it. Eijirou respects him, doesn’t he? He’ll listen to
him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“‘Tsuki—”

Katsuki glares at him. “I’m not doing this, Eiji,” he states, turning to leave the room.

“I know that this is hard for you, ‘Tsuki, but keeping this in—,” Eijirou says gently, following after
him.

“You don’t know shit!” Katsuki snaps, whirling around to face him. They’re barely an arm’s
length away from each other at this point.

Eijirou’s eyes flash in anger for a moment before he clamps his mouth shut and glances to the side,
clearly taking a moment to calm himself down. He pulls the chain holding his wedding ring out
from under his shirt, holding it out. “See this, Katsuki? This is the ring you gave me. Now you can
kick and scream and have your fucking hissy fit and deny you have feelings, but I’m not letting you
get away with that bullshit,” he starts, taking a step closer. “I know I don’t know you as well as
Izuku did, but I’m your fucking husband. You, Katsuki, are the love of my goddamn life, and I
know you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki says, taking another step back until he hits the wall, staring up at his
husband.

Eijirou can’t do this. He can’t.

“I know that you prefer to eat Western breakfasts but don’t like cooking them. I know that you
mumble in your sleep. And I know that you’re trying to pick a fight with me to avoid confronting
your feelings,” Eijirou continues, like Katsuki hadn’t even spoken. “It’s not going to work, Katsuki.
I’m not going to let you do that. It’s not healthy for you to keep doing this, you know this.”

Katsuki’s chest tightens and he doubles over, wrapping his arms around himself, taking a deep
breath. “I’m fine,” he mumbles.
Eijirou reaches forward, then seemingly remembers what Katsuki had said earlier, his hand
hovering just over Katsuki’s shoulder. “It’s okay if you’re not. I know how much this has to hurt
—”

“I’m fine,” he repeats forcefully, tightening his grip on his upper arms.

He’s fucking fine.

He can keep his cool.

He’s in control.

Everything is fucking fine.

“‘Tsuki, Izuku wasn’t just your partner. He was your brother and I know that this must—”

Katsuki shakes his head. “Don’t finish that fucking sentence, Eijirou. Don’t you fucking dare,” he
hisses, glaring at him as he steps to the side and turning to storm down the hall towards their
bedroom.

Eijirou sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Katsuki, you don’t have to hold it in anymore. I
know you’ve been trying to keep everything in, and you’ve done such a good job of it, baby, but it’s
okay now. It’s just you and me here, you know that. It’s okay.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki responds, whipping around to face him. “I’m fucking fine, Eijirou!”

“No, you’re not!” Eijirou bursts out, throwing his arms out in frustration. “You don’t have to be!
Your fucking brother just died, in your fucking arms, and you’re pretending like nothing happened!
It’s just us here, Katsuki, you don’t need to put on some big show like you’re not affected by this!
You don’t have to be fine! You can let it go, Katsuki, you can let yourself feel things. I’ll catch
you, ‘Tsuki, you know I always will.”

“Stop talking!” Katsuki yells, shaking his head as he reaches up to grip his neck, squeezing. How
fucking dare he pull that shit! That fucking line—“I’ll catch you”—fuck off with that shit! Eijirou
can’t just fucking pull out that fucking line like that!

Katsuki is so fucking close to snapping and he’s got to stop himself. He’s not going to do that to
Eijirou, he’s not! Eijirou doesn’t need to catch him this time. Katsuki’s going to save himself.

He’s got this.

He just needs Eijirou to shut the fuck up for a second, Jesus fucking Christ, and leave him alone so
he can get himself under control.

“’Tsuki,” Eijirou says, his tone the same mix of comforting and authoritarian he uses on civilians
during rescues and Katsuki can’t fucking stand it when he uses it on him, “your hands are
smoking. I need you to either get your quirk under control or let go of your neck.”

Katsuki shakes his head. “Shut up, Eijirou!”

Eijirou takes a step closer, pausing when Katsuki takes a step back, putting his hands up so Katsuki
can see them. “Baby, if you don’t take your hands off your neck right now, I’m going to have to
touch you, and I know you can’t handle that right now. Please don’t make me do this to you,
Katsuki.”
“No!” Katsuki takes another step backward, stumbling a bit as he shakes his head. He wants to
listen to Eijirou, he does, but he fucking can’t. His body won’t listen to him and the fucking
hallway is closing in on him and he’s going to fucking lose it and he has no idea what he can even
do and—

“Katsuki!” Eijirou shouts, lurching forward and grabbing his wrists, yanking Katsuki’s hands away
from his body just as his palms let out a small shower of sparks. He presses Katsuki’s palms
against his hardened stomach, taking the full force of the ignited explosion.

Somewhere in his brain Katsuki realizes that it’s a good thing Eijirou took the hit, but his skin is on
fire and he can’t breathe and everything’s wrong and he needs Eijirou to let him go. Katsuki can
barely manage to get his thumb and index finger around Eijirou’s thumb, but he tugs twice, as hard
as he can.

“No, Katsuki, not if you’re going to hurt yourself,” Eijirou states plainly, the authoritarian voice he
uses on villains slipping out, tugging Katsuki towards him, forcing his palms flat against Eijirou’s
hardened chest.

He wants to explode, wants to expel the pressure building up inside him, wants to let it all go, but
Eijirou’s in the way and he can’t do this, he won’t.

“Let me go, let me go, let me go, let me go,” Katsuki bursts out, struggling and flailing in his
husband’s grip, trying to tug himself away but Eijirou’s got a better grip on him and a higher bench
weight and he knows it’s fucking useless but he can’t stop trying to get away from him.

“‘Tsuki,” Eijirou says, manhandling him even closer, “I know you don’t want me touching you
right now, I know, but I can’t let you go, baby. I can’t let you hurt yourself, alright? I need you to
calm down, baby, and then I’ll let you go. What do you need me to do? How can I help you calm
down?”

There’s a thundering in his ears and it fucking hurts and he can’t reach his ears to pull his hearing
aids out and he violently thrashes his head, trying to dislodge them.

“Baby, stop holding back, it’s okay. I can take whatever you need to let out, you know that. I’m
right here and I’m gonna be right here after you let it out. Come on, ‘Tsuki, it’s okay,” Eijirou
pleads. “I’ve got you.”

“No, no, no!”

Katsuki can’t fucking breathe, curling in on himself and holding the pressure in, the line is so close
to snapping but he can’t do this, not to Eijirou, he’s not going to hurt his husband, he’s not!

“You won’t hurt me, come on, baby, it’s okay, please, Katsuki, please. You need to let it out. I’ll
catch you, okay? I’ve got you, baby, please.”

“I can’t!”

His fingers curl in the fabric of Eijirou’s shirt, and he can smell the acrid smoke pouring from his
palms and he has to stop it, this is Eijirou’s favorite sleep shirt, he’s already damaged it enough, he
can’t destroy it, he needs to get himself back in control.

He’s done it before, he just needs to stamp all of this down, he can do this.

His ears fucking hurt and he needs his hearing aids out, he tilts his head and lifts his shoulder to
violently rub at his ear but that just makes it worse and he wants to scream—
“What is it, baby? What do you need? You can tell me, you know that, I’ll do anything you need
me to, baby, come on, please, ‘Tsuki. Baby, you’re scaring me,” Eijirou begs, his grip tightening as
Katsuki keeps struggling.

“Let me go,” Katsuki demands again, still shoving his ear against his shoulder, tears of frustration
welling in his eyes as it continually fails and the noise in his ears gets fucking louder and he can’t
fucking handle it, “let me go, let me go, let me go!”

“Are you—‘Tsuki, are you trying to take your hearing aids out? Is that what you need? Will you let
me do that for you?” Eijirou asks, and Katsuki forces his eyes shut.

He sounds so fucking scared and it’s all Katsuki’s fault, fuck, he’s scaring him, of course he is.

That’s all he ever fucking does, isn’t it?

Katsuki feels the sob escape him before he can stop it, nodding furiously. “Let me go, let me go, let
me go,” he repeats, almost a mantra at this point, tugging harshly against his husband’s grip. “Let
me go, let me go.”

Eijirou shushes him gently, moving to hold both of Katsuki’s wrists in one big hand, before he
reaches up and carefully removes the little devices from each ear, setting them down next to them,
and sending Katsuki’s world into the peaceful quiet again, leaning forward to place his lips against
Katsuki’s ear. “Baby,” it’s almost a whisper and Katsuki knows it’s not, really, Eijirou’s talking
loudly, it’s just his shitty fucking hearing, “I got you, okay? I have you, baby, you can let go now,
yeah?”

Katsuki shakes his head again and he doesn’t know how he did it but he’s got his own hand in his
mouth and he closes his teeth as tightly as possible around it. Pain bursts up his arm and
somewhere in his head, he realizes he must’ve bitten his broken hand, but it just feels so good and
the noise in his head quiets for a split second and he does it again and again and again because he
needs everything to just stop and the taste of blood bursts across his tongue and it’s settling
something in his chest—

He feels Eijirou’s curse more than hears it and suddenly his head is being tugged away and forced
into Eijirou’s shoulder.

No, no, no! Fuck!

“Bite me, ‘Tsuki, bite me, come on, it’s okay, I can’t let you do this to yourself, come on,” Eijirou
says, his words vibrating in Katsuki’s ear, barely audible, his free hand holding Katsuki’s head
against his shoulder with enough force that Katsuki can’t pull away.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

“Then let it go, Katsuki, you’ve been holding it back for too long, let it go, please, for me?”

”Please,” he sobs, pulling back as hard as he can but Eijirou’s only holding onto him tighter, “let
me go, let me go, let me go, please, please, please, Eiji, please.”

That word always gets him what he wants. Eijirou will do anything he asks if Katsuki just says
please and he doesn’t use it often because it’s not fair and why the fuck isn’t Eijirou letting him go?

“Katsuki, baby, please, let it all go,” Eijirou pleads in his ear, holding him as close as possible.

Another horrifying sob breaks out of his chest at the same time he can’t hold it anymore and—
The valve holding everything back breaks, the world goes bright white, and Katsuki’s body falls
limp in his husband’s arms.

He’s only vaguely aware of his body falling backward and of Eijirou’s curse and rush to catch him
and cradle the back of his head before it smacks against the hardwood floor. He’s safe, he realizes,
half-lidded eyes staring up at the worried, blurry face of his husband, and Katsuki lets out another
sob, his eyes slowly drifting closed as he lets himself succumb to the dark splotches in his vision.

“Shh, it’s alright, ‘Tsuki, everything is fine, you’ll be okay,” Eijirou is saying, his hands and lips
running over every part of Katsuki’s face. 

Katsuki knows his husband put his hearing aids back in because Eijirou knows he hates coming
back to the world after one of these episodes without all of his senses. Eijirou is so fucking
thoughtful and nice and it fucking hurts because Katsuki doesn’t deserve it.

“I got you, shh, it’s alright, I have you, shh,” Eijirou soothes. At some point, he must’ve moved
them into a more comfortable position on the floor, Katsuki in his lap with his legs wrapped
around Eijirou’s waist and his arms around his torso, head buried in Eijirou’s shoulder, one of
Eijirou’s hands tangled in his hair and the other on the small of his back, rocking him closer.

“Eiji,” he rasps around a broken sob, his fingers curling against Eijirou’s bare back, nails scraping
against hardened skin. Is he still crying? What the fuck? Why the hell is he still crying?

He needs to get himself back under control. Eijirou doesn’t need to see him like this. He’s the
fucking Symbol of Victory and he’s not supposed to be crying in his husband’s arms like a little
fucking bitch.

“Hey, baby, you back with me?” he whispers, gently massaging his fingers into Katsuki’s hair.

Katsuki nods against his shoulder, pressing himself tighter against him. His chest hurts and he can
feel a migraine coming on and he keeps letting out uncontrollable sobs, his tears and snot soaking
Eijirou’s shoulder.

“Good, that’s good, baby,” Eijirou says gently, his other hand rubbing Katsuki’s back. “Are you
ready to talk yet?”

A shake of the head.

One of Eijirou’s hands moves to Katsuki’s hip, holding him in place. “Alright, that’s fine, do you
wanna stay here or go up to our bedroom? One tap for here, two taps for bed.”

Katsuki taps twice against Eijirou’s back, starting to pull away from him, but Eijirou only tightens
his grip.

“‘Tsuki, you scared the shit out of me, let me do this, let me take care of you, let me hold you,
please,” he begs, and Katsuki can’t fight it anymore, nodding and holding tight as his husband
stands up, practically cradling him to his chest.

Eijirou adjusts his grip, one arm coming to rest under his thighs, the other wrapped around
Katsuki’s back. He’s quiet, occasionally offering soft, soothing words in Katsuki’s ear, as he walks
them both to the staircase.

Katsuki holds his breath, trying to get his sobs under control. He’s a big boy, he doesn’t need to be
acting like this. He’s only letting Eijirou do this because he’s a big fucking himbo piece of shit who
needs physical contact like it’s water. That’s it. Nothing else.

“Baby, it’s alright to cry, you don’t need to hide it from me,” Eijirou whispers, pausing at their
bedroom door to open it and head into the bedroom.

Eijirou carefully moves to their bed, sitting down on his side of the mattress with Katsuki still
wrapped around him, awkwardly swinging his legs around to stretch them out on the bed behind
Katsuki. He carefully leans over to his bedside table, grabbing something Katsuki doesn’t look at.
“Hey, ‘Tsuki, will you look at me? I wanna clean you up a bit, okay?”

Katsuki nods slightly, letting Eijirou guide his head out of his shoulder.

“There you are,” he says, a soft smile crossing his face, reaching up with a tissue and wiping just
under Katsuki’s eyes.

“Don’t you fucking just throw that on the—”

Eijirou’s smile just gets bigger as he pulls out a plastic bag, dropping the tissue into it. “I knew
you’d say that,” he says, teasingly, picking up another tissue. Katsuki can’t help the quirk of his lip
as Eijirou continues wiping his face down. He plants a kiss directly on Katsuki’s nose once he’s
finished cleaning Katsuki’s face, then wipes down his shoulder, moving the plastic bag to his
bedside table and letting Katsuki hide his face in his neck again.

It’s nice, sitting in silence in his husband’s lap, Eijirou’s chest rising and falling steadily as he runs
his hands over Katsuki’s back and his lips over his neck and shoulders and hair, his voice
mumbling mindless praise and soothing words, holding him tightly to his chest.

He’s doing this for Eijirou.

Eijirou’s the one who needs the physical comfort. Katsuki doesn’t need it, Eijirou was just scared.
He gets like this after every single one of Katsuki’s episodes. It’s not something Katsuki needs or
anything, it’s just…it’s nice, sometimes, to let Eijirou take care of him.

Fuck off.

It’s only after a few minutes of this that Katsuki finally has the balls to ask the question that’s been
bothering him all day.

“Why am I never good enough, Eiji?” he whispers into Eijirou’s neck.

Eijirou’s hands leave Katsuki’s back, sliding up to his cheeks to force Katsuki to look up at him.
“Katsuki, no, baby, no. You’re so good, you’re always good enough, sweetheart, you are, I
promise.”

“I could’ve saved him. He fucking—he...he’s gone and I could’ve...”

Eijirou shakes his head, pushing Katsuki’s hair off his forehead before leaning forward and placing
a kiss there. “I know you did everything you could, ‘Tsuki, you always do.”

“No, Ei, I could’ve done more. I should’ve been fucking faster and none of this would’ve fucking
happened!” Katsuki says, shaking his head. “Ochako wouldn’t be crying in her fucking shithole
apartment because she’s gonna be a fucking single parent and the world wouldn’t have to mourn
—“
Katsuki freezes.

He killed the number one hero.

Again.

Fucking hell.

Katsuki still hasn’t fully accepted that Kamino wasn’t his fault, because no matter what he does
that stupid fucking voice in his head is always going to remind him that none of that would’ve
happened if he hadn’t been such a fucking dipshit at the Sports Festival.

And now he wasn’t quick enough to intervene in Deku’s fight and Deku’s fucking dead because of
it. His brother is dead and it’s all his fucking fault and it’s just the same fucking story as high
school.

Katsuki wasn’t fucking good enough and he killed the number one hero for the second fucking
time.

He doesn’t deserve the title of hero. He doesn’t deserve to be the next number one hero. He doesn’t
fucking deserve Eijirou sitting here and holding him close. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

Despite his best attempts, he lets out another sob, hanging his head.

He doesn’t fucking deserve any of this, but he wants it. He wants Eijirou, he wants to be number
one, he wants it so fucking bad and it sucks because shitty fucking Deku’s never going to see him
as number one.

“Hey, ‘Tsuki, baby,” Eijirou says, his voice soft and gentle as he moves one hand to cradle the
back of Katsuki’s head, his fingers massaging a steady, firm pressure into his scalp, the other hand
cupping his cheek. “Baby, talk to me. Come on, ‘Tsuki, I’m here for you.”

“I did it again! I fucking killed the number one hero again. Fuck! Eiji, why am I such a goddamn
fuck up?”

“Katsuki, look at me,” Eijirou says, the tone of his voice leaving no room for Katsuki to disobey.
When Katsuki peels his eyes open, the look on Eijirou’s face is deadly and determined. “We aren’t
going to talk about Kamino right now, because I have spent the past ten years trying to beat the
fact that nothing that happened at Kamino was your fault into that pretty head of yours and I will
do it for the rest of our fucking lives if I have to, and I know that right now you’re just grieving and
none of this is how you really feel. Now, Katsuki, did you claw out Izuku’s intestines?”

Katsuki winces at Eijirou’s words. As true as they are, Katsuki really doesn’t want to remember it,
his stomach churning at the memory of Izuku’s body. “N-no,” he whispers.

“Then you didn’t kill him. You did everything you could for him, and you held his hand while he
left. You gave him more than anyone could ever ask for in those moments,” Eijirou says, placing
his forehead against Katsuki’s. “Everything you did for him proves how much you loved him.”

Katsuki shuts his eyes against another wave of tears, tightening his legs around Eijirou’s waist and
digging his nails into his husband’s shoulders. “How long am I gonna feel like this?”

Eijirou sighs, sliding his hands down to rub patterns against Katsuki’s back. “I have no idea,
sweetheart,” he whispers. “Something like this… I know it’s gonna hurt for a long time, baby.”
Katsuki lets out a noise of frustration before squeezing his eyes shut completely. Feeling like this
—he can’t stand it. He doesn’t know how else to describe this feeling other than that a part of him
is missing.

Deku was the first person who ever thought he was worth a shit and Katsuki hadn’t known how to
handle that, the same way he didn’t know how to handle the way his body was wrong and he
couldn’t figure out why or the way teachers would coo that he was so rough for such a cute little
girl or the way he had to fight for every fucking ounce of respect anyone ever gave him because
even though he yelled every single time that he wasn’t a fucking girl, no matter what the teachers
and the paperwork said, no one fucking listened to him. Deku and Inko had been the first people
aside from his parents who accepted it when he said he wasn’t a girl, and Katsuki’s fucked up head
had taken everything Deku had done for him as pity and treated him horribly for almost their entire
fucking childhoods, and Deku didn’t deserve any of it.

And, somehow, even despite Katsuki being a shitty person, Deku still gave a shit about him. Deku
knew better than anyone how awful he could be and how awful he had been, and Deku still loved
him, still admired him, still thought Katsuki was worth the effort.

Deku was always the person who made Katsuki want to be better. He’d always seen the person
Katsuki could be and he made Katsuki want to be that person. He wanted to be someone who
deserved the admiration Deku had for him and he’s not fucking there yet and Deku’s never going
to see that person.

Fuck, he’s really fucking gone. His brother is fucking dead and Katsuki’s going to have to learn
how to deal with it and he’s never been in this much fucking pain. He’s been fucking impaled and
he’s been thrown into a fucking building and he’s been pulled onto a stretcher with so many broken
bones he could’ve rivaled Deku’s record but none of that compares to this. Nothing compares to the
fucking hole in his chest and the ache deep in his bones and the pounding in his head and the
dryness of his throat.

“Is it gonna hurt this bad when I lose you?”

Eijirou’s body freezes for a moment at Katsuki’s words before he pulls Katsuki closer to him.
“Yeah, I think so.”

“Why do we let ourselves do this? I don’t ever want you feeling like this, Eiji,” he whispers,
fingernails digging into Eijirou’s skin, just to feel him underneath his hands.

His husband is quiet for a long moment before he presses a soft kiss to the top of his head. “It’s
worth it,” he whispers. “Getting to wake up next to you every morning and seeing you the way no
one else ever has, all grouchy and whiny with your hair in that cute little bedhead. Getting to hold
you close like this and seeing you look so tiny in my clothes. Getting to see the way your whole
body goes bright red when I tell you I love you in public because you’re embarrassed. Getting to
watch you move around the kitchen yelling at me because I forgot to pick up the cabbage you
wanted me to get after work. Every second of my life that I get to spend with you is worth the pain,
Katsuki.”

“Ei,” he whispers, choking around a sob, “I love you so much, Ei, and I don’t fucking say it enough
but I do—I love you, Eiji.”

“Shh, baby, shh, I know, baby, I know, shh, I love you, I love you,” Eijirou soothes, leaving kisses
on every part of Katsuki’s face he can reach.

Katsuki lets himself be spoiled with Eijirou’s lips for a few moments, just listening to his quiet
praise and soothing noises, letting his eyes shut as he clings to his husband’s body. One of Eijirou’s
hands dips under his shirt, sliding up his back, a warm, solid pressure. Eijirou as a whole is big and
warm and solid, and Katsuki presses himself harder against him, shivering. The weather is starting
to get colder and they haven’t turned the heat on yet because Katsuki wants to pretend it’s still
warm out for as long as possible, because he’s going to have to swap out to his winter costume soon
and he can’t fucking stand the cold.

“Hey!” Katsuki protests when Eijirou’s hand disappears and Eijirou starts leaning over for
something.

“Shh, it’s alright, ‘Tsuki, just give me a second,” Eijirou coos gently, and suddenly a thick blanket
is draped across his shoulders, wrapping him in warmth and the citrus and sandalwood of Eijirou’s
cologne, forcing Katsuki’s body to relax, tension in his body draining. “There you go, that’s it,
baby.”

“I don’t remember him not being here,” Katsuki says quietly after a long moment, burrowing
himself deeper between the blanket and his husband, and Eijirou silently tugs the blanket up to
cover his head, hiding him. “I just...for as long as I can remember, he’s always been right there.
It’s...he’s—”

Eijirou tugs Katsuki closer to him, a hand back to massaging his scalp, and Katsuki lets out a tiny
satisfied noise. “Remember when we were in hero class first year and All Might said that scars are
just proof you’ve survived, ‘Tsuki?” he asks. “Something like this hurts, and it leaves all these
scars and you’re never going to be the same, but you know what? The fact that it hurts so bad
means you loved that person so fucking much. I know you loved him, and he knew it too, I
promise he did. You didn’t have to tell him, ‘Tsuki, he knew.”

Katsuki forces his eyes closed, clamping his mouth shut against another sob, reaching up to gently
wrap his fingers around Eijirou’s biceps. “He wanted to name his fucking kid after me, Eiji,” he
whispers.

“Shh, I know, Ochako told me,” Eijirou says, humming quietly. “I know it hurts, baby, I know that
I have no idea how you’re feeling, and this scar is gonna take so fucking long to heal, because I
know how important he is to you, but it will. This is gonna hurt and you’re going to have to learn
how to exist without him, but I know you can do it. ‘Tsuki, you’re the strongest man I’ve ever
met.”

“Ei,” Katsuki chokes out, shaking his head. He can’t listen to this—he can’t let Eijirou lie to him.

“No, shh, listen to me, ‘Tsuki,” Eijirou interrupts gently. “There is no one else in the world who
can survive everything you have. It’s because you’ve survived every single horrific thing that I
know you can survive this. You’re not going to drown, Katsuki, you’re not. I know it feels that
way, but you’re gonna make it. I know you are, and I’m going to be here with you. As long as you
need me, I’m here.”

Katsuki lets his eyes drift shut, leaning his entire weight on Eijirou’s chest. “Can we go to bed,
Eijirou?” he asks, the fight drained out of him, his body too exhausted to move. There’s still light
filtering in through the windows and he knows it’s probably only just after dinnertime, because he
always loses so much time after episodes and they always take so much out of him. He hasn’t had
one in so long, and they haven’t been this bad for a while, and he knows Eijirou’s going to spend
the next few days worrying over him. The last time this happened Eijirou had spent the next three
days clinging to him, his hands never leaving Katsuki’s body unless Katsuki used their signal or
they had something else that needed to be done.
“Yeah, ‘Tsuki, of course. Will you let me take care of your neck and hand first?” Eijirou asks
quietly.

“What?” Katsuki asks, pushing his head out of the blanket and glancing down at his hands. Aside
from the purpled bruising that meant he definitely needed to get his hand healed tomorrow, he can
see deep imprints of his own teeth, his canines having left shallow puncture wounds against the
meat of his palm.

Eijirou frowns, reaching his finger up to gently drag against the side of Katsuki’s neck. “You were
stressed out and I kept pushing you to talk even though you said you didn’t want to, and your hands
were—I couldn’t let you hurt yourself, ‘Tsuki, I just couldn’t watch you do that to yourself, and I
had to touch you. I sent you into this episode, baby, I’m so sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up, Eijirou,” Katsuki responds. “You did what you had to.”
“I’m still sorry,” Eijirou insists, sliding one hand down Katsuki’s chest to rest at his hip. “You
should apologize whenever someone gets hurt because of something you did, even if you did the
right thing. We’ve talked about this before, back in school, when you traded tutoring me in math
for me tutoring you in how to interact with people. Come on, Katsuki, don’t tell me that I’m gonna
have to dig up the old notebooks I made for you!”

Katsuki’s cheeks heat, and he knows he’s bright red, because his body’s so fucking annoying and
he’s tried beating the blushes out of himself but hasn’t been successful. Mostly because he hasn’t
been trying too hard, because Eijirou’s never been secretive about how he feels about Katsuki’s
blushes. He plants a hand on Eijirou’s face, and he lets a gentle, more-noise-and-light-than-force
explosion hit him across the cheek.

Eijirou hardens in reflex, unsurprisingly, his instincts so perfectly timed to the point he does it
almost before he knows a hit is coming, a grin spreading across his face. “I see you’re feeling
better,” he says, rolling the two of them over so Katsuki’s lying on his back on his side of the bed.
He offers a slight smile, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against his lips. “I’m gonna go get the
first aid kit, alright, baby?”

Katsuki nods. “Can you get one of my migraine pills, too?” he asks after a moment. “And go put
my costume through the wash?”

“Of course, ‘Tsuki, anything for you, you know that,” Eijirou says, kissing him again before fixing
the way the blanket is wrapped around him, then carefully climbing out of bed. “I’ll be right back,
alright?”

“Get moving, asshole,” he replies, rolling his eyes. Eijirou lets out a small laugh, tapping Katsuki’s
leg before leaving.

Katsuki shuts his eyes, trying to even out his breathing. Eijirou’s always been the emotionally
intelligent one between them. He’s the one who first started teaching him how to deal with his
emotions properly way back when Katsuki still had issues admitting they were friends. If Eijirou
says something about emotions, he’s probably right. He always has been.

So that means Eijirou’s right. This hurts like hell and it’s always going to hurt, but he’s going to get
through it. Eijirou wouldn’t lie to him about this. He’d never do that.

He’s going to get through this.

“Hey, ‘Tsuki, sit up, I have your pill,” Eijirou’s voice says suddenly, tapping Katsuki’s knee.
Katsuki sits up, reaching out for the pill and the glass of water Eijirou’s holding out to him, their
first aid kit tucked under his arm. He pops the tiny white pill into his mouth, taking a sip of the
water, and swallows.

Eijirou smiles softly, taking the glass back and placing it down on Katsuki’s nightstand. He
carefully slips back into the bed, kneeling over Katsuki’s thighs, settling the first aid kit on
Katsuki’s lap and the plastic bag from earlier next to him.

He’s quiet as he opens it up and searches through it, pulling out the spray bottle filled with pure,
clean water from one of his weird friends’ quirks (Katsuki still isn’t sure where Eijirou met this
friend, but he’s also listened to Icyhot’s conspiracy that Eijirou has a secret second quirk which
gives him the ability to befriend anyone in the world several times—Katsuki himself is exhibit A,
which he’s given up on yelling at Icyhot for—, and he will never admit out loud that maybe
Icyhot’s got a point, but...), some disinfectant wipes, some gauze, medical tape, and some
bandages.

He sprays a washcloth with water, dampening it, before gently patting it over Katsuki’s neck,
quietly leaning forward and inspecting the mark before frowning. “One of the blisters popped, so I
gotta bandage it. I’m gonna take you to a healer in the morning, anyways,” he says, turning back to
the pile of supplies on his lap, picking up an alcohol wipe.

Katsuki tilts his head to the side to give Eijirou more room, letting him drag the wipe over the area.
He barely registers the slight twinge of pain from the disinfectant and he wonders if it’s a good
thing that his pain tolerance is that high. He tosses the wipe into the plastic bag, glancing down at
Katsuki’s hands.

Eijirou works diligently, focused entirely on his task of bandaging Katsuki’s neck, the tip of his
tongue poking the slightest bit out of his mouth. He carefully presses the last bit of medical tape
down, then readjusts the supplies in Katsuki’s lap. “Lemme see your hand, ‘Tsuki,” he instructs,
holding his own hand out expectantly.

Katsuki rolls his eyes but still places his right hand on top of Eijirou’s, watching as Eijirou inspects
Ochako’s wrapping job.

“She was never the best at first aid, huh?” Eijirou comments blandly.

Katsuki grunts in response, blinking tiredly at his husband.

“Ah, I know, baby, just a bit longer and we’ll go to bed, alright?” Eijirou chuckles, and then their
bedroom is silent as he carefully removes the wrap on Katsuki’s fingers, leaning over to drop them
into their makeshift garbage bag.

Katsuki hums blandly. He doesn’t really pay attention to Eijirou’s gentle, featherlight touches as he
carefully rewraps Katsuki’s fingers before he disinfects the puncture wounds from Katsuki’s own
teeth, bandaging them quickly.

Eijirou quietly cleans everything up and sets everything down on the bedside table before glancing
down. “Do you want to change?”

“No,” he mumbles, shutting his eyes and leaning back against his pillow.

“Alright,” Eijirou says, placing his hands on Katsuki’s stomach before gently dragging them up his
body, ghosting his fingertips over the sides of Katsuki’s neck, before carefully pulling the hearing
aids out of his ear.
 “Oi, put them in the case properly, dickhead,” he mumbles, too tired to really yell at Eijirou.

He can’t really hear Eijirou’s laugh, but he can feel the amused smile against his cheek as Eijirou
places a kiss there. He lets Eijirou manhandle him, lifting his body awkwardly so he can pull the
blanket out from under Katsuki, setting him back down. Eijirou drapes it over Katsuki’s body,
leaning down to place another kiss against his other cheek.

The mattress next to him dips with Eijirou’s weight and it takes a moment for him to fully settle in,
tucking himself under the covers. Two arms reach over and pull Katsuki into him,

Katsuki lets Eijirou guide him into resting his head on his husband’s bare chest, his arm moving to
rest over Eijirou’s waist. Eijirou’s heartbeat is almost totally inaudible without his hearing aids but
his husband’s chest rises and falls steadily with his breathing, his fingers absentmindedly tracing
kanji and patterns over the back of Katsuki’s shirt. Katsuki can’t hear Eijirou’s quiet humming, but
he can feel the vibrations, tugging himself closer to Eijirou.

He’s going to get through this, and he’s going to be the person who deserves to be the number one
hero.

End Notes

i have been sitting on this fic for almost two months now and it's literally the longest thing
i've ever written for this fandom. it's a beast and i hope you guys like it! this was originally
for a "write-this-in-your-style" kind of thing based off the prompt "tell my wife i tried to
come back to her", which is a line from the movie the ritual. highly recommend it. i'm
really hype about this fic. i think it's one of my favorite things i've ever written, to be totally
honest with you.

i have a discord server, if you're into it. it's still a bit small but everyone's welcome! my
tumblr is here, and my twitter is here.

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!