Katsuki doesn't remember when he started to feel the way he does about his best friend Izuku. He doesn't remember when the achingly blinding smiles sent butterflies to his stomach. He doesn't remember when he started longing to hold Izuku's hand in his own, now until forever. He doesn't remember when green became his favorite color over orange. He just knows they're a staple of his life now.
Katsuki coughs wetly, droplets of blood covering his All Might bedsheets. He shimmies free of his blankets and hops down to the floor, running to the bathroom as fast as his tiny legs can carry him. He barely makes it to the toilet in time before he's coughing up a wave of gritty bile and blood.
Katsuki blanches from the cottony, almost floral taste in his mouth. He spits and spits until he feels something dislodge from the back of his tongue: there, atop the disgusting soup of his stomach contents, is a single purple flower.
That same cotton feeling starts up again, but this time when he spits it's only petals. Katsuki plucks one that managed to hit the floor instead of the bowl so he could take it to his parents.
He's not sure what's happening to him, but he knows it's bad. He doesn't want to die.
"M-Mommy!" Katsuki cries as he runs to her side of the bed. She grumbles and turns the bedside light on before sitting up, worry furrowing her brows.
"What's wrong, Katsuki?" Mitsuki asks, reaching a hand out to wipe away the sticky tears that stain his face.
"I-I threw up, a-and these came out!" He snivels, outstretching his palm so his mother could see the delicate purple petal stained with blood.
The instant her eyes process what he's holding, Mitsuki's shaking her husband to wake up.
"Oh, Katsuki baby." She coos, swinging her legs over the side of the bed so she could lean and give him a hug. Katsuki eagerly buries his head in his mother's soft stomach, muffling his sobs.
He feels that same cottony prickling in the back of his throat again, and it hurts.
His mother gently takes the petal from his hand and hands it over to Masaru when he sits up. Katsuki sniffles as he's picked up and cradled against his mother's chest, already feeling more at ease as he listens to her heartbeat. She carries him down the stairs and to the car in their garage, setting him down in his booster seat.
Mitsuki straps him in tight before sliding into the seat next to him. It's odd not seeing his mother take the front seat, but he thinks little of it.
"Where are we going?" Katsuki asks, throat starting to itch again.
"We have to take you to the hospital, sweetie. They're gonna make you all better." His mother replies, a small and shaky smile stretching her face, eyes glazed over with unshed tears.
Katsuki knows the look well—it's the same one Izuku has when he's obviously upset but pretending not to be.
"Oh." He says, fiddling with the strap of his booster. He's never been fond of doctors. "Can I go see Izuku tomorrow? He has a new All Might action figure, and he promised me we could play with it together."
"We'll see, honey." His mother is quick to answer, this time not bothering to look over her shoulder. Katsuki can hear the wobble in her voice, and he knows her tears have finally fallen.
Why she cries, he doesn't know.
Katsuki squirms in his mother's arms as she pulls him out of the backseat when they reach the hospital. He hates how empty the parking lot is and how scary the lights of the sterile waiting room are as they cast an eerie glow onto the concrete sidewalk. Mitsuki rubs soothing circles into his back as he hides his face in her shoulder so he doesn't have to see the hospital anymore.
He whines when his mother finally sets him down in a hospital bed. The room is painted with stupid children's cartoon characters that feel fake to him, like they were trying too hard to comfort people that were dying.
Was he dying? He's not sure, but he knows he feels like it.
Katsuki yelps when a nurse sticks a needle in the top of his hand. She tells him it's an I.V. line to give his body water, but he doesn't trust her fake smile. Why would they give him water through a needle when he could drink it from a cup?
He drifts off to sleep shortly after to the white noise of his parents discussing something with the same nurse. The last thing he sees before his eyes close is his father hand over the flower petal he'd coughed up.
When he wakes again, he's in a different room. He can tell by the different paintings on the wall. His throat no longer feels itchy and cottony, but his mouth feels like he hasn't had water in days. His chest burns, and when he looks down he sees a large cut that was sewn shut.
Katsuki blinks a few times as his vision refocuses on his mother and father standing by the side of his bed. They both look like they've been crying for hours.
"M-Mom?" He mumbles, voice hoarse and cracking as if he'd gargled nails.
Katsuki grits his teeth as pain flares up in his chest around where the stitches are. He wants to scratch at them to make the pain go away, but his body feels too numb to move. He looks up at his parents for an explanation as to what happened, but all he gets are two pity smiles.
"We had to cancel your play date with Izuku, sweetie. I'm sorry." His mother says, gently brushing his hair down with her fingers so it looked like less of a rat's nest.
The name feels familiar, like a word on the tip of his tongue he can't quite remember. His head spins as he fights to remember where he's heard the name before but gives up after a few moments.
He looks up at his mother in confusion, hoping she could provide some sort of answer to the question he's sure once meant so much to him.
"Who's Izuku?"