Finally some explanations-ish. some depictions of gore (but creatively) that you'll miss if you blink

Chapter 3: i plead to thee with my soul

"Nerd."

The snoring lump on the bed squirmed before becoming motionless once more, only a wild shrub of green visible from beneath.

Heavily padded footsteps stepped past the threshold, following the soft snoring and indiscernible mumbling. "Nerd. Oi."

When shaking it didn't work, a growl echoed in the room. He took hold of the blanket, trying to wrench the sheets away and leave the body to shiver in the morning cold. Emphasis on tried.

"Mhm," Izuku groaned, scarred fingers turning white with their death grip on the All Might-themed sheets. "Five more minutes."

Even with Izuku's eyes closed, lady slumber murmuring in his ear, he could see how crimson eyes rolled. The greennette smiled and burrowed back into the sheets, wanting to slip back into his dream.

What was it again? Ah, he'll remember when he gets back to sleep.

"Five minutes. Please?"

"No breakfast for you then."

Emerald snapped open to see Katsuki with a cocky smirk plastered on the face he'd been witness to since childhood. Izuku pouted but squirmed his way out of the sheets, no longer apologizing when his foot lands on All Might's face.

What was a foot to the face anyway when he'd literally eaten the man's hair?

Warm hands carded through his hair, and Izuku jolts from the contact, a small yelp slipping from him. He looked up and froze when crimson gazed at him softly.

"Kacchan?"

Katsuki never looked at him like that. Not when he knew Izuku could see, anyway. Sometimes the greennette would catch him in the corner of his eye, but the look would fly away sooner than he could blink.

The soft crimson gaze didn't disappear. With features unmarred by the usual scowl and furrow of brows, it made Katsuki look younger; the weight of thousands of lives smoothed over and hidden.

Warm hands that had stopped moved again, and Izuku couldn't pretend that they were there to playfully ruffle his hair like Katsuki always had in the mornings. Emerald fluttered close, and a sigh left his lips at the comforting motion.

Izuku always liked Katsuki's hands. Even when they served to promise him pain, his eyes were always drawn to them and the power and potential they held.

Some viewed Katsuki's hands as dangerous and need to be controlled. But Izuku viewed them as beautiful– artistic sculptures capable of expelling creative energy in the form of fireworks.

They were beautiful, just as Katsuki was.

He heard a scoff and opened his eyes, warmth spreading from his chest to the tips of his fingers at the sight of Katsuki's smile.

"You think I'm beautiful, 'Zuku?"

Oh. Oh, that was embarrassing. Izuku sputtered, and his hands flailed about, trying and failing to hide his blushing face. "N–no! That– That's not–"

"Ha? Then I ain't beautiful?"

"What?! No, I mean that you are! Beautiful, that is! But I didn't mean to tell you outright because you might send me to an early grave, and I haven't written a will yet. Actually, All Might told me to write one, but I never found the time to– ow! Kacchan!"

Katsuki rolled his eyes, and his hands ran through green locks one last time, lingering among a couple strands before pulling away. "Alright, alright, I won't fuckin' tease you anymore. Don't want your brain to explode over breakfast, nerd."

He was sure it already exploded, though.

When the blonde walked back out, Izuku finally stood from his bed, stretching and loving the satisfying cracks along his back and neck. He must've had a good sleep.

Today was going to be a good day. Izuku could feel it. After all, a day being woken up by Katsuki was meant to be good no matter what, right? The sight of his partner in the kitchen, expertly flipping an omelette and scooping out rice was another indication too.

Izuku yawned, hand scratching under his shirt as he slid into the kitchen stool, mindful of the bowls set before him.

He wouldn't mind if Katsuki became his wife, he thinks.

The blonde in mention snorted and slid into the seat across Izuku's, placing a plate of omurice before him. "You keep talking shit this morning, huh?"

"Mmph?" Izuku cocked his head to the side, cheeks bulging and lips smeared with ketchup. "Bwuh?"

Katsuki flicked him on the forehead, his chopsticks splitting his omelette open, a waft of steam coming out. "Don't talk with your mouth full, idiot."

The greenette pouted but followed, carefully chewing and appreciating Katsuki's cooking. It wasn't that he only tasted his partner's cooking once in a blue moon, no. It's just that every time he got the chance to eat the love of his life's cooking, Izuku couldn't help but relish in it.

Everything Kacchan makes was amazing, after all!

Katsuki chuckled and rested his cheek against his hand, crimson eyes shining openly with mirth.

There it was again, that smile that did come once in a blue moon. It was open and vulnerable, soft on the edges but full nonetheless. If Izuku's own was wide and made his eyes disappear, Katsuki's was small and made the roughness disappear.

As if he read Izuku's mind, that smile grew a little bit wider by just a margin. Enough to make Izuku lightheaded from the rush of heat to his face.

"Wouldn't mind being your wife, nerd. Maybe that way, I could just kick you outta bed to wake you up."

When Izuku choked, and Katsuki had to almost Heimlich egg and rice out of him, he thinks it was a reasonable reaction.

"K–Kacchan! Y–you can't just say stuff like that!"

Katsuki smirked and swiped away a stray blob of ketchup that somehow ended up on Izuku's nose. "I can do whatever the fuck I want, Deku. But you're right. I shouldn't say things like that."

"Yes, exact–"

"We haven't even gone on a date yet, and you already callin' me your wife? Fat chance, shitty Deku."

It was only thanks to years of gathering self-confidence, seeing a couple therapists, and figuring out his gay crisis that Izuku managed to not screw up this golden opportunity.

It was a good day, after all.

"Then go out with me, Kacchan. Let's go on a date with the holding hands, eating, and ki– enjoying our time together."

In the years he's known Katsuki, Izuku thought he had already bore witness to all of his childhood friend's facial expressions. Anger, vulnerability, pride, embarrassment, shame, frustration, and fondness. But today was a good day, and he was glad to be proven wrong.

Katsuki's eyes widened, and his mouth parted, face etched with shock. Then right before Izuku's eyes, it shifted into what might've been his new favorite expression.

A light blush usually reserved for the tip of the blonde's ears spread and danced across sculptured planes, crimson eyes standing out more and more as they shone with unshed tears. His lips stretched wide, and the corner of Katsuki's eyes crinkled, the telltale signs of crow's feet evident.

Katsuki's lips moved, and Izuku's heart soared.

"Yeah. Let's go on a date, you shitty nerd."

The blonde leaned over the table, warm hands cupping Izuku's cheeks and wiping away tears he didn't even notice was falling. His forehead rested on Izuku's, and the latter brought scarred hands to hold Katsuki's.

This was a good day.

Izuku felt rain drop on his face, different from the stream that fell from his. "Kacchan?"

Crimson eyes looked at emerald, the mirth and happiness now overflowing with a burning sadness. Izuku struggled to pull away, but the hands on his face kept him in place.

"Izuku."

No. No. Don't call me that.

Katsuki smiled and pulled away to brush a feather of a kiss on Izuku's forehead, too similar to one of a goodbye instead of a promise of hello.

"It's time to wake up."

No.

Please.

Let me have this good day.

Izuku slid the door shut behind him, head thumping softly back against the small glass window. His hands trembled. Just as they always had when he visited the room labeled 'Bakugou Katsuki.'

They replaced the blinds with a curtain and opened the window last week.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know why. After days of doctors and nurses rejecting his request, they suddenly folded. Theories nearing the truth nagged at him but he pushed them away.

For now, he'll just believe that they did it out of pity for him.

Izuku's eyes felt heavy, tears long dried, but the remnants plunged them back into their swollen and red-rimmed state. He doesn't think there had been a day since he woke up screaming that he wasn't crying.

From frustration and sadness? Maybe. From regret and self-loathing? Maybe. There were many reasons, but Izuku thinks the reason rain continued to pour was to water his hopes that a rough voice would tell him to stop fucking crying, you shitty nerd.

He'd been crying for almost two weeks now.

The IV bag swayed, the small wheels of its adjoined pole squeaking softly against sanitized tiles reeking of antiseptic. The smell assaulted him as he limped along empty corridors, some lit, some not.

Before, the smell annoyed him. Antiseptic meant that he had gone too far and given too much of himself that masked people in white had to stitch and snap him back together.

Then, it angered him. Smelling it lit the embers of anger easily ignitable than in the past years because it served as a reminder of what had happened– of why Izuku was trapped in these white walls.

Now, the smell reassured him. He took in a shaky breath, relief flooding into him when the stale hospital air filled his lungs. Izuku thinks this was better than the smell of wet earth and white lilies.

"–namight. It's been two weeks, right? Almost nearing three?"

Izuku halted, and hands holding onto the IV pole tightened, knuckles turning white.

Another voice chimed in, still colored by that sickening thing called pity. "Yeah... it's such a shame. He's my son's favorite hero, you know? Plus, he's still so young."

"That's what happens to all heroes in the end, anyway."

Izuku wanted to stop listening. His lungs burned from containing the ear-splitting scream that struggled to go out and wreak mayhem. His tongue remained in knots, even with arguments dying to be launched like poison spears.

That's not true. That won't be true. That will never be true.

The words remain unsaid, lies sliding back down his throat. Izuku had never been a good liar, after all. Even to himself, lies were foreign concepts rejected by every cell of his body.

It was a miracle in itself that All Might's secret didn't spill sooner.

There was some shuffling of papers, then the nurse starts up again, this time hushed. "Is it true, then? About Hero De– Ow!"

The other scolded their companion. "Don't go spreading unfounded rumors here. It's unsightly."

"Oh, come on, I'm sure you heard about it too. You've been on the night shift longer than me. I'm sure you've seen him go in and out of that room every night."

Silence. Then the other nurse answered, voice soft. "I have. It's... I don't know how he does it."

"So, is it true?"

They spoke, but Izuku was already running, ignoring the sting of pain running up his injured leg. He ignored the burn in his lungs, not used to exerting more effort than he had since he woke up and saw white. The squeaking and rattling of the IV against the pole filled the silent halls, pinpricks of pain shooting up his arm from the pull of the needle.

He didn't need to know about the rumors that were flying from one ear to the other. Why should he?

Izuku might as well have been the one who started them.

The door to his room slid shut, no lock in sight. The light switch continued gathering dust as he shuffled into the room that served his prison for days before they allowed him the reprieve to visit his world.

The motions it took to place the IV bag back in place was mechanical, the heart monitor beeping to life as it greeted him like a warden would its prisoner. Or, if Izuku closed his eyes, like a mother would her child.

Like a person would their lover.

He grunted as he heaved himself back up on the bed, the short spurt of adrenaline gone into white tiles scrubbed clean. Izuku gritted his teeth as he slid his leg back onto the elevated sling, pain crawling and nipping at him.

This is nothing, Izuku. Nothing.

He remembers the red, black and white mixture spreading on the canvas of the pavement.

This is nothing.

He remembers, even as the drums blew and popped, the scream of pain not his own. The reverberating agony that tore itself from a prideful mouth known to never let a slip of weakness show.

Izuku couldn't breathe. He didn't even know if he was still awake, no slip of moonlight to visit and grace the darkness holding him against white sheets.

Was he drowning in ruby pools again?

"So, is it true? About Hero Deku?"

Did he want to drown in his own blood?

"About Dynamight taking the hit for him?"

The monotone beat of the monitor was the only indication Izuku was still breathing and alive. Another sound he held his breath for every time he entered his love's room.

"He was almost unrecognizable when they rushed him in. We thought the EMTs lied about the pulse."

He wonders, in another night of darkness, what would happen when it stops? When Izuku opens the door and the machines stopped beeping and whirring?

"What happened?"

Izuku knew what happened. The darkness blurred, and he's submerged once more in salty oceans that, with no fail, always come in waves at night. They come with no precipice, no warning.

The tears come, and Izuku breaks again.

He's curled in on himself, sobs taking over and soaking the dark glove clutched in his hand. It was one of Katsuki's, the one he lost before they faced the pale-eyed terror.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Izuku brought it closer, nuzzling it in hopes of getting comfort from the scent of cinnamon and smoke. Just as he had always done for every night after Tsukauchi gave it to him.

"Kacchan, Kacchan, Kacchan."

That night, just as the ones before, dragged him into an unwelcome sleep. Just as before, Izuku slept, words of regret, apologies, and hatred tumbling into the void of darkness.

The glove smelled nothing like Katsuki.

The room was filled with the sound of graphite scratching against paper, the occasional wind fluttering the curtains, and the soft beeping and whirring of machines.

Izuku sat cross-legged on his chair, body hunched over and brows screwed together in concentration. The small pencil flew in sharp, long, and languid strokes with the moon as his only source of light.

What are ya doin', nerd?

He hummed, emerald eyes flitting from the notebook in his lap to Katsuki. "Drawing you, Kacchan. Haven't done it in a while. It's quite therapeutic!"

He narrowed his eyes back at the mess of lines and strokes before flipping the pencil, the soft pink remains of the eraser littering the pristine floor. Not that it made the mess of the room any worse.

They hadn't gone in to fix the damage just yet.

For fear of him doing more damage or out of understanding and pity, Izuku didn't know. So he continued drawing, the endless scratching of graphite trying to drown out the chatters of his rattled mind.

"I'm sorry, Mr and Mrs Bakugou."

Another gust of wind came and went, peeking through the window before continuing its path and journey. The soft yellow curtains fluttered before resting once more.

"Don't. Don't say you're sorry. Just don't. Lie to us, please. Lie and tell us you can do something."

"I'm sorry."

"Kacchan," Izuku kept drawing. "Did you know? If I hadn't met All Might or didn't get into the support or general courses, I would've gone to art school. My portfolio's still at home, I think."

The monitor continued beeping, the machine whirring in the background. His eyes flicked up and rested on the light blue glow of the mountain ranges that spoke for the barely beating heart.

"I don't understand. Why can't you do anything?"

"The villain's quirk was... the worst possible match for your son."

The scratching of the pencil grew harsher; lines were drawn deeper as they dragged along white plains. Cracks beneath the chair spread, the broken bars of the bed strewn on the floor shook. The wind howled through the broken windows and torn curtains, bringing in leaves and bringing out broken petals.

Izuku should probably apologize for the mess he made. Maybe after he finished the drawing.

"He could control any form of explosion."

"Ah, your eyes really are the hardest to get, Kacchan."

"And your son was the biggest explosion at the scene."

"Your hands, though, they're easy. I've always been fascinated with them back when we were kids," Izuku smiled, the first in the last few hours. "I think my first drawing was of your hands. When you got your quirk."

"Every sweat gland was set off, meaning–"

"I'll show it to you when you wake up, Kacchan."

"–every inch of him imploded on itself before exploding. It wasn't just his hands."

Katsuki lay on the bed, face unmoving with not a single twitch or scowl. Strips of white covering him up to his neck were long removed a week ago, replaced with minuscule– almost indiscernible– lines of white spread across sinews of trained muscle.

If Izuku didn't look at the tube stuck in Katsuki's throat, he could think that the blonde was in deep slumber. A modern-day Sleeping Beauty.

You think I'm beautiful, 'Zuku?

The scratching of graphite on paper stopped. Not because Izuku was done, no. He doesn't think he'll ever be done drawing Katsuki.

Izuku's vision blurred, and the drawn lines and shadows began mixing into an ugly mess that blended with the chaos it was in. Big splotches dropped like rain, and he shut the notebook close before the tears could do any more damage.

He opened his mouth and closed it immediately; the choked out sob quelled before it could finish.

Izuku shut his eyes and uncrossed his legs, feet barely flinching from the shards of vase pieces that dug into the soles. He leaned forward, face nuzzling into white sheets that couldn't mask the scent of cinnamon and smoke, no matter how weak.

"Katsuki." The tears flowed down in waterfalls, unrelenting and pure.

"Katsuki." Scarred hands reached and intertwined with blistered ones, fingers gently tracing small white lines. The small hybrid of a laugh and sob slipped from him when he realized they matched.

Do they even need wedding bands at this point?

"Your name is beautiful, Kacchan."

Izuku tried for a smile, the motion making him taste salty oceans. His other hand rested on Katsuki's chest, fingers spread as if he wanted the organ that beat under to reverberate through every inch.

Emerald shone and looked upon closed ones, soft blonde lashes resting on fine white lines that marred previously flawless skin. Gold locks spread on white sheets, molten gold gracing the realm of life and death.

"I...I wanted to– no, I still want to–" Izuku couldn't stop the sob that broke through, body shaking as they rampaged and left him wrecked.

Wouldn't mind being your wife, nerd.

The words tumbled out, desperation, regret and love mixing into a whirlpool that had been tugging and pulling at Izuku since the day he realized he was in love with Bakugou Katsuki.

"I still want to take your name, Kacchan."

His feet dug harder into the floor, glass breaking through skin and feeding liquid ambrosia into the cracks Izuku had formed.

The holes in the walls were from the rumors that haunted and mocked him. The cracks on the floor were from the pitying looks and their use of 'was' 'were' and 'used to be'. The broken vase and scattered flowers were from the frustrations of an unmoving body that still wouldn't open its eyes.

And the broken window and tattered curtains were from a moment of weakness–

"Please. Please let it be me, instead."

–a moment when he let the words of blame get to him. If only they waited for more intel. If only they asked more questions and waited for backup before making a move.

If only Izuku had listened to the small beeping, he'd heard.

If only, if only, if only.

"I... I don't believe in a higher power. If I did, then that was before I was declared quirkless and knew the world was unfair," The hand on Katsuki's chest clenches, bunching up the cold, sterile fabric. "But this is Kacchan, and I can't lose him."

Izuku cried harder into sheets, letting the faint scents of cinnamon and smoke– of home– fill his senses. He cried, throat hoarse and aching, hiccups making their way out. His eyes were heavy with tears, lids swollen, but the struggle was cheap and easy. Glowing emerald eyes, brighter than the moon, looked and poured over his world.

His Kacchan.

"Please. Take everything from me. Take my heart, my soul, my lungs, my fingers."

Trembling still, Izuku brings their interlocked fingers closer, lips brushing on hands once warm and vibrant with crackling energy.

"Take everything and give it to him."

When the last syllable falls, his world follows.

Pain.

Screams.

Shouts.

Footsteps.

Blood.

Crimson.

Izuku nuzzled closer to the warmth, arms tightening around its source. He hears a sigh above him, then hands card through his hair, a purr rumbling from Izuku's chest.

"You didn't even try to finish the movie, idiot."

"Mhm," Izuku smiled into Katsuki's shirt. "Yeah, I did, Kacchan. I know the plot and everything."

Eyes still closed, he knew well enough to imagine how crimson eyes rolled along with the derisive snort. He also knew when to expect the pinch of his nose, laughing when Katsuki missed.

Izuku yelped when the blonde pulled on his cheek. "Thought you got me figured out, ha, nerd?"

If he had any sense of self-preservation, he would've rolled over and quieted down. But years of sticking by Katsuki did wonder to Izuku's personality.

He grabbed the blonde's wrist, using just a little bit of OFA to pull Katsuki down, curses silenced when face to face with glinting emerald eyes.

Izuku smiled, face flushing and gracing freckled constellations. "I'm sure I know a lot about Kacchan already."

"Yeah?" Katsuki chuckled, leaning closer. The hungry look sent shivers down his body, crimson belonging to a predator surveying its prey. "And what do I want now, 'Zuku?"

Izuku didn't bother answering, abandoning Katsuki's wrist for his face instead as he surged forward. A pair of lips met him halfway, the contact sparking a feeling that went all the way to his little toes.

He liked to call the feeling 'Kacchan.'

When both separated for breath, Izuku's heart stuttered at the low chuckle from his love. "You manipulative little shit. The movie was an excuse, wasn't it?"

"N–no, it wasn't!"

"You only stutter when you lie, shitty Deku."

Izuku puffed out his lips, loving how it elicited a boisterous laugh from his lover. His eyes fluttered close when a hand carded through his hair again, a soft sigh tumbling out his lips when they scratch and pull.

He didn't even know he liked being pet until Katsuki did it.

Then again, Izuku didn't even know what love was until he loved Katsuki.

"I love you too, 'Zuku."

"Wh– Kacchan! You can't just–"

Katsuki smiled, and Izuku froze in place, unable to move as warm fingers stroked and traced the freckles on his face.

"You said it first, nerd," Crimson eyes shone and filled, Izuku doing nothing more than stare as rain fell and landed on him.

"Now say it to me for real, okay?"

Izuku opened his eyes, and it feels like déjà vu, with lights scorching him as he stirred. Shadows moved, blobs of darkness blocking the assault with garbled voices and pinprick lights passing by.

He groaned, regretting the action when the sound brought the shadows to a frenzy, more hands and more voices getting clearer by the second as they screeched into his ear.

Izuku wants to go back to sleep. He wanted to burrow back into his All Might blanket and bury his face into the Dynamight plushie Katsuki gave him a year ago. Izuku wanted to be woken up with the blanket torn from his body, the morning cold making his toes wiggle into the mattress. He ached for the smell of his partner's cooking to drag him out of bed, hair mussed and flat on one side.

Izuku wanted a lot of things.

"–ell, listen to me, you shitty extras! He's obviously out of it, so shut your fucking traps and let him adjust or I'm blowing up your asses!"

He wanted that voice, for example.

But what Izuku wanted was a pipe dream lost to regrets of words unsaid and actions hesitated. The constant beeping reminded him of why it was so.

A shadow, bigger than the others, or maybe it was simply nearer Izuku wasn't sure, blocked the light, ending his torture. Hands, blistered ones, cupped his face with a gentleness that made him sigh and lean into it.

This was a nice dream. He wonders when it'll end.

"I'm gonna blast your face if you don't stop your goddamn mumbling and snap out of it in five seconds, shitty nerd."

Izuku blinks. And blinks.

The shadows become clearer, revealing nurses and doctors hovering by the foot of the bed. Some held tubes dripping with fluids of red and yellow, wires bundled up on a crash cart. The room was still a mess– holes in the walls, shards and cracks on the floor. He would've winced at the sight, not expecting his rampage to garner that much destruction.

Izuku would've if he could manage to process anything other than the person before him, still cupping his face as if he was porcelain that would crash and break.

He didn't want to hope because these dreams turned into nightmares always disappointed him but still–

"Kacchan?"

–Izuku was the symbol of Hope, and here was his symbol of Victory, alive, shouting, and awake.

Katsuki scoffed. "Who the fuck else, idiot?"

Decorum could wait, Izuku thinks. The doctors could wait with their stethoscopes and clipboards, and questions. They could wait their turn.

He lunged and didn't pay mind to the grunt as Izuku tackled the love of his life– alive, breathing and awake– to the hospital bed once declared a coffin.

When he passes out, the chant of Katsuki's name muffled into the blonde's neck, Izuku remembers the hands that carded through his hair and the soft murmur reserved for no one but him.

"Shitty nerd."

Lilies, or white flowers, are considered funeral flowers in Japan.

And it's weird that almost all my fics have someone praying to a god or to gods when I'm atheist.